ABDF

Friday, September 19, 2008

Hi everybody!

I had an interesting little jaunt today. I went with my friend, Dilakshan, to an important kovil (Hindu temple) in the hamlet of Kokkadacholai (coca-da-CHO-lie). Kokkadacholai is famous for two things; it’s kovil and a horrendous massacre that took place in 1990. At that time the town was a stronghold of pro-LTTE sentiment, and so one day the military swept through the area and over a 10 hour period methodically went from house to house and slaughtered everyone they found. Of the residents actually in the village that day, only a few managed to run and hide.

Happily, the place is also remembered for its’ kovil, which is dedicated to Siva, only one of two in the District.

As an aside, those that remember my dispatches from tsunami times will remember my story of going there on the overburdened ferry (it’s on the interior side of the lagoon), and more recently, my Canadian friend Errol did a lot of work there at the town’s three orphanages.

This week the Siva kovil is having its festival. Final Day is Sunday, but today was the day that both Dilakshan and I had the time to go. It was the first time I had been there since the tsunami.

I had forgotten how close the place is to Batticaloa; the ferry is only a 20 minute drive away, and the town a few kilometers beyond the landing. In fact, the ferry is only a kilometer away from our Peace Village road project at Olikulam. The ferry crossing once marked the boundary between government- and LTTE-held territory.

The ferry itself is unchanged, although the government (or somebody) has started to build a proper loading platform on the ground at either end. Essentially the ferry is a large raft, with metal sheets at either end that are raised and lowered by hand. The ferry itself is about 25 feet long and maybe 15 wide; you could probably get two vans on it and nothing else. It’s propelled by two outboard motors situated at one corner. There is no awning or any kind of protection from rain or sun.

So what happens is that when the metal ramps are hoisted down, everyone makes a mad rush for the boat, while all the current passengers make a mad dash off of it. This includes everyone from pedestrians to motorcycles to big huge trucks. It’s really chaotic. Once the former passengers are “safely” off and the new ones crammed in as tight as possible, up goes the ramp, on go the outboard motors, and you take a smooth, slow, if cramped 15 minute cruise across the lagoon. Although very wide and exposed, the lagoon is inevitably calm, as it is connected to the ocean only some kilometers away. So despite the intense heat, and the sardine-like conditions, it’s actually fun.

As you approach the opposite side, everyone starts their engines. When the ramp has just barely touched the ground, everyone roars off as quick as catch-can, trying to avoid everyone rushing on. I’m surprised there aren’t more collisions.

When the interior was controlled by the LTTE, you were greeted with a line of pillboxes and other fortifications. Once they took control of the last summer, the government tore up most of these, and now there is a big wooden arch announcing the area as liberated, with last years’ date. But other than this arch, not much has changed until you get to the town of Kokkadacholai itself. The road is still narrow and pot-holed, and the rice paddies along both sides still damaged and abandoned.

To be honest, I don’t remember much about Kokkadacholai from tsunami times. At the time I was there I was seeing a lot of interior villages and they have since all melded into one impression in my mind. I can say that there are several new-looking buildings in town and several construction projects underway. Naturally these are being done by aide agencies; the government cares enough about the area to keep it out of rebel hands, but not enough to actually improve the place. They would much rather spend the money of the fighting in the north, where it has gotten quite bloody of late.

The Siva kovil is of typical architecture and modest size. I found the steep pagoda-like pyramid that towers over the inner sanctum particularly attractive; the bright colors of the statuary and their lack of wear and tear led me to believe that it had recently been restored. Other parts of the kovil are clearly still under restoration.

We arrived right at the beginning of puja, that is to say, the five-time-a-day prayer and worship service. This was the noon-time puja. I like puja, even though I only understand a little of what’s going on, and I certainly don’t understand the chanting, although I do sometimes pick up the names of the deities being addressed. I like it primarily because it is colorful, atmospheric, definitely exotic, and, in a way, must have been similar in spirit to what our earliest religions were like in the West, at least until the Christians came along.

