The technology I used as a writer

Writers are dependent on technology as much as anyone else, whether they write by hand or use machinery. You can see here the technology I used as a writer from 1981 till the new millennium. I bought the 1960s Imperial typewriter at the bottom as an antique 10 years ago, but the white Olympia above is my first typewriter, bought in Jordan in 1981 when I was working for the Jordan Times. I used it for a long time until buying an electric typewriter in the early 1990s. On top is my second laptop, a Bondwell 486 using diskettes bought second hand in 1998 or so. It worked for about 3 years before packing up. Typewriters age well. Laptops don’t. Tapping on a typewriter keyboard is a real life experience compared to a computer keyboard. A computer will keep you connected. You can mail your docs, photos, videos. On the other hand, with a typewriter, you have no spam, viruses, malware or ransomware. I can start using my typewriters again after so many years. All I need is a little machine oil and a new ribbon. But I can’t revive this laptop., and they are expensive. When this one crashed, I had to wait more than ten years to buy another laptop. If there’s no power, I can still type, and I don’t need breaking news when I’m doing creative writing. Finally, when I remove the top and look inside, it fascinates me. The laptop is just a plastic box with a motherboard inside.

Why is it so hard to get published? It has been my life-long goal to get at least one of novels written in English published by a Western Publisher. This isn't a question of vanity. Another life-long goal has been to achieve an income, if not a living, from writing novels. The Sri Lankan market for writers in English is too small for this, and the best hope is to find a Western publisher. I consider the Master of Cocktails to be the best of the five novels I've written so far, and took up the search for a Western publisher for it a couple of months ago. In fact I found an American agency interested in this several years ago, and it offered me $4000 for it. But I thought that agency called SRBRA somewhat dubious, and the man who contacted me (usually it's the other way round but he sent me an email) called Tom was a bit cagey, so I declined the offer. This time, five publishers (two from UK, three from the US) are very interested, but they are offering hybrid contracts whereby I have to meet part of the intial cost (from $3000 to $3500). Badly hit by the pandemic, I don't have that kind of money. Why can't they simply pay me what they can and buy the manuscript? It's a good book, it has market potential. This mail sent to me by Olympia Publishers UK says as much. But they don't want to take a risk! Nothing risked, nothing gained. All five publishers have sent similar mails, but are offering hybrid contracts. It's heartbreaking, but the search continues. Here's the mail by Olympia UK. Editors (Olympia Publishers) Mon, Oct 11, 7:08 PM (2 days ago) Dear Mr Akmeemana, I would like to thank you for your patience during this time. My colleagues and I have now very carefully looked at 'The Master of Cocktails'. I received independent reports on the style, quality of writing and the suitability to genre and I am pleased to say that we find 'The Master of Cocktails' to be of considerable merit and believe it would appeal to the reading public. Although we agree the work is well written and has literary merit, commercial decisions have to be made in this fiercely competitive market. Bearing this in mind, we cannot offer a traditional contract for the work at this time. We would be able to offer a hybrid publishing contract, but we understand this may not be something you are interested in at this time as this incurs a fee. May I take this opportunity to thank you for your interest in Olympia and wish you all the best for the future. Yours sincerely, James Houghton Commissioning Editor Email: editors@olympiapublishers.com Website: www.olympiapublishers.com Facebook: www.facebook.com/OlympiaPublishers Twitter: https://twitter.com/olympiapub

