A DAY ASHORE IN CEYLON

Evening Star, Issue 22212, 14 December 1935, Page 15

A DAY ASHORE IN CEYLON

BUSINESS AS SHE IS CONDUCTED [Written by “ W.W.B” for the ‘Evening Star.’] If there were one invitation which would leave the gaping tourist speechless with amazement in Ceylon, it would be the legend, “Come ini No one asked to buy!” printed in bold characters above a Cingalese shop. It is really questionable how much the inhabitant of Colombo or Kandy or any of tho countless villages in' Ceylon stands to gain by his procedure, but froni the moment when, the unwary visitor first sets foot on tho pqssenger jetty till the time when he bids a final farewell to rickshaws and, bullock carts, a horde of natives of every race and creed will besiege him with jequests, prayers, solicitations, and even demands that ho should become the proud possessor of anything from a silk shirt of the most modern type to an ebony elephant of doubtful antiquity. While he stands at the street corner wondering where to go next, a handsome youth will spring up from nowhere, and, daintily as a fair maiden depositing a lump of sugar in her coffee, lay in his unsuspecting palm a sweet-scented blossom. “ Temple flower, master!” ho will say in seductive tones, and the tourist will be hard-hearted indeed if he does not part with a ten-cent piece upon the spot. Nor will ho grudge this act of sheer liberality, for after all he wants some memento_ of Ceylon, and the whole transaction has been carried through so artistically that he will be lost in admiration at the efficiency of business methods in Colombo. ■

Summoning up a little courage, he will venture a little further along the street. “ Rickshaw, master, rickshaw!” a pleading voice intones in his ear. The temptation is too great, and bang goes half a rupee, or perhaps a whole one, for the rickshaw man may pretend that he does not know very well the place to which he has been directed, and take the tourist there by devious ways in order to make the journey, _ and consequently the re» muneration, much greater than it would otherwise be. The victim descends, satisfies his smiling tormentor, and enters a shop, determined not to be bamboozled this time. “ I want a pair of pyjamas,” he announces, thrusting aside the wave of eager assistants. “ Here you are, sir! Very cheap! Only ten rupees!” Knowing by now something of the traditions of the East, the customer offers three. “ Oh, no, sir, no! Look, sir, beautiful stuff 1” (The last words are uttered in the same tone of voice as you would use in repeating Lewis Carroll’s “ Soup of the evening! Beautiful soup!”) The customer replies, very firmly, “Three rupees!” “How much have you got, sir? ” is the next question, and one that must be answered very judiciously. Eventually the article will be sold for four rupees, but not until the entire stock-in-trade of the shop in question has been displayed for the customer’s approval. He will bo fortunate .indeed if ho leaves without a new silk shirt, a dozen, handkerchiefs, or a topee several sizes too big for him. Immediately he will decide that the sooner he gets out of Colombo the better for the state of his nerves. Someone has told him about Kandy, nestling among the hi11g 5 72 miles away. _ Though he returns he will hire a car and make the trip in comfort, secure from invasion by the swarm of hawkers and curio sellers. As he walks towards the vehicle of his choice, a newspaper boy thrusts an English paper into his hands. Here at least the tourist feels that he is on safe ground. Having paid the due price and not a cent more, he settles down in the back seat of the car to see if the All Blacks are still winning golden opinions. Somehow, the news seems strangely familiar. Horror of horrors! It is yesterday’s paper! Muttering words that make the sultry atmosphere even more torrid, he tries to restore his equilibrium by watching the ever-changing scene that meets his eyes as he passes over _ the KelaniGanga River on his long ride to Kandy. Certainly there is abundance of interest on the way. The streets of the Pettah, or native quarter, are lined lyith shops stocked with bananas, coconuts, pawpaws, betel-nuts, breadfruit, confectionary, and ’ all manner of mysterious dainties. In and out of the motley crowd stalks the true native of Ceylon, a fine comb shining in his hair, the Hindu with forehead smeared with ashes or vermilion, the Afghan in his turban, his shirt falling loosely over Ids baggy white trousers, and the Muslim with his fez,. and a little further along the road he passes a Buddhist priest in his long yellow robe. Rice fields in every stage of cultivation flash past him. and when he comes to a building which turns out to be a tea factory. he feels impelled to alight and inspect it. With infinite pains the overseer conducts him over the building, showing him the racks where the leaves are dried, the cutting and grading machines, and the young girls, who for half a rupee a day, pick out the stalks and coarser elements from the heaps of fragrant tea. Certainly, it has been an interesting expedience, and well worth the expected tip. Returning to his car, the tourist drives through village , after village, and when at last he comes to a river in which an elephant is lying, carefully splashing the water over himself with his trunk, the traveller remembers his camera aud prepares to take a snapshot. But ho has reckoned without the inhabitants of that picturesque spot. They, too, have artistic sensibilities. In twos and threes, and finally in scores, they arrive, and pose before the camera. Undoubtedly they add a little local colour to the scene, so he takes them all, only to find himself in a rather awkward position, for these people have a firm belief, that the labourer is .worthy of his hire. If our tourist tips one only, the rest will be rather annoyed, and it is always unwise to anger a native, particularly if there are about 50 others standing round. If he tips nobody, that fellow with the gun may play a few tricks with it, and it is just possible that the thing, may go off. At last ho has an inspiration. From bis pocket he takes a handful of -silver aud throws’ it to the impatient crowd with the air of an Eastern potentate distributing largesse to the multitude. It is a happy thought, and amid the ensuing tumult he makes a quiet and dignified departure. After that he does not dare to get out of his car on any pretext. Even the flying foxes, like huge bats sweeping through the air, or clustering in the trees like sdrauge exotic fruit, cannot induce him to alight. Soon Kandy’s sacred lake meets his enraptured gaze, and as he climbs the billside to the hotel where ho has decided to lunch, he heaves a sigh of relief. Safe at last! Seated before a table in the dining room, with the, prospect of a substantial five-course 'meal before him, hie fesla khat sw ail &§

