Travel Story - Trincomalee

I will begin the story of my adventures with a certain morning early in the month of June, in the year of grace 2003, when I first returned to my hometown Trincomalee. I was born and lived there till I was 13. And now many many years had passed and I wondered whether it would be the same place I left. You know what they say about returning to places that you left when you were a child. That enormous lake that you used to fish in is now only a small muddy pond filled with dirt and other similar stories. As the bus neared the town, I wondered about the foolishness of trying to recapture past glories of childhood. The concept of “you can never go home again” hung heavily on me. But I was wrong, Trincomalee is almost exactly the place I left when I was 13. 

I have traveled to some strange places on the island. Trincomalee is one of them. I feel something about Trincomalee every time I go there, but I can't describe exactly what.  It has the world's best natural harbor, and a wonderful cliff, perhaps the highest on the island for a coastal region, and in it is a Hindu temple said to be one of the oldest and most important temples since ancient times. This cliff juts into the sea with two different beaches on both sides, and the sea dashes on the rocks below. It is a place where dreams are formed. From here, the Trincomalee town is quite close, but you get the feeling that the town is actually quite small compared to the impression it makes. The beach and the mountain were incredible, just as I had remembered them all those years ago. 

I have always been fascinated by what lies far north of this remote town, so I decided to take the bus and find out. The strong smell of spices mixed with kerosene wafted through the oppressive humid heat. The town of Trincomalee, which borders the sea, is many miles from my destination, a village in the east. So there was a sigh of relief as the dust-covered bus finally pulled out of the depot in the middle of the crowded marketplace. It sped past the deserted playground, fast turning into a scrub jungle, and past the last stop railway station. As it labored up a slight inclination, a black stone catholic church comes into view. And then, the landscape changes suddenly without warning. There are few significant buildings beyond this point, mostly shrubby jungle interspersed with large trees and bare open land. From time to time, you would catch an odd glimpse of the sea. The road is full of potholes. The trees that accompany the road are large and wild and many hundreds of years old. We drive past many Banyan Trees with their eerie aerial roots hanging from spreading branches.

 

The bus stops abruptly at a dull structure that looks like a cement box, this is the bus stop, and I am the only one to get down. As far as the eye can see, all around me is what looks like sea sand, though the sea is almost two miles to the east. It could be mistaken for a desert had it not been for the low-lying areas in it that were filled with water. The population density here must be low; that part is clear, for there is not a soul in sight, not even a villager. Spiky trees that looked like a small model of a coconut tree with spikes at the tip of the leaves and other thorny trees make this landscape an incredible experience. Not a soul, not even a damn villager in sight, and for a moment, I felt like running after the bus. But I gathered enough courage to walk along the meandering road that would lead me to this village in the east. I had been walking for nearly 2 miles when the sandpit desert turned into a shrubby bush jungle and eventually to tall trees. More signs of life now, the mud huts and children playing with discarded tires. Finally, I met one of the villagers. It was a mud hut; just one small room with a roof of dried thatched coconut leaf is all there is. The floor too was made of mud, it was very cool inside, and though dark, it had a good earthy smell. The husband was a fisherman who mostly didn't fish but drank, a very pleasant man who would have become a stockbroker in a different world. The woman, too, was generous (but, if provoked, would scold so loud that it could be heard a mile away), and the food and the tea from the pitch-black kettle were tasty. The landlord had allowed them to stay without rent to look after the chilies and onion plantation.

 

Being just 5 degrees north of the equator, this is a very sunny country, and this eastern part of the island is known to have the highest temperature. But the term dry zone is not very accurate, for when the northeast monsoon blows in, the landscape transforms unexpectedly, with luscious green vegetation sprouting up as far as the eyes can behold. We finally arrived at the onion land where many women were harvesting, row upon row of green stalks. I strolled to the edge of the barbed wire fence where a large Tamarind tree grew. And on the opposite side was another large land with another barbed wire fence, beyond that another, and it goes on and on like this forever until you meet the very edge of the sea. Around here, the biggest threat was a wandering stray cow eating the plants, so a barbed wire was all that was needed. The view was unrestricted, presenting an incredible sight. Trees and shrubs, bare open land, noisy insects, the smell of sand, a yellow flowering shrub that had a strong heady aroma, birds of the brightest hues, a sun so bright that it burnt the skin, what would Vincent van Gogh have painted if he was born here. I felt a great energy come over me, and I took out the oil pastels and started to draw the village and this picture I am giving below.

 

But what in God's name lies north of this remotest of places, is there a road? Actually, there is a place called Kumburupiddi, and north of there Kuchchaveli, Thiriyai, and Pulmoddai. But does this coastal road take you to Mullaitivu? Nobody seems to know, but if you look at the map there seems to be a large area, like a lagoon, where the sea has come in called Kokkilai sanctuary, and so you can't go to Mullaitivu directly from here I think, though it is quite close to it. So what are these towns, villages, or whatever so many miles north of nowhere? Well, it so happens that these places are of great historical importance. For example, Thiriyai, a small village of 650 people, is an ancient Tamil village with an old seaport that is more than 2600 years old. An ancient tribe of Naga people seemed to have populated this place. The first Buddhist Stupa in Sri Lanka, The Girihandu Seya, is located in Thiriyai. It is highly venerated, as it is believed to contain the hair relics of the Buddha.

 

Unfortunately, I had to leave this village and its beach and go back south to Trincomalee town. Rather than taking the only bus that would arrive, I decided to take a shortcut. My theory was simple. This fishing village was situated on the east coast, and so was the Trincomalee beach several miles to the south, so a continuous beach must connect it. When I asked one of the villagers, he thought I was crazy. There were jungles and mountains, not to mention snakes. It seemed to be a place where nobody dared to go, but I felt I could. After walking south, I found that I was cut off by a large hill jutting into the sea, and rather than walking into the thick jungle to the right, I decided to climb it. It had boulders and reddish sand. I hadn't seen a single person for more than an hour, so I wondered whether it would be better to turn around. The climb got my heart pumping, but on the other side was a magnificent beach with a sea that had an unusual blue. I kept walking for hours, hoping to find someone, but I was the only person on this beach, except for an eagle who was busy fishing; there was no sign of life here. To the right of me was a thick jungle, and it worried me.

 

It seemed that there was no way out of here before nightfall, and the last thing I wanted was to stay here at night. Then, out of nowhere, the sky darkened; big warm raindrops started falling with such force that it felt like I was being pelted with stones, then just as swiftly as it came, the rain disappeared, and the sun shone brighter than ever, and I discovered one of the advantages of living in Trincomalee. The sun shines so brightly and burns the skin with such intensity, and the violent rain together with the brightness of the trees and the sky and the thundering sea act as shock therapy and makes even the most dismal mind happy again. It seemed the sun shone a little brighter in Trincomalee, and when it rained, it rained harder too. Then, after a few hours, I came across another hill, and after crossing it, I looked up, and there on a mountain was the ancient temple I knew so well, and that day stands in my memory as one of the best I've ever had.