I can finally post my short story The Lucky Charm which came first in the English Writers’ Collective prose writing competition this year. I had to wait till the EWC published this and other entries in their journal, which will come out shortly. I’m pleased that this story will be included in an anthology of Sri Lankan short stories compiled by writer, publisher and song writer Sydney Marcus Dias and his Thothanna Publishers, Anamaduwa. This anthology aims to be representative of all Sri Lankan communities, and two stories written in English (mine and another representing the Burgher community) have been selected as representative of those who use English either as their first language or working language, and will be published as translations into Sinhala and Tamil. This little known publishing house, functioning far from Colombo, has done yeoman service to indigenous literature and inter-communal harmony and understanding by translating works by Sinhala writers into Tamil and vice versa and its work is even more praiseworthy because the demand for such literature is very low key and it must necessarily at little or no profit. This particular anthology should reach bookshops by the end of this year. This story was written in a hurry, when I wasn’t really in a writing mood, to meet the EWC competition deadline. It’s based on an ageing individual’s perception of his own vulnerable self when confronted by the pandemic, the fear and loneliness it causes, looming retirement and frighteningly diminishing means of surviving financially in the pandemic-stricken world and its unpredictable aftermath. Winning the competition was a surprise. My last literary prize was the Gratiaen way back in 1996. I have not entered any competitions with fiction since then, though I have written three novels, at least twenty short stories and a graphic novel since. It may be that the despair caused by advancing age and the uncertainties brought about by the pandemic made me take the plunge and see if I could still write competitively. This award comes as a timely boost to my morale! Looking for an image to go with this post, I couldn't think of anything suitable. This photo of a street vendor was taken by me last year in between lockdowns. I thought its sombre colours and ambiance might suit the mood of this story. The Lucky Charm I began hating masks as Coronavirus began to spread and wearing one in public became mandatory. The days were warm and the nights were warmer. My face began to itch under the mask. Bur I always wore one whenever I went outside, as I feared the virus more than anything else – age, loneliness, being swallowed up by the gaping black hole of looming retirement. But fear of the virus faded gradually as the months passed. I learned to be careful, going through the required rituals diligently – washing hands before entering public places, doing it again after coming home. I even washed banknotes and coins at the start, but the whole thing struck me as absurd and soon I was content to sprinkle some disinfectant on my hands and purse after any transaction. I got into the habit of carrying one of those small plastic bottles with me when travelling. Once, I found myself about 500 meters away from home without my mask. Pure terror struck me, as I could get arrested for breaking the pandemic laws. But no one seemed to notice as I hurried back home to collect my mask. After two lockdowns, I began to feel like a survivor. I didn’t lose my caution. But I no longer feared the pandemic for purely medical reasons. I dreaded it because it exposed me, as nothing had ever done before, as an ageing male who could no longer count upon vanity to protect his ever vulnerable self from the vagaries of alienation and mounting despair. Strangely enough, my health worries were minimal. No one I know of had died of Coronavirus. Two acquaintances got infected, but both survived without much trouble. I began to believe that I wouldn’t fall victim to the virus now though the pandemic was still raging almost everywhere. This didn’t lead to carelessness on my part, and I continued to wear the hated mask. True, I didn’t change them often. I had three different masks made of cloth, not buying surgical masks because they looked flimsy. These three were brightly coloured, which amounted to a superstition on my part, as if bright reds, blues and greens could frighten away the virus. I also noticed one thing about my mask quite accidentally. One day, as I closed the front door behind me, I noticed that I’d forgotten my watch. As I hurriedly returned to the bedroom and opened the clothes cupboard, I saw myself in the mirror. The mask hid most of the lines on my face. With my hair dyed, that made me look a lot younger. Instead of feeling joy, that made me feel depressed. I was living alone after my divorce ten years ago, and romance hadn’t come my way again as I hoped. Eventually, I learned to cope with being lonely, or so I thought, until the pandemic came. The days with their carelessly jostling citizens could be as illusory as that mirror image of the masked me, looking younger. It was one of those useful vanities. The nights were different. They hacked away at my fond beliefs, that I could somehow survive and that I still had a future. I got into the habit of walking to office. That I still had my job was one of those vanities which vanished the moment I began buying groceries. Everything seemed to cost twice as much now, or more, and my greatly reduced salary was hardly enough to pay the bills. After the second lockdown, I began thinking of selling my books. There was little else I could sell. During those nightly walks through a highly commercial, built up area of the city, I began to feel uneasiness in my bones. I left home around seven pm and the cafes and some shops were still open. But they looked desultory. There were no buses and I didn’t want to take public transport, in any case. That’s why I began walking. At first, I felt proud that I could walk nine kilometers to and fro, daily, from Monday to Saturday. But that feeling of satisfaction was soon overwhelmed by the dread caused by a shadowy city which looked dangerous and hostile, abandoned by those who could afford to leave, left to its own devices. After the brightly lit commercial section, there was a high class residential area. The houses looked gloomy and the occasional security guard always looked like a ghost. They looked at me with suspicion, as if I was a trespasser. Vehicles passed by. But they only heightened my sense of insecurity. After all, these could be fleeing the city. At such times, I began to feel utterly alone, and this mood only got worse once I reached the public park. It was open to public once again, and there were people standing by parked vehicles while couples and families strolled inside. But it wasn’t at all like the good old pre-pandemic days that I now recall with such longing, the way one remembers falling in love, the birth of a child or a great holiday. These people looked theatrical under the circumstances. The mild bustle at the park looked increasingly unreal to me. It looked staged in a world ruled by a capricious, invisible virus. By the time I got to office, my legs ached, and I was happy to collapse into a chair. There were only a handful of workers at night. I began to feel redundant, my looming retirement speeded up by Coronavirus. But the office was one of those shaky links I still had with the world. Home was another, but it looked increasingly untenable. There were repairs I could not afford, the bedroom began feeling empty again. But I knew that a woman would not be able to fill this emptiness. The longing for love and physical intimacy had faded. All that implied being rooted somewhere, a room, a sense of belonging and the relief of intimacy. But the pandemic had turned me into a deserter. I wanted to flee, simply to keep moving. As much as I dreaded my nightly walks to office, I began to long for a walk that had no fixed destination. I wanted to simply keep moving. That walk would take me past beautiful landscapes, free of this modern plague, past rivers and glades and bountiful forests, pollution-free cities where people welcomed you with a smile. A stranger would offer me a bed for the night. Or I would simply curl up and sleep under a tree near a murmuring brook, to be awakened by bird cries. I dreamed of running ecstatically towards wine dark seas, where the distant dark bobs could be sea nymphs biding their time. When such thoughts filled my head, my own bed was depressing. I used to be comforted by the book cases. These filled the bed room and much of the living room. I had lost count on the way, but I believe I have over three thousand books. It was sad to think that I would have to sell them to do mundane things – repair leaking pipes or the roof, a crumbling door and frame, or just to eat. For many months, I had postponed what I felt was the great betrayal, the idea of selling the books that I loved so much. But there comes a day when you turn traitor to your fondest beliefs. And so I had gathered enough nerve one morning to call Jayasiri, the second hand book shop owner from whom I had bought hundreds and hundreds of books over a span of thirty years. We had both aged together. But, when he knocked on the door, I faced a moment of truth. He looked old. I looked both old and haggard. He removed his mask the moment he entered. Should I ask him to wash his hands? But I just stood there, frozen. He walked from one book case to another, taking his time. I began thinking of the books. The night before, I wanted to set aside a few for myself. Eventually, there were more than a hundred on the floor, and I had opened only three of the cases. It was a hopeless task. The books were still on the floor. Jayasiri looked quizzically at them. “What I’ve been reading,” I explained. “No time to put them back in the cases.” Jayasiri smiled. We were secret sharers for a moment, one untidy book lover to another. I sat on a chair and contemplated what I had taken out of the cases. Ulysses by James Joyce, the complete works of T. S. Eliot, an illustrated edition of Shakespeare’s complete works, Tolstoi, Chekhov, Gogol, Solzhenitsyn, Mikhail Bulgakov, the poetry of Wole Soyinka, Maya Angelou, Anna Akhmatova and Pablo Neruda, the novels of F. Scott Fitzgerald, Yasunari Kawabatha, Ernest Hemingway, Ruth Prawer Jhabwala, Toni Morrison, Alberto Moravia, Thomas de Quincy, James Baldwin, short story collections, poetry anthologies, plays from all over the world, so many writers, so many…. “A lot of them came from your shop,” I said, paying a compliment. He picked up a thick paperback volume and waved it at me. “The William Faulkner reader,” Jayasiri laughed. “I remember that one.” Should I change my mind? Let the roof leak, let the door collapse, I could live even more spartanly…I should tell him now I have changed my mind. This was my last vanity – that I had the best home library in the whole neighbourhood, that I had read authors even university lecturers haven’t heard of (Giuseppe di Lampedusa comes to my mind) that I was man of some learning…. But I simply sat there. Finally, Jayasiri turned towards me. He touched the nearest book case, as if for support, and said: “I can give you fifteen.” I thought that was for just that book case. Multiply that by eight…. He must have seen something in my eyes, for he added quickly: “For the lot.” “For everything?” “Just the books. I don’t need the cases.” It was apocalyptical, empty book cases and three five thousand rupee notes which wouldn’t begin to pay a month’s grocery and other bills. “But that’s a lot of classics.” “They are old,” Jayasiri said. “The pages are yellow. There’s a lot of silverfish. And business is down.” On my last visit to his bookshop, he had told me business was good as people began reading more during lockdowns. “Also,” he added, as if trying to soften the blow, “very few thrillers.” I sat there and longed for the night, the same night that I dreaded so much. After all, it left no room for compromises and negotiations. You had to face it squarely. After Jayasiri left, I sat on the floor and began leafing through the books strewn there the night before. I began apologizing silently to them, and they stared at me compassionately. Tonight, I’d take a book with me to office, and I would do so every night as long as the routine lasted. I badly needed a lucky charm to protect me in the abandoned streets, and I had found one at last.

 My recent post about War and Peace in Face Book's Russian Literature Appreciation Group got very good reactions, and someone requested a few passages  so I followed up with this detailed analysis.

So happy about all the interest generated by my War and Peace post. Someone has asked me to quote a passage. I have chosen a few passages from Book VIII, chapter XX, titled: ‘Pierre at the Rostovs’. My apologies if the post got to be a  bit long.

In this chapter, Natasha who has been very ill has recovered  enough to take up her singing, and she realises that Pierre loves her. This is a very crowded novel and many other things are happening, too, but what happens in this chapter is so significant.

Why’s that? In a 1352 page novel, it takes 734 pages before Tolstoi gives us some indication  that what we so eagerly want to happen, that Pierre Bezhukhov and Natasha Rostova should fall in love with each other. But it’s never as simple as that with Tolstoi. A few pages earlier, in chapter XIX, we are told in the title that the intellectually honest but spiritually tormented Pierre faces a life-changing moment -- ‘Pierre’s relation to life altered by his feeling for Natasha.’

But that still doesn’t quite amount to love. It’s exasperating. Tolstoi keeps us guessing, and waiting. He’s telling us that life flows, but at its own pace, with  ebb and flow. The result is dramatic tension. He doesn’t fall back on the cheap literary devices used by the blockbuster writers. This is why I find this book hard to put down.

Of course, there is the question if everyone wants the clumsy, somewhat indolent and overweight Pierre to be Natasha’s husband. Having rooted for the dashing Prince Andrei at first, I eventually settled for Pierre Bezhukov. Clumsy as he might be, I decided he was capable of loving her deeply and taking care of her.

