The Vest Maker - Chapter 15 Diversion and Avoidance
“On the principal roads?” the driver asked. “Two or three hours. On the side arteries it will be two or three days. At best!”
In the vacuum which followed the affirmations of Emma’s demise, three men approached. A loin-clothed man with a double-barrel shot gun, and another with an AK-47 accompanied the school’s headmaster. The estate’s guardian revealed, “Sahib, the government forces are coming this way. They will be at our location by sunset,” he told the men. “May I implore you to advance further into the Sinhweewala? I will take it upon myself to erase your tire markings.”
The indebted guests leapt to their feet, collected their belongings, piled into their noble machine and sallied into Sinhmeewala’s interior.
“Who is this man?” the Great White Hunter asked his companions.
“He is Hanuman. The headmaster of Goldeneye Primary School. Educated at Oxford, and one of the best men I ever met,” Aassan answered. “He won’t let us down. He is absolutely correct about this forsaken rainforest. We will be safe from the military in the middle of this unholy place. Nor does the guerrilla enter without great care. We will proceed to Ulagalla as soon as possible.”
“‘Ulagalla’? What is Ulagalla?”
“A rainforest up towards Jaffna,” replied Thertha. “You will find greater, profounder wilderness in her district.” The older man paused. He sighed and said, “Tamilar killed Emma. We no longer have any idea which side he is fighting for. But we do comprehend he will kill you and us if we give him the opportunity. You will need to remove your body and soul off this island if you expect to survive.”
“India?”
“Yes. In time you will depart for the subcontinent.”Sixty-minutes into the slow, tottering drive into Sinhmeewala’s interior, the passengers came to a halt at a broad, unassuming creek surrounded by primeval pandemonium. “We will wait here until the Guru[1] signals ‘all clear’.”
“How am I going to get out of India?”
“Your embassy is in New Delhi. Will they be capable of assisting you?” asked the elder.
“Yes, The Swedish personnel will do what they can. I have dealt with them before.Three days later Hanuman reappeared. Referring to the patrols he proclaimed, “They have come, and they have gone!” The stifled relief the gathering discharged overpowered the babble of the gruff, flowing creek.
“However, many troops are stationed along Highway A6,” the school’s headmaster told the men hiding in his refuge. “Take the side routes along road 478 until you are close to your destination. Continue into the Northern Jungle on trails from the south.” The educator paused. “I sent a message to my colleague, Maruti, of your forthcoming arrival.” Hanuman hesitated in deep thought. Then he connected his palms together as in a form of Jesuite imploration, pinpointed them on his third eye and raised them to heaven. After completing a bow, the Rector returned to his domain. His weaponized escort trailed behind him without offering the traditional gestures of salutation. The fleeing trio, with practiced exactitude, poured into the automobile.
The youngest of the group asked, “How do we find our way out of here?”
Standing at the passenger side window with both eyes on his son Thertha advised, with a finger pointed in the direction from which they arrived three days earlier, “You have no other way,” he told the trio. “Here I take my departure,” the elder divulged. “I must return to Negombo.”
The fair skinned man, imitating the gestures of his companions, placed his hands into a position of prayer, fixed them centered on the glabella and closed his eyes. His breath slowed. As if on a predetermined signal, the three men reopened their eyes. Thereta had departed.
The trio’s commander, returning to the task at hand, instructed, “We will leave the way we came. A6 is the only way to reach the road terminating at our destination. We will find side routes even if it takes days to reach Ulagalla.”
“How far is it from here?”
“On the principal roads?” the driver asked. “Two or three hours. On the side arteries it will be two or three days. At best!”
As if out of nothingness, a repressed, instinctually silenced realization came to the vest maker’s awareness. “My devices are responsible for taking Emma. Is this not the truth? The unspoken truth! My Semtex, wasn’t it? I did it for a few grapefruit sized spheres of opium!” Incensed, he reached the sole conclusion he knew possible and proclaimed, “I did this for grapefruit!” and sunk his forehead in his hands. “How could I?” A layer of perspiration covered his body from head to toe. He shook like an Aspen in the wind.
“No. Not ‘grapefruit’! You did this because Tamilar threatened you and Miss Emma with certain death. You built those vests because he swore to kill all of us if you refused! We did this because he pledged to massacre my family. My entire village faced extermination,” the Galleon[2] rationalised. “Tamilar’s obsession is the source of the predicament we are in.”
Unable to say more, lacking the ability to console the young man, the proficient motorist ushered his steed away from primordiality into the civilized world around them.
