The roads that lead to Anuradhapura

 

There can be many roads to lead to a place in an island that is located at a reasonable distance from the sea. A city as opposed to a village, as any map would show, is reached from more than one direction, especially if it is of commercial, political or historical importance and accessible to on account of a geography unimpeded by rivers or mountains. Anuradhapura, for example.

Highways have expanded the number of options for someone traveling by car from any point in Colombo. One could go to Kurunegala and from there take the Dambulla route or the Ella route, i.e. via Wariyapola. There’s also the ‘via Puttalam’ option. Some would go to Katunayake and then to Minuwangoda and bypass Kurunegala by way of cutting from Narammala to Wariyapola.

I didn’t miss any exit or make a wrong turn this time. I was traveling with my friend Muditha Hettigama and his daughter and he said he had heard of a beautiful route that went through a place called Hiripitiya. He was planning to attend a pinkama somewhere close to Isurumuniya, I was free, so we went without worrying too much about making time.

So, we took the Yaggapitiya exit, turned left and then turned right towards Hiripitiya. The plan was to get to Ehetuwewa where we had arranged to pick up an old friend, Thilak, who would take a bus from Galgamuwa to get there around our expected time of arrival.  

The Kurunegala-Wariyapola-Anuradhapura road, like the Negombo-Puttalam-Anuradhapura road and the Kurunegala-Dambulla-Anuradhapura road, takes one through amazing landscapes. Good, wide roads. This on the other hand was narrow, carpeted for the most part. The difference was that it was the first time on that road.  

There was everything that one is likely to encounter on any of the more-traveled roads to Anuradhapura. But one is always a first-time traveler each time one moves, different according to road taken, company chosen, time of day, urgency or otherwise of the journey and the weather.

The vegetation was, not unexpectedly, lush. The hills were differently shaped. Google navigator was a bit tentative. We reverted to the old ways. Asked for directions.

There were a few people waiting for a bus somewhere near Polpithigama. We needed to get to Ehetuwewa. We found we were on the right road, but the direction-giver politely requested a ride. ‘Puluwan nam…’ (‘if you can,’ but essentially ‘if you don’t mind’). We didn’t. Another person came up, assuming he was also to be given a ride. He was going only a short distance. There was enough room in the vehicle.

The first was going to Katnoruwa. He informed us that they might have had to wait a couple of hours for a bus.  So, general chit-chat following. We ask questions and we are asked questions in return.  He was going to see his sister and said that there are buses from Ehetuwewa to Katnoruwa.

All I knew was that Katnoruwa was somewhere close to Reswehera and that almost 40 years ago, helping a friend administer a survey to collect data for his undergraduate dissertation, I have listed a quaint rock temple. The chief incumbent, a very old haamuduruwo, made an observation that stayed: ‘there is no such thing as parisaraya (environment); what there is is svabhaava dharmaya (‘natural order or principles’).’ But we weren’t going to Katnoruwa.

The elderly and genial passenger we picked up was grateful when he got off at Ehetuwewa. Thilak had already arrived. He became our google map.

‘We can go through my father’s village, Hiddewa.’

‘That will take us close to Divulgane?’ I asked. He said ‘yes.’
Drawing from a couple of visits to Resvehera, I asked if we would pass Katnoruwa. Again, a ‘yes.’

This meant that we could offer an extended ride to the man we picked up in Polpithigama. ‘But,’ I said, we have to make a short stop in Divulgane.

Forty years ago, I met a young man called Yasaratne, then a teacher in Katnoruwa. He had been a schoolmate of Thilak and ‘Senevi’ who had both attended the Ehetuwewa Maha Vidyalaya and were my batchmates in Peradeniya. Yase, as we called him, was a gentle man with a wry sense of humour.

‘An old friend,’ I announced.

He didn’t recognise, so he asked, ‘Kawda?’    

He couldn’t recognise. He had lost his sight about twenty years ago and was forced into early retirement. As has become customary, I mentioned my name and those of my companions. A quick visit, it was. As customary he offered tea, lunch and a couple of jak fruit. We had to decline.

And then we proceeded. Our friend got off at Katnoruwa: ‘bohoma pin.’ Merit was thus conferred and we left.

A couple of stops for tea and once for lunch meant it took us over six hours to get to Anuradhapura from Kottawa.

Roads are defined by the landscapes that cut through. Journeys by choices made along the way. Where to stop for tea or lunch, whether directions were sought or not, people who may ask for and given a ride, nostalgia-inspired decisions to stop and say hello and the readiness to retire all clocks for all time.  

It was a slow road to Anuradhapura, highways notwithstanding. A slow road that ended at Isurumuniya and Tisa Wewa where wind-hewn archaeologies and liquid histories constituted a meditative end point. Slow enough for the world to pause its immemorial rotation and duly inscribe bits and pieces of the unforgettable. To be caressed with heart-fingers and re-read at will.