We have been developing the country haven’t we?: Lanka’s new Karmanthaya
November 5, 2005By Mahen.P.Siriwardena
When Rasika’s hand phone rings she knows who the caller is. She has paid the extra bucks to get the CLI (caller line identification) facility which is important for her business.
” Hello, Oya koheda inne? Mama Dress Point ekey.’’
“Ohama inda, customer kenek innawa. Business ekkak thiyanawa.’’
“Ah oya methanata endako.”
Rasika is only twenty three years old. Tall, lithesome and attractive, she is intelligent and has her curves in the right places. Years of toiling in her father’s paddy fields in the Anuradhapura district had given her a figure which would be the envy of her affluent sisters sweating it out in the gym.
Rasika hails from near Kekirawa, from an impoverished village in the outback of Anuradhapura. Her father is a paddy farmer and vegetable grower. Season after season he’d been hit by either drought or too much rain. On top of that there were attacks by pests and the debts had mounted. Like that of his fellow-farmers, his produce never fetched the promised prices.
Mudiyanse had toiled hard to feed his family of three daughters and a son. Rasika was the second girl in the family and had rejected marriage proposals brought for her. She had a mind of her own.
Her brother, 21-years old with a GCE O level had joined the army and sent home money to pay for his sisters’ schooling and to support the family.
But money was still tight and he sent word that there were jobs in a garment factory at Galigamuwa. “Ara Galigamuwe garment ekey job thiyanawalu,’’ he said. “Balanda vacancy ekak purwannda puluwanda kiyala.’’
There are no direct buses to Galigamuwa, a small town on the Colombo-Kandy road a few kilometres from the Kegalla town. When Rasika got off the intercity bus at Kegalla town at 7 a.m. one morning three years ago, she needed help to find out where Galigamuwa is.
Jagath, aged 34-years is a hard boiled egg. He has tried many trades and failed in them all - except one. He rented a three wheeler agreeing to pay the owner Rs. 300 a day and given his skills cleared Rs. 4,000 on good days.
Five feet five inches tall and with the smile of a new born baby, Jagath is attractive to women. Playing club football had given him an athletic body. He made it a point to watch the disembarking passengers from every bus stopping at Kegalle.
Experience had taught him where to swoop. He wouldn’t waste his time taking a patient to hospital. His mates in the three-wheeler trade knew him to be a ladies man. Like a hungry eagle, he wants a prey. A real kill.
When Raskia got off the bus at Kegalle and looked around uncertainly, Jagath knew he had what he wanted. He revved his engine and drove up to her asking “Nangi koheda yanne?’’
“Aney aiye Galigamuwata yannda oney.’’
“Naginna, nangi, naginna.’’
Irrestible to most women he quoted a fare which he knew Rasika could not pay confident he had won the day. She was horrified that he wanted five hundred for the ride to Galigamuwa but the rest of the spiel came easily. She ended up in his abode and fell in love.
Jagath did not need love. What he needed was hard cash for his bad habits - alcohol, cigarettes and an occasional drug fix.
Rasika could neither go home nor leave Jagath. She had one option. The guest house. Rasika’s story is not new nor limited to a few village girls like her. Many thousands are now compelled to turn to a trade this is well patronized throughout the country.
Whether it is a massage parlours- herbal or otherwise- soft or hard the customer has a choice. The tsunami compounded the problem in the south.
Rooms available say the signboards from Bambalipitiya to Balapitiya. Every township and province have them. This business is now invading the village, a possibility unheard of in the years gone by - the only thriving Karmantaya in Sri-Lanka.
They are perfectly legitimate. They are not flouting the law by any means. There is neither touting nor soliciting. The police can do very little, despite knowing well what goes on in these places.
Jagath and Rasika know it even better. All she has to do even if the law catches her in flagrante in a guest house is to produce a faked marriage certificate. She would feign innocence pleading that she is only cheating on her husband. The cops know how to profit from these situations. Their demands can be met in cash or kind.
An air-conditioned room with attached bath can be had rupees seven hundred. Meals are optional and if there is no liquor licence, they would get you a bottle from the town. You just pay the extra buck. If the excise catches up, the guesthouse people insist they don’t sell liquor. There’s nothing we can do, Sir, when these people bring their bottle in their bags.
The business magnate who owns many guest houses in this town is a long haired punk who knows who must be cultivated. He is not slow in throwing money where it best works.
Rasika is torn between the devil and the deep blue sea. She collects her dues and goes home.“Thathey ara garment eka hondai- menna salli.’’
The brother is too preoccupied with his own affairs to know what the sister is up to. Or he just doesn’t care. Meanwhile the sex trade flourishes as do pharmacies doing a steady business in sex drugs. Some Indian pharmaceutical firms have found that ours is a growing market for drugs treating male impotence. The Pharmacist says that these tablets come at between Rs. 30/= to 900/=
The problem is that a whole new generation of school growing children are getting used to it. And with a young population now in the making, the market for erectile dysfunctional drugs is in the increase. What will the future be or do in the next generation?
Courtesy Sunday Island
