Under the Ground

  By

  Jack Hunt

  Copyright 2013 – Jack Hunt

  All characters and events in this publication,

  other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious

  and any resemblance to real persons,

  living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Under the ground

  We landed in Colombo around 1.30pm. Sri Lankan Airlines was on time as usual even though there had been some delay at Maldives. The new international airport was massive; airport security checks were minimal; everybody was in a relaxed mood. Nearly three years have passed since the Tamil Tigers had been beaten and wiped out of the country.

  By the way, my name is Shankar, 57 years-old and my wife’s name is Nilani, early 40s for the last five years. If I disclose her actual age I’ll be in the dog house. So …her age is for you to guess. We met while working at the Bank of Ceylon city branch in Sri Lanka, lost all our possessions during the 1977 communal riots. So when an opportunity came we left Sri Lanka for good in 1985. Now we hold Canadian passports, settled down in Toronto and managed to get jobs in a Canadian bank. Our daughter Nisha was born in Canada, got a degree in economics and wanted to travel before starting work. That’s all about our family.

  We don’t have any close relatives in Sri Lanka but even if we did we wouldn’t have stayed with them; we booked a week in advance at Mount Lavinia hotel. So it was easy, they sent a guy to pick us up from the airport. His name was Amarasekera, a young gentleman, early 30s with a hotel uniform.

  Gall Road traffic was horrendous, far more vehicles than 30 years ago. Our driver Amarasekera was used to the traffic but we were not, and we didn’t want to waste our time sitting in the car. He sensed our mood so he said, “Let us try Marine Drive.” This newly constructed road was parallel to the Galle Road all along the sea next to the railway line. The salty sea breeze was so much better than the fumes from the exhausts. After a while he took us back to Galle Road through Ramakrishna Road. On the left hand side of the Road was Ramakrishna Mission building. Good old memories -I used to go and sit at the back of the Ramakrishna hall for the ‘talks/speeches’ on Friday nights. Those days, it was cool to attend those speeches but I don’t know whether I learned anything.

  I was brought back from my past by a sudden break and a four letter unprintable word starting with “F” under his breath by Amarasekera. “Sorry, Sir,” he apologized.

  Another car cut across in front of us from the wrong side without warning. I was in the front with Amarasekera; Nilani and Nisha were at the back. After the long haul flight Nilani was tired and dozing off, Nisha was busy with her iPhone, as usual they didn’t notice anything.

  Finally, we reached the hotel around 4pm. Time for tea, not bad, only half an hour more than the usual time.

  Both of our rooms were very nice with a sea view. Nisha’s room was next to ours with an interconnecting door. She didn’t want to waste her time.

  “See you all later. I’m going to the Gym.” Nisha was gone. The youngsters, they don’t get tired, full of energy.

  Nilani was tired and she wanted to read. She had bought ‘Fifty shades of Grey’ at the airport.

  I wasn’t tired and I wanted to stretch my legs so I put on my trainers and slipped into a pair of shorts.

  It was almost 5pm, the sun hadn’t set, and there were still tourists at the beach and in the water. The hotel had put beach deck chairs and parasols in their private area. I was tempted to sit in one of those, then, I saw far away a couple of young boys sitting on the rocks with fishing rods. I like fishing, so I walked towards them; two young boys about fifteen-years-old were fishing, using only a long bamboo stick and nylon fishing line. Between them they had about five to ten fish in a net basket, which they placed in the sea water. That way the fish won’t die; it will be alive and fresh. I stayed there for a while watching them.

  I was glad I had taken this holiday with the family, away from the monotonous busy city life I was leading. More relaxed now than 24 hrs ago. I strolled back to the hotel beach and sat there waiting for the sun to set. What a relaxing peaceful atmosphere. The sun was large and orange and the sky was orange then it turned red. The sky was beautiful after the sunset.

  “Can I stay here forever?” My dream was interrupted.

