Road was blocked by young men in denims and dozens spectators in sarongs. I was forced to switch off car nearby Angulana, Moratuwa along the roadside. I can see parked vehicles adhering probable distance to tear off potential damage cause by violent men running around. Fear ? well nothing to worry as I am from generation of insurance worshipers. We proudly mitigate risk by paying to insurgence companies, until starts questioning the authenticity of their smiles looking at a faded flowerpot in a hospital bed side. One should take as a great solution to compensate damage of a risk lying in a bed with broken legs. Just like smoking in front of your father, get caught and asking help from mother. Once you are in trouble, you are on your own son. No body can help you to save your legs.
The mod boys and gode spectators were from local fish bazar. They were smelly sweaty fishermen’s with rounded knifes, fat ladies with fish baskets, pale looking kids playing with bats and balls and men with clean ironed shirts “The Mudalalies” commanding topless hardworking labors . They all burst out to the roadside shouting like Barmy Army approaching Galle cricket ground in last test match. Eagerness lighted dark dirty faces of men and woman came out from old bazar. Then only you can separate faces against the bazaar dirty walls. Everyone came carrying old fish baskets and sharp knifes, as from somewhere close to dark searching either peace or war.
People rumored as some of these men were employees of rich politicians to shout lungs out during election meetings and throw “kakka” to opposition party election meetings. Its the world of poor to be poorest, richer to be richest and angels to commit suicide hanging in a boo tree’s.
The commotion pack only woman was fat lady in front. She was shouting like witchcraft woman fighting with spiritual “Kali Amma” fpushing topless man rigorously with her hip. Finally she pulls him out to a corner and treated him pointing her knife. No one seems come closer to her as she carries a curved “knife” in in left hand. That man would have been cracking a bloody joke with her. I can clearly see tattooed men in sarongs with famous Singhalese quotes , “ latha mage pana– Latha is my life”, “ maruea samaga waasea– Living among death”, “ amma budhuwewa- may mother be lord Buddha” , it was a mix as the crowd gathered for rock concert in Las Vegas. Was it only me thinking glittering knifes can be an absolute staggering fear to question authenticity of a Hollywood battle scene. Shouting like rabies infected dogs barking to parliamentarians who are sweating on their mouths to settle down a zero important point. This is a no place to prove a point. It’s Agulana, Moratuwa.
Here we go to the fight
From the bazaar corner standing five and half foot pale faced young man with a striking Jone Cena t-shirt wagging his head to escape.
From the Galle Road corner boys from Zoiya Pura wearing Bob Marley t-shirts carrying cricket bats, bicycle chains and 2X2 Polu ready to start the party
And from 20 meters away, man in late twenty’s hiding in a car thinking spectators expecting a cracker of a game.
Bob marley’s without guitars or Jone Cena helpless look is not a question for spectators. They were thinking how far next hospitals located at and how long journey will take place. Most would bid on Jone Cena to humiliate Bob Marly’s as they watch too many Bollywood movies. For me Jone Cena boy resembles Kumar Dharmasena from concluded Ashes after committing poorest DRS decision all time surrounded by Ausi cricket boys?
As the Boy isolated to a corner with millisecond before crushed to a dirty wall. Man in his mid-fortes with pot belly shape and pale hair with a white sarong and expensive shirt cross over the center. He is wearing a clean shirt against a dirty wall backdrop of young man pleading for help. The frame of a classic fisherman unless wrist watch and smart phone appeared alien to him. Is he the demon or angel behind? Within few seconds, he poses an uncoordinated right hand gesture to approaching men. No body moves slightly for a second and took a step backward. It was impossible to say glittering gold rings of his right hand or something else back off the crowd within milliseconds. He pushes off the boy further to the wall and slaps him with all his strength , move to the next hand repeat same. After few minutes. I can see bleeding Jone Cena covering up his face with thin long hands.
“Never ever come close to my daughter again, you will never walk again, you understand bastered “ – the man deviled the boy like Chinese Srilankan rice.
Then signals to Bob Marley’s to initiate the concert. I don’t know what it was like to be called. It was jamming and dancing fireworks around Jone Cena probably he too would been dancing to Chris Gale sixes whacking all-round the park with cricket stumps. After few more minutes all vanished as the tuk tuk cartend away bleeding Jone Cena towards the Panadura hospital . Will Jone returned one day with his own devil gang is unconfirmed session for reality TV.
“Who is that” I asked from guy selling lotteries in roadside.
“Mr. Solaman Mudalali” owner of the sudu putha boat service and traveling agency. He owns a “wadiya” beach hotel in Mount Lavonia. That boy was crazy to fallen love with his daughter”
“Isn’t police coming here “I asked
“This is Solaman’s business, what police can do? “
Slowly spectators returned to nests as I can hear cars getting geared up to drive. For one last time I gave a look on the fish bazaar dirty building wall’s where Jone Cena was crushed, blood on wall close to a politicians election poster resembles greediness and fate of people authenticity of smiling face with a caption saying Prosperity to all.
I slowly starts moving. Life is normal again.