What Lies Beneath

Among the scores of ebony-skinned locals who offered to take us out on the “coral tour” in their glass-bottomed boats, we settled for pot-bellied Palitha (for Sri Lankan Rupees 1,000; 1 Indian rupee2 SLR) and his predictably named boat, ‘Coral Queen’. Palitha would deliver an hour of snorkelling for us along with the equipment—snorkel, mask and fins.

Once we skipped in, he whirred the engine and we were off, the wet sand disappearing into a blue watery carpet. Fifteen minutes into the ocean, Palitha stopped his Queen, and threw pieces of bread into the water. Within seconds, scores of coloured fish appeared. From the glass bottom, we spotted more fish—bright and dappled, racing around the corals. We also saw a big turtle slowly slink by under the boat. By now, I was squealing with delight. “Aye, now go and meet him,” growled Palitha, with a distinct vernacular drawl, his fat gold chains glimmering in the sun.

Having helped us with our gear and putting it tightly into place, he showed us how to breathe. “Not from the nose, only from the mouth,” he roared, as he helped us slide off the boat into the water.

We dunked our heads in looking for some colour. Palitha wanted us to swim farther away, but I found it difficult to breathe from my mouth, the salt water slides in immediately. I suppose breathing from the nose is instinctive, but a few more growling instructions from our teacher had me breathing easy.

Once we mastered the art of mouth-breathing, everything else was a cakewalk. We flapped further away, and deeper. Our heads underwater, the snorkel tube our only link to the air above.

It was beautiful down there. Pure. Peaceful. The corals are furry with moss. Their bodies large and complicated, ending in fingers. And just as I bent lower to touch one, a school of large pink-blue fish rushed towards me and then suddenly rushed away. As if they were all going to the afternoon market and I was in their way. These fish were about six inches long and I was, sort of, scared, since the only time I’d seen such large fish was across a glass pane.

But I was game for more and moved farther into the ocean, finding larger fish—a pair of spotted ones with large heads. They were beautiful and I wanted to scream in excitement, but no one was listening.

So I rushed out and hollered to Palitha. “It’s excellent,” I shouted as he called me back to the boat. “You have to go far, I will show you,” he said, as he put on a mask and snorkel and jumped in, leading me further by my hand. He knew where the fish hung out, and soon, under us, swam another turtle, about three-foot long, and even bigger than the one before.

Palitha and I exchanged underwater glances and he gave me a thumbs up. I returned it as well, I was having a good time.

Our hour quickly came to an end and we swam back to the boat. I’d seen many types, colours and sizes of fish. Palitha didn’t know the names of any of the species, he called them whatever he liked!

Getting back into the boat was more difficult than I thought it would be. Palitha managed to jump in, but I was struggling. The fins and mask went in first and then I waved a foot into his face by which he was to pull me in. A few bruises and some heaving later, I was dragged in.

I just couldn’t wait to tell my husband, who was on his way back, about the turtle. Once he was helped in, I began showing off… the hammer-heads, the zebra fish (all according to Palitha). But he shut me up with his story. He’d come face to face with a baby octopus. As big as a foot, with big globular eyes that stared back at him. “Good good,” grunts Palitha, “Now I want a good tip.”

But I was sure I would be back the next day, I had a date with Mr Hands.