  “Dad, we’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Nisha and Nilani walked from the hotel and sat down with me.

  We stayed at Mount Lavania hotel for three more days, visited a few places in Colombo and took the night coach; it was very comfortable and we reached Point- Pedro by early morning. That was my home town where I had studied, spent my time playing football and cricket.

  I wanted to see my old house and visit places. For those who don’t know anything about Hindu temples, imagine a temple in the middle of four football pitches. During festival time, devotees would carry the statue clockwise around the temple through this open space. Our old house was at the back of the temple.

  These were my old memories and I haven’t been to this house since I was five years old. So I wanted to see my old house, the temple, stray dogs, goats and cows. Those goats and cows would roam around during daytime and feed themselves from the fences – those days fences were made of live trees not bricks. Sometimes the goats managed to squeeze through the gaps in the fences and eat the vegetables.

  I can remember once, my grandad setting our dog on a couple goats. Poor goats, when they were chased by the dog they couldn’t find the way out, and in a panic they would try to climb over the fence with the dog on their heels. The dog bit one goat and managed to pull it down as it tried to climb the fence. Blood all over the goats’ legs and backs and one goat was limping. I can’t remember clearly, I think one of my aunt was worried the dog was going to kill the goat and the consequences after that. It was someone’s goat, and although they have trespassed, we don’t have a right to kill them. Also, we didn’t know whose goat it was. They might have belonged to one of the rough neighbours. He might come and kill our dog and us. It used to happen in that part of the area in those days. So my aunt shouted at the dog and at the grandad. The dog stopped chasing the goats and came back with its tail between its legs with a confused look. What had he done wrong? Grandad did not say anything, patted the dog and said “good boy “. The dog was happy. At least someone appreciated his efforts and he settled down next to grandad’s chair.

  The winding narrow lanes were normally fenced by local trees. This particular lane beside my old house was nearly three hundred meters long, only one car can go along it at a time and it’s a cul-de sac. I don’t know how they managed to turn the car around in those days, maybe they reversed all the way back. I described all this to my family many times and was excited to show them.

  My wife, Nilani, is from Colombo and she could understand what I was talking about because she would have seen similar places in Colombo’s suburbs. But my daughter Nisha was born in Canada, where we live now. She is only twenty-one years old and hasn’t got a clue what I am talking about.

  So I thought it was my duty to show them the real places.

  Nilani and Nisha – both were worried and reluctant to come to Sri Lanka, especially to the North, because during the conflict and even afterwards a lot of stories were flying around. Foreigners were kidnapped for ransom; foreign girls were kidnapped and raped, all sort of things. I checked through my friends and the Canadian Embassy, all seemed to be normal.

  So here we were, in Point-Pedro. Our agent had already booked a bed and breakfast while we were in Colombo. Because of the demand all the B&Bs were fully booked. Everybody has invested in bed and breakfast business and some have even converted their houses into a B&B. Ours was a family run place.

  A young family, husband Rajeswaran, wife Rajitha, and their little 4-year-old girl Romona. The young couple were very friendly and introduced themselves. They come from the UK. They couldn’t get a visa to stay permanently, so they took the offer, free flight back to Sri Lanka and money to start over. They invested part of their savings in the B&B and were now thinking of buying another large property closer to the beach and converting that into a B&B.

  Rajeswaran was keen on taking us to the new property. Showing his cash-flow forecast and business plan and his calculations, how much it would cost and how much income it would generate. - I sensed that he is looking for a silent partner / investor. I was interested because the old house was next to the lighthouse-the place we used to go swimming if you cross the road beach and then go towards the sea. An ideal spot for foreigners and for Sri Lankans from abroad who want a relaxing time.