Most people don’t know it, but all those beautiful marble Greek and Roman sculptures we see in the museums were brightly painted in a life-like way. Also such places as the Parthenon in Athens were vividly colored. The Elgin Marbles? They were painted in what we would think of as comic book colors. The religious services tended to be quite loud and energetic, with many things going on at the same time in different parts of the sanctuary. There were loud horns and beating drums and clashing symbols; there was loud chanting, fire, smoke, and lots of ritual. This is exactly what it is like during puja in a Hindu kovil, or rather, that’s what it’s like on a busy crowded day. The gods may be different, as well as the language, dress, etc., but to me there are more similarities than differences. So that’s what I mean when I say going to puja is like looking into our own distant religious past.

One thing greatly surprised me. Attending puja was a large group of about 30 STF men, in uniform. STF, or Special Task Force, is the commando/secret service of Sri Lanka. Sort of a combo FBI and SWAT. I think they fall under control of the regular military, but I’m not sure. Among most Sri Lankans, but especially to the Tamils, the STF is a terrifying organization which its harshest critics have compared to the Gestapo. Its supporters counter that the STF is vital, and performs functions outside the capabilities of the regular forces, especially in the area of terrorism. I don’t know. I do know that most people, including “the experts,” believe STF is frequently involved, directly or indirectly, with many of the abduction and torture cases in Sri Lanka. Certainly the common man dreads being picked up by the STF more than any of the other myriad of security forces.

At any rate, this group really surprised me. First, they were obviously Hindus, and since virtually no Singhalese are Hindu, it’s a safe bet that they were Tamils. It seemed impossible that these guys were East Coast Tamils. A local Tamil man or woman joining the STF is a quick way to get killed, or get your family killed. So at first I assumed that maybe they had been recruited from among the Upcountry Tamils and used as translators and such. It’s possible. Then I recalled that there have been efforts at integrating some of the TMVP militia fighters into the armed forces. Maybe these guys are “ex”-TMVP. I put “ex” in quotes because even though they are now part of the state security force, I have little doubt where their true loyalties lie, and in the future I think there will be trouble. But that bridged will be crossed – or burned – in its own good time.

Second, I was amazed that they were brave enough to go to kovil in uniform. I mean, if I were at high risk from being shot due to my job, and I was in a town that was formerly a stronghold for the enemy, I would only go out in civilian clothes. On the other hand, maybe it was an attempt to make the STF seem friendlier and part of the community: “Look! They even go to religious service with you!” I have also heard that in a few places the STF has made efforts to win the hearts of the locals by repairing roads, sponsoring festivals, etc. It seems like an odd thing for such a fearsome organization, but in terms of long-term strategy it makes sense.

So I was kind of surprised, although the other civilians mostly ignored them. Not in a blatantly hostile way, but they were firmly focused on their own worship and not on the soldiers, perhaps more so than if the soldiers had not been there; normally puja is a most social event.

I was also a little nervous. After all, we were in a very crowded public space in a town known for it’s loyalty to the LTTE, and where this loyalty has caused huge amounts of “righteous suffering,” so to speak. Such a crowded public environment is precisely the best place to lob a hand grenade or fire a pistol or explode a suicide vest; in the confusion the culprit could easily escape (unless it’s a suicide), but a lot of bystanders would get hurt. I didn’t see any weapons being carried by the STF guys, but I can’t imagine they came in unprotected. So if there had been an attack, it could have easily developed into a massacre. So I was a little edgy.

These are really the only times I get nervous. I have no qualms about being in either LTTE or government territory. I get concerned when I’m in immediate proximity of the forces of either. Back in tsunami times I once attended a meeting deep in the then-controlled LTTE interior. The meeting took place at a local school building, and was very interesting and productive, and I learned a lot. But in the very next room, which was a large auditorium, all the District LTTE bigwigs were having a pow-wow at the same time. THAT made me very nervous, what with all the armed anti-LTTE groups prowling about, and with (at that time) all sorts of “accidental” and “unintentional” ceasefire violations committed by all sides every day.

