Yes, this monstrous law will be "abolished". This on-the-record pledge was given to a large, representative delegation of the Editors Guild by Mr. Ranil Wickremasinghe, the U.N.P. and Opposition Leader.

Yes, this on-the-record pledge was explicit, and the party standpoint explained in response to questions. Some "reservations" were also spelt out. But many an editor still remains cautious, knowing as he does the history of the two major parties... true freedom-fighters in opposition and "social-moral" responsibility-wallahs in office.

The opposition leader thought the American law was a good model. Pressed further (whatelse can a poor pressman do?) The U.N.P. chief recommended a closer study of the American laws.

But on Criminal Defamation, he stood firmly with the Editors Guide and the Editors would like a state funeral for the Press Council, sooner the better. So why doesn't the Guild call on Prof. G. L. Pieris, who is not only former Vice-Chancellor of the Colombo University, but a recognised authority on some areas of law and constitution, a natural successor as Vice-Chancellor.

The Editors would like to see a "state funeral" for Mr. C. Defamation and, a final curtain for the Sri Lanka Press Council. A sensible substitute could be a "Voluntary Media Council". The U.N.P. would give high priority to a Freedom of Information Act. What of "state secrets?" Secrets"!? A much clearer definition is needed. But he's not ready to let the Editors enjoy the freedom of... of... what was it?

Oh yes, the W. A., the Wild Ass. The UNP also supports a Statutory Press Complaints Commission. Sri Lankan Editors would have to answer summons.

The trouble is that these issues, fundamental and complex, have never been discussed in depth by the major parties or the Editors and professional bodies. The Wild Ass merits more serious attention.

Moment of crisis
The opposition leader believes that the current crisis has much wider dimensions. The future of democracy and the multi-party system is uncertain. His answer... to convene a "Consultation" on free and fair elections and (2) on the depoliticisation of key institutions. E.g. an Independent Elections Commission (2) an Independent Police Service Commission and an Independent Public Service Commission.

The "consultation" will be an on-going process. A committee will be appointed to facilitate the process. It will report back to the plenary which will be reconvened by the end of November.

Asian Tigers
There was a time when most Sri Lankans, certainly the upper and upper-middle classes envied the South-east Asian countries - Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia etc. and many were dazzled by the bright lights of Bangkok, Kuala Lumpur, Djakarta etc.

What went wrong? Sri Lanka's foremost economist and former UNCTAD Secretary Gamani Corea says the popular explanation offered by the newspaper pundits (newspaper tigers?) Is "not convincing."

If anything was wrong, it was the fact that the nations exposed themselves to footloose speculative movements of capital and to short-term capital flows, with no regulations or control mechanisms set up in advance. This was partly because of the prevailing philosophy of openness to all kinds of financial flows..."

There you are.... Quite simple, really.

Continued from yesterday

As it became clear that a new round of inter-party talks, with some chance of greater success, was about to be launched, groups of women who had been active in a variety of organisations decided to take positive action. Two related aims motivated their initiatives; firstly, to ensure that women were not pushed to the sidelines and secondly, by involving people with experience of working in many different contexts and first-hand knowledge of exclusion and its effects, to increase the chances of success of the new peace process. A series of conferences was convened, in which women from every sector in Northern Ireland attempted to find ways in which women could articulate their aspirations, needs and ideas without having to sacrifice their concerns as members of one or other community in order to speak as women. The conferences also tried to find ways in which these ideas could be pressed upon policy-makers and to devise institutions which would allow for women (and other groups) to press their concerns in the future.

At this point, the "window of opportunity" for women’s involvement was opened. Early in 1996, the British Conservative government, under pressure from the Ulster Unionist party, announced that participation in the multi-party peace talks would be decided through elections to a Northern Ireland Forum. This decision was very unwelcome to the majority of nationalists; however, one of the women’s networks (the NI Women’s European Platform) produced a paper on "genderproofing" the elections and the talks.