  By the time we had finished our shower, the breakfast was ready. Even after twenty-odd years a few things hadn’t changed. We could hear the temple bell ringing in the distance, the noise of barking dogs, the chit-chat of the ladies carrying stuff on their heads to the early morning market. Fewer cars now and more Tuk-Tuks – a kind of rickshaw they call Tuk-Tuk in Asian countries – maybe the name comes from the noise of the engine. And loads and loads of bicycles – boys, girls, young and old; everybody was on their bikes.

  A young boy in his early 20’s delivered the early morning newspapers. He handed them in at the reception and tried to talk to the boy at the desk, the way he talked in a hush-hush voice and at the same time glancing at us. I know he was trying to find something out about us. I went back to my morning newspaper, Nilani was busy with her ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ and Nisha was glued to her iPhone as usual.

  “Excuse me sir.” I looked u p; there he was standing a few feet away.

  He looked very tall, maybe because I was sitting. A clean-shaven handsome young man, well dressed –denim jeans and short sleeved white shirt. Clean white trainers with a red Nike logo on the side and a big bite mark on the left hand side of the trainer.

  He answered as if he was reading my mind. “It‘s the handy work of my Bruno, my 6 month-old German Sheppard. It’s a new pair and I don’t want to throw them out.”

  “By the way Sir, my name is Aidan. If you need a guide, I can take you and show you many places.”

  “Thank you, Aidan, but we are taking it easy. Also, I am from this area and I know most of the places. We are thinking of hiring bicycles so as to see the places ourselves.”

  “Sir, lot of things have changed during and after the war with the rebels, some roads have been blocked, new roads been created. If you want I can come on a bike.”

  I got slightly annoyed; this guy is trying to make some money. I know the places and I’m from this area. One thing that puzzled me was his command of English – very fluent, natural and effortless.

  The reception boy came closer to Aiden and said something in his ear. “................ bunch of coconuts, don’t waste your time” in Tamil.

  “Dad, these guys think we’re coconuts.” Nisha was furious. Although she was born in Canada and studied there she can understand Tamil.

  The boys were in shock, they never expected Nisha to understand Tamil.

  “Dad, do you know the meaning of coconut? They think we are brown people with English attitude in other words we are a bunch of coconuts, brown outside white inside.” Nisha was firing on all cylinders.

  “We are really sorry, please excuse us” Aiden was apologetic and embarrassed.

  “It’s alright, don’t worry. Please leave your mobile number with the reception boy, if we need, we’ll call you.”

  “Thank you sir.” Aiden went away.

  “Dad, Dad! Look here,” Nisha shouted. A big black moth flew in and settled down on the ceiling, while we were watching; it changed into gray and then white as the ceiling colour. Amazing how these creatures change their colour to match the environment.

  After breakfast, the young lad at the B&B took us to the local bicycle hire shop. We could have hired a car but we preferred bicycles so that we could go wherever we wanted. I asked the guy at the hire place about the area, specially any no-go areas. The guy said everything was back to normal and no need to worry.

  I was from the area, went to school, played football and cricket in the local open play ground after school. But according to the boy at the bicycle shop, now the whole landscape had changed. During the conflict the army demolished the houses around their camp and built more accommodation for them.

  First, I wanted to show my old house to my family, but the sun was shining and the day was very hot, so we changed our plans.

  First, check out Rajeswaran’s proposal. The new property on the beach side, who knows, it could be a good investment.

  After that just cross the road, beach and find a beautiful spot for swimming. The sea won’t be rough; we’ll find protected areas for swimming by coral reefs.

  Finally, my old house and the camp.

  Rajeswaran’s proposal was not bad, an old house with eight large rooms and plenty of space for extension, a very large back yard mainly with matured coconut trees. We walked up to the end of the garden where there was a fence, behind that fence there was another large plot of land with coconut trees and a few mango trees.

  “That land is also for sale. We could buy and expand it if we wanted,” Rajeswaran said. “We have the advantage of the beach and a safe swimming spot,” he continued.

  “Yes, this place seems interesting, Rajeswaran, but no promises. I’ll have to check my finances and discuss the whole project with my family,” I told him.