Now let’s see how Natasha reacts to Pierre. This is like time travel. Love is eternal, but our perceptions change. This is not the place for a long analysis, but just look at how Tolstoi describes Pierre’s meeting with Natasha at the Rostov’s in Chapter XX, Book VIII. She’s practicing her singing exercises in the music room. I’m quoting randomly:

“’Count, is it wrong of me to sing?’ she said, fixing her eyes inquiringly on him.

‘No, why should it be? On the contrary….But why do you ask me?’

‘I don’t know myself’ Natasha answered quickly, “But I should not like to do anything you disapproved of. I believe in you completely. You don’t know how important you are to me, how much you’ve done for me…’ she spoke rapidly and did not notice how Pierre flushed at these words.”

This is not a modern woman. It’s very 19^th century. Yet, we continue read and become very touched by these emotions. But let’s look at Pierre’s reactions to her words.

“By association of ideas Pierre was carried back to the day when, trying to comfort her, he had said that if he were not himself but the best man in the world and free, he would ask on his knees for his hand; and the same feeling of pity, tenderness and love took possession of him and the same words  rose to his lips. But she did not give him time to say them.”

That’s not a modern man, either. There isn’t a trace of macho there. This isn’t the time to debate where our modern macho culture started. I personally think the movies (mainly Hollywood, sorry) are responsible for this, with the Westerns and thrillers (conversely, when the men are so tough, the women have to be tough, too). Even Orson Welles in Citizen Cane isn’t macho. He is humbled by love. Today, every country’s movie industry runs on macho heroes (and heroines). If you go French cinema, Indian cinema or Italian cinema up to the 60s, the heroes weren’t macho. Even in detective fiction, let’s not forget that Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot aren’t macho characters. Martin Cruz Smith is a modern thriller writer who uses this point very effectively. His character, investigator Arkady Renko of the Moscow militia, is the very antithesis of the macho stereotype. Renko is modelled out of Tolstoi, Chekhov and Turgeniev.

The point is that young people take their cues from the movies more than books. If we had a generation whose libido was fashioned by books such as War and Peace, love relationships would be quite different. In today’s context, no novelist would dare  give the following lines to a female character: “Yes, you…you…” she said, (to Pierre) uttering the word you rapturously, “that’s a different thing. I know no one kinder, more generous, or better than you; nobody could be! Had you not been there then, and now too, I don’t know what would have become of me, because…”

Anyone who writes like this nowadays won’t find a publisher. But this is precisely why I love reading classical Russian literature.

‘

The translator of Jonathan Livingstone Seagull passes away

By Gamini Akmeemana

It’s with so much sadness that I learned about the untimely death of journalist, writer, translator and humanist Malini Govinnage.

I first met her in 2000 when we were part of a group of journalists on a press tour of India organised by the National Peace Council. She was working for the Daily News. I was impressed by her sincerity and quiet but intense study of the daily life around her. Since then, I met her only once. Not a public figure, she was hardly ever seen at press events. I became aware of her prolific writing only recently, thanks to journalist Mohan Sriyantha Ariyawansa who informed me of her death (after a  battle with cancer) and sent me these two photographs.

I took a photograph of Malini in India. Unfortunately, I can’t trace it now, but I’m going to publish it when I find it. I regret deeply that I was so much out of touch with her life all these years. Her choice of books for translation reveal different sides of her personality, but they all share one predominant quality – an almost tangible longing for freedom.

Her deep rooted yearning for justice and profound feeling for those persecuted in the name of progress  is reflected in her books, which deal with subjects such as the persecution of American Indians, Ernesto Guevara’s Bolivian Diary and the cold-blooded campaign of murder carried out by Argentina’s military junta against the Mothers of Plaza del Mayo.

The same cry for freedom is reflected in a little known book translated by her – ‘Akeekaru Muhudu Lihiniya’ is the translation of  Jonathan Livingstone Seagull by Richard Bach, which became a bestseller in the US in my school days. It was actually a booklet, illustrated with black and white photographs of seagulls. Richard Bach was inspired to write it due to his encounters with seagulls at the seaside. He created a fictitious little gull called Jonathan Livingstone and recorded its struggle to prove itself – learning how to fly, how to battle headwinds, to escape predators and take its rightful place among adult seagulls.

May she rest in peace.

 

I have always wanted to write a historical novel based on World War II. I started with a hypothesis – supposing a crippled Japanese aircraft landed somewhere during the Easter 1942 raid on Colombo, and the pilot survived? Supposing both the pilot and aircraft were hidden by someone pro-Japanese? To create a story convincingly along these lines seemed a daunting task. But I like creative challenges and did a  lot of research on Japanese aircraft and pilot training before finally setting out. The result is the graphic novel ‘Once Upon a Time’ (illustrated by Naamal Amarasinghe) published in the Daily  Mirror until it was interrupted halfway by the Coronavirus pandemic in March 2020.

In this story, the Mitsubishi Zero fighter flown by Japanese navy pilot Yukio Nakasone is damaged during the raid. But the pilot manages to glide his crippled fighter plane through a rainstorm and land undetected in a low country tea estate. He is discovered and hidden by its owner, the pro-Japanese, anti-British business tycoon Oswald Perera.

As time passes, Oswald’s daughter Nita becomes romantically involved with the sensitive young Japanese. She’s a talented young woman with artistic and literary tastes, but is being groomed by her father to take over his businesses after getting married to her money-driven, bullish cousin Prabhath.

Instead of being resigned to getting trapped in a loveless marriage, Nita silently begins to rebel after meeting Yukio….

In the meantime, the British authorities suspect that a damaged Japanese aircraft and its pilot may be hidden somewhere, and start searching for it.

I think I can make a convincing story  out of this plotline, and I have already started writing the novel, though progress is slow right now due to lack of time. In the meantime, the Daily Mirror will resume the graphic novel once conditions improve. It was about to do so in May when lockdown came.

I’m publishing below the script of the graphic novel. You can read up to the point when the pandemic stopped publication.

 

Cast of characters

Kelum (20 years old. University student). Natasha: His sister, 17 years old. His sister.

Gita: Kelum’s late grandmother , 21 years old in 1941 and engaged to Prabhath, her cousin.

Yukio Nakasone: Japanese fighter pilot. 22  years old in 1941.

Oswald Perera: Tea planter, politically ambitious business tycoon  and Gita’s father.

Rita: Oswald’s wife.

Maj. McDonald: British army officer who suspects that the damaged Japanese aircraft which disappeared may have landed somewhere.

SP Vandort: The police superintendant tasked with finding it.

Rosalin: Maid at the Perera household.

 

The action unfolds at  the Kosolgoda estate, a low country tea estate in the Kalutara district.

Story begins in 2017, and goes back to 1941.

Frame One: Kelum asking his sister Natasha: Natasha, where’s that old suitcase?

Natasha’s voice: Which suitcase?

Frame 2: Kelum’s voice: Which I brought from Uncle Soma’s house?

Natasha: That piece of junk! I threw it out, Kelum aiya!

Kelum’s voice: You threw it out? Where?

Frame 3: Natasha and Kelum together

Out with the rubbish. It’s so dusty and full of cockroaches!

Kelum: Didn’t I tell you? It’s full of old documents!

Natasha: No, you didn’t tell me!

Frame 4: Kelum, Outside the house: The garbage’s still there, and there’s the suitcase!

Frame 5: (Kelum opens it inside the house) Close up view of contents. It has old letters, pictures, an old wristwatch, a comb etc.

Kelum: (examining them) Even uncle Soma had no idea. He told me these are his grand aunt’s old papers, and told me to throw them away! But I remember…

Frame 6: (close up of a hand written letter) what my mother told me…my grandmother  told her long ago that all her grandmother’s secrets are in here!

