In Sri Lanka's Batticaloa, you may hear singing fish

Batticaloa, on the east coast of Sri Lanka, has a distinct tropical charm. This culturally and racially diverse town is about five hours’ drive from Colombo or longer by train, which passes through several topographies, even crossing elephant reserves, vast paddy fields and grasslands on its way there.

My travel by road ensured I reached the town while it was at its humid best.

The roads were wide and clutter free, and the clock towers and parks brightened the ageing town. Scores of Hindu temples, churches, mosques and remnants of colonialism in the form of low, whitewashed bungalows made it a town worth exploring.

Batticaloa stands on the land between the lagoon and the Indian Ocean. In Dutch, Batticaloa means Kingdom of Paddy. However, the original name of this region is Matakkalappu (Tamil). The most romantic of it all, I learnt, is Batticaloa’s moniker Land of the Singing Fish.

Tamils and Muslims make up most of the population here with the majority working in government sectors (Kacheri), the offices of which are located in the town’s star attraction — the Dutch Fort.

Built by the Portuguese in 1628, it was captured by the Dutch in 1638 (who rebuilt and fortified it), and later it fell into the hands of the British. It is protected by the brackish waters of the lagoon on two sides and canals on the other two.

Batticaloa town is vast but with no visible high-rise buildings and is dominated by the Dutch Fort, an iconic gold-coloured statue of Mahatma Gandhi on a cement pedestal, and the Batticaloa Gate, which was the port entry where boats connected Puliyanthivu Island to the mainland. There are two theories on how this island got its name. One is strictly connected to the abundance of tamarind trees (Tamil for tamarind is pulli) and the second is rooted in the belief that there was a clan called Pulinther in the region — thus, the name Puliyanthivu.

All this exploration was easily done in a couple of hours after which I proceeded to my next stop with much eagerness.

It was time to test a legend.

Legend of the singing fish

I proceeded to the Kallady Bridge, another of the town’s attractions for two reason: one, it was the longest bridge in the country when it was built and second, it was here the legend of the singing fish originated. At the entrance of the bridge is a statue of the Tamil poet Avvaiyar, carrying her bag and a staff. The bridge itself is not in use today but it is interesting to walk over it and admire the vastness of the lagoon fringed by tall coconut palms. The lagoon is nearly 56km long, stretching from Eravur (north) to Kalmunai (south), but the area close to the bridge is where true legends come alive.

On a small boat we set out on the lagoon to witness why this was the land of singing fish.

The boatman who hailed from a family of fishermen, sang softly as he coaxed the boat further into the lagoon, whispering to the water and sometimes cursing the jelly fish. Then suddenly alert, he would dig the oar into the lagoon and put the other end to his ear as if waiting for an orchestra to begin and launch into imaginary stories of giant fishes found in these waters.

Soon we were almost at the centre of the lagoon having seen nothing but sting rays. The sun went down, but the evening was clear and cloudless, and there was still some light left.

The fisherman then handed me the oar signalling me to follow his lead. I pressed one end of the oar against my ear and the other into the water and waited. I swear I could hear my ears ring, but that is all. No fish were singing that night and the oars did nothing to amplify the sound of the legendary underwater music made by the fish.

Proof on the radio

Legend says that the singing fish helped fishermen navigate the lagoon, leading them to their catch on dark nights, but with time, they seemed to have disappeared. Today, not even people passing through the Kallady Bridge can hear them, although on occasions fishermen still claim encounters with these elusive musicians. Some say the singing fish are particularly active on moonlit nights. This entire business is shrouded in mystery even today, despite the proof that in 1954 a priest, named Fr. Lang, made the first audio recording of the singing fish, which was later aired over Radio Ceylon in 1960.

Since then, there has been no such audio evidence of this mysterious phenomenon, but tourists continue the search in hope. Legends aside, a boat ride on the lagoon certainly makes for an interesting evening.

The Green Algae Bay