“What have I done?” with his head cupped in his hands, the vest maker whispered repeatably from the comfortable, cushioned seat – the same springy, ancient accommodation which a few weeks ago concealed a dozen grapefruit-size, softball-soft one kilo spheres of despair.
A moment later Mr. Alana proposed, “I believe we can drive south nearly as far as the Maha Oya,[3] before we are forced to enter the primary road.”
“We must not cross the Maha Oya on the road, sir. If they are searching for us, and we are aware that they are, the bridge is where they will insert the knife, so to speak.”
Baffled, the rear seat occupant asked, “What is the Maha Oya?”
“The Great River,” returned the navigators in unison.“We crossed the Maha Oja on the way to Mudalali’s[4] estate. We took the main road to arrive here. But it was before the all-points bulletin for our capture went out on the State’s radio frequencies. The military controls the motorways across all the water tributaries in this province. Everyone passing over can be stopped and checked with ease. If the regulars do not have Russian AK-47s, they will have Chinese.”
“Too risky. Way too risky,” added the motorist for emphasis. “The other day on the way here we crossed the bridge. But we have ascertained Tamilar himself is stepping up his efforts in the hunt. He sent the search party to Sinhmeewala. They will be waiting for us at the foremost Maha Oya bridge. If we attempt to traverse the waters on the road we will be captured. This is the one thing we understand with certainty at this point.”
The European waited patiently while the two men, switching seamlessly between Sinhalese, Tamil and English, deliberated all options.
“Perhaps the shallows at Alawwa is a possibility,” Mike Alana proposed.
“The Alawwa bridge is located in the opposite direction! This is beneficial for us, sir. If Hanuman slips up and tells Tamilar anything at all they will be looking for us on the central road. And on 478. Or, at the junction on A6. We both comprehend how difficult it can be to not ‘slip up’ when they hold a knife to the throat, do we not, sirs!”
“And those two accompanying the headmaster with the weapons,” the former Marine Corps bomb technician asked. “Are they aware of our plans? How easy will it be for them to ‘slip up’?”
“Let us head down to the waterway. Instead of driving across and heading directly to our goal, we will follow the boundary of this dark forestry to the east,” the navigator pronounced. “We will not cross the Great River on the main road. Nor will we at Alawwa! No. At the Alawwa we will examine the situation again and decide our route! We must stay on small unpopulated lanes all the way to our goal!”
The men sat motionlessness. When the passenger confirmed, “I like your plan, sirs,” the Riyaduru[5] pressed his sandaled foot onto the accelerator, propelling his purring machine southwards along the dusty road. “The sooner we turn to the east the better."
The navigator noted, every few minutes from his window seat, the car made a momentary appearance out of the thicket of overgrowth, and into full view of the villages and plantations they motored past. He turned to the back seat, “Julian. May I ask you; do you know how to make ‘dynamite’ from the C-4? Or something similar? With short and long fuses?”
“Can we purchase paper? Something like postal wrapping paper? But, if necessary, any old newspaper will do the job. We have plenty of newspaper right here in the back seat if we can’t find anything better. Can we find gunpowder for the blasting caps and the fuses? Or can we buy some ammo?”
The car’s owner replied, “We have quite a few rounds under your seat!”
“You do? Amazing! We may yet make it out of here,” the demolitions expert submitted. A moment later, “You guys have ammunition! Wait. You have guns, too?”
Muteness followed the versatile sapper’s inquiry. “I’ll take your silence for an affirmative. You’ll need to show me where the munitions are stashed when you find a chance.”
“Yes, we may yet make it out of here,” the automobile's pilot agreed. “We have about thirty kilometres to the crossing. You will want to build the ‘blasts’ without delay, sir! More big ones than small!”
At Galdeniya township the dirt and stone road entered into view of the chief motorway. The car’s operator encouraged his steed forwards inch by inch. Not a speck of dust rose from the ancient corridor. “We can hang a left at Bogahawatta Road,” announced the ordinance specialist, his eyes trained on the road map.
“This sounds right. Bogahawatta Road. Excellent for us you are proficient at reading maps,” came from the front seats.
“I learned how to read maps before enlisting with the Corps[6], sirs. That was back at summer camp. I was maybe nine years old. The atlas I found here in the back seat, by the way, is an excellent example of cartography.”
“Published by the Sri Lankan Armed Services!”
“This means they have the same drawings we have?”