This was received positively by the relevant officials and an electoral system was devised which seemed likely to ensure representation of some of the smaller political parties at the talks. While the government’s primary purpose was to ensure that the parties linked to loyalist paramilitaries would be there, the system offered hope to groups concerned with ‘other’ interests — labour, environment and women. At a hastily convened meeting of community activists, trades unionists and individuals, on April 17th 1996, it was decided to form a women’s party to contest the elections: the NI Women’s Coalition was born. Agreeing to put a party name on a ballot-paper, of course, is a long way from creating a party or building support. Could the NIWC avoid the pitfalls that had trapped earlier attempts to create a unified women’s movement and attract support from all sectors of women? There was certainly a great deal of scepticism, criticism and even hostility from many women as well as men. The question of the political relevance of such a party to the ‘big’ political questions was soon raised, as was that of competing for votes with other identities.

However, the experiences of women working together at community level proved significant enough to overcome the doubts of sufficient numbers of people. A strong list of candidates emerged and an electoral platform which could fuse ideas about women’s representation with ideas about political dialogue was drawn up. After a campaign which managed to combine humour and drama with serious political commentary — the key slogan was "Say goodbye to the dinosaurs!" — the NIWC became one of 10 parties elected to the forum and permitted to send two delegates to the multi-party talks. (6) Unfortunately, as the NIWC arrived, one of the key nationalist parties was excluded: because of the ending of the IRA ceasefire in February 1996, Sinn Fein was not permitted to join the peace-talks. For a year after the elections, little progress was made on political dialogue within the talks. However, the NIWC was able to play a part in creating structures and frameworks for proceeding to an agreement and to build its own support and policy-making structures. When the IRA ceasefire was resumed and Sinn Fein re-entered the talks, the NIWC delegates and their back-up team, had already found a distinctive voice in which to deliver some clear messages.

Promoting dialogue, promoting inclusion
The NIWC was one of only three parties elected to the Talks and the Forum which could claim to have 'cross-community' membership and support. The Alliance party, formed in the 1970s, aimed to find common ground among catholics and protestants and to find structures which would ensure the protection of minority rights within whatever kind of state might exist in Northern Ireland. The other was the Labour Coalition, a party which was also formed shortly before the elections in an attempt to ensure that class issues and social inequalities would not be neglected in the Talks. Like the women's movement, the labour movement in Northern Ireland has suffered division and disarray as its potential members found it difficult to give priority to their interests as workers over their identities as unionists or nationalists. The NIWC had something in common with both these parties, but differed from them, not only in its attentiveness to gender inequalities, but also in the insights it brought and the approach it took to the problem of creating solidarity across difference.

These insights came from the experiences of women (and men)in community-based groups building alliances and working for common purposes despite deep and sincerely-held political national or religious differences. They also came from some of the reflections of feminist writers from South Africa, Sri Lanka, Russia and the Middle East, as well as Europe and the USA on the 'ethnocentrism' and even racism which had been built into second-wave feminism. So, the NIWC had learned that common purposes must come out of respect for and acceptance of differences, rather than from expecting people to be prepared to transcend or disavow community identities. From its inception, the NIWC has tried to adopt an approach of principled dialogue and accommodation, both within the party and in its relationships with other parties and political actors.

Within the party, this has involved a series of meetings and discussions where all points of view are genuinely listened to with respect and where agreement on policies and principles is arrived at through attempts to understand opposing positions. Certain core values and principles were arrived at forming a framework within which discussion could take place. Agreements were reached step-by-step, with difficult issues given longer time in order to keep the process going. There was a commitment to respect of human rights and civil liberties, to aiming for social equality and to justice. Running through all these values and practices was a common theme of regard for a process which allowed all voices to be heard and for all to be facilitated to speak.

