I was a remand prisoner in Welikada’s high security jail 21 years ago and if my term was to be only three days, it possibly was due to the poetic licence that "fish after three days begins to smell." I went in on a Friday afternoon and came out on Monday but in those three days I met a clutch of some swell guys who were incarcerated only because the milk of human kindness flowed freely within them that they fought another’s cause to uphold the dignity of fair play.

My first night was in the ‘dorm’ and as none in my family knew of the requirements I slept in the sack cloth the prison authorities had given me after they took my clothes and belongings and gave me a number. I was prisoner 134. That was my identity. A kind inmate warned me to be careful of my shoes and my spectacles because anything is booty within the dungeon.

I was imprisoned because of a motor mishap in which I had accidentally knocked down a policeman. Why I was given special treatment by my fellow prisoners was explained to me: "Sir, kochchiyekuta wadek dhunna nisai". Information had got around faster than in the Bush even without smoke signals. If I were to sing of my experiences rather than cringe it has been explained by Evelyn Waugh when she wrote, "Anyone who has been to a public school will always feel comparatively at home in prison."

Somay it was to whom I had been of a special chemical attraction. He was a habitual resident and even had his own room in the corner of which was an altar with an image of the Buddha to whom he would offer supplication by lighting joss-sticks at the fall of dusk every day. He gave me a sarong, his mat and his pillow whilst he slept on a slender spread of jute beside me. The only recompense he ever asked for was a loaf of bread with the center scooped out and filled with seeni sambol which I asked my wife to bring but she never obliged. Perhaps, she had matters of greater importance like tending to three small daughters from 6, 7 and 9 years of age.

Somay’s recent visit was occasioned by the perfidy of an acquaintance with whom he had worked hand in glove. With milk food in short supply, the two of them had dug through the rear wall of a warehouse in which milk powder was stored. Neither wished to get rich quick and arouse suspicions and so they filched two tins apiece to cover the daily cost of living and camouflaged the hole with a shrub.

One night on their way home after an ‘operation’ they met on the train Pussa, a compulsive pick-pocket known to Somay. After a brief introduction and a discussion on the ‘state of business’, Pussa alighted at Ragama. Somay’s companion discovered his pocket had been picked of a fifty rupee note.

All the alarm bells in the kingdom of the thieves rang and an angry Batta swore vengeance on Pussa and even Somay for having introduced him to the other. After a futile attempt to get Pussa at home, Batta spilled the beans to the cops on Somay’s exploits in the milk trade.

Somay visited me at home after he was discharged and even though I tried, my friends in influential positions were wary about employing a re-convicted thief. I suppose there would only be the time tested trade for him.

My other friend was Jothi who was serving a sentence for having thrown acid on a Municipal Councilor. He too had his own quarters and meal time was a buffet with food brought by all and sundry being fit to be a feast for a Roman Emperor.

Jothi’s trade was in extortion. He would guarantee immunity from the long arm of the law if he were ‘looked after’. He had been in the bad books of the police but with the intrinsic and, thereby, sophisticated sense of survival of those who flirt with danger, he had been fleet footed for the flat footed gentry. 

One incident illustrates: the Police Renault 4 brought to the country for speed and manouverability was moving in on Jothi who was back-tracking on a blind alley. Like the cornered wild boar he decided attack was the best form of defence. He lifted the edge of his sarong and got the ‘gedi’ [hand grenades] out of his trouser pockets. The Renault receded, yard by yard.

We had one day a visitor in saffron robes. As he walked past Jothi’s room to the washroom, he was spotted and was bade welcome in ritualistic manner, then asked the reason for his ‘visit’. The priest confessed he had stolen books from a public library in Kolonnawa. Jothi was furious. But first, he interpreted for us the episode: "This s.o.b. has stolen books from children." Then he thundered for the monk to disrobe himself saying he had sullied the noble attire.

I was a prodigal of the profuse even with cigarettes which were lavishly given to me by visitors. Non-smoker Aktab would not take it and became the custodian of my cigarettes.

On the other side of the divide there was Sawara of whom tales were manifold as he stood askance on his balcony, all 6 ft 6 inches of masculine muscle and mayhem, black and sinister as Satan. He didn’t have a friend in the world but he did not care less.