Tales From Thalpawila - 1
Sahayoge
!
“Sahayoge
aaaawaaaa”
“Sahayoge
aaaawaaaa”
The
cry erupts in the morning air and sends the birds flying. It also announces the
arrival of a man on a foot bike with a big wooden box fitted at the back. The
box has a cover made with a few wooden planks fitted together and has a
weighing scale hung on the side and a huge knife stuck into a crevice in the
box. The man himself is rather young and dressed in a sarong and a white banian
and has a thick mop of hair falling over his forehead. His stentorian voice
rings out across the village and brings the village folk out of their huts and
houses to inspect his wares.
The
year is 1972, I am 05 years old, and “Sahayoge” is a local fish seller who
comes riding most days through my village, Thalpawila, in the deep innards of
Matara.
I
run out of my grandma’s house where I spent the early part of my childhood and
look up the road. There is a slight hill at the top of the road and I see him
come racing down and stop near the turn off to our house.
“Iskole
Haminey, Malu oney?”, he shouts from the road calling out to my grandmother. My
grandma is a School teacher and a principal long retired but everyone calls her
“Isokle Haminey”.
Grandma
comes out of the house and waves at “Sahayoge” asking him to come and show her
the fish he has for sale.
In
a flash the man is riding down the path that leads to the house and he alights
grinning from ear to ear.
“Ada
We
had many fish sellers who used to come through our village, but to me
“sahayoge” is fascinating. Where as the others come riding slowly and calling “maalo,
maalo”, he always yells “sahayoge aaawaaa” and rides through the village on his
bike at top speed. His loud voice can be heard for many a mile and villagers
know he is coming long before they actually see him.
He
always smiles at everyone he sees and never worries even if you buy from him or
not.
He
can make the fish in his box seem like works of art from the ocean. The way he
holds each variety up and makes them dance in his hands, creates in my mind
images of the fish swimming and leaping across the waves. His box has fish of
many varieties, colors and sizes and they all seem eager to join in with
“sahayoge” to please the customer. The
fish are from the mornings catch from “Gandara wella”, so they are really very
fresh.
He
throws back his unruly hair and grins at me as I peep over the edge of the box
to look.
“Aa,
baby mahaththayath aawada?” he calls me affectionately as he holds a huge black
and silver fish by the tail.
Grandma
selects a fish and “sahayoge”, weighs it using his scale and then takes the
huge knife and a wooden board from the side of the fish box and as I watch with
my mouth hung open he uses the massive weapon to cut and clean the fish with
lightning speed, and puts the pieces into a clay pot which has been brought
out. The discarded pieces are thrown to crows and a black and white cat which
have been prowling around and they fall upon these with relish.
“Sahayoge”,
washes his knife from the water in the bucket near our well and sticks it back
into the crevice in his box , and back goes the wooden board with it and the
lid is then firmly closed.
“Aa,
menna salli”, he pockets the money that my Grandma gives him and spins the bike
around.
“Ehenan,
Iskoley Haminey man yano”, he bows to my grandma, who smiles at him.
My
grandma takes the pot filled with fish to the kitchen where I know she will
make her delicious “Embul Thiyal” with it.
I
watch as the bike reaches the top of the path and turns left onto the road that
travels the length of our village and joins the main road.
As
he flies down the road on his bike I hear him call out,
“Sahayoge
aaaawaaaa”
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