The death of Jude – By GEORGE BRAINE
Jude passed away two years ago, at the height of the covid pandemic, from covid. He was mourned deeply by his small family, but, no memorial service was held for him, no obituary written, no monument constructed. In accordance with prevailing regulations, he was cremated, and not even his ashes could be recovered.
Behind the passing of Jude lies a lifetime of neglect and exploitation – by family and fellow villagers, by an evangelical church, by doctors and nurses and hospital workers, even a crematorium attendant. This narrative memorializes an ordinary man who did not move mountains and whose death did not make headlines, but deserves to be remembered.
Some background to begin with. My paternal grandmother lived at Boralessa, a village 43 km north of Colombo. Her older brother Charles was married thrice, and his eldest son from the third marriage was Alexander. The Nonises were Catholics. Despite their English first names (Charles, Rita, Leander, Alexander, Georgina, Calista, Ignatius, etc), they were not English speakers. The men of that generation wore shirt and sarong, and the women a cloth wraparound and a “hattey”, a narrow jacket, leaving the midriff exposed. They were mainly sawyers, mill workers, carpenters, and masons.
I recall Alexander, a colorful character, from the time Fawzia and I moved to Boralessa in 1977. He was a frequent visitor to our home, “Pondside”. Fawzia and I liked his company and that of his mother Puransina (for Francina), his sister Georgina, and brother Ignatius, who all lived down the road from us. Alexander knew the history of the Braines, and related stories, mainly humorous, from the past. He did not seem to have a wife. He drank every day, but, on the whole, was harmless.
Jude
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That background information leads to the protagonist of this story, Jude. He was Alexander’s seventh child, and I vaguely recall first seeing him around in the late 1970s. He was shy, as most Nonises are, so didn’t leave an impression. However, when we began spending longer holidays at “Pondside” while working abroad, we came to know him better. He was a full time carpenter by then, married to Indra, who was also from Boralessa, and had two children. Alexander had died while we were away while suffering acutely from an incurable skin rash, the result of a gunshot wound and his drinking.
At first, I got Jude to attend to various repair jobs at “Pondside” – fixing a door, replacing a window. As I got to know him better, I also heard parts of his life story. His father Alexander’s life had begun to unravel when he was shot at and suffered an injury. Alexander lost his job, began to drink even more, and, fed up with his lifestyle, his wife left him, running off with a paramour. (She was the mother of 8 children at that time!) Most of the children left with the mother, and Jude, a schoolboy, was left to take care of his father. Jude dropped out of school. He didn’t talk much about his life during this hardship period; I mostly heard about it from others. His father and uncles had been sawyers of logs – they even went out in groups and camped for weeks in thick jungles to cut down trees – but Jude took to carpentry and stayed in the village.
In the 1930s, Boralessa began to stage a passion play based on the famous Oberammergau passion play in Germany. Its hallmark, as in Oberammergau, was that all the roles were played not by professional actors but by villagers – carpenters, masons, sawyers, and others – who had been trained. The prized role was that of Jesus. The chosen villager had to fast and pray, and abstain from tobacco, alcohol, and sex for months. This difficult role, which required the actor to stay “crucified” on the cross for three hours, was played by Jude in the early 1990s, for three consecutive years. Although playing Jesus was a singular honor, true to his reticent nature, Jude did not talk about his “Jesus” act.
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Fawzia and I liked to see Jude around “Pondside”. Always with a smile, honest, obliging, ready to help. These qualities also endeared him to the villagers and his large extended family.
When we decided to expand “Pondside” with my retirement from Hong Kong looming, Jude undertook to task, building a master bedroom and a kitchen. By then, Jude had about four assistant carpenters working for him. Later, he also put in a new roof and ceiling for my house n Kandy.
The photo shows Jude seated on the deck he built for us. His two children are with him.
After Fawzia’s death, Jude and Indra began to play a larger role in my life and at “Pondside”. I handed over the management of the property to them, and its income. Indra is a wonderful cook and I was assured of delicious meals, mainly with produce sourced from the property itself, pesticide and weedicide free. Indra’s seafood dishes – fish, prawns, and crabs – are the best I have tasted. I traveled abroad regularly, and Jude and Indra took good care of “Pondside”. I helped with their children’s education, and saw them grow up to become hardworking students. They became my extended family.
The Parasites/Exploiters
Jude’s specialty was the construction of roofs, which involved grueling work under a blazing sun. Good carpentry assistants are hard to find and keep, for two reasons: (1) handouts from the government, and remittances from family members who were abroad, leaving little incentive to earn a living; and (2) drink. Most drank heavily, usually kasippu, and would rather sleep off their hangovers than go to work. The whole of Sunday was spent on drink, and, severely hangovered, no one turned-up for work on Mondays. Even on other mornings, Jude would start calling these workers one by one, and, when they didn’t answer, he would motorcycle to their homes to cajole them to turn-up for work. This was enormously stressful to Jude.
Some clients defaulted on payments. Most villagers are masons and carpenters, so getting a contract on a house being built was cut throat. The lowest bidder got the job, and the margin of profit was abysmal. Saturday was payday, but sometimes Jude could not collect any money from his clients, and, on a few occasions, he borrowed money from the me to pay his workers. When the job was complete, some clients (often fellow villagers, even distant relatives) would refuse to pay the agreed amount, leaving Jude with nothing after paying his workers. I have seen him totally exhausted and in utter despair. (After his passing, his wife told me that Jude wept on such occasions.) He owned a three wheeler and a small van, and I urged him to give up carpentry gradually and to drive his vehicles for hire. But he stuck to what he knew best.