Translated into the hard realities of Northern Irish politics, this meant that the NIWC consistently - and often solely-called for the inclusion of all parties in the Talks process, without preconditions. This meant calling for the admittance of Sinn FEin before an IRA ceasefire and arguing against the expulsion of Loyalist parties when their paramilitary ceasefires were breached. It also meant continually calling for an end to paramilitary violence and demanding that the parties linked to paramilitary groups demonstrate their willingness to achieve an end to violence. To many unionists, the NIWC appeared to be Supporting a republican agenda, to be part of the 'pan-nationalist alliance' which they feared was winning a lot of ground. To republicans the NIWC often seemed to be calling for 'surrender' and to be working for a restoration of devolved government which would be compatible with unionist aims. Again, on the issue of reform of the police force, or the release of paramilitary prisoners the NIWC had to find workable policies that would encourage accommodation and keep the process going.

As the multi-party talks continued, through continual crises and deadlocks, the NIWC negotiators faced many occasions on which their policies were misunderstood or misrepresented. Any group or party which came into the public arena throughout the history of Northern Ireland, but especially over the years since 1968/9, has had to face the challenge: where do you stand on the question of Northern Ireland's statehood? Are you for the union with Britain or for a united Ireland. Thanks to its own unique methods of reaching accommodation and also thanks to the framework of this new peace process, the NIWC was able to offer a new kind of answer to this question. In effect, their argument was this is in many ways an out-of-date question in the late twentieth century when sovereignty and statehood are being transformed and renegotiated. It might now be possible to create new types of institutions and relationships which would reflect and honour both nationalist and unionist identities and traditions, but also allow other aspirations and allegiances to emerge.

The format of the talks, in many ways, proved very compatible with the NIWC methodology. One of the key principles was that 'nothing is agreed until everything is agreed', which meant that no party could hope to secure agreement on issues of importance to itself without contributing to compromise on other issues. Parties in the talks had to remind themselves continually of the importance of the process as a whole and to weigh their 'bottom-line' issues against the possibility of undoing the achievements that had already been reached, however insufficient or tenuous they may have appeared at any time.

The Women's Coalition worked to keep this momentum going by offering to talk and listen to all the parties in the process, as well as to some who had left or were excluded and to act as a conduit between parties which were not yet ready to meet face-to-face. Being prepared to negotiate with or on behalf of any party willing to enter dialogue, and being open-minded about possible outcomes, meant that they could on occasions assist in the building of trust and facilitate exchanges of positions between parties. Not all parties were willing to accept the NIWC as mediators, but some oN occasions found their interventions helpful.

Did the NIWC make a difference?

In many conflicts, perhaps especially in ethnic or national conflicts, there are participants who believe they have more to gain by continuing the war than by looking for peace. In the long term or in a global sense we are all better off with peace and stability, but in the short term some groups or communities can advance their interests through violence and conflict. There will also be some parties or leaders whose continued existence, status and power derives from the conflict and who will work very hard to prevent a settlement.

This has been true over the years of parties to the Northern Ireland conflict. War and violence in most cultures and societies are thought of as inherently 'masculine' activities; for the most part, we think of women as more likely to prefer peace. While recent studies, and social changes, have led us to question such generalisations, there is still a tendency to assume that women-with their closer connections to nurturing and protecting children and families - will be peacemakers rather than warmongers. But, when we look at policy-making institutions we find very few women entrusted with the task of settling the so-called 'big' questions.

Closer study of any conflict situation shows that the roles women are required to play are usually more complex and often contradictory, while the actual women in any real situation may themselves have mixed feelings about what they want and how they can achieve their objectives. Often, women will prefer to identify as part of 'the struggle' rather than as part of the neutral camp. (7) In Northern Ireland, women have been expected, depending on their circumstances, to be peacemakers, to be above the conflict, to be loyal supporters of one or other side, occasionally to be combatants or, more usually, to be the mainstay of private and family life in the midst of turmoil. Women have been more often seen as the victims of the conflict, which they are often assumed to have no responsibility for perpetuating. One of the justifications for promoting women's entry into politics in this, as in many other situations, has been that women will be both more realistic and more conciliatory. In general, however, or many of the men in powerful positions, if women are thought of as not part of the war, it is assumed that they can not be part of making the peace.