But happily there were no incidents at the Siva kovil. After puja Dilakshan and I wandered the kovil grounds a bit, looking at the various shrines and their images. There is always one in particular that appeals to the romantic/exotic in me. It’s a shrine to the planets, and is always located just to the right (facing) of the main inner sanctum. It’s a small shrine, about a yard square, and is open on all four sides with a small done atop. Inside are small statues, each dedicated to one of the planets. Carved of stone, these images are always heavily worn, so you can hardly see their features and usually dripping with ghee (clarified butter) or oil, and bound with strips of colorful brocade. There is something primal about the tableau that definitely has an ancient, exotic feel to it, probably more so than the other shrines. Perhaps it’s because the features are so hard to make out and the oil makes them a deep pitch black, it gives the idols an organic, nature-made feel, like they were dug out of the ground somewhere, already formed.

When you first enter the temple precinct, you remove your shoes then symbolically wash your feet. It’s then a stroll across sand to get to the kovil structure itself. In the daytime, especially during the summer, the sand gets scorching. Just getting to the kovil was enough to make our feet scream with pain. Half way there, Dilakshan looked at me and said, “OK. We run.” And run we did, although that didn’t make the scalding any less. The cool cement floor of the interior was a relief, but then on our way out we had to again cross the burning sands. Sigh. Obviously we made it, but towards the end I was doing a pretty good imitation of an Indian War Dance, much to the amusement of the locals.

Once back over the ferry and on our way home, we stopped in Kattankudy for lunch. We went to the Taj Hotel, the same place I took the Syngery staff for Bathsala’s birthday. After stuffing ourselves, we made our way home.

Even though the entire trip, including lunch, was about three hours, I got home tired, hot, and filthy. I took a long lukewarm shower, made a pot of tea, and decided to spend the rest of the day doing nothing.

Since I mention tea, I might as well tell you that I have become expert at making tea in the Sri Lankan way. Here’s the recipe for a regular-sized teapot:

1 heaping spoonful tea

Sugar (see below)

1 inch or so ginger root

1 stick of cinnamon

4-6 green cardamom pods

Four or five couple of heaping spoonfuls of powdered milk

OK. So you put the water on to boil. Peel and thinly slice the ginger, then mash it up a bit to get the juices out. Breakup the cinnamon. Crush the cardamom so all the pods have split and the seeds come out. Put all of this, plus the tea and sugar into the teapot.

When the water is hot, use it to reconstitute the powdered milk as per your taste or the instructions on the box, stirring very vigorously. Then pour it into the teapot, and let everything steep for a few minutes. Pour through a strainer to serve.

Sri Lankans love their tea extremely sweet, and add many heaping spoonfuls. I like it sweet, but not that sweet. So I usually put in two heaping spoonfuls. Also, I don’t care for the powdered milk, and its one more extra step and more things to clean. So I add fresh milk at the very end, just enough to make the tea a beautiful ruddy color. The flavor is a little different, but my Sri Lankan friends find it perfectly acceptable. They all use powdered because it is cheaper and doesn’t spoil.

If you follow this recipe, you’ll get a pretty good idea of what Sri Lankan tea tastes like. As a variation, for ginger tea, leave out the cinnamon, cardamom, and milk. But everything else is the same. The ginger is supposed to be good for the digestive system.

Finally, the cinnamon used here is different than what we have in the West. Back home, ours comes in rolls that are thick and tough. This is a sub-variety that comes from Latin America; it’s cheaper but more difficult to use, except for grating. The cinnamon here is the real thing, the stuff Christopher Columbus went looking for. It too is in rolls, but is paper thin and layered. It looks like a tightly rolled scroll, and each layer comes off individually. It is much easier to break, but far more fragrant. In the US it’s difficult to find and consequently more expensive, although you’ll find it readily available at Indian groceries (same too with the green cardamom). Actually, it’s better for all sorts of cooking and baking, except if you to grate it, so if you can, skip the supermarket variety and try to find the good stuff.

Well that’s all I have to report in this dispatch. You’ll hear from me again soon.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

B.

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