  “No pressure, Shankar, take your own time.” Rajeswaran was happy and he knew that I liked the place.

  We came out of the old house, crossed the road, there in front of us, the beautiful beach – white sand and clean blue sea and a natural swimming area created by the coral reefs.

  We were prepared, had towels and swimming costumes. The water was warm and clean. You can see the bottom of the seabed and if you stand still fish will swim between your legs. Nisha couldn’t believe her eyes; this was her first swim in the open sea. We spent more than an hour and Nisha didn’t want to come out of the sea.

  “Dad look, another moth.” This time it was circling around for a few seconds and settled down on the trunk of a coconut tree and slowly changed its colour to brownish to match the trunk. I had never seen this type of moth before in Sri Lanka, but evolution and humans introduced all kind of new species.

  While I was in the water I had the uneasy feeling of being watched. There were coconut trees and fishing boats left on the beach by the fishermen. Fishermen normally bring their boats to the beach for repair. Is there anybody hiding behind those boats? I didn’t want to scare Nisha, so quietly I asked Nilani about my doubt. “Yes, I have the same feeling of being watched. I thought I was imagining it and being paranoid.”

  We didn’t say anything to Nisha. It was almost 2pm by the time we were on our bikes again, this time to the lighthouse. If you check any Sri Lankan map, Point- Pedro is marked. The lighthouse was on the top right hand corner of the island. We spent a few minutes at the lighthouse area, there’s nothing else to see apart from fishermen sleeping under the trees or repairing their boats. So we turned back. There is a road that goes along next to the beach. We cycled back along the beach and came to the old jetty; there were a few boats moored. I used to come here for fishing.

  It was nearly four o’clock by the time we reached my old house. Everything was there as expected, old narrow gravel lane, fence made out of natural live trees, a few stray dogs and goats. That part of the town hadn’t changed at all, especially that lane. It looked the same as it did 30 years ago.

  I was transported back in time. Nilani and Nisha couldn’t believe that everything was there as I explained, after all these years. We reached the old house. A portion of the old house was there, but the whole area had been changed.

  The area had been converted into a big army camp during the troubles, now taken over by a private company. All the houses around that place are gone, replaced by 3 to 4 storey buildings. Hundreds and hundreds of them scattered over a large area. Built more villas, shops and bars around the camp for tourists and made it a small self-contained village. Every night till morning, they have live music and entertainment for tourists – a carnival like atmosphere.

  As we approached the new main building two guards came from nowhere and stopped us. “This is a private area, you’re not allowed in.” German accent.

  I explained that I had come to see my old house after 30 years and then introduced my wife and daughter.

  The guards escorted us to their commander.

  The man in charge of the camp was Bernard Koch; well built, six-foot plus tall, very short hair, ex-KSK commander. Served in Bosnia as a part of the peace-keeping force, lost an eye during that time and now wears an eye patch as a memento. Always carries a ‘heckler ‘in his holster. He was head-hunted to run this camp, an offer he couldn’t refuse. So he took early retirement on medical grounds and is running this camp. The pay is good; weather is good, what else you need? All the guards are from Germany, except a few, mostly from KSK, German Special Forces, and armed with Russian made AK-47s.

  The camp commander Bernard was very friendly, introduced himself and invited us to the night party.

  “You can’t afford to miss this night party, you will regret it if you miss it,” Mr.Koch said.

  We thanked him for his invitation and cycled around the village for a while and went back to the B&B.

  We were so tired and wanted to have a nap - the swim in the sea and the trip in the hot sun was a little too much. Nisha went into her room with her iPhone as usual. We slept for a while.

  When we woke up it was nearly 6 o’clock but still the air was warm and the sun hadn’t set yet. While we were having our tea in the lounge, Aiden was there again. He talked to the boy at the reception and came to us with the worried look.

  “How was your trip to the camp?” he asked.

 

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