Women themselves are of course the occupiers of many different positions and perspectives: neutral peacemakers, intransigent loyalists or republicans, impatient with all sides, defenders of communities. As we have seen, the majority of women have found it impossible or chosen not to put their interests as women above their interests as loyalists republicans or any other identity. However, as the new peace process was getting under way, many women were beginning to look at these identities from a 'women's perspective' and to begin to claim a right to define and redefine them. The NIWC was able to appeal to women who wanted to see progress towards a settlement, who believed that women had perspectives which were likely to be different from those of the majority of men and who also wanted to defend and show solidarity with their religious, or national community or social group.

When the NIWC entered the 1996 election campaign, many were doubtful or disparaging about what it could offer as a 'single-issue' party to the wider peace process. Nationalist and unionist parties are, of course, also devoted to a single-issue platform, but because their issue is concerned with sovereignty and statehood it has more salience and status.

What the NIWC managed, however, was to fuse together the issues of the injustice of women's exclusion from political structures with a broader package of ideas about dialogue and conciliation, justice and equity. These ideas were inspired by and based upon the practices and principles forged by many women over years of working in families, in campaigns and in their communities. And to some extent, being a new voice untainted by 'baggage' from the past, the NIWC could, by their efforts and perseverance, win the trust of people from many different backgrounds. While the NIWC could not claim to have the support of, or represent all women, it is distinguished by having members and supporters from all parts of the Northern Ireland population-including men. Its support has increased, as the recent elections to the new Assembly demonstrated. Despite a somewhat unfavourable electoral system and with virtually no money, the NIWC won two seats and secured a very respectable vote in other constituencies.

It would be foolish and arrogant to make exaggerated or inflated claims for the contribution of the NIWC to the securing of the Agreement or the success of the referendum campaign. It is possible, however, to argue that the NIWC has made a difference to the peace process over the months since it formation. Firstly, by the style of leadership which it adopted, it has shown that women can be resolute and consistent in pursuit of goals without having to appear tough or domineering. This, it should be noted, required a lot of long meetings, research, professionalism. Secondly, by being open to dialogue and persuasion the NIWC has been able to build alliances and make common cause with people from many different persuasions. Thirdly, by building upon, identifying with and bringing into the talks the experiences of many years of cross community work by NIWC members and others, the negotiators were able to show how much agreement might be possible, given a certain amount of goodwill. Finally, by its commitment to a particular type of process-fair, inclusive, based on mutual respect, empathy and dialogue across differences-the NIWC continually reminded the public of what we stood to gain by supporting this latest peace initiative.

There are, of course, many other people and groups whose contributions made the process possible in the first place, and ensured its continuation through very difficult times. For perhaps the first time, however, the NIWC brought the voices of women to the negotiating table and allowed women to be the makers of history in Ireland.

Continued from yesterday

For recreation both for myself and for the other young fellows I considered putting up a basketball court. As the headquarters does not have even an inch of a yard I reckoned it could only be inside the main hall. But since this was a church earlier, there were some graves underneath. So I asked Father and he did not think it would be disrespectful to bounce a ball on them. Nor did the young fellows think so. So now we can have a vigorous game in the evenings.

Just outside the headquarters there are several beggars and I feel particularly sorry for a young woman with her infant son. I don’t like to give money to her, so I buy some clothes for the little fellow occasionally.

Tragic things happen. An old rickshaw-puller was murdered recently. He was a Tamil, and while he was asleep on the pavement, someone had dropped a large block of concrete on his head. It’s a jungle out here.

The young fellows are quite friendly. When they get paid, once a month, they invite me to join them in a drink. We go the Galle Face Green which fronts a wide expanse of the Indian Ocean and there we share a bottle of arrack between five or six of us. This drink is liquid fire, mate. Can burn your tongue and gullet away. But they survive. I take a sip for comradeship. Then we have short eats of ëvadai’, a small lentil patty, or ëkadalai’, little peas boiled and fried and served with tiny coconut chips and another little monster, a fried red chilli. Oh, they love the stuff.