Frame 7: (Reads) “I’m writing this to clear up my name as I have been cast aside as the black sheep of the family, all because of my love for a foreigner. I believe I have done no wrong in following my heart…but all this has only brought me great sorrow….signed ‘Gita Edirisinghe.”

That’s my great grandmother. Now I can find out at last what actually happened to her!

Frame 8: This is her photo as a young girl.

Frame 9: This is the man she’s talking about, her secret lover. He’s  Japanese. So there’s some truth in the rumours after all!

Picture of a young, smiling Japanese wearing a pilot’s helmet.

Later.

Frame 10: (Kelum speaking to his mother)

Kelum: But amma, this is a sensational discovery!

Mother: To what purpose? Who wants to know?

Frame 11: Kelum: Amma, I feel a great injustice has been done to my great grandmother. Now we can put the record straight.

Mother: Listen to me, Kelum! All this history of her and that Japanese pilot is buried in that Kosolgoda estate. It’s all jungle now. They planned to build another tea factory but it was abandoned.  It’s our land, but I don’t want you to  there for any reason!

Frame 12: Kelum: Why not?

 

Mother: That’s because the place is cursed. Your father died fighting his brothers, cousins, the whole family over it. Three workers died accidentally at the building site. There were endless court cases and all of them died in bizarre ways before anything was resolved. Do you want to step into that curse?

Frame 13: Kelum: Amma, I’m not interested in the land. But this map says the Japanese was killed there and even his aircraft is still there, hidden in the jungle. I want to find out if this true.

Mother: Nobody goes there. Not even encroachers. People says the pilot’s ghost haunts the place.

Kelum: Mother, I’m not afraid of ghosts. Look, there’s the story in her handwriting, and there’s a map. I want to go and check this out.

Frame 14: Mother: The way you talk, I don’t think I can stop you. But promise me not to go alone.

Kelum: I promise.

Later.

Frame 15: Kelum riding a trail bike on a mountain road.

I’m not scared of ghosts. I have to do this alone!

Frame 16: (reading an old road sign) This is the road to Kosolgoda Estate. Now it’s gone to jungle.

Frame 17: Very rough terrain. The road is just a rutted train, grassy and full of rocks. Kelum is seen riding very carefully.

Frame 18: This is the bungalow, where they lived! This is as far as the bike can go.

Show old, abandoned tea estate bungalow gone to jungle. 

Frame 19: According to the map, the plane is hidden in the abandoned factory site,  one km to the south west.

Frame 20: (Kelum walking through jungle)  It is eerie. There are birds screeching, no human sound. No wonder they believe in ghosts!

Frame 21: I wish I had brought an axe with me! This is almost impenetrable!

Frame 22: That must be the abandoned factory!

(Old, half finished building is almost hidden from view by thick jungle)

Frame 23: The door is padlocked. But that window is broken!

Frame 24: (Kelum breaks open the window, and looks inside).

Frame 25: There it is, a Mitsubishi A6JM, better known as the Zero fighter!)

So what my great great grandmother wrote was all true!

Frame 26: Climbs on to a wing and looks inside the cockpit).

It has a small photograph of Gita mounted near the gunsight.

Kelum: it’s her photo! The Japanese pilot must have put it there!

Frame 27: Kelum sits on the floor, near the aircraft, and thinks:

I must calm down! This is a sensational find and now I can clear her name!

Frame 28: He walks around, taking photographs.

Frame 29: (Examining the engine covers) There they are, the bullet holes which cut the fuel supply!

Frame 30:  (Gets into the cockpit and sits on the pilot’s seat) I wonder how Yukio Nakasone felt sitting here as the engine cut out, wondering what to do next!

Frame 31: April 5, 1942. 125  Japanese carrier-borne aircraft head for Colombo with orders to bomb the harbor and other British military targets. Yukio is flying one  of 36 Zero fighters escorting the Japanese bombers.

Frame 32:  (Close up of Yukio) This won’t be like Pearl Harbour. The enemy is expecting us. I’m looking forward to my second kill.

Frame 33: (The island comes into view)

Yukio: That’s the island of Ceylon. But where are the British fighters?

Frame 33: The Japanese fly over the Ratmalana airport, where the RAF’s 30^th Hurricane squadron is based.

Yukio: The Hurricanes are all parked below! They are sitting ducks! But we have no orders to attack them!

Frame 34: (A little later) That’s the Colombo port! We must circle above while the bombers attack!

Frame 35: Anti-aircraft gun in action as Japanese  bombers attack.

Frame 36: Yukio: There’s a Hurricane attacking a Val!

Frame 37: As he closes in on the British fighter from the rear, bullets fly past him!

Yukio: Hang in there…damn, there’s a Hurricane on my tail! I must break!

Frame 38: He snap rolls and dives to the left. The surprised British pilot now has the Zero on his tail.

British pilot: The blighter’s on my tail now!

Frame 39: Yukio: He can’t turn with a Zero! A bit closer now…there you are!

Frame 40: Yukio presses the trigger.

Frame 41: The Hurricane is hit, and starts burning.

Frame 42: Yukio: Got him! But what’s this..my engine is cutting out!

Oil pours out from a hole in the fuselage.

Frame 38: He managed to hit me, I’ll be damned! Our bombers are already flying out, and my friends are fighting off the Hurricanes below. I must climb into the cloud cover and try to make it back to my carrier!

Frame 39: Yukio’s Zero gains some altitude, but the engine fails completely.

Yukio: Damn, the engine’s cut out. If I glide out to the sea, I’ll perish for nothing.  I must not bring dishonour to my country! I will dive into a suitable target!

But, without power, Yukio’s Zero fighter is gliding down gently, pulled by a strong wind away from the harbour.

Frame 40: I don’t see any target, and I don’t want to dive into houses and kill innocent people! I must land somewhere and try to escape!

The wind carries the crippled fighter towards distant central hills, where rain clouds are gathering.

Frame 41: (looking down) There are houses everywhere. If I land here, the British will capture me! I must go further, where it’s raining!

Frame 42: At last, I’m within the cloud cover. But I can’t see anything!

Big raindrops splash on Yukio’s windscreen and cockpit covers.

Frame 43: 500 feet…400…altitude is dropping fast! I have to land!

Frame 44: Two Tamil estate workers (Gopal and Raja) stare, amazed, as the Zero glides over them through the mist like a ghost

Worker No. 1: Gopal, do you see that? An aircraft!

Gopal: But…but…there is no engine sound…it vanished like a ghost into the mist!

Worker No. 1: Hurry, we must inform periya dorai!

Frame 45: Yukio drops down his landing gear, and hopes for the best.

Yukio: 100 feet…I’m right over a jungle…I’m going to crash!

Frame 46: As the fighter nears the treetops, Yukio sees a clearing through the mist…

Yukio: A small clearing…this is my only hope…but there’s a building at the end!

 

Frame 47: The Zero touches down, and rolls over rough terrain towards the partly constructed factory building.

Frame 48: It’s so close! I’m going to crash!

Frame 49: He manages to brake it to a stop inches from the wall!

Frame 50: It’s my day to live, not die. But I shall not surrender my Zero to the enemy.

Frame 51: A car is moving slowly along an estate road in the rain.

Estate owner Oswald Edirisinghe is driving.

Frame 52: Gopal and Raja (running in the rain) There’s periya dorai’s car! We are in luck!

Oswald: These men are look frantic. What on earth….

Frame 53: Gopal: Sir, sir, we were going to see you!

Oswald: What’s wrong, Gopal? Have you two seen a ghost?

Gopal: Sir, sir, we saw a ghost plane!

Frame 54: Oswald: A ghost plane? What are you talking about?

