Memoirs II:

Ananda College years

Premil Ratnayake

After the young miscreants were weeded out never to re-enter school, Ananda College settled down peacefully under the new Principal L. H. Mettananda to resume its educational activities. Mettananda despite his ordeal, was not bitter or rancorous: his was a lofty personality characterized by rare Buddhistic virtues.

Veteran journalist and brilliant newspaperman D. B. Dhanapala who once shared Mettananda’s academic profession (Dhanapala was Principal of Kelaniya’s Dharmaloka Vidyalaya) in later years after his retirement admiringly agreed that Mettananda was a nationalist. It may have been true, but Mettananda, while he was head of Ananda never indulged in parochial issues of nationalism or dabbled in politics.

All those attributes became public after he left school. We have viewed memories of his huge presence at Ananda: the charming and intellectual face always adorned by a benevolent smile; the modesty and commitment - when a teacher was absent in some class he strode in unannounced and took the class. He had an aversion to every form of cruelty and banned corporal punishment of students.

Not all teachers and parents contributed to this variation of school discipline, especially those of the old school who still believed tenaciously in the ‘don’t spare the rod’ theory. Mettananda’s ruling was progressive but in one instance it had a negative impact.

Our History teacher Subramaniam was a devoted tutor but on one occasion after the ban, slipped and used the ruler very mildly on a disobedient student.

It was just a faint touch on the palm of the student but after Subramaniam left the class at the end of the period, several mischievous boys insisted that the student should report the incident to the Principal. But the boy refused - it was less than a mild blow the boy said and showed his palm which did not show even a scratch.

But the instigating students were not satisfied - they grabbed his palm and with a pin made tiny holes in it until a few drops of blood oozed out.

The boy was crying not because it pained but because it traumatized him. He had nothing against teacher Subramaniam - it was not corporal punishment that was meted out to him, it was like a friendly pat. Anyhow the matter was reported to the Principal. We did not know what took place between Subramaniam and the Principal. But I remember quite clearly and equally sadly how Subramaniam, a decent and kind gentleman, took our History class after the incident.

He was always full-suited like the rest of our teachers, he walked into the class rooms, picked our textbook, read it out mechanically without any attempt at explanation or elaboration and walked out when the period ended. He did not smile and I noticed a pained look on his face; he seemed to have been struck by some unspeakable tragedy.

It was as if he had lost further interest in teaching History to us. Personally, I felt very sorry of him, but there was nothing I could do - not all my fellow-students shared my sorrow.

This was only isolated episode. Before corporal punishment was prohibited there was a handful of teachers who resorted to it more out of pedagogical habit rather than an attempt at instilling discipline. Some teachers literally pummelled misbehaving students. There was one who did it with calculated deliberation.

He ordered the student marked for punishment to stand on his chair, then slowly removed what must have been his wedding ring and with open palm hit the student across his face. It was a powerful hit and the student winced. Our Geography teacher M. E. Fernando indulged in a different type of corporal punishment.

He came up to you while you were standing, a smile lighting his face and when you were sure he was not going to hit you, caught your naval in on iron grip and lifted you up and up... it hurt you pretty bad and you yelled.

M. E. Fernando did not care. When you have seen such primitive ways to instil discipline you hailed Mettananda’s decision to do away with corporal punishment.

But we loved M. E. Fernando our Geography teacher. Our text book was titled “Our Own Geography” written, edited and published by M. E. Fernando, a unique piece of literary work by a school teacher. Fernando was very dark, hunched and looked older than his age. He had been through hard times during his early days of education.

He wore a somewhat soiled white national dress. He was barefooted and walked with difficulty. There was a discrepancy in his gait.

They said sympathetically he had to walk miles for his schooling. It may have been an sure added to his intellectual personality yet it evoked sympathy. He was stern yet loyable. The painful tweak on the stomach was not regarded as a punishment. It was just a playful tap.

The school buildings were still occupied by the Ceylon Army though the war was nearing its end. We were shepherded into makeshift cadjan, thatch-roofed rooms, two classes crammed into one.

It was chaotic - nearly 60 students were squeezed in, two students occupying a single chair.

In that stifling atmosphere, teaching or learning was impossible. Two teachers, a male and a female were in charge. There was almost nothing they could do in the form of teaching except marking our attendance.

The two teachers talked and flirted much to our amusement. They got us to sing and we sang the same songs everyday - George Leslie sang Athnam Piyapath Mata Mevi, Kamala her eternal number Herr Bomb, Horr Torpedo a mocking description of Hitler and I, Ananda Samarakoon’s Poson Poho Dina. After some time, the teachers ad the students got tired of our repeated performances and demanded a change but we had nothing to offer. So back to the routine musical agenda.

The day the Army quit our buildings we celebrated. It was as if we were liberated from the clutches of the war. We ran through the buildings shouting, screaming, school authorities gave us a free hand. It was a celebration fully worth. It was nice to be back in the Kularatne Hall.

Ananda was a mixed school at the time. Girls were seated in the front row. Often a girl was embarrassed of the difficulty to rise from the chair because her plaits were entwined with the back of the seat.

The boy who sat immediately behind her was punished though the fellow may have had nothing to do with the mischief. At one time to overcome the unruly noise in the class room, our teacher got a boy and a girl to sit next to each other.

He ventured there will be no talk because in those days boys and girls were less permissive, especially the girls who grew up in restricted homes dominated by matronly mothers. But apparently the teacher was mistaken.

The noise of chatter did not cease - in fact it increased. The boys and girls seemed to welcome the new sitting arrangement.

Perhaps it helped them to shed inhibitions between the sexes. We do not know if those close relations blossomed into love affairs later on but it was an undeniable fact that there were student love affairs.

Like in any other mixed school, they exchanged love letters. It was adolescent innocence, part of the growing-up process, as her sheer biological necessity.

But once it turned into an awful tragedy at Ananda. A student couple, obviously lovers, was found dead at the Ja Ela rest house. They had committed suicide. It had all the pathos of a Greek tragedy, a Romeo-Juliet re-enacted But it was also a scandal.

The lovers had left notes which claimed their parents were opposed to their love and they had decided to take their lives. They had drunk poison. Mettananda was distraught; the entire school went into silent mourning.

It was still war time and everything was rationed. Even a cup of tea was hard to get. There was no canteen and the school had opened co-operative restaurants. We were issued coupons of one and two cents; they were like paper money. You surrendered the coupons to the restaurant manager and they served you a cuppa. Nobody grumbled; it was war time. There were shortages; school stationery were unavailable.

The black market throve even in school utensils. We used our own makeshift exercise books solely turned out by us; they may have been crude work of manufacture but they served our purpose.

The teachers did not object; those were grim times. School uniforms were not in vogue. Students were permitted to wear whatever clothes they had. Some boys came to school without shoes - a rare occurrence in a Colombo school. But the school authorities looked the other way. It was war time and grim times.

Everything was tolerable and forgivable. These students who came to school barefooted seemed to enjoy it; it gave them a sense of freedom: you know the joy of not being saddled by swathed feet only if you had walked barefooted. M. E. Fernando obviously knew and experienced this joy. He was a sagacious man.

To be continued