“It does.”The crew proceeded uneventfully southwards. At Bogahawatta Village Road the Mercedes eased onto a bumpy pathway which, as is common throughout the island, substituted for a motorway.
“What is Mal Gala?” asked Julian. “It’s on the charts.”
“It’s a Buddhist house of worship. We do not have confidence in those people,” the duo in the front seat answered.
“Agreed,” Mr. Alana concurred. “We will not stop at Mal Gala. We will load up a full tank of petrol in Boga, then we take the wild trails all the way to Jaffna. Even if we are forced to walk!”
“What about Ulagalla, sir?”
“If we cannot rely on the headmaster, or his armed escort, regarding the question of Road 478, we certainly are unable to trust him on the issue of the reception potentially awaiting us in the Northern Jungle. We have people in Jaffna, Julian. We have people in Jaffna who will keep us safe. The single requirement is we arrive alive!”
“How is it going with the explosives?” inquired Aassan.
“I’m on it. I noticed you have some tools up front. Hand me the pliers from the glove
compartment, please.”
Mike Alana reached into the compartment in front of him and handed the bomb maker the Stanley pliers, and a loaded Smith & Weston .45 calibre revolver. “You hold on to this pistol. You will find more rounds under your seat.”
The ordnance expert took the six-shooter and inserted it in his back waistband with the ease of a battle-weary counter insurgent. “Wait a minute! Did you guys notice that?” Julian asked the men in the front seat. “Children are hanging from hooks behind a building we drove past!”
Alarmed, the operator slammed on the breaks bringing his precision engineered steed to a sudden stop. Then remembering, he told the young man commanding the rear seat, “They are practicing for their religious ceremony.”
Far from consoled the Believer re-joined, “Hanging by hooks! Didn’t you hear what I said?”
Mr. Alana interjected, “The Thaipusam[7] is an Alayam[8] tradition. Our religion has given us with this method of forgiveness and sacrifice. It makes us stronger.”
“Turn around! I don’t think you were able to see what I was able to see.”
“We saw,” the guide insisted. Turning to his friend he directed, “Turn around, please. We will educate our friend.”
“My young friend, these people are the faithful preparing for the Thaipusam festival. It falls on the first full moon in Thai,[9] but they train all year around.”
Aassan managed to point his prized possession in the reverse trajectory on the small road and brought it to a stop at the Mandir[10] shrine. When the curious Westerner vaulted out of the back seat Mr. Alana urged him to be patient. “Let me introduce you to the manager of this institution,” he explained and located himself between the Believer and the open gate on the side of the pagan Hindu structure.
Before the assembly penetrated the courtyard, a tall, bearded, and impeccably dressed man wearing spotless attire advanced, “Gentlemen, welcome to our study. I am Rajan,” he introduced himself. “How can I help you?”
“Thank you. A pleasure to meet you, sir. Our friend observed your training from the road. Mr. Julian is from Europe, as is readily apparent. He, of course, has never experienced Thaipusam. Can you, Gurukkal,[11] help us kindly to educate him. I and Mr. Aassan will be very appreciative. My name is Alana.”
“Of course, my friends. Follow me,” responded the Swami[12] guru.
The cluster entered the open fenced area. The practitioners within appeared not to notice the intrusion, and uninterrupted continued with their sacred preparations.
“Little Jalaj,” the Gurukkal called out. A small boy approached the assemblage with the curious European in their midst. “Please turn around, Jalaj, and show us the Kavadi[13] attached to your back.” The boy shyly exposed his back to the group. Referring to the hooks piercing the slender boy’s skin the Guru enlightened; “These are dedicated to Lord Murugan, God of War. They symbolize the withstanding of life’s burdens, and they stimulate spiritual purification,” the Acharya[14] clarified. He bent over to the boy and whispered some words into his ear. He straightened his back again and said, “Thank you, Jalaj. You may return to your practice.” The boy smiled at the blond man gaping with Western astonishment at the peculiar spiritual exercise, then turned and skipped gingerly back to his friends.
“You have many questions, I am sure. Please, may we step inside for a moment,” appealed the man as he ushered the company through the door into the sanctuary. After a brief pause, he stated, “I am going to speak Sinhalese, Mr. Julian. Just for a minute. Your friends will explain when I have concluded.”
The Gurukkal spoke in soft tones and gesticulated meaningfully with his hands. The expressions on Julian’s co-conspirators faces morphed from curious by-passers to anxiously concerned fugitives. When the Hindu master concluded his report, Mr. Alana turned to his young associate. “My friend, hold your questions for a moment. We are leaving. I will explain as soon as we depart. No time now.” Rajan opened the door, and the visitors left the same way they arrived. Obeying Rajan’s instructions, the trio piled into the Mercedes. The driver eased his right plantar surface onto the accelerator, reversed the car into her original aim and proceeded in near quiet departure.