troubles are over. The busy waiters ply him with delicacies, and he munches his rice and samples the condiments with the greatest of gusto. A juicy segment of paw-paw transports him into a seventh heaven of epicurean delight; and by the time the coffee arrives ho is at peace with the world. The mute, expectant attitude of the head waiter and his numerous satellites recalls him to a sense of his responsibilities, Confound it' all! He will have to tip them all in native money; 10 per cent, of four rupees and 60 cents? To one unaccustomed to the decimal system the problem is indeed most conplicated. Eventually, with the aid of pencil and paper, he manages to solve it, pays his dues, and is smilingly bowed out of the dining room. After that, the process of tipping the lift man and the cloak room attendant is comparatively simple, and so skilful has the tourist now beconie that he actually succeeds in dodging a very persistent gentleman who wishes to sell him a collection of gorgeous insects—“ Only 16 rupees, sir!”—and he makes his way without serious molestation to the Temple of the Tooth, where Buddha’s left canine tooth reposes in the innermost shrine. But even on the very steps of the temple a further source of embarrassment is to be found. “No hand, sir, no hand! ” is the piteous cry of a beggar whom it seems cruel to ■ ignore; but .a touch of comedy is straightway added to the scene by the efforts of several other natives to shield the visitor from the sun with their umbrellas.

Perspiring violently, not so much from the heat as from his attempts to evade unwelcome assistance, he staggers into the sacred courts of the temple. Carefully the guide explains tho significance of the ancient granite carvings, and enthusiastically enlarges on paintings depicting the tortures of the damned. With a feeling of intense satisfaction the visitor notes that the extortionate income tax, collector gets his share of punishment, and wonders vaguely how the shrewd moneymakers of Colombo will fare in the next world, and whether there is a Benefit of Clergy provision for Buddhists. Not for long however, is he permitted to muse. In a corner devoted to the sacred flowers of Buddha he 'is .presentd with a tiny blossom, and experiences a severe shock when, on offering a 10-cent piece to the maiden who presides over the mysteries, he is met with a sad but firm refusal. “Not enough!” the guide mutters reproachfully, and, fearful of causing a riot in the temple, the tourist hastily parts with some more of his precious silver.

Then, and then only, he is escorted into the presence of the high priest, a very dignified and amiable gentleman in a yellow robe, who obligingly shows him a collection of rare Buddhist manuscrips stylussed on prepared palm leaves and demonstrates how the actual writing is done. Holding the stylus in a notch in his thumb nail, he scratches the characters on the surface of the leaf. A rub with a rag coated with; some indelible preparation, and the writing stands out bold and clear. Then, with something approaching a flourish, the high priest produces the visitors’ book, points to the signatures of the Prince of Wales, Mr Ramsay MacDonald, and Mr George Bernard Shaw, and invites the tourist to add his own name to that illustrious list. The ceremony completed, the guest of honour wonders whether the high priest will lower himself so far as to accept a tip. Here is a matter of extreme delicacy, but there is no need for anxietyfor the guide opens a drawer in which the money is placed, while the high priest discreetly looks the other way, Soon the ’ tourist, having tipped his guide and dodged the umbrella man once more, is on his way back 'to Colombo, A drive through the botanical gardens, with its fine collection of tropical flowers, shrubs, and.trees, is so successful that he determines not to leave his car again whatever happens, and even when he, meets a native' procession with elephants and masked dancers he refuses to. stop. Safe in Colombo, he makes straight for his boat, only to'find that the last launch has gone, and that his only means of getting on board is to'accept the invitation of two villainous-looking natives with a decidedly aggressive manner hidden beneath their silky ,' tones. “ Rowing boat here, master! Rowing boat going, now. All right, sir, all right.” Feeling that it is far from all right, he steps on board y but when he is amost within hailing distance of his ship the boat stops, and the .proprietors begin the unpleasant process of making their own terms. If be does not yield there is every chance that his ship" will sail without him, so with a final imprecation he parts with/ his last rupee, and clambers on board five minutes before the ship is ready to depart. A close'shave that! _ Still, he has seen something of a most romantic, if decidedly expensive, country, and in his more tranquU moments realises that his experience ashore has been infinitely worth while. Soon he will learn to laugh at the persistence of the native and even to circumvent the wiles of the unscrupulous salesman, and any trifling mconvemence he haC suffered will be swallowed up in delightful memories of a country where are to be found not only tea, rubber, pearls, and precious stones, palm avenues and purple bougainvillea, and the fascinating 80-tree, sacred to-Buddhists but a native population so infinite in ite variety that the spectacle will nil him with a deep desire to find out more and more about his fellow men, whatever their race, or customs, or creed.