Madhu church
A boy’s trip to a Catholic shrine and a short-lived friendship
My parents knew the art of cheap holidays. They used creative tricks to make the most of school breaks. These trips were a great opportunity for chilling out and spending time together as a family. No school holiday was spared without a trip to some holiday destination. There was no corner on the tiny island of Sri Lanka, I had not travelled when I was a child. The transport mode did not matter; we took all sorts of transport, buses, trains and even aeroplanes. In my teenage years, through my father's work, we even had access to a car, a Moskvitch car, a Russian workhorse.
One such was a trip to Madhu, in the north of Sri Lanka, a holiday combined with a pilgrimage in January. The church of Madhu is the most venerated Catholic shrine on the island. It is dedicated to Jesus’s mother, Mary. Madhu is the Mecca for Sri Lankan Catholics. This was my second visit to Madhu; the first was when I was six years old.
In the previous month, I sat for my grade ten exam. Sitting for the general certificate was like coming of age for kids in my time. Boys were allowed to wear long pants only after they sat for the exam. They wore their new pants as a badge of honour — a sign of emerging manhood.
Carrying my small suitcase, I joined my family on a long train ride from Colombo Central to Madhu. It was my first-holiday trip wearing long pants, bell bottoms, beige in colour with a navy blue shirt and brown pointy shoes. I was immensely proud of my gear, a day I could remember to this day in immense detail. The train had to stop mid-track from allowing passing elephants passage. After about eight hours before sunset, we landed in Madhu and settled in a holiday cabin within walking distance from the church.
It was off-season in Madhu, not the pilgrimage season when thousands flock to the church. Crowds were sparse in that large space. Most holiday homes were empty. A corner store supplied groceries that sold religious items, rosaries, candles, and images to the visitors cum devotees seeking heavenly favours via Mother Mary.
The hot torching days were spent with frequent trips from the cabin to the church. Morning mass, breakfast, prayer ceremonies, lunch, more prayer ceremonies, novenas and dinner and an early sleep. In between, I helped my mother with grocery shopping and played with my siblings.
That was not enough to keep a sixteen-year-old settled and in check. I roamed the area during the day, looking out for friends to hang out and chat with. I was exploring.
In one of the adjoining cabins was a boy my age. He could not talk to me much because he spoke little Sinhala and English, made up with his wide smile. Unlike me, he wore a white dhoti. But friendships are to break barriers, so we got along. He hailed from the north of Sri Lanka and visited Madhu with his family. His name was Jacob Xavier.
Jacob was great company to kill my boredom between masses, rosaries and evening novenas. We two roamed the area, the dry plains of Madhu. Interrupting one of our sojourns, he took me to his family’s cabin. His parents welcomed me, speaking to me in Tamil. His father also wore a dhoti. He was a trader. Jacob had three little sisters, two of them twins. I could only smile at them because I spoke no Tamil. Who needed a language when an honest smile could do wonders? A spicy, plain tea later, served by his mother, Jacob and I headed to the plains of Madhu again.
That evening, I attended the church novena services in Tamil with Jacob. My mother questioned me harshly about why I was attending services I could not understand.
Yes, my mother was right. I could not understand a word of that lingo, but I knew the rituals. Hymns I knew in Sinhala were sung in Tamil by a large crowd. They were devout devotees.
On the next day, I joined Jacob again. With the pocket money I saved, I bought Palmyra palm jaggery from the stalls adjoining the church. Jacob liked kotta kelangu, made of palmyra sprouts. With our tummies full of sugar hits and snacks, we headed to Madhu Lake, a few hundred yards from the church grotto — another discovery.
The lake was huge, with nobody in the water. There we stripped, me to my undies, an embarrassing jock strap not designed to bathe in, and Jacob to a loincloth. We jumped into the water. The lake was shallow, allowing us to bathe in safety. We stayed in the water for over an hour, splashing and fighting water fights with our cupped hands on each other.
The language was still a barrier between Jacob and me, but that did not stop me from enjoying my school holiday in Madhu.
The next day was a day trip for my family. We came by train to Mannar, a sea city in the northwest of Madhu. We toured the historic Mannar city, a Catholic stronghold with churches everywhere one looked. We then headed to a church where some 600 Catholics were killed in the 16th century. It was a sombre religious venue where the skulls and bones of the martyrs were on display. Some of them belonged to children. These brave souls had chosen to die for their faith back in the day. The five of us then headed to Talaimanar, the closest point of Sri Lanka to India. We walked around the small harbour city, seeing the fishing boats and ferries that plied between India and Sri Lanka, me shepherding my siblings, sister and kid brother.
We headed back to Madhu on the evening train, tired. I could not take the images of the skulls of those martyrs from five centuries ago from that church site. My mother thought they were great heroes to die for their faith. I did not think I could give up my life for my faith. Would they cut my head off for my Catholic faith? It disturbed me so much that I dreamt of their heroic martyrdom in my sleep.
Those crazy thoughts aside, I thought of spending my spare time with Jacob the next day. When I walked up to their cabin the next morning, there was no sign of Jacob. The cabin was empty. Jacob’s family had left Madhu to go back home.
I did not get to say goodbye to my dhoti-wearing friend. That was life back then. It was a life full of short-lived friendships. I took the loss in my stride.
We returned home the following day by train, back to my semi-suburban life.
A related story: Jaffna again
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