Vanished and vanishing trails ~ Malinda Words

‘Vanished Trails’ is the title of a novel by R L Spittal woven around the lives of three generations of Veddas, their engagement with changing circumstances and the consequent transformations. The Vedda as a ‘wild man’ is, according to famed Anthropologist Gananath Obeyesekera, is largely a myth for the community, taken as a whole, is varied and has been variously placed in the overall social, economic and political systems that have prevailed in the island.

There were, I remember him once saying, the ‘Bandara Veddas,’ who were part of the nobility. The Vaeddas formed the first line of defence in various kingdoms and principalities at different moments in history, he pointed out during that same lecture.

Human beings make trails. Depending on their usefulness or otherwise they become well trodden pathways or vanish. Trails, of one kind of another, are constantly being made, constantly being erased.

The world, the land, a community, journeys and even the life of a single human being can be talked of in terms of tracks and vanish(ing). Destinations call to us. Ignorance and arrogance lead us astray but ‘getting lost’ has its virtues too — we walk, we make pathways as we walk, we encounter the unanticipated which has its own delights. We discover secrets, rediscover the forgotten and unrecorded, we find ourselves.

There are rocks that will not suffer footprints. There are trails lost because infrequent use allows grass, weeds and plant life to recover that which was unintentionally robbed. Revisitation reveals that the world has changed. The tree that was a landmark is gone, we find, and the rock we sat on is hidden under leaves or moss. The path that too a Vaedda, ‘Bandara’ or otherwise, from here to there and somewhere else as well, can vanish but might very well leave some signs of having existed. That’s for trackers to find out and they usually do.

That which was charted is erased, is destroyed by the silverfish of time, fungi of neglect and the termites of fresh adventures. The old house may be gone and even if it still stands those who made memories in it pass on; the paint of remembrance is lumpy and strangles the throat of memory.

And yet, repainting cannot really be outlawed. Re-walking dimly lit tracks almost covered with discredited leaves or along the imagined traces left by explorers who came before cannot be prohibited.

That which is vanished cannot be magically brought back to life, but there are ways in which obliterated traces reveal themselves to us. Patience, a slow step and a heart whose doors are open to visitation of any kind: these are possible preconditions, ways of being and traveling advocated by the laws of place and time.

A few years ago, noticing a sign put up by the Department of Archaeology, my friend Tharindu Amunugama decided to go look for ‘Kosgaha Lena.’ This was off the Polonnaruwa - Maduru Oya road and part of the larger Dimbulagala Complex. He had been there before but had forgotten how to get there. There were no directions. We asked someone. He asked us to proceed in the same direction until we came across a kumbuk tree. We had to cross the irrigation canal that ran parallel to this track on the right (on our left was an extensive tract of paddy fields).

We found the tree, crept under an electric fence, crossed the canal and walked along a faint path into the jungles beyond. At one point the track came to an end. It was just too rocky. Tharindu couldn’t remember the direction in which the caves were located. We scouted around for a while, saw a lot of fresh elephant dung and after an hour or so of exploration, decided to turn back. The trail had vanished. Memory had been erased.

A couple of days later, having explored other parts of the Dimbulagala Complex, especially Namal Pokuna, Nil Diya Pokuna and the Pulligoda Gal Ge frescoes, we realized that we were on the very same road, except we were approaching it from the opposite direction. The kumbuk gaha was recognised. A different villager explained to us why we hadn’t been able to find the continuation of the trail. A new journey, then. It got us to Kosgaha Lena. In the rain.

In a different century, no one would have needed directions to this place. In this century, there were very few who could give directions. Tharindu must have made tracks during his first visit. They were gone. We couldn’t make tracks this time around because we were too lost. And then that which seemed to have vanished became visible. There appeared a trail where previously there was none. We made a journey that had been made by many whose names we did not know.

Right now, as I write, there could be sunlight streaming through the trees around Kosgaha Lena. Maybe it is raining. Someone is getting lost somewhere. Someone is making tracks. Others will use them. Some will remember. Some will forget. For now, I remember trails and right now however hard I try there are things that have simply vanished.

['The Morning Inspection' is the title of a column I wrote for the Daily News from 2009 to 2011, one article a day, Monday through Saturday. This is a new series. Links to previous articles in this new series are given below]

10 June 2023

Vanished and vanishing trails

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