Raja: Yes, sir, a silver plane, so silent, touching the treetops

Gopal: It flew towards the new factory!

Frame 55: Oswald: I’ve never heard of silent aircraft.

Gopal: I swear we saw it a few minutes ago. It has big red balls painted on the wings.

Frame 56: Oswald: (thinking) Big red…those are Japanese markings. Colombo was bombed a little while ago…but how come…

Talking to the two men: All right, both of you get in. Let’s go and check out this mystery.

Frame 57: (Car  moving slowly in the rain) Voices. Gopal: Sir, will it be safe? Maybe we should go to the police!

Oswald: Rubbish, Gopal. This is my land and I’m not afraid!

Frame 58: Inside the factory. Yukio looking at the damaged engine: A bullet has damaged the fuel supply. It’s a miracle that there was no fire. But I can’t repair this.

Frame 58: I can destroy the plane but the fire will attract attention. But if I escape leaving it here, it will surely be discovered.

Frame 59: Car approaches the factory. It’s still raining.

Oswald: This is the only open space where an aircraft can land. If it crashed into the jungle, there should be a fire. Look, there are deep furrows in the mud! But….

If the Japanese plane landed here, it could be inside the building as the front is open. Let’s drive in and see!

Frame 60: Yukio: (hearing sound of approaching car, draws his service weapon) A car’s coming this way. I must hide!

Frame 61: Owald drives in with headlights switched on. Yukio watching from the shadows.

Frame 62: The Zero is visible in the car’s headlights.

Oswald: My heavens. That’s a Japanese fighter plane! You two were right!

Gopal and Raja: We saw it with our own eyes, sir!

Oswald: But where’s the pilot?

Frame 63: Yukio  (thinking) They are civilians. But they might betray me to the British. I can’t take any chances!

Frame 64: Oswald (getting out of the car)Let’s see if the pilot’s wounded and still inside.

Frame 65: Yukio steps out of the shadows, weapon aimed at them.

No, you not touch my airplane! Or I fire!

Oswald:  (speaking in Japanese) Don’t fire. We are unarmed and shall not harm you!

Frame 66: Yukio: What? You speak Japanese?

Oswald: Prof. Minoru Nakajima was my honoured guest for three years while studying our flora and fauna. I taught him Sinhalese and he taught me Japanese!

Frame 67: Yukio: But you are British subject…

Oswald: I’m nobody’s subject. I’m Oswald Perera, owner of this estate. Put down that weapon now. I shall hide you and protect you. Are you wounded?

Frame 68: (Yukio) No. My aircraft was brought down by a single bullet. It’s sheer bad luck!

Oswald: Bad luck! I think it’s a miracle that you landed here without a scratch. See, the front of this building is hardly a foot wider than your wingspan, and your propeller’s almost touching the wall. And your plane didn’t catch fire even though the oil supply was hit!

Frame 69: Yukio: I know. I can hardly believe it.

Oswald: Now I shall take you home and hide you there before the rain stops. (To Gopal and Raja) I have a job for you. Get your most trusted workers and cover up this aircraft with tree branches. Then cover up the entrance with logs, what we cut down for firewood, and erase these brake marks. Do it quickly before the rain stops, an pay everyone double the wages. Not a word to anyone, you understand? If the British find this fighter here, they’ll jail me!

Gopal and Raja: Yes, sir!

Frame 70: Yukio: But, Mr. Oswald, why take such a risk? Let me go. But I must destroy my Zero before that. The British will think it crashed…

Oswald: You can’t escape. They’ll find you in a few hours at most. Don’t worry, I can hide both you and your Zero safely. Let’s go now, before the rain stops. Please give me that pistol. I must insist.

Frame 71: (Oswald’s car moving through the rain)

Yukio: I’m very lucky that you found me!

Oswald: Life’s a very strange thing, full of surprises!

Frame 72: (close up of car’s windscreen) Oswald: It’s Sunday, and no one’s working. But duck down if I say so…

Frame 73: Oswald’s estate bungalow comes into view

Here we are. Now you are safe.

Yukio: Thank you very much, sir. You are so kind!

Frame 74: Inside, Oswald’s wife Rita is listening to the radio.

Rita: Oswald, Call Gita and tell that girl to leave Colombo, she won’t….what? Who’s this?

Oswald: I’ll explain in a moment, Rita. Let’s take him quickly to the visitor’s room! Don’t worry about Gita. She’s absolutely safe.

Frame 75: Inside the visitor’s room.

Oswald: Stay here till we find an alternative. Rita, this young man’s fighter plane was damaged but he landed inside our new factory!

Rita: But why did you bring him here? The British must be looking for him!

Frame 76: Oswald: Precisely. We are going to hide him and his plane.

Rita: Hide him here? Are you mad? The Japanese bombed Colombo this morning! We’ll all get arrested!

Oswald: Look, I’ll tell you how I’m going to do it. Now, this young man has had quite a day. Let’s give him a change of clothes and let him feel at ease!

Frame 77: Oswald: (Talking to the pilot) Here’s the toilet. Hide your helmet and uniform, and do not come out of the room till we call you. Your tea will be here in a moment.

Yukio: Yes, sir…thank you!

Frame 78: (Oswald and Rita discussing) Rita, have I ever let you down?

Rita: No, Oswald, but you are putting us all in danger. There might be a Japanese invasion and you could be shot for sheltering an enemy!

Oswald: The Japanese are not our enemies. If there is an invasion, Yukio will soon be free. In any case, I doubt if anyone  other than Gopal and Raja saw him land there…

Frame 79: …because of the rain and mist. There was no engine noise. I’ve told the two of them to seal the place and tell no one.

Rita: What if the police come and search?

Frame 80: (Oswald) I’ll take care of that. Trust me, I’ll never get you into trouble.

Frame 80: But we can’t keep him here, Oswald. We have so many visitors. Aunty Vineetha and her husband will be here next Saturday. And Gita should have been here yesterday. Prabhath is worried sick about her, but he stuck there in Matara and can’t come!

Frame 81: (Oswald) I know…but we know she’s safe. People panicked and left Colombo for nothing. Now, remember my father’s cottage? He went there when he got in the mood to paint. It’s been shut ever since he died. It’s just a mile from here and no one ever goes there now. Perfect hiding place for Yukio!

Rita: But it’s got to cleaned up. I’ll take Sophie with me and do the needful.

Oswald: Very good. If the toilet and bath need repairs, I’ll send someone.

Frame 82: (At British military headquarters, Colombo) discussion between a British brigadier and a major.

Brigadier: Looks like the worst is over, Malcolm. It’s not as bad as I thought. The Japs sank the Hermes and we have hardly any fighters left, but I doubt if they’ll come back again.

Major: But they haven’t done much damage, sir.

Frame 83: Precisely. They were just probing, and didn’t find what they were looking for…Admiral Somerset’s capital ships and carriers. They’ll go elsewhere now looking for them, and the blighters have lost over 30 aircraft!

Major: Sir, there’s a report of a crippled Jap aircraft gliding down southwards towards the rain storm. We have found one downed Zero and two bombers in Colombo and the suburbs, but nothing in that direction…

Frame 84: (Brigadier) Well, keep looking. It couldn’t have disappeared. We haven’t got all the reports in yet.

Major: Very well, sir.

Frame 85: Inside Oswald’s bungalow, at night. He and Rita are having dinner with Yukio.

Oswald: Are you feeling all right now?

Yukio: Yes, Mr. Oswald. But it’s like a dream, I still can’t believe all that happened today.

Rita: You are very lucky to be alive.