I am also taken sometimes to a typically Tamil feast. It is in a thosai boutique. (In Ceylon they call tiny shops boutiques and large houses bungalows.)

Cleanliness is supposed to be the buzz word here because these are run by Hindus of the Brahmin caste. They consider everyone else lower than themselves because they say they are descended from the god Shiva’s head. All meals are served on banana leaves, which the diner must himself dispose of in a bin overflowing with other soiled leaves. The waiters, often bare from the waist up, will slap a thosai, a flat pancake made of ulundu flour, on to the leaf and then add ësambar’, a thick soup of vegetables and lentils (beef and fish are taboo in these strict vegetarian restaurants). From another brass bucket he will drop some ëthovel’ sambol, or finely ground salad of coconut, garlic, ginger and green peppers. Pretty hot stuff, too. You mix all this with your fingers (using only the right hand, mind you. Never, ever the left, which is used for toilet purposes, ahem.)

I have learnt the art of shovelling the food into my mouth with my fingers and then-wfick! sucking the fingers.

Water or tea is served in brass tumblers with a lip for the higher castes. Customers toss their heads backwards and pour the liquid straight into the gullet. The vessel must never touch the lips, for hygienic reasons. The lower castes, like myself, are given glass tumblers - never cups and saucers - and we can drink out of them in the usual manner.

I’m getting used to other seasoned food as well. They appreciate the suddha’s ability to eat the hot stuff. Their seeni sambol, (seeni’ means sugar), is quite explosive too. Well, Frank, you can see that I have been going native.

You have asked me about the girls. Well, there’s not much time for that. There’s lots of very attractive ones, especially those draped gracefully in sarees, but it’s all in the line of duty.

There’ll be time to find a nice girl and settle down when I get back.

Goodness me, it has been a long letter. Hope I haven’t bored you.

Looking forward to another one from you.

Love to all, mate. God bless and say Hi to the rest from me.

Affectionately,

Bill

Chapter 16
Tony Miguel was usually to be found at the Somasiri Hotel, one of the grubbiest restaurants, so called, in the city.

Like the term hotel, restaurant denoted a place where one could have a meal, from breakfast, lunch and dinner to a variety of short eats. Lunch was a meal eaten between eleven in the morning and two pm, dinner between eight and eleven pm. Tea was usually only a cup of tea taken any time from dawn till any time. It was very rarely an afternoon meal with biscuits and cake, though there were exceptions.

The Somasiri was a two-storeyed building which also served a variety of beers and arrack from eleven in the morning to eleven at night. It had a few rooms for regular lodgers, and also for casual visitors for licit and illicit purposes.

It was also a place where bets could be placed on races run anywhere in the world. This was a totally illicit operation and it was run within sight and earshot of the Colombo Police headquarters. The Somasiri was quite regularly raided and betting slips seized, patrons arrested and produced in court.

But such operations did not interrupt betting one whit. They were charades conducted to keep up appearances. Horse- racing and other forms of gambling were banned by law in response to demands by a strong Buddhist lobby.

There was a law on the statute book, too. But after all life had to go on. Tony Miguel preferred to sit by the door. He could keep a lookout on who entered and left, the times of their arrivals and departures. It did not matter to him but it was the kind of seemingly trivial information that he tucked away in his prodigious memory. It also gave full play to his active neck, helping to swivel his head this way and that, suspiciously, self-protectively, inquisitively. Were it not for this habit he could have cut a handsome figure.

He was also well-presented always, favouring silks for shirts and terylenes for trousers, both custom-made for him by the London qualified bespoke tailor. This sartorial artist, in spite of working seven years in England, spoke the language very haltingly and with an atrocious accent. He also doubled as a freelance photographer while his bedroom doubled for a darkroom.

Tony did have a bit of style which is why it was surprising that he should frequent this seamy establishment.

