The missing man
ANURADHA RAJIVAN
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Mahaadana-muthhaa and his five students had to cross the river. Would the river take them away?
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In Ceylon, Mahaadana-muthhaa was considered to be a big wise man. He took five of his students on a journey. By nightfall reached a river. There was no bridge across the river.
“What do we do now? How do we cross over to the other side?” wondered the first student, Puvak-badillla, which meant an Arecanut-belly. “I’m afraid if we step into the water the river might take us!” worried Kotu-kithayyah, the second student who was so tall and thin that he looked more like a stick – Stick-man.
Getting across
“Then we will all die!” added student three called Rabbada-ayyah or Round-tummy, like the reddish arecanut.
Student four, Idikattu-pencha, who was so tiny that he was called Little Needle, was frightened. “Perhaps the river is asleep! Then it might be okay to cross!” he said.
“I don’t want to die! Is there a way to check if the river is asleep?” asked the fifth student, Pol-baye-muna, Half-coconut-face.
Mahaadana-muthhaa had a solution. “Why don’t we dip a log of burning wood into the water to check whether the river responds. If it is asleep, we will know!”
The students got a log and lit it. Mahaadana-muthhaa dipped the burning log into the river.
“S-s-s-s-s-s-s-s!” There was a loud and clear hiss for all to hear.
“Oh no! We cannot cross now! The river is not yet asleep!” declared Mahaadana-muthhaa, “Or one of us will be taken away by the river!”
Disappointed, the teacher and the five students spent the night on the river bank. The next morning they woke up and waded through the river. It did not strike them to check again whether the river was asleep or awake. Having reached the other side they decided to check whether all of them were there. Mahaadana-muthhaa counted.
“Mama, eka, deka, tuna, hathara, paha!” he counted in the Sinhala language, which meant, “Me, one, two, three, four, five!”
“Oh no! Just five! Someone is missing! The river has taken one of us!” Mahaadana-muthhaa became agitated.
To cross check, each of the five students counted themselves one by one. They followed their teacher:
“Mama, eka, deka, tuna, hathara, paha!” or “Me, one, two, three, four, five!
Now they were well and truly convinced that the river had got one of them. They started wailing. A passing villager saw all the commotion and came over to enquire.
“Why are all of you crying?” he asked.
“The river wasn’t sleeping! We crossed when it was awake! We were six and now we are only five! The river has taken one of us!”
“How did you count?” the villager asked.
Lost and found
Mahaadana-muthhaa and the students showed him.
“What fools! Let me have some fun!” thought the villager, who was a clever fellow. Aloud he said, “I know how to find the missing person. But you will have to obey me — do exactly as I say. Are you ready?”
“Of course!”
“Sure!”
So the clever villager asked Mahaadana-muthhaa and the five students to turn around and face the river with their backs to him. He took a good, strong stick and decided to give them some thundering thwaks. “Call out a number one after another as I tap you on your backs,” he ordered. Saving the teacher for the last, he started with Puwak-badilla.
Thwak! “Eka!” Thwak! “Deka!” Thwak! “Tuna!” Thwak! “Hathara!” Thwak! “Paha!” Thwak! “Haya!” said Mahaadana-muthhaa, the big teacher, finally, calling out six!
What joy! Though their backs were pretty sore, they were so happy to hear the last person call out “Six!”. They bowed and thanked the clever villager.
A Lankan tale, retold
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