Yukio: I know. My fighter was hit only once, but in a very bad place. I’m lucky it didn’t catch fire. I began gliding down helplessly, at the mercy of any British fighter. But they were all elsewhere…

Yukio: (continuing) …and suddenly I was inside a thunderstorm.

Oswald: Yes, very unusual. The monsoon isn’t due till next month.

Yukio: I could see nothing, didn’t know where to land, and suddenly there was this clearing in the middle of a jungle, with a building at the end. It’s too short to be a runaway, but I somehow managed to land without crashing!

Rita: That’s why you are so lucky.  But tell us now, will there be a Japanese invasion?

Yukio: I’m sorry, madam, but very frankly, the high command does not inform us about their plans. We were briefed about the attack on Colombo only  last night!

Oswald: If your forces do invade, you’ll soon be able to go free. But I doubt if they will invade this country.

Rita: Why do you say that?

Oswald: Because the bombing was quite slight. If they return tomorrow, then we’ll know for sure. Now, no invasion means you’ll have to hide here till the war ends.

Yukio: That is terrible. If I can escape to India, then I could try to reach our forces in Burma…

Oswald: My young friend, you must give me your word about this, or all of us will be in severe trouble. Forget about escaping. If you are caught, you will put us all in big trouble.

Yukio: Mr. Oswald, I assure you, I will never betray you. They will never find out from me where I was hiding.

Rita: But how you are you going to get to India?

Yukio: Maybe I can pass off for a Chinese. There are many Chinese in Ceylon and India.

Oswald: You’ll have to learn local languages. Besides, who’s going to get you the necessary documents? There will be a thousand check points from here to the Burma border. Forget it. Stay with us till the war ends. You will be safe here as long as you do as I say.

Yukio: Yes, sir, I cannot put you and your family in trouble, so I will not try to escape. But, oh, my family will think I’ve died and, if my superiors think I’ve been taken prisoner, that’s worse than death!

Rita: Why’s that?

Yukio: As pilots of the Imperial Japanese Navy, we are expected to die a honorable death. Surrender is unthinkable. It brings dishonour to my country, the emperor, and my family.

Oswald: But you haven’t surrendered! You landed your plane expertly. It’s a brave thing to do.

Yukio: In any case, I was flying without parachute. It’s only an extra weight and burden. But I cannot forgive myself for what happened! A single bullet stopped my engine.

Oswald: That’s chance. Did you shoot down any British aircraft?

Yukio: I destroyed a British bomber over Malaya, and today I shot down a Hurricane. But the war’s over for me now. I feel terrible.

Rita: Are you married?

Yukio: No. I have only my mother and sister she’s still in school. My father was a railway guard and died in an accident. Oh, they’ll wonder what happened to me.

Oswald: Well, let’s hope the war ends soon and then you can go home.

(thinking) though I doubt it. The Japanese blundered by attacking Pearl Harbour.

It is too risky to keep you here. There is a cottage not far from here. Tomorrow, after our daughter arrives here from Colombo, I shall take you there.

Yukio: A cottage? That’ll be very nice, when I could be in a jail!

Rita: Oswald’s father liked to paint. He would lock himself up there for days, and paint.

Oswald: Yes, and he was more into that as he got old. Finally, left the business to me and my brother. That’s one of his paintings.

Yukio: A mountain and clouds. Very beautiful.

Well: So, please keep your promise and don’t try to escape. I will assure you of your safety. None of my workers will talk about you or your aircraft. You stay here till the time is right for you to return to your forces.

Yukio: You promise me my Zero will not be captured by the British?

Oswald: No one except my two trusted workers saw it land. The site will be covered up. The chances of discovery are remote…if it happens, I’m in serious trouble. So, your luck will depend on my luck. Now, get a good night’s sleep and stop worrying.

Yukio: Thank you, sir. Yes, I am very tired and need to sleep. Thank you both very much.

The next day

Rita: Breakfast’s ready, but the Japanese pilot’s still sleeping!

Oswald: He must be very tired. Gita called and said she’ll be arriving for dinner, not lunch!

Rita:  What? This girl’s crazy. Everybody left Colombo after the Japanese bombed, but she stayed back. Now she’s delaying even more.

Oswald: Like father like daughter. She doesn’t mind danger. Don’t worry, she’ll be here tomorrow. I told Prabhath everything’s all right.

Back in Oswald’s Colombo home.

Gita: (talking to the dog) Look, Ringo, we are the only ones left along the entire street. Everybody’s fled, fearing Japanese bombs!

Dog whines.

Gita: Are you hungry? Hang on, I’ll finish packing in a moment. The driver’s fled, too. I didn’t tell that to my parents, Ringo, or they’ll come here to take me to the estate.

But I have the key, and I’m going to drive there. Real surprise for them. We’ll leave tomorrow morning.

The next day

Get in now, Ringo. I know you’ll enjoy the drive.

Gita driving, while Ringo has his head sticking out of the front passenger side.

Gita: Look Ringo, so many vehicles on the road! People are still running away from Colombo. What a laugh?

We are not running away. Mother is hysterical and I want to go there and calm her down!

Later, at Oswald’s estate bungalow

Oswald: I hear a car. That sounds like the Morris Oxford. It must be Gita!

Outside the house

Rita: But look who’s driving! It’s Gita, and Ringo’s with her!

Oswald: Good heavens, what happened to the driver?

Gita: (Getting out of the car) Ammi, Thaththi, look who’s here!

Ringo jumps out of the car and runs to the parents. The dog runs after him.

Rita: What happened to Martin? Ringo, behave yourself!

Gita: He got scared and ran away. Would you believe it, the whole street’s empty!

Aunty Florida and family too, left Colombo. They wanted to drop me here, but I didn’t want to leave until I finished my essay…

Rita: Your essay? Is your essay more important than your life? You are too big now for a caning, or else…

Oswald: But no harm was done, so let’s forget it. The Japanese didn’t deliberatey bomb civilians, except at Angoda. I believe that was a mistake.

Rita: (Looking inside the car) She’s packed half of everything inside. Where’s Rosalin? We must start unpacking! Let’s tie up Ringo first, he’s gone berserk.

Inside the house. Gita’s having tea

Gita: People panicked without reason. Some people were killed, but the Japnese didn't come to bomb houses and shops. They were after the British fleet.

Rita: I think they will come again.

Oswald: I doubt it. They returned yesterday and sank more British ships off the Eastern coast. The British are hiding their main fleet in the Maldives. The Japanese will go looking for them, but their planes won't come back here.

Gita: How do you get all this information, thathi?

Oswald: My old friend Maj. McDonald. And of course our good friend SP Vandort, He's pretty well informed.

Rita: He's in a for a big surprise if he discovers that Japanese plane!

Gita: What Japanese plane? Amma, what are you talking about?

Oswald: Rita, come here, girl. This is a life and death matter. A crippled Japanese fighter landed safely in our estate yesterday, and I’ve hidden the pilot. If the British find out, you know the consequences. So, don’t tell anyone, not even Prabhath. I’ll talk to him when he comes here.

Gita: This is so exciting. Where is that pilot and his plane?

Oswald: The plane is inside the new warehouse, and the pilot’s here with us.

Rita: Your father’s done a mad thing, but he won’t listen to me. If someone leaks this information, we’ll all end up in jail with that Japanese. Your friend Vandort won’t hesitate to arrest us. Gita, try and convince him!

Oswald: My dear Rita, we have gone through this already. No one’s going to tell the police, unless my own brother finds out. Just keep quiet and let me handle this. Let’s say this is my way of hitting back at the British empire!

Gita: But amma, I can understand why thaththi is doing this. He’s a natural born risk taker!