But he had his reasons all right.

Politicians, and even MPs of a Leftist persuasion, slaked their thirst here, met their constituents and thumped their tubs when they were in the cups. They were sitting ducks for reporters looking for some copy.

On this particular afternoon while Raj Indra was doing his stint at the House of Representatives and Bill Wilberton was looking a trifle cross-eyed after accepting too much of Sri Lankan hospitality too soon by an idyllic Negombo beach, Tony Miguel was weaving a web to trap Raj and prevent him from going to New York with the Prime Minister. He had a genuine sense of grievance that what had been his by every right was being taken away.

He had been Augustine Gabriel’s understudy as Chief Political Reporter for more than two years. He had accompanied him to Bandung, Indonesia, to assist coverage of the Asian Prime Ministers’ conference just the previous year.

But this was the crowning assignment. He would not have gone as an assistant if Gabriel had been well. The numbers of the delegation had been strictly limited.

But he fully expected to be the substitute and he was rocked when he heard the Prime Minister had asked for Raj by name.

That was an obstacle, obviously, that he could not fight face to face. He would have to find other ways of doing it. And the profession knew that Tony had innumerable weapons in his armoury to overcome obstructions. They were not obvious and open. Tony was a guerilla fighter. He fought covertly.

The meeting in the pub this afternoon was a council of war. He had brought some of his associates with him. They could not be called his friends for he had none. They could not be called his lieutenants for he trusted none. He was trying to win them over with food and drink - a common device - sound them for some stratagems and wiles and get their assistance to build some ill-will against Raj Indra. Some even suggested the use of magic charms, a common practice, to thwart Raj. They were there till nearly closing time.

* * *

It was question time in the House. Raj, clad in a white suit and tie, had gone to the Parliament office a quarter of an hour before the House sat, collected the Order Papers and other documents that would be tabled and arranged with the stenographers to obtain carbon copies of the answers that would be given to questions of which notice had been given.

For the supplementary questions and cross-talk, Raj was on his own. It was the most exacting time in parliamentary coverage. Things moved so fast that only the utmost concentration yielded accuracy. Reporters had been fined, hauled before the Speaker, suspended from parliamentary reporting and taken off altogether for remissness in this area.

All ministers were expected to be present at this time, unless they had to be elsewhere for some very good reason. On days when Parliament resumed some ministers had to travel a couple of hundred miles from their constituencies. On occasion they did not arrive in time and suffered the sting of Mr Bandaranaike’s waspish tongue.

If they happened to be out of the country, or unavoidably held up, he could field all questions from all sides of the House with admirable aplomb. Nobody dared cross swords with him in the supplementary questions, and those who did on rare occasions felt the edge of his rapier-sharp wit.

He always attended the House clad in cream silk cloth wrapped around his waist, with a blue sash round his shoulders, blue being his party colour.

It was a colourful assortment that graced - and sometimes disgraced - the House.

Most, though not all of the government ranks, were clad in the oriental attire, while some of them, and most of the Members of the Opposition wore western clothes: white cotton suits, freshly laundered and starched.

Even the Communists who represented the workers and peasants and MPs who came from the rural heartland affected the garb of the recently deposed imperialist masters. Most peasants still held the western garb in some awe with probably a subconscious association with the might of British power.

Among the ministers, too, there were well-defined characters, boons to cartoonists and satirists. The Minister of Finance sported a monocle and a very British accent. The Minister of Posts and Telecommunications was a roly-poly Moslem who might have tipped the scales at about 200 pounds, who wore the Sinhala costume but of a rough cotton weave, and a constant seraphic smile. His greatest ambitions were to construct a seven-storey building for the postal services, and to visit Japan in cherry blossom time.

The Minister of Health was a lady comely to behold, very wealthy in her own right and healthy by the best standards of her ministry. She sought power, and, according to her detractors, at any cost.

