The Garden
in the Jungle
(with apologies to Leonard Woolf)
While the world is filled with fear and grief
and I am inundated with news of the deadly coronavirus, my mind turns to a less
troubled time when I lived in a garden in the middle of a jungle.
In the mid-1960s, my father was posted as the
superintendent of the Isolated Seed Garden (ISG), about 15 miles from Chilaw
off the Puttalam road. The ISG, owned by the Coconut Research Institute (CRI)
and said to be the first of its kind in the world, had been inaugurated in 1955
by Mr. J.R. Jayawardena, who was the
Minister of Agriculture. Its purpose was to carry out cross breeding of high
quality coconut varieties.
For this purpose, the 200-acre seed garden,
also known as Ambakelle, had been carved out of virgin jungle with a mile-thick
band of reserved and protected jungle around it. The assumption was that bees
could not fly that far carrying pollen from outside. Beyond the jungle were the
“chena” (slash and burn) cultivations of the villagers. In the jungle lived
wild boar, deer, sambhur, monkey, jungle fowl, rock squirrel, and numerous
species of snakes, including huge pythons, and birds. Most staff members, “watchers’
(they would now be called security guards) and laborers lived within Ambakelle
in housing provided by the CRI. Some labourers who lived in their own homes would
walk to work through the jungle, risking their lives when the wild elephants
were around.
The wild elephants, when they arrived, provided much excitement.
Apparently, Ambakelle lay in the path of the jungle corridor that the famous
Deduru Oya herd of elephants had been traversing for perhaps hundreds of years.
In the dry season, as the waterholes in their natural habitat in the Wilpattu area dried-up, the elephants numbering in the hundreds had
traveled south to the Deduru Oya river in search of water. By the 1960s, the
jungles had been cleared for agriculture and human habitation and the elephants
were largely confined to Wilpattu. Nevertheless, old instincts remained and a
few stray elephants would do the annual trek to Deduru Oya river, taking their
revenge on the human interlopers by destroying their makeshift huts and chena
cultivations. These elephants would raid Ambakelle because they relished the
young coconut seedlings. Years of painstaking research could be destroyed
overnight.
Of course, shooting the elephants was out of the question. So an electric fence
consisting of a thin wire connected to electric horns and 6-volt car batteries
was erected right round the perimeter of Ambakelle. The wire would be activated
in the evening and when it was tripped, usually by an elephant, the nearest
horn would sound, thereby warning the patrolling “barrier” watchers. The
watchers were the first line of defense and would attempt to scare the elephant
off by lighting firecrackers. My father would soon be on the spot by jeep and
with the help of the watchers, the loud jeep horn, firecrackers, yells and hoots,
drive the elephants back into the jungle. We had little sleep at night when the
elephant season was on.
Ambakelle was a “hardship station” and the CRI did its best to make life a
little easier for its staff. The housing (“bungalows” for the staff officers) were
new, and electricity as provided from 6 to 11pm by a large, diesel operated
Lister generator. A central tank supplied running water. A circuit bungalow was
available for visiting staff. The first superintendent, Bertie Rodrigo, a
naturalist, had designed the layout well, preserving a few massive tress and a
couple of ancient water holes. But, life in the middle of the jungle was
boring: there was no TV those days, nor did Ambakelle have a telephone, and our
only means of entertainment was a Grundig radio and an old, hand-cranked, gramophone.
Every week, we looked forward to another episode of “Muwanpelessa”, a popular
radio play, which ironically was based on a village in the jungle. The nearest
town was Chilaw, a good 15 miles away. Occasionally, we would drive there to
watch a movie but returning home through the jungle at night was risky,
especially when a feared lone bull elephant (“Thaniya”) was around. So the
tractor driver Thomas would wait just outside the jungle and drive the tractor
ahead of our Peugeot 203, making as much noise as possible by accelerating the
tractor engine.
Wild elephants were not the only threat. In fact, the surrounding jungle, being
the only source of meat and timber for miles around, was under siege. Hunters
would roam the jungle, poaching the deer and wild boar and sometimes setting
deadly trap guns. These crude, illegal, home-made pipe guns, packed with gun
powder and pieces of metal, were tied to tree trunks at ground level, and a camouflaged
trip wire (“maruwela”) strung across animal trails. Occasionally, the victims
were other hunters, who were severely injured (needing amputations) if not suffering
an agonizing death. The villagers would also enter the jungle to cut down trees,
so watchers had to be hired to patrol the jungle. Once, when I accompanied my
father in the jeep, with an armed watcher riding at the back, we came across a
bullock cart filled with illegally cut timber. My father ordered the thief to
take the cart to Ambakelle and unload the timber himself. Another time, my
father discovered found that another staff member had cut down a large number
of valuable “burutha” (satinwood) and “palu” (Manilkara hexandra) trees and sawn the timber into planks. The
planks were stored in his house waiting to be taken out of Ambakelle at a
convenient time. The staff member was later dismissed from his job.
 |
| jungle fowl |
I was schooling at Chilaw at this time and would bicycle through the jungle to
catch a CTB bus. The gravel road was winding, and I never knew what
to expect around the corner. It could be a stray deer, a wild boar, or, almost
every morning, jungle fowl. When the wild elephants arrived - we could tell
from the telltale broken branches and droppings - my father drove me to the
bus. He sometimes brought his shotgun because the jungle fowl were good for the
pot. Once, we didn’t know that the elephants had arrived, and as I bicycled
past, I heard a loud, angry grunt from the jungle.
