Aadaraneeya Janaki

 

There's an old poem, one prescribed in the AL English Literature syllabus many, many decades ago, that came to mind a few days ago. It is one of the Lucy Poems by William Wordsworth and begins with ‘She dwelt among the untrodden ways.’ It’s the last two lines that I remembered:

‘…but she is in her grave, and oh,
the difference to me.’

To ‘us’, not ‘to me,’ is how I amended it. I was at the funeral of my batchmate from Peradeniya, Janaki Jayawardena, who was a history scholar at the University of Colombo. Janaki died in a tragic accident last Friday.

And I remembered something that Prof Ashley Halpe said in a kind of induction speech on our first day at Dumbara Campus, University of Peradeniya, as freshers of the Arts Faculty. Prof Halpe remarked that out of 100 children who enrolled in Grade 1, only one would make it to campus. He added that this is not because the other 99 are of lesser intellect, but that they are inhibited by flawed structures. And he recommended, ‘those who do get it, therefore, ought to do something about changing this ratio.’  

Later, it occurred to me that if 100 students took his words to heart, only one would remember them by the time of graduation, and if 100 committed themselves to follow his advice at the point of graduation, only one would do it throughout their lives. I don’t know if Janaki took those words seriously, but if there was one person in our batch who dedicated his or her life to correcting not just those flaws in our overall education system but sought to right all wrongs perceived, it was Janaki.

She walked, so to speak, ‘the untrodden ways,’ that Prof Halpe spoke about. Janaki was all about ‘us,’ the collective. Her ideological convictions and political choices did not always coincide with me and there were times when we were absolutely at odds with one another, although we never got into big arguments, mainly because we lived, worked, and expressed ourselves in different spheres of operation. Nevertheless there was never any doubt in my mind about Janaki’s commitment to her political beliefs. She put her heart and soul into whatever cause she embraced without ever thinking of possible costs and with personal benefits never once crossing her mind. In short, there are 'ways' she trod that I am unaware of, but there were not necessarily untrodden pathways. Others walked with her or perhaps because of her. She held their hands, she picked them up when they faltered.

Janaki was clearly among the brightest students in our batch. She secured a first class in history and went on to complete her doctorate after joining the academic staff of Colombo University. Her academic colleagues and of course her students would know about her work, I do not. They were there and may have known her not only as colleague and teacher but as a friend and an exceptional human being. They paid their final respects. They wept.

There were stories told at her funeral about her generosity, selflessness, courage, passion and resilience. And her sense of humour. Those even remotely associated with the activism of the Federation of University Teachers’ Associations (FUTA) knew and loved Janaki. Her love, generosity and championing of community was not limited to activism, though. Such acts of love and compassion are known by those who received them and perhaps a few who were close enough to notice, but Janaki never advertised herself. In fact someone remarked that she was never interested in raising her profile in any way, especially not in social media. People struggled to find photographs of Janaki to post along with appreciation. She simply went about doing whatever she thought was right and didn’t care whether or not the world appreciated it. She gave, and she gave and she gave, without a second thought.

And my thoughts went back to those tender times at Dumbara and later Peradeniya when Janaki was one of the few who was opposed to the strong-arm tactics of the JVP-led Student Action Committee and the Inter-University Student Federation. She was less vocal then, but certainly made her objections clear. And through it all, she was a friend to everyone, even those who did not agree with her. She was a leader who was never interested in being one or being seen as one. She was, nevertheless, a great source of strength to those she would consider ‘comrade.’ As she was to her family; she took up a teaching job to support her parents and sisters and still managed to secure a First Class in History. Her family became much larger over the years. It was extended beyond husband, son, daughter and sisters to include fellow teachers and students, those whose struggles she identified with and those whose lives she did everything to uplift. They all grieved.

The word or the sentiment most expressed during the last few days is ‘aadaraneeya.’ Aadaraneeya Janaki. I struggled to find an English equivalent that captures her tenderness and the unadulterated affection she showed at all times. I failed. Gamini Thilakaratne, another batchmate, who was almost a neighbour later on in life, may have said it best. 

‘Janaki, who I met at Dumbara so many years ago and later became my neighbour, that headstrong character, was a mother not only to me but my family as well. The days to come without her…’

And there he stopped. And that’s where I must stop too.

[This article was published in the Daily News under the weekly column title 'The Recurrent Thursday']