Boralessa is a Catholic village. For generations, Jude and Indra’s family had been Catholics. For some reason, they converted to an evangelical church, which they embraced wholeheartedly. Entire Sundays were spent at the church, and 10% of their earnings were also tithed to the church. The pastor was ambitious. He gradually expanded the small church building into a mega church, and also began a branch church at Madurankuliya, nearly 70 km away. Jude, with his skills in carpentry, was made to volunteer (work for free) at these projects. I pointed out to him that he was being exploited, but he was in denial.
Covid strikes
When the last wave of covid hit, I was living abroad. Jude was working on a roof job, with four assistants, and his son, Sriyantha, now 22, pitching in. He was working on a house being built by a cousin in Italy. The latter, a control freak, insisted that the construction be “live streamed” on WhatsApp, so that he could nitpick every aspect of construction. He would even call Jude late at night, and start arguments. Hearing that Jude was severely stressed-out, I urged him to stop work and rest at home till covid was under control, especially because he had not been vaccinated. (It wasn’t available in the area yet, but the evangelical church may have played a part.) But he stubbornly continued to work. By mid-August, the whole family came down, showing symptoms of covid: fever, cough, diarrhea, loss of smell.
Two government doctors working at nearby hospitals would come to Boralessa in the evenings to see patients at their private clinics. Dr. X would ask patients who came with covid symptoms to do a PCR test without delay. Dr. Y, an unscrupulous moneymaker, spread a rumor that a parallel flu was spreading along with covid and it could be cured. Fearing strict quarantining if they were detected with covid, with the resulting isolation, loss of income from work, and even social stigma, but mainly in denial, people flocked to Dr. Y. Unfortunately, that’s where Jude’s family went. Indra (Jude’s wife) told me that, one evening, the number of patients seeing Dr. Y rose to 160.
One day, I spoke to Jude on the phone, and realized he was breathing with difficulty. I urged Indra to take him to hospital immediately. He was taken to Negombo hospital, which was overrun with covid patients. Fortunately, at Marawila hospital, he was given a bed, and immediately ventilated in the covid ward.
The nurses at the hospital insisted that a caregiver be hired to look after Jude (yes, even with a deadly virus on the rampage, the nurses still insisted on their pound of flesh). Because caregivers were now charging Rs. 6000/ per day, Sriyantha, the son, stayed at the hospital by Jude’ side. This was a harrowing time for the young man, to see the intense suffering of covid patients, and agonizing deaths.[1]
Within a couple of days, Jude’s older brother, Primus (65) was admitted to the same ward. Three days later, Primus died in the adjoining bed. Jude, semi-conscious by then, did not know that his brother had passed.
Jude’s condition fluctuated. He was being treated for pneumonia, perhaps the result of a chronic lung condition. I spoke to him on the phone once. Indra was distraught. Suddenly, his condition deteriorated, perhaps due a heart attack. His son tried CPR, but Jude died, on August 29.
He was only 54.
[1] While most government doctors have lucrative private practices (channeling, in the case of specialists), nurses at government hospitals also run a racket. When a patient is admitted to hospital, the family is asked to keep a caregiver, day and night, with the patient. Essentially, caregiving is the task of the nurses, but they have conveniently passed this to the families of patients. If you enter a ward at a public hospital, you will see the caregiver standing or seated by the patient’s bed. If a family member is unable to stay with the patient, caregivers can be hired for about Rs. 2500/ per day. A single caregiver could be taking care of three patients at the same ward, making it a lucrative income stream. A percentage of this income goes to the nurses
The aftermath
On the last two days, Jude’s younger brother was at the hospital, a great strength to Sriyantha, the son. After Jude’s body was taken to the mortuary, they had to bribe the mortuary attendant to get the body released and pay an exorbitant price for the coffin. The body was taken to the nearest crematorium at Madampe, 13 km from the hospital. Because so many covid victims were being cremated, a bribe had to be paid to ensure his cremation. Later, when they went to collect the ashes, they found a huge heap from numerous cremations, because no ashes had been cleared in days. Identifying and separating Jude’s ashes was impossible, so they abandoned the quest.
While Jude was in hospital, the family had requested their evangelical pastor to visit him for a prayer and a blessing. The pastor didn’t turn up. He had been busy building a three-storied, luxurious house, and acquiring a number of vehicles. Within a few months, Indra and the two children converted back to Catholicism.
I visited to Sri Lanka as soon as the strict quarantine requirements were lifted. Indra was still torn with grief. I did my best to relive their situation, tripling my monthly payment to Indra and pledging my financial support to the daughter, who had been selected to university.
With Jude’s untimely death, his family lost their breadwinner. I lost a reliable, trustworthy friend.
[1] While most government doctors have lucrative private practices (channeling, in the case of specialists), nurses at government hospitals also run a racket. When a patient is admitted to hospital, the family is asked to keep a caregiver, day and night, with the patient. Essentially, caregiving is the task of the nurses, but they have conveniently passed this to the families of patients. If you enter a ward at a public hospital, you will see the caregiver standing or seated by the patient’s bed. If a family member is unable to stay with the patient, caregivers can be hired for about Rs. 2500/ per day. A single caregiver could be taking care of three patients at the same ward, making it a lucrative income stream. A percentage of this income goes to the nurses.
