By Kumar Gunawardene
(Amended version)
“It’s
night time ,
I’m alone and sad,
Thinking in the light of a flickering candle,
about joy and pain,
about tired old age,
and handsome arrogant youth”
Pablo Neruda
I first
heard of Pablo Neruda when he became the Nobel Laureate for literature in
1971.That was the year of my marriage and I was working as a junior doctor at
the National Hospital Colombo,both of
which left time and leisure for little else.When I got to know that he had spent two years in
Ceylon as the Chilean consul in 1929-30 ,my interest in him heightened.
He was
born in 1904 in the mountainous frontier region of Temuco in Chile and named Neftala Ricardo Reyes Basoalto; he
assumed a pseudonym for his poems as it sounded better and also to hide his identity from his father,who
wanted him to follow a respectable profession.It became his legal name later.
At the age
of twenty two he became an internationally acclaimed poet when he published
“Twenty Love Poems and Song of Despair”.It is one of the best selling poetry
books of all time and has sold over twenty million copies.
He was
called the “poet of the people, the oppressed and the forgotten”.
Gabriel
Garcia Márquez,himself one of the most eminent Latin American novelists and a
fellow Nobel Laureate for literature
labeled him “the greatest poet of the twentieth century in any language”.
Che
Guevara revered him as his favourite poet ,and carried with him only two books
to the end of his days ,one being Neruda’s Cantos General, a history of the New
World from a Hispanic American perspective.
I admired
Neruda for his poems.
“I grew up
in this town,
my poetry was born between the hill and the
river,
It took its voice from the rain,
and like the timber it steeped itself,
into the forests”
I also
admired his identity with the poor and the disadvantaged of Chile and indeed
the world.
CEYLON
Although a
literary celebrity he was very poor and badly in need of a job.An influential
friend introduced him to Chile’s foreign minister who offered him a consul’s position initially in Rangoon
After two tumultuous years in Burma where he was harassed by a lover whom he
referred to as a panther and a love terrorist he escaped to Colombo.He resided
in a cottage in a seaside lane in Wellawatte, which reminded him of his beloved
Puerto Saavedra a seaside town in Chile.,where he spent many holidays as a
child.Here he lived spartanly with a trusty retainer Brumpy, a pet mongoose
Kiriya and a dog Kuthaka.Brampy’s real name was Ratnayake which Neruda couldn’t
pronounce.Brumpy didn’t talk much but smiled a lot with big equine teeth.Kiriya
ate at his table, walked with him and slept with him on his bed.Although
mongooses are fierce enemies of snakes, on his only encounter with a deadly
Russel’s viper, Kiriya sensed danger and ran in the opposite direction till he
reached home.
Kuthaka
once saved him from certain death; Neruda had stumbled on the rail tract while
strolling at night.The dog’s loud
barking alerted the train driver who stopped the engine in time.This was never
forgotten and all his dogs in Chile were
named Kuthaka in memory of this faithful canine.
Neruda led
a very bohemian existence, hobnobbing with painters ,musicians and literary
figures notably Lionel Wendt the photographer and musician and George Keyt the
budding painter..Wendt sent him a sackful of newly arrived books every week.He
recognised the genius of Keyt early ,and praised his portrayal of Sinhalese
subjects in their strange expressive grandeur.
Of his
routine he wrote ‘ I get up early and walk along the beach for a couple of
hours .Then I bathe in the water which is always warm and I try to swim.Then I
return home for an excellent lunch ,prepared by my servants for the master.as
they called me.Then I work.’
Neruda’s
experience is very real for me.Whenever we spent a vacation with my
mother-in-law at Wellawatte I would walk everyday on the beach which was only a
quarter of mile away from home.The bracing cool of the morning,the fresh
air,the soft breezes,and the music of the waves crashing against the reef ,the
salt water wetting my bare feet,would be the perfect start for a new day.The
houseboy Gamini who accompanied me would squat on a rock and watch me walk up
and down; he didn’t need the workout.
Many
beautiful women seeking the company of this handsome and vivacious South
American crossed his doorstep.But the
most beautiful woman in Ceylon he met was was a Tamil outcast who cleaned his
outhouse.He says “she was so lovely ,that regardless of her humble job I
couldn’t get her off my mind.Being completely free of snobbery where the
opposite gender was concerned Neruda
left gifts of fruits and silks to no avail;one day he firmly gripped her
by the wrist and led her to his room; her nude form ,was akin to the voluptuous
statues in South Indian Temples carved a thousand years before.But she was
completely unresponsive,and kept her eyes wide open all the while; it was like
the coming together of a man and statue.The experience was never repeated.