Rita: And fighting a lawsuit with his own brother over this property!

Oswald: That’s because my brother’s greedy and wants to have everything. If he has his way, our children will have nothing once we die. 

Rita: Take your risks somewhere else, not here. This is all we have!

Oswald: Now, look, arguing about this won't get us anywhere, and it will only demoralise me.

Gita: Yes, amma. Once a decision is taken, we have to face come what may. If we can pull this off under the very noses of the British, that will be something to remember.

Rita: You are both the same, father and daughter, unbelievably obstinate. All right, don't say I didn't warn you.

Oswald: We'll introduce the Japanese pilot to you at dinner. He's in the guest room but we'll put him in that cabin tomorrow. I'm getting it cleaned up.

 

 

At dinner:

Oswald: Yukio, this is our elder daughter, Gita.

Yukio: (Bowing) I' m honoured.

Gita: He looks very Lankan now, in a sarong and shirt!

Yukio: Your daughter can speak Japanese, too?

Rita: She's so good at languages. Besides her mother tongue, she can speak Tamil.She studied Latin, Greek and French at school, and of course she's very good at English.

Gita: I want to be a translator. I was learning the Hiragana script from Prof. …...., but he left before I could finish. I'd love to translate haiku poetry into Sinhalese.

Yukio: I know very little about poetry.

Rita: She has already translated Shakespeare and Moliere into Sinhala.

Oswald: But nobody's interested. Gita, don't waste your time and help me to run the tea business!

Gita: That's why Prabhath's going to England, for advanced botanical studies.

Oswald: Yukio, these girls don’t undertand how important this is. You see, the tea industry is almost entirely in British hands. My father was a pioneer in low-grown tea, and made successful blends when everybody said it couldn’t be done. The British resent our presence. Gita, you are the next generation. What are you going to do when we are gone?

Gita: Prabhath will run the tea business, and I shall help. But I want to be a musician.

Rita: Girls should study music, but as a hobby. I too, can play the piano but this girl is mad about it. She plays three or four hours a day at home.

Gita: I will play for our guest after dinner. Yukio, what kind of music do you like?

Yukio: I know only traditional Japanese music. My father works as a printer but his real passion is the kabuki theatre. He plays the Shamisen and plays part time for a kabuki orchestra.

Gita: So interesting! What is the Shamisen like?

Yukio: It’s an instrument with three strings, plucked with a pick. If you can give me a pencil and paper, I will draw it for you.

Oswald calls for a paper and pencil. Yukio draws a shamisen.

Gita: It’s somewhat like a guitar. Do you have guitars in Japan?

Yukio: Yes, but I only know how to play the shamisen, because of my father.

Oswald: My father’s old guitar is in that hut. Yukio, when you go there, tomorrow, you can try playing it.

Gita: My father will sing a few songs while I accompany. Let’s have some music after dinner!

Rita: What music? There's a blackout throughout the country!

Oswald: My dear Rita, this isn't a funeral house. The blinds are drawn. Even if the Japanese want to bomb this house, which I doubt, they can't see it.

Rita: (Laughing) See, he always has a counter-argument!

Oswald: And no one's going to be bothered if we sing a bit. There's no one around here at night except our watcher!

Gita at the piano. Oswald sings The Saints Go Marching In while Rita and Yukio watch.

Yukio: Sir, that was very nice. You are a good singer, and your daughter a great pianist!

Oswald: Musical talent runs in the family, but we have more important things to do!

Gita: Yes, like tea planting. Yukio, can you sing?

Yukio: I’m sorry, no. I’m a very bad singer!

Rita: Well, it’s been a long day. Tomorrow, we’ll take you to the cabin. So, sleep

Well and good night!

Yukio: Good night, and thank you for your help and kindness.

The next day

Oswald, Gita and Yukio

Oswald: There, that’s my father’s cabin, where he painted and had all those flights of fancy, getting me into all these trouble!

Gita: There you go again, thatthi!

Oswald: If he had settled his affairs properly, your uncle wouldn’t be causing me all these headaches now. Anyway, the cabin’s now become very useful.

Inside the cabin.

Gita: It’s quite cosy. Yukio will like it here. There, grandfather’s old guitar is hanging from the wall.

Oswald: Yukio, your meals will be brought here. Remember what I told you. Don’t go out under any circumstances. Nobody will come here except whoever brings you your food, tea and water. Be quiet as possible, and don’t get carried away with that guitar. I know you will be all alone and it will be tough for you, but if you are discovered, then I shall be in deep trouble!

Yukio: I understand, sir. I shall remain inside at all times.

Oswald: good. Whoever brings you the food shall knock twice, like this, and then once again after a pause of five seconds. Don’t open the door for anyone else.

Yukio: All right.

Oswald and Gita walking back.

Oswald: Your mother was right. We got carried away last night. This isn’t a joke, and we’ll have to be very careful if we are to carry this through, Gita.

Gita: I do admire your courage.

Oswald: You do? You don’t think I’ve done a mad thing?

Gita: Not at all. Don’t worry, he won’t be here for long if the Japanese invade.

Oswald: It’s not that simple, Gita. This is going to a very long war. The Japanese made a mistake by taking on the Americans. Hitler did the same thing by attacking Russia. In any case, we don’t want Hitler to win, and I don’t want the Japanese simply replacing the British as our rulers!

Gita: In that case, why are you hiding this pilot?

Oswald: That’s me. Let’s say it’s tit for tat for a few insults I’ve suffered from the Raj!

Gita: You’re a difficult man to understand, thaththi!

Oswald: Exactly what your mother keeps saying. But I haven’t let you down so far, have I?

Gita: I know. By the way, who’s going to bring Yukio his food and drink?

Oswald: I don’t want to get a labourer to do it. If someone sees it, they might get suspicious. That leaves only Rosalin, but she can’t walk far with that knee!

Gita: Well, I’m here for a month. Let me do it.

Oswald: You?

Gita: Why not? Nobody needs to be suspicious if they see me going there.

Oswald: Hmm…that’s right. Let’s talk to your mother and see.

Inside the bungalow

 

Rita: SP Vandort called just now.

Oswald: Regarding what?

Rita: It’s about that Japanese plane. He says people have reported it coming this way.

Oswald: So what did you say?

Rita: I said I will ask you to call him.

Oswald: That’s what I’m going to do now. Stay calm, don’t panic.  The warehouse is all covered up and all tyre marks have been removed. It rained for a day after that and there should be no tell tale signs of any aircraft landing. I'll go now and have a look again.

Rita: What about the cottage?

Oswald: They are looking for the plane, and they don't know about any cottage. Gita says she’ll take the pilot his food. It’s a good idea since no one will wonder even if they see her.

Rita: I don’t know, I’m all on pins now!

Oswald at the warehouse site.

Thinking: There’s no sign of any landing. It rained the whole day after the Zero landed, and now there are logs all over the place.

And the plane is hidden from view by more logs, timber and firewood. The rest depends on our luck! Unless one of my workers betray me, they won’t find out. Trust your luck… I should have a watcher here 24 hours a day, just in case somebody gets nosey.

Walking back

 

Trust your luck, yes, but what about fate?  Isn’t that what this is all about? Emotions, alliances, what we love and hate. That’s what we call fate. I must keep faith in the future, and in the decision I have made!

Later in the day

Rita: Oswald, that police constable is here!

Oswald: Good. I’ll take him there. Don’t worry about anything.

Driving the car with the policeman

Oswald: How can a plane land here with all the trees, and in a thunderstorm? Anyway, I want you to clear your suspicions!

Constable: These are my orders, sir. In any plane landed here or close by, the villagers would have told us by now.

