Rail to the hill country

Five kids head to the hill country during the school holidays

On a morning during the school holidays, Uncle Jeff accompanied his children, Ajit, Shanti, Rohan and Marius, to Colombo Central Station. I was the other kid with him, Ajit’s best mate in that enthralled bunch of kids. We travelled to Kotagala to see their mum, living and working in the hill country. On the express train parked at the central station, Uncle Jeff settled us in a cabin. Opening his wallet, he gave Ajit some coins for snacks on the long trip. Then he left for his work in the central business district of the city.

Excited, Ajit grabbed a corner seat by the window, and I settled into the opposite seat. Ajit’s sister Shanti and the two brothers sat opposite each other. Being the tallest, I packed everyone’s travel bags on the overhead racks. The cabin was empty, and we had the freedom to move willy-nilly. We leapt our long legs on each other seats, extending our reach, enjoying ourselves. We could not wait for the journey to start. A trip that Ajit and I had planned for during our school term. Everyone was overjoyed.

The train started on time and moved fast. There was so much chatter among the five of us that we could not hear anything else, not even the train’s roaring diesel engine. I started marking the train stations, guessing the name of the next station, to the amusement of Marius and Rohan. An hour or two into the ride, the landscape was slowly changing. The land stretched green with rice fields to the very edge of the horizon and was dotted with men in loin clothes and women toiling. Countryside and small mountains started to appear. The open doors and windows embraced us with the sights and smells of villages and small towns.

Rohan and Marius, the two young guns in their early teens, sitting on the other side of the carriage, stood up and peered their heads out. I went over to them and persuaded them to keep their heads in. I gave them the fear of their lives and told them the stories of young lads who lost their lives for poking their heads out of moving trains.

The train left the plains and slowly climbed to the hill country. The train entered a tunnel, and some coal dust flew into our eyes. We quickly closed the glass shutters and held onto the seats. The train’s overhead lighting did not come up. The cabin was pitch dark. The tunnel seemed to go forever. Some young men in the front of the train started whistling and screaming. Their loud sounds echoed through the train, now travelling in utter darkness. When the train passed the tunnel, we noticed the climb getting steeper. The paddy fields gave way to fruit trees, shrubs, and occasional tea plantations.

Ajit pointed out a rock shaped like a book. “That is the bible rock”, Ajit announced. As we passed that, we saw Utuwan Kande, where Saradiel, the local folklore hero, hid in a cave. Saradiel stole from the rich and helped the poor. He was finally shot down by the English a century earlier. He was Sri Lanka’s answer to Robin Hood.

At Peradeniya, a train intersection, an elderly man pressed a mango into Marius’s hand and asked him to share it with his brothers. The man thought that I, too, was his elder brother. Ajit pulled out his coins, calling out to a sarong-wearing boy, not much older than us, selling vadai and bought five for the five of us. Ajit took a glass bottle of water from his bag, packed by Aunty Kitty and shared it with the rest.

At the stop, we watched with awe a train engine attached to the rear. It was an engineering marvel. When the train took off, I thought it was going back. Ajit and his brothers, having taken this trip before, were quick to explain that the train had a steep climb. Two train engines were used in the hills country. One to pull and the other to push. The train started climbing hills, and the landscape was changing rapidly. No coconut or fruit trees were in sight. The whole thing was a huge lush landscape, beautifully crafted.

The elderly man started talking to us, and we reciprocated. He had already given us a sliced mango to share. He was amazed these five kids were trekking a train ride without a parent. Ajit replied that he is the caretaker of us all. The man, now a ‘seeya’, meaning grandfather, griped in amusement.

As the train began its steep climbs, the track became winding. The tropical vegetation gave way to an increasing number of fir and tall trees. Rows of green tea bushes in the mountains started appearing. Many women with their gunny sacks were picking tea leaves in packs of many of them. On top of the hilltops were large white buildings, and Ajit said they were the tea factories. The air became cooler. The roads and tracks were built to the side of the mountains. On one side was a high mountain, and on the other was a sharp drop. Looking down, you saw vast valleys covered with tea estates and cypress trees. Far away, on tiny roads, there were cars, buses and lorries trekking and navigating bends. They looked like dinky toys to the native eye — a magical and beautiful sight.

The train rounded a sharp bend, making the carriage rock slightly from side to side. We could see the tail end of the train; the passengers were hanging out of the open doorways. The train let out a long, mournful whistle that echoed against the sides of the hills.

By noon we reached Kotagala, the destination train station. The station master, dressed in a white uniform, was waiting at the platform for us. He took us into his office and directed a fellow porter to chaperone us to Aunty Irene, Ajit’s mum’s home. Aunty had arranged the logistics of escorting us with the station master, her friend. The porter guided us to the bus stand, carrying our bags. He carried the lot, all of the five bags, an art that only he knew how. He was a porter, after all, I figured later.

Half an hour later, we were at the hospital quarters. Aunty Irene came out wearing her white uniform and white cap. She was happy to receive us with a bright smile. A huge lunch awaited us in her living room. After a quick wash to get rid of the black soot from the train ride, we ate the rice and curry, which Ajit’s mother had lovingly cooked for us. Everything tasted so different, the meat and the vegetables. So, drastically fresh and tasty. We ate to our heart’s desires, leaving no leftovers.

Around the hospital quarters, where Aunty Irene lived, were large bungalows, tea bushes and fruit trees. The weather was cooler. Ajit and I were impatient to get out and walk around. We were determined to make the best of our school holidays at Kotagala.

Ajit and I roamed in the tea estate behind the hospital that afternoon. We walked and walked. Finally, we got lost and could not find our way back. One tea bush led to another with no way out. It was now getting dark. But eventually, we found our way, thanks to a kind kid who lived on the estate. He guided us to the hospital quarters, leading the way and walking back with us. He left only after he was sure that we were safe.

Three weeks of youthful bliss followed; trekking, movies, mingling with local kids, smoking and skinny dipping in the beautiful hills of my old country, Sri Lanka.

More stories with Ajit and his family

My friend Ajit & The incredible Martins

Subscribe to my stories https://djayasi.medium.com/subscribe

The artwork and images belong to the original authors.