“They were here moments ago. Three soldiers went from here to the stupa[15] a little more up the road. Had we not turned around when we did, we would have driven right into their hands!”
“Find a side road. We will conceal ourselves in the forest until Tamilar’s men return to the Kovil,”[16] the guide instructed.
“Here,” offered the driver, and pulled into the timberland on the left-hand side of the road. He persisted fifty meters into the thicket and stopped his obedient charge. “You both cover the back of the car with shrubbery. I will go out to the road and locate the whereabouts of the soldiers.”
“Ambulate like a Saivite[17]. You catch what I mean. Shuffle and keep your head down. If you are sighted, they will think you are a local Shaiva!”
Turning to the confused young man he enlightened; “Our friend will walk to the Vihara[18] and attempt to detect when the troops leave. Rajan told us the men said they ‘will be back after searching’ for us at the Dagoba.”[19]
“Why is he helping us? The Guru, why is he doing this for us? Isn’t he putting himself at tremendous risk?”
“He is a Sanatani.[20] We are of his people. This is the motivation. The militaries are indoctrinated by the unholy. They become legions of drones. They are without faith. They are the creed of death. Or, as you say in Europe, they are communists. They are socialists. They have no God! This is the sole reason the Gurukkal warned us. We must wait here in hiding until Aassan returns.”
The motorist turned recognisance-man neared the object of his observation on foot – to all appearances unseen. He strolled past the structure as if invisible. When he reached the bend in the road, he walked an additional twenty meters and remained in place for twenty minutes. He heard nothing. He detected nothing unusual. Finally, he decided to stroll past the dome shaped stupa one more time and take a look inside. Approaching from the south with careful attention, he reached the door and opened it in silence. As he stepped inside two sets of hands grabbed him. A voice in the shadows inquired, “What is a Koviladi[21] doing in a Buddhist Pansala,[22] my friend?”
In the darkened room, unable to discern more than the outline of the questioner’s profile, the captive asked himself in disbelief, “Is it Tamilar?”
“Aassan, I asked you a question.”
“He knows my name,” struck the Muslim like a thunderbolt. “Tamilar!”“We detected you incoming from one-hundred-eighty degrees. Is your Mercedes here? Are your friends here?” he asked. With a nick of his head the officer’s two underlings ran out the door into the direction their commander indicated.
“Captain,” the prisoner stuttered. “What friends? Of course not. I am alone.”
“Where is your black beauty?”
“I asked myself the same question. It went missing last night,” the man of Hindu faith lied.“Why? What are you doing here, Sanatani?” The officer unholstered his .45 calibre issued 911[23]. He consigned the deadly end to the captive's head. “Where is your German beauty? Surely, you are never without her!”
“It vanished into thin air, sir. I entered here to inquire of the monks of its whereabouts. The holy ones here are aware of everything occurring in their domains, are they not, sir?”The captain stared and kept silent. Assan stared and kept silent. Droplets the size of Meekuruvi Sudu gathered on the driver’s brow.
An hour earlier, the Buddhist head of the order witnessed the Hindu’s encroachment from the north. A short time later the temple’s monastic head spotted the same man advancing from the opposite direction on the path to and from the Devastanam.[24] Having been forewarned by Rajan Gurukkal, he cau tiously instructed a young student to “hurry and alert this man’s friends of Tamilar’s presence.”
The young monastic ran as directed and after a short search spotted tire marks in the damp soil. “The head Guru sent me. The soldiers have your chauffeur,” the young man told the Muslim’s comrades.
“How did this happen?” Mr. Alana asked, but he assumed he couldn’t wait for an answer. “Tamilar! Quick. The vehicle. We must leave.”
“How can we be sure it’s Tamilar?”
“It is he, sir,” the boy in the orange robe confirmed.
“Proceed this way,” he advised, and indicated the woodland. “The true wilderness is directly ahead. Five or six kilometres. I will brush the path clean of your markings back to the road.”
“We must hurry.” The two front doors opened and shut one after the other. The navigator turned driver twisted the key, pushed the accelerator with his right sole and, and with the purring stealth of the morning Tiger, disappeared deeper and thicker into the greenery.