At the warehouse.

Oswald: Well, are you satisfied? How can a plane land here?

Constable: I can see that, sir. Why do you have so many logs inside the building?

Oswald: Well, we cleared fifty acres in the section over there for cultivation. But my brother started this lawsuit and it’s on hold now. So I brought all the logs here or they would simply rot…

…and what can’t be stored in there is all over the ground, as you can see!

Constable: Very well, sir. I’m sure the Japanese plane landed somewhere else. I’ll report that there’s no such thing here.

Oswald: …Or someone may have mistaken a British plane for a Japanese. Can you tell them apart?

Constable: No, sir, I can’t. And it was raining very hard, so what you say could be right. Do you think the Japanese will invade and drive out the British?

Oswald: I don’t know. Even if the British are driven out, we’d still be under Japanese rule.

Constable: But sir, they are Asians like us. And isn’t Japan a Buddhist country?

Oswald: Partly so. Well, I don’t want to be under anyone’s rule, you know. I think we should be independent!

Constable: Absolutely right, sir. I know you are agitating for that. If you choose to represent this area in parliament, I’ll be the first to vote for you!

Oswald: Thank you. Well, I might get into politics soon, but I need to settle these legal problems first. All right, I’ll drive you back to where you left your bicycle.

Back home

Rita: Gita, I don’ know if it’s a good idea for you to go there. When Prabhath finds out, he’s certainly not going to like it!

Gita: Ammi, Prabhath doesn’t like half the things I do. He doesn’t like me driving a car. He doesn’t like me working. I can’t remake my life to please him in every way!

Rita: No, no that’s not what I mean. But when you marry a man, you have to listen to him!

Gita: This isn’t the 19^th century. I have my own life. If Prabhath doesn’t like my driving  a car, he’ll simply have to put up with it.

Rita: Well, he’s certainly not going to like this arrangement!

Gita: Well, then, he can do it himself. He’ll be here tomorrow, won’t he?

Rita: I hope the curries aren’t too strong for that chap.

Gita: I’m sure he’ll like them.

Rita: All right, then, here’s the basket. I’m also sure Prabhath will not approve of what your father has done!

Gita: Like it or not, that Japanese pilot is here now. We have a duty to protect him.

Rita: Yes, and I suppose the Japanese will appoint your father governor general once they take over!

Gita: Oh, come now, ammi, thaathi isn’t doing this for personal gain. You know that. He also thinks there won’t be any Japanese invasion.

Rita: Child, this isn’t a time for blind idealism. In that case, we’ll be stuck with this man till the war is over, and then what?

Gita: Leave it all to the future, ammi. Don’t worry so much!

Gita is  Walking to the cottage. It’s a footpath through a wooded area.

Gita: (thinking) what a crazy thing to happen! The Japanese bomb our country, and one of their planes land in our estate. The pilot is hiding in grandfather’s cabin.

Gita: Is ammi right to be so worried? If we are found out, father will be jailed. Even I might be jailed, because I’m carrying food to the Japanese. The British could even shoot us for treason and confiscate the property!

Gita: But I have faith in my father. He’s a risk taker but he’s always seen things through. If we can carry this off, he’ll be seen as a hero after the war! As he always says, let’s do our best and leave things for the future!

Knocking at the cottage door

Gita thinking: Knock twice, like this, and then once again after five seconds!

Yukio (opening the door and bowing).

Gita: I brought you breakfast. How are you doing?

Yukio: Thank you so much. I am all right.

Gita: You look worried. Did you sleep well?

Yukio: Not too much, I woke up many times. It is very peaceful here, but I feel like a prisoner.

Gita: But you are not. You are our guest. It’s just that you should not go out for everyone’s sake, you understand?

Yukio: Yes, of course. It’s for best.  But this is a lot of work for you, coming here so many times!

Gita: I enjoy walking in this wood. It’s always a pleasure. Well, I’ll be back with your lunch. So, goodbye for now.

Yukio: Bowing again) Goodbye, and thank you very much!

Gita: (Walking back) I’m curious to see that Japanese plane. I wonder if father will let me see it.

Yukio inside the cabin

(thinking) What has happened to me? Three days ago, I was a pilot, proud to be fighting for my country. Today. I am virtually a prisoner!

I suppose I am not. I’m free to leave this cottage and escape any time. But where? My benefactor is right. The British will catch me, and that will put him and his family in danger. I’ve pledged my word not to do that.

Actually, if I can get that oil sump repaired, I have enough fuel to fly back to my carrier.

If I managed to land in that little space, I should be able to take off!

But who’ll repair the sump? And who’ll give me the oil? It’s enough to drive me crazy!

What will they tell my parents and sister? That I went missing while on a mission?

What happened to my wingman? Did he make it back safely? What do my friends on the carrier think?

A single day, a few bullets in the wrong place, my whole life has become a question mark. It’s better if I had died, sacrificing myself when I had the chance!

What I have done is dishonourable!

Looks up, sees the guitar on the wall, and picks it up impulsively.

He strums the strings gently.

(Thinking) It’s beautiful! So different from the shamisen.

Lays it on the bed and thinks.

Why am I thinking of music? If I cannot escape and rejoin Japanese forces, then I must commit hara kiri!

Looking around.

There’s no knife. It’s such a ridiculous situation.

Looks at the guitar, sits on the bed and picks it up.

I must not act rashly. Our armies might yet land in Ceylon. In the meantime, music should console me!

This is out of tune. Let me see if I can get it tuned by ear!

(peering outside through the curtain) There is no one outside, but I should not be loud!

Meanwhile, near the Kosolgoda lake, police superintendant Vandort and a British major are having a look. A military vehicle is parked in the background, with an armed  policeman guarding it.

SP Vandort: Well, major, do you think a Jap plane might be down there?

The major: Looks unlikely. How deep is it, anyway?

SP Vandort: Five fathoms at the deepest, but much of it is silted up. Shall I tell you what I think? If a plane crashed in there, there should be debris floating around. I can’t see anything.

The major: I know. But the top brass have gotten into their heads that a damaged Jap aircraft landed somewhere here. This is what I’m going to do. It’s so murky a diver wouldn’t be able to see a thing. Let’s get people in boats to check the bottom with sticks. For the deepest places, a hook tied to a rope would do.

SP Vandort: Good idea. We can get both the police and your military chaps to do it. Even if that plane is lying in there like the Loch Ness monster, a hook should get entangled with a piece of the wreck!

The major: The Loch Ness monster! That’s a good one. If the plane is indeed down there, the pilot’s body should be there, too.

SP Vandort: I hope not, major. It won’t be a pretty sight, what with the fish getting at it for so many days now!

Back at the bungalow

Gita: That Japanese pilot looks depressed.

Oswald: Not surprising. Two days ago, he was flying high. Now, he’s grounded and cut off from his forces. Did you say anything?

Gita: He said he feels like a prisoner.

Rita: I hope he won’t try and escape. We’ll all land in the soup!

Oswald: I’m sure he’s not that foolish. If I can find a way to smuggle him out of the country to India, I’d certainly do that. In India, Chandra Bhose’s people would gladly take him to Burma. But it’s very risky.

Gita: He’d be safer here, thathi. I think we’ll all be safer if he just stays put where he is.

Later episode

Yukio: I was just thinking…if I can get my aircraft repaired, I could fly and rejoin our forces.

Gita: But how do you know where your aircraft carrier is right now?

Yukio: I could fly very low to avoid radar, and maybe reach the India-Burma border. The Zero is a very economical aircraft. If I set the engine at very low revs, I’d still have enough fuel to get that far.