Brumpy’s
Daughter
The tale
intrigued me but was unfinished till I read Tissa Devendra’s absorbing book “On Horseshoe Street” a
collection of stories of his early life in Kandy and outback Ceylon where he
served as a public servant ending up as a Govt Agent.
To me this
book is on a par with Jinadasa
Wijayatunge’s classic Grass For My Feet.They both write with nostalgia, humour
and empathy with their fellow beings.Both have a realism which brilliantly
evoke their times.Wijayatunge’s the
early years of the twentieth century and Devendra’s the decades from the
nineteen forties onwards.
The
chapter “Brumpy’s Daughter” details the saga of Imelda Ratnayake and the story goes along these lines.
Devendra
first met her in the Aluth Eliya Kachcheri in the hill country.He writes “ in
the rather modest bloom of the female cohorts of kachcheri clerks there stood
out one exotic bloom;the mysterious Miss Ratnayake”.A pretty olive skinned girl
with grey eyes, fluent in Sinhala ,Tamil and English,she draped her sari in the
Tamil fashion and wore a pottu ( a dot)
on her forehead).The mystery was a young woman with a good Sinhala family
name,but dressing in the Tamil style and fluent in the language as well.As She
lived in the local convent,the office
staff imagined that she was the unwanted child of a white sahib.She was very
efficient and established a close rapport with the Indian labourers whose
language she spoke.
Imelda did
not encourage any dalliances, but a young staff officer was bowled over at
first sight.Sadly this was an instance of unrequited love.One day he took his
courage in both hands and wrote to her asking for her hand in marriage.The next
day he left for his village to seek permission from his parents, but never
returned,effectively vacating post.The kindly chief ,the Government Agent who
was apprised of the problem arranged for his transfer to a distant
outpost.Imelda having got a well deserved promotion went over to Colombo and
out of Devendra’s mind.
Years
later Devendra, now in the Puranapura kachcheri was joined by an old friend
from Aluth Eliya.He related the story of Imelda’s father who was now a
prosperous farmer in the nearby village of Puhulwewa.
Devendra
met Brumpy and his wife Thangamma during an official visit to Puhulwewa.Brumpy related
over lunch that Thangamma had become pregnant at Wellawatte.The master
‘Mr Race’ behaved like a gentlemen and persuaded Brumpy to marry her so that the baby had a father and a
name and promised to support them as long as he lived;if the baby was a girl
,it was to be called Imelda after his mother.He sent money through a friend who
suggested the Aluth Eliya convent for her education and a genteel upbringing.
Brumpy
came to work the farm on the
recommendation of ‘Mr Race’.It originally belonged to a Japanese man but Brumpy
inherited it when he returned to Japan as war clouds were on the horizon.
When
Devendra read Neruda’s memoirs the penny dropped.’Mr Race’ was Ricardo Reyes
the real name of Pablo Neruda.
Many years
later at a conference in Mexico City Devendra was invited for dinner by a
Chilean delegate Ronaldo Frei a Neruda devotee. He had worked in Ceylon as a
FAO expert and had roamed the streets of Wellawatte,with Neruda’s memoirs in
hand,in search of clues of the poet’s life there.He also located Brumpy and
Thangamma and eventually married Imelda.
When
Devendra meets them ,his wife who looks vaguely familiar says “ sir can you remember me.I was your
clerk at Aluth Eliya”.
Tissa
Devendra says it was a seismic shock for him.
Finally
the Ceylonese jigsaw puzzle was complete.Devendra located ,the long lost
daughter of the poet,Frei now had a living link with his idol,and Imelda had
her ideal partner.
Sadly
Neruda’s escapade with the Tamil girl came back to bite him forty years after
his death.The project to rename Santiago’s international airport ,after Neruda
,outraged militant feminists who citing the ‘rape’ had it stopped;it remains named after an army
general ‘Arturo Merino Benitez’.
All of
Neruda’s immense contributions to literature had been swept aside.
O'Tempora,O
Mores!!!
