The Beginning Of An “Oriental” Experience

by Goolbai Gunasekara

Excerpted from Chosen Ground: The Clara Motwani Saga
(For much of the information in this chapter I am indebted to Visakha students of the years between 1933 and 1945)

Curiously enough, Mother was not the first American principal of Visakha Vidyalaya. As Principal of the first Buddhist school for girls, situated in a small building in what was then Turret Road, Dr. Bernice Banning had taken charge of twenty children of leading Buddhist nationals. The parents of these twenty guinea pigs had the courage to ‘sacrifice’ their offspring in the cause of Buddhist education.

One of these ‘sacrifices’ was Vimala Wijewardene, who was to become Ceylon’s first woman Minister (of Health). There were also a few boys. One of them was Dudley Senanayake, a future Prime Minister of Ceylon; his cousin, R.G. Senanayake, a future cabinet minister; M.D.H. Jayawardena, a future Finance Minister; and Jinadasa Attygalle, a future medical specialist.

Several able Principals had preceded Mother – all of them foreign. None except Mrs. Pearce stayed long enough to make any impact. One British lady, I am told, resigned because her English friends disapproved of her association with local Sinhalese parents. Mother inherited Mrs. Pearce’s efficient administration.

Now what of Mother’s experiences as a new and amateur educationist in a country as different from her home as if she had stepped into the pages of an oriental novel? She loved the Sri Lankans from the start but a few shocks awaited her. One day an irate parent arrived at Mother’s office.

“You have the daughter of a low-caste family in this school,” she told Mother, “and the child sits next to mine in class.”

Coming from the State of Kentucky, which certainly must have practiced some form of racial discrimination, Mother was nonetheless deeply shocked when she was asked not only to move the offending child’s desk, but to preferably banish the ‘intruder’ from Visakha.Mother was a very tall person and could, when she so desired, be imperious. At this point she. so desired. She drew herself up to her full height.

“Mrs. V’ she said coldly, “when I enrol a student in Visakha I do not inquire to which caste she belongs. I am quite unconcerned with social status. My only concern is with the child’s mind, and her behaviour in school. However, if you feel very strongly about the matter, please write me a letter and I shall lay the matter before the Board.”

Mother shrewdly guessed that putting such a complaint in writing would never be done. She was right.

But the incident taught her a valuable lesson. To the end of her days Mother never inquired as to social standing or financial standing of any of the school’s parents. This probably irritated the affluent, but endeared her to all others.

Mother had yet another experience that brought home to her quite forcibly the fact that she had not left racism at home in America. Upon her arrival in Ceylon she was invited to join the Colombo Swimming Club. Unaware that at that time the Club was a bastion of white privilege, Mother went along to meet the Committee for the mandatory interview.

As the interview progressed, Mother began to feel distinctly uneasy: she realized that she was obviously in the wrong place. Her unease crystallized when one of the Committee turned to her and said:

“Of course, Mrs. Motwani, we will allow your children to swim here as a courtesy to you.”

Mother was appalled.

“Do you mean to say my husband cannot swim here?” she asked. “I’m afraid not,” said the President. “I’m sorry, but those are the rules.”

Mother declined membership, and was very critical of a British friend who did join the Club in spite of her Sinhalese husband being banned from the premises.

“Why did you do it?” she asked her friend. “Didn’t you feel it was an insult to your husband?”

“I did it for the sake of my children,” was the answer.

Mother could not see what possible benefits would accrue to her friend’s daughters from membership of the Swimming Club. It is ironical to reflect that, at the time of writing, I am a Trustee of the very Swimming Club that denied membership to my father.

Visakha had a lovely hostel with long airy dormitories, large windows and a sunny atmosphere. The ‘baby dormitory’ was her special love. Boys and girls aged from four years old to six were lodged here, and her special pets were Manilal Gunawardena and Neomal Dias, great grandson of the founder.

Mother would kiss all eighteen ‘babies’ goodnight each evening.