My first task early in the morning was to clean my mother’s poultry
and feed and water the chickens. I kept a sharp eye for the cobras (the rat
snakes were harmless) who would come to steal eggs. Then, a quick shower and a
bite of breakfast, and with my packed lunch in the school bag, a breezy ride to
the bus in the cool morning. I recall the small FIAT Bus, imported from Italy,
with fondness. The driver and the conductor were friendly and would even wait
for me if I was a few minutes late. They proudly wore khaki jackets while on
duty, kept the bus clean, and personally knew all their passengers. Most were
the wives of chena cultivators taking their vegetables to market, and a sprinkling
of schoolchildren.
Three incidents from that time are distinctly etched on my mind.
First, a forest fire. The jungle barrier around Ambakelle included a teak
plantation owned by the Forest Department. During a severe drought, it caught
fire. All the fallen leaves and the dry bark of the trees burned like old
newspaper, sending orange fireballs swirling into the sky. After the fire
burned out in a few days, only blackened stumps of trees, with the ash covered
ground underneath, could be seen. But, when the rains came the trees gave off
new shoots, and the forest regenerated.
The second incident was the capture and taming of a wild
elephant. Some villagers dug a deep pit where elephants roamed, and after a
male elephant fell in, kept him there for about ten days, and, with the help of
two tame elephants and some men trained in the task, “broke” (tamed) him. I
passed this scene twice a day on the bus, and saw how it was done, and thought
it was cruel.
The third incident was a classic tragedy of jealousy, revenge, and murder.
Charles Peiris was a contractor who undertook minor works at Ambakelle. Of his
three daughters, the first and second were married to CRI tractor drivers
Thomas and Piyasena. They were both cheerful, hard working men, although Thomas
was addicted to kassippu. The youngest, unmarried daughter was the prettiest,
and both Thomas and Piyasena had been eyeing this girl. When she began to favor
Piyasena with her affection, Thomas flew into a rage. One day, blind with
jealousy, he shot Piyasena dead. Charles Peiris lost a son-in-law, and if the
police arrested Thomas, his daughter (Thomas’ wife) would have to struggle
alone with her five children. So Charles Peiris took the rap for the killing
and was arrested by the police. But the villagers, who knew the truth,
petitioned and Charles Peiris was later released. Thomas never went to jail but
died a few years later, a broken man.
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| With dad at Ambakelle 2005 |
In 2005, I drove my father to Ambakelle, his first visit after
35 years. Much had changed, but old timers and their children who now worked
there were delighted to see him again, and greeted him with warm affection. He
had been a good boss and they remembered his generosity and kindness. A few
months later, on Ambakelle’s 50th anniversary, the CRI organized a
felicitation for Dr. Liyanage, the botanist who had conducted a large number of
research studies at Ambakelle, and all former superintendents,
including Bertie Rodrigo, the pioneer. They were all old men
now, and it was a memorable reunion in familiar surroundings. My father passed
away four years later.
A few years ago, my sister and I visited Ambakelle, for old time’s
sake. When we arrived, I heard someone shout “Braine mahattaya avilla” (Mr.
Braine has come), and again, a few people came running. But they must have been
disappointed to see it was only me, the junior Braine, and not my father! The
coconut seedlings planted during my father’s time had grown to tall palms, but
the internal roads remained the same. Sadly, the superintendent’s bungalow was
in sorry shape, and my father’s beautiful garden was neglected and overgrown
with weeds. But the jungle surrounding Ambakelle appeared to be intact,
although we were told that most of the wildlife was gone and elephants no longer
visited.
While writing this narrative, I went to Google maps to see what
Ambakelle looked like now, fearing the worst. In Sri Lanka, no jungle, even
reserves and protected ones, escape destruction. So, I was both delighted and
relived to see that the jungle was intact, withstanding the numerous assaults
it has faced over 65 years. I thought of the superintendents and watchers who
had risked their lives to protect the jungle and knew that their attempts have
succeeded.
(Acknowledgement: For this narrative, I borrowed freely from an
account written by my late father S.T. “Teddy” Braine.)
Ambakelle from Google maps (see the dark square)
close-up
Leonard Woolf, the husband of author Virginia, was a civil servant
and judge in Ceylon (as Sri Lanka was then called) when it was a British colony,
and wrote a much loved novel titled The
Village in the Jungle about the rural poor in Ceylon.
J.R. Jayawardena later became the first Executive President of Sri
Lanka, in 1977.
Wilpattu, a huge wildlife park, which still exists.
CTB (Ceylon Transport Board), owned by the government.