The Minister of Food and Agriculture, a dark man with white hair and moustache, was a revolutionary - and a choleric, fiery one at that. He hardly ever merely spoke in Parliament. He thundered and bellowed and thumped the desk till his eye glasses flew away and someone would retrieve them for him. Rumour had it that he was the soul of meekness and docility at home. His wife, also an MP, was no less fiery - on the field, and off.

The portfolios of Industries and Transport were also held by Marxists of a different shade. They, too, sported the national dress when they were not at home or overseas. Housing was held by the suave Communist, Pieter Keuneman. And that was how he spelt Peter. Brilliance of intellect, however, was unevenly distributed, with a far greater percentage of ëbrainy coves’ among the Opposition benches.

The Leader of the Opposition was a Marxist belonging to the most popular group and the original one, and they claimed affiliation with the Fourth International.

Here he was, a parlour revolutionary, an authority on Erskine May and Whitehall parliamentary democracy sitting in the seat from which, theoretically at least, he could be Prime Minister. All Marxists explained this incongruity as naked expediency. They had to get into the system to subvert it.

It was on this memorable day that Mr Bandaranaike made the formal announcement that he would be leading a delegation to the United Nations on September 25. This was received by prolonged acclamation from both sides of the House.

For in that exalted assembly everyone freely acknowledged that there was no one else in the House by a long chalk who could lead such a delegation with greater competence, greater distinction and bring greater honour to the country than Bandaranaike, outstandingly brilliant orator and excellent student of international affairs. In addition to this he had the wily skills of a seasoned politician and tactician.

Just a little while earlier, in 1956, after his own ambassador to the United Nations had named the Soviet Union as aggressor in Hungary, he instructed him not to support the UN resolution condemning such aggression. This was part of the unfolding of his own foreign policy of non-alignment with any of the main power blocs, and especially not to commit the country to either of the super powers.

He was for the creation of a Third Force in international politics, and in this he was guided by the Prime Minister of India, Jawaharlal Nehru, whom he greatly admired along with the Indian Foreign Minister, Krishna Menon, a contemporary of Bandaranaike at Oxford.

In Negombo, at about the same time, Bill was being initiated into a town which was a popular tourist resort, an ethnic conundrum, a social curiosity, the centre of west coast fishing and the heartland of Roman Catholic fervour and blatant bigotry.

It was a big bite for a start. He was also being initiated into Negombo hospitality, another large mouthful and quite, quite legendary.

Because of its quite idyllic beach many hotels, large and small had been constructed with sea fronts. The old resthouse, one of the inns built in colonial times for British administrators to rest while on official visits, was still attracting a regular clientele, including honeymooners.

The beach where Bill reclined, on a deck chair, clad in a blue striped reefer, white shorts and thongs, was not one the tourists usually saw. This was a few miles away from the town and a vague indeterminate smell, a combination of sea spray, wood smoke, pig, rotting driftwood and chlorine, hung about. Pat, with his constant fangy smile and the hint of an Australian drawl, relic of a year’s stay in Melbourne, was looking more assertive than at the YCW headquarters. He was more comfortable speaking Sinhala and away from the formidable presence of Fr Grutzner. This was his pitch. Here he had authority. Interpreting Bill reinforced it.

Nearly twenty local YCW cell members had been mustered. It was a Tuesday morning and, of course, being fishermen, after the catch had been brought in by seven in the morning, they had the day to themselves.

They were all clad in sarongs and their coffee brown supple bodies were bare from the waist up. They still had sand glistening on their skins.

Another and quite spectacular outsider in these surroundings was an incongruously dressed man, in brown terylene trousers, white cotton shirt and tie, well polished shoes and thick tortoise shell rimmed glasses. He wore his hair, blue-black and straight, below his ears.

‘Bill, meet a good friend of mine, Wickrema Sekera.’

‘Of the Karave caste,’ the man added, stretching his hand and grasping Bill’s warmly.

Pat grinned almost outside his face.

‘He’s an authority on the caste system,’ he explained to the mystified Bill.