The monk surveyed the departure until the motorcar evaporated into the overgrown thickets. A moment later he assembled a batch of fallen palm leaves and meticulously swept the ground clear of car-tracks all the way back to the road. Satisfied with his work, he turned and sauntered into the forestry on the contrary side of the road. He found a large clump of bushes to conceal himself behind, sat down in the lotus position, placed his hands on his lap and sealed his eyes. A moment later, he discerned gunfire ring from the Vihara’s[25] property. In shock he opened his eyes. Through the power of inner perception, as if he witnessed it in person, he realised Aassan had received a .45 calibre round to the left temporal area. The youth shut his eyes again. He waited.
Through the open kerbside window Julian perceived an unpleasant reverberation. Almost a faint echo. “Was that a gunshot? Gunfire! I heard a weapon discharge! It sounded like a .45!”
“No, not a gunshot. No, not gunfire!” insisted Aassan’s friend. But he knew it was.
Both men sat muted. Afraid of the truth they said nothing. Both men realized their chauffeur had met the final darkness. The fugitives persisted forward into the relentless jungle’s nightfall. As darkness advanced the fleeing duo perceived in the deepest portions of their being they would never be with their friend again in this lifetime.
An hour passed. Another elapsed. The young man meditating in the secluded woods opened his eyes.
With headlights blaring, the green jeep which had taken the officer and his two-man patrol to the Buddhist dwelling earlier in the day, despatched along the road. “At least they did not find the path I swept,” the meditating youth consoled himself. “Not today!”
As if still in a state of meditation, the munk rose up from his reverie, engaged the palms of his hands together in prayer, touched them as close to the frontal lobe section of his cranium as possible and fulfilled his salutation by raising them to the gods above. When he completed his acknowledgements he turned, faced the road and aimed his steps in the direction of the vihara. When he reached the road, he turned to his right. To his detriment, the young man came face to face with Tamilar.
“Ah, my little brother! What are you doing out here in the groves? You realize I have been waiting for you, don’t you?”
By the time the second round for the day burst from the .45 calibre, the escapees had motored prudently far into the tangle. “I hope nothing bad happens to the little fellow in the orange robe,” the blond man muttered softy, inaudibly under the purr of German engineered precision.
[1] Guru is a term for ‘teacher’.
[2] Galleon is a term referring to the people of the Galle region of Southern Sri Lanka.
[3] Maha Oya - The Great River
[4] Guru Mudalali, A colloquial term meaning "teacher/leader," used informally in rural areas for a headmaster.
[5] Riyaduru: the most common Sinhala term for “car driver” used for both professional and casual operators.
[6] Corps is pronounced “core”.
[7] Thaipusam is a Hindu festival honouring Lord Murugan, the god of war, with acts of devotion like piercing the body with hooks or skewers and carrying kavadis (ornate structures) symbolizing penance, gratitude, and spiritual purification.
[8] Alayam is a Tamil word meaning specifically Tamil Hindu
[9] Thai, mid-January to mid-February on the Gregorian calendar.
[10] Mandir refers to a Hindu shrine where deities are worshipped
[11] Gurukkal is the Tamil equivalent of “Guru” or teacher.
[12] Swami refers to Hindu masters
[13] Kavadi; In the Thaipusam festival, the sharp piercing objects used for body suspension and piercing.
[14] Acharya: A learned teacher or scholar, used for those who teach spiritual practices such as Thaipusam.
[15] Stupa dome-shaped structure used in Buddhism as a place of meditation, worship, and to house relics, typically associated with the Buddha or other significant figures.
[16] Kovil is a common word for Hindu temple. Commonly used in South India and in Sri Landa.
[17] Saivite or Shaiva: A follower of Shaivism, the dominant sect of Hinduism among Sri Lankan Tamils, centered on the worship of Lord Shiva.
[18] Vihara: monastery or dwelling place for Buddhist monks, often including worship spaces.
[19] Dagoba: Sinhalese term for a Hindu stupa, used in Sri Lanka.
[20] Sanatani: term used by some Sri Lankan Hindus to emphasize adherence to Sanatana Dharma, the eternal principles of Hinduism.
[21] Koviladi: colloquial Tamil term in Sri Lanka meaning "temple-goer," used for devout Hindus who frequent kovils (temples).
[22] Pansala: Sri Lankan term for Buddhist house of worship.
[23] A common military pistol
[24] Devastanam: Kannadan term common in Tamil areas of Sri Lanka for Hindu temple.
[25] Vihara: A monastery or dwelling place for Buddhist monks, often including worship spaces.
