A cow in my lap

Ravi Velloor is saved by Toyota in Tiger territory.
IN VAVUNIYA, SRI LANKA

THE instructions to me from the Sergeant at the military checkpoint at Omanthai, from where the A9 begins its journey to Jaffna through territory formerly held by the Tamil Tigers, had been friendly but abundantly clear early that morning.

'Your pass is for only a day. That means you have to be out of here by midnight.'

With the ruthlessness displayed by Sri Lanka's military in the final stages of the war fresh in memory, I wasn't about to take any chances with these soldiers. It had taken me four hours from Omanthai to Jaffna through axle-breaking stretches of road where asphalt was a mere memory and the return journey would be at night. Discretion, as they say, is the better part of valour.

So, just after 5pm I reluctantly ended my interviews on the Jaffna peninsula and told Qutubdeen, my driver from the Taj Samudra Hotel in Colombo, that it was time to go. We could easily pass Omanthai before 10pm and, by taking turns at the wheel, expect to be back in Colombo by 2am.

Everything was moving to plan. The day had gone in a rush. Neither of us had eaten, except for some tea and bread at a canteen outside the Jaffna Government Agent's office. But we bought some of Sri Lanka's famous Munchee biscuits, produced by a company owned by my friend Pali Wickremesinghe, thanked Pali for its good taste and sipped water as we moved steadily down, reaching the town of Vavuniya at 7.45pm.

I checked my watch. We were making good time, I thought to myself and at this pace we might get home a little sooner than I initially thought.

Deen and I chatted as we slowed to move through the town and I pointed out to him the Vavuniya police station, scene of a famous Tamil Tiger attack during an earlier time.

Deen steered the Toyota Corolla left at the intersection and I bowed in obeisance as we passed the Ganesha temple on the highway, gathering speed. Two kms down the A9 from that point is a cluster of shops. Some of the lights had gone off, but others were still on. Sitting in the front seat next to Deen, I chatted with him about the Tiger rebels that I had known, now all dead. A vehicle from the other direction would pass us every few minutes; traffic was thin at this time. Although there has been no Tiger attacks since the top leadership was wiped out in May, a sense of unease and foreboding still seemed to fill the land around us.

As Deen dipped and flared his headlamps alternately, I could see animal shapes a kilometre ahead on the other side of the road. From long years of driving in the Subcontinent I know that animals -- and people -- are unpredictable. I raised a cautionary hand and Deen, still focused on the road ahead, sensed my warning and began to slow down.

A hundred metres from the pack and my worst fears came true: the herd, until then serenely standing by the roadside, stampeded. Two dozen animals began a charge across the road. Deen slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a halt.

With no time to react, we watched some of the bovines veer left and head straight for the car, probably blinded by the headlamps at the same time. One smashed straight into the front right of the car and the next thing I knew there was a cow flying straight at the windscreen, hooves pointed at my chest like some Bruce Lee delivering a knockout karate kick.

I braced for impact, immobilised by the seat belt. Maybe this was the way it was all meant to end after a career spent covering war, famine, riots, assassinations and tsunamis -- killed by a flying cow in Tamil Tiger territory!

The sound of the smashed headlamp was instantly followed by the clutter of hooves on metal as the cow was swept up and landed on the bonnet of the car. The hooves beat a desperate tattoo on the windscreen.

Then, everything went quiet. The animal had clambered off the bonnet, fallen to the ground and picked itself up to stand by the wayside, glowering at the vehicle that had obstructed its run. The windshield had held.
I breathed a prayer.

'Thank you, God. Thank you, Toyota!' I said to myself.

I put out a hand to steady Deen, who gathered himself after a minute and ran out of the car to remonstrate with a man who had followed the cattle out of the shadows.

This fellow reeked of arrack and seemed to have a secret sorrow. He said nothing. This unhappy soul had caused the stampede, apparently deliberately, although he mumbled something about being scared that some animals may be run over by a truck or a bus.

Deen is a Tamil Muslim and the people around us were Sinhalese, so he was careful to keep his anger in check.
It turned out that the man was a former soldier. His age indicated he was too young to retire, so he may either have been a deserter or fired, perhaps. Either way he was in a sullen disposition. We looked at the car.

The right headlamp was smashed. The bonnet was dented and the wipers were bent. The windshield itself was miraculously intact.

Deen called the insurance people in Colombo, who said they would need a police report to process the claim.

Deen looked at me. If I insisted on continuing the journey straightaway he wouldn't be able to claim insurance. I put an arm around him and told him to turn the car toward the Vavuniya police station, which we'd just left behind.

The policemen were helpful. They finished up some work they were doing and turned to our case.

Right: The writer interviewing President Mahinda Rajapaksa. ST PHOTO: RAVI VELLOOR










The car was examined. A lengthy report was recorded in Sinhalese.

When it was all over, Deen was profoundly apologetic. I told him he had behaved impeccably, both as a driver and a victim.

Toyota has got some bad press lately because of quality issues in the US. But it hasn't affected me. The car I drive in New Delhi, which is my base, is a Toyota -- an Innova minivan. It is a vehicle I love taking out into the country, and especially on monthly visits to my son, who is at a boarding school 300km away in the Himalayan foothills. I love the engine, the way she handles despite her size, the ride comfort. After our little accident -- should I say incident -- at Vavuniya, I am even more of a Toyota fan. Despite the knock it got, Deen's Corolla behaved perfectly, the engine soft as a whisper despite the 200,000km on its clock.

I got into bed at a little before 3am, and slept until 7, too tired to be traumatised by the cow that had nearly jumped into my lap.

Read more blogs from Ravi Velloor on Sri Lanka:
Compassion & violence co-exist
A man who loves his country
The General's wife steps forward
'He was definitely planning a coup'