‘Everything begins and ends with caste in Ceylon,’ Wickrema said, ‘certainly politics does. It is a social division based on the labour market. In India it has religious overtones, and it is derived from the Hindu system.’

‘You can give him a lecture on that later,’ Pat bluntly cut him off, ‘we must first relax a little. What will you drink?’

‘Oh, anything you blokes take,’ said Bill expansively.

‘I’ll have a coke if you have one,’ said Wickrema, and added, ‘if I were you I should proceed with caution with these lads. They can absorb more of the stuff than others. Let moderation be the keyword, that’s what I say.’

‘You try some of the local stuff,’ said Pat, ‘you like to try our toddy?’

‘Nectar of the gods,’ Wickrema prompted, ‘but remember you are only human.’

‘I’ll try something divine for once,’ said Bill. ‘Don’t you take liquor?’

‘Never touch the stuff.’

‘But it was all right in London,’ Pat needled him.

‘Those were my student days. I drank life to the lees, and the very best of liquor. I gave some of the best dinners at my university, and any passer-by could drop in at my digs for a wide variety of alcoholic beverages if he had a good address and was well presented. But here I am a good Buddhist. We have a flourishing family business, of course, manufacturing liquor. But then we keep our business and religion apart. Besides, many temples and Buddhist charities benefit from our alcoholic philanthropy.’

Bill was quite literally tickled pink by this man’s ornate speech. He liked him, nevertheless.

The Indian Ocean shimmered in hues of cobalt and ultramarine and intermingling shades of turquoise past the sheer gold of the beach at their feet.

It lay as still as a lake with only the edges churning a mixture of sand and foam. The air was heavy with the tang of salt and a blend of rotting coconut husks and wood smoke.

Bill found the water quite irresistible.

‘Looks great for a swim,’ he said.

‘You like to swim? I’ll get you a pair of trunks,’ said Pat.

Bill was already taking off his reefer.

‘Wicky,’ he said already abbreviating the three syllable Wickrema into one, ‘like to join me?’

The Ceylonese gave him a tongue-in-cheek smile.

‘Strictly for fish,’ he said. ‘I prefer a well bath myself.’

A few of the other men around, however, had already jumped into the water and were swimming vigorously. When the swimming trunks arrived, Bill waded in and started to float. Pure luxury, he thought, as the tepid water caressed him. He got back fifteen minutes later, and there was toddy in clay pots laid out, about a dozen of them.

Pat drew some in a glass tumbler. ‘Fresh from the tree for master,’ he grinned.

Bill sipped it. He took to its tangy taste.

‘How do you make it?’ he asked.

‘We don’t’ said Pat. ‘Good mother nature makes it.’

Wickrema explained further: ‘People of the toddy-tapping caste: few other castes would demean themselves with the job - tap the juice from a coconut flower sliced at the tip and collect it in pots. Very soon it ferments and bubbles. Look, over there,’ he cried, pointing up to a tree behind them.

There was a naked man, with only a cloth covering his loins, right at the top, collecting the liquid from under the coconut fronds and tilting it into a pot he carried tied to his waist. Having done that he turned round and walked along a rope, also made of twisted strands of coconut fibre, while he held on to another rope overhead. He walked with an adroitness and swiftness that stunned Bill.

‘It’s a long way up,’ he commented.

‘About sixty feet,’ said Wickrema.

‘A long way down too,’ said Bill.

‘Yes, one slip and he breaks his neck.’

Bill sipped the toddy with greater respect. Then he took a deep draught. It was tingling fresh, and it warmed him. It tasted and smelt slightly sour, like yogurt.

‘Great stuff,’ he said.

Continued tomorrow

About the author

E.C.T. Candappa was one of Sri Lanka's been feature writers in the mid-fifties till the seventies. He was an outstanding journalist at Lake House and distinguished himself as a reporter and feature writer. He is now domiciled in Australia but still very much interested in his country of origin. He visited Sri Lanka last year and interviewed many of the personalities featured in this book.