Arugam Bay

Destination to Arugam Bay

My tea cup is the bottom cut from a blue plastic bottle and I am sitting on a rock with Sinhala Soldiers near  Arugam Bay. The soldier stopped our car and one tired to tell us why we couldn’t go further but we couldn’t understand English.

“Say it in Sinhala, I told him, “It will be easier for us”

He and his friends were excited to here there language coming from people they thought were foreigners and asked if we would like to have tea with them. They made it sound important so we said we would.

There are seven soldiers camped under a tree that provides some shade for the rocks we are sitting on. They can see for miles in every direction, which means that the LTTE can see them as easily. Under our feet is sand and vegetation is an occasional tree and many browning shrubs – it is the dry season and very hot out here. I don’t know how these men can stand to be in uniform and wear boots but they only laugh when I asked them.

While waiting their small pan of water to boil they turn around often, their eyes searching for any distant movement that might  mean the enemy is near. At least two carry rifles in their hands at all times, but the others sometimes leave their guns propped against the tree. On the way here, we have passed empty buildings peppered with bullet holes. We have gone through other check points and have given two soldiers a ride to their destination for there are no buses. They just got into the back of our car and sat there smiling.

We went down a path yesterday because we saw fresh elephant dung and came upon a hidden military camp beside a huge tank. On all other sides, the jungle was thick and it was all too clear that the guerillas could creep up unseen. Here too, the welcome had been warm, but the military personnel there were better educated than the boys we are now sitting with.

That officer-in-charge said, “Your binoculars are useless for these distances, try mine.”

His were superb and I could see the elephants on the opposite shore standing in grass too high fours to see their babies. There were thirteen adult elephants and they looked like gray rocks until they raised their heads. The animals had passed through the camp the evening before, which the officer said was good because as long as they were around. The LTTE wouldn’t brother the camp. Gunshots would upset the usually benign animals and an angry herd wouldn’t be interested in political argument, as the guerillas well knew, they’d kill anyone on their path. Now that this part of the country had been ravaged by war, the people had moved away so the elephants had moved back. When people were around the animals had to be driven away and were often killed because they did such damage to crop. I told him that I had never seen a heard of wild elephants out of Yala Game Sanctuary before, “But now I’ve seen two heard in two hours”

He made us tell him the exact location of the other heard so he could go there himself.

“Come again” he said before he left.

The water boils as a car approaches and two soldiers with rifles hurry to the road to intercept it. They have a word with driver and it turns slowly around to return where it come from. I see the men inside staring at us. They are wondering, no doubt, what a middle-aged light-skinned couple could be doing hanging out with the troops in this remote place. One soldier returns and there is much laughter. He has told the people in the car I am his Aunties.

The tea is served but there is no milk and sugar, our new friend tell us sadly. They are amused when they hear that’s how I often prefer it. I have nearly finished mine when I realize the seven men have only four blue cups between them so only two are drinking with us now. I had my half-drunk tea to one of other’s saying , “ I’ve had enough!”  and he drains it. My friend goes to the car and bring back all the biscuits, sandwiches and fruit we’ve packed for lunch and adds them to soldiers’ very small stash of supplies, telling them we can easily eat at a rest house. They handle the food with reverence, wrap it in a clean cotton rag and hang it from a branch to protect it from ants.

Then I say we must leave.

“why don’t you write about us?” Nihal the youngest asks me because my friend had told him I am writing a book.

“ Tell me a story and I will write it,” I promise.

He talks with his friends and their happy smiles disappear. He tells me, “ It is better not to tell our stories. We have many but they are dangerous to tell.”

He repeats my words to others and they begin to laugh. I suspect they are not convinced there will ever be an after the war.