Manilal kept her in the room as long as he could.

“May I have some water, Mrs. Motwani?” he would ask, just as she was ready to turn out the light. The Matron would try to hush him up, but Manilal had a battery of requests. He needed to go to the bathroom. He was scared of going alone, and needed Mother to hold his hand. In short, Manilal just wanted her there until he fell asleep. His two older sisters had no patience with him, and in any case were in other dormitories.

When Manilal left Visakha to go to a boys’ school, saying goodbye to Mother was hard for them both.

“No one writes to me,” he told Mother sadly. All letters from home would go to his older sister. “Will you write me a letter?”

It was the first letter Mother had ever written to a cute little five-year-old, and Dr Gunawadena told her he treasured it a long time.

Romantically-minded teenage girls at Visakha were also greatly interested in my handsome North Indian father, who put in an appearance from time to time dressed in jodhpurs, the Indian sherwani and a Gandhi cap. Father created an aura of romance around the new Principal.

“My Hindu Moon Star

I love you

I love you

‘Yes I do,”

sang the seniors, to whom a North Indian lover was the ultimate of their unspoken dreams. And all the world, especially these Asian girls, brought up in that era for nothing else but marriage, loved a lover.

“Clara and Kewal became instantly loved,” wrote Manel Ratnatunga (nee Hewavitarana), the well known Sri Lankan authoress.

During Mother’s first years at Visakha she naturally introduced certain very American ideas. Sita Rajasooriya, well known today for her dedication to the Girl Guides and the Sarvodaya Movement, writes:

“Just before the senior Cambridge exam Mrs. Motwani occupied us with other activities. We felt this was a serious drawback to that last minute cram. She told us to put our books away, and on the night before we sat for the first paper the examination class was treated to a gala dinner given by the Staff.

“Mrs. Motwani told us this was an American custom. There is no doubt that our excellent results were due to Mrs. Motwani who helped us clear our minds and avoid last minute agitation. I was also one of the first to give Mrs. Motwani the Sinhala `ayubowan’ greeting on the first day she entered Visakha. She returned it so gracefully we were enchanted.”

The observance of Sil on Poya Days was made compulsory. Day girls joined boarders in a full day’s program arranged by Venerable Bhikkhu Narada. Mother joined the girls, sat on the floor with everyone and observed the customs. Rev. Narada conducted a meditation class one day and saw Mother seated with a perfectly straight spine (she always had a straight spine), hands correctly folded, eyes closed. He switched to Sinhala:

“See, girls,” he told them, “open your eyes and look at your Principal. THAT is the posture you must assume at religious functions.”

Mother opened her own eyes to find the whole school’s collective gaze on her. She blushed in confusion, and asked the venerable monk if anything was wrong.

“No, no, Mrs. Motwani,” he assured her. “I was just telling them to copy you.”

Mother used to say afterwards that it was a compliment she never forgot.

Leila Wijesekara, niece of Sir Baron Jayatilleke, writes that she grew very fast to be so tall, Mother always gave her the male lead in any drama. She was always the centre V in the double ‘V’ meant to represent ‘Visakha Vidyalaya’. Mother ranged all the children downwards from Leila’s towering figure.

Grace Jayasuriya (nee de Silva) goes back even further:

“I remember presenting a bouquet to Lady Stanley, wife of Sir Herbert Stanley, when she visited Visakha. I was a tiny girl. I was twelve when Mrs. Motwani came to the school. She was very beautiful. She allowed us to have midnight feasts, and shut her eyes to the fact we were breaking rules. We had ‘Boarder’s Days’ when normal rules were suspended. I had no mother and my father wanted me to marry young. Mrs. Motwani objected to an early marriage and persuaded him to allow me to join the Lady Irwin College Home Science Course at Visakha. Those were Golden Days, the memory of which will always linger in my heart.”

Thercy Samarajeewa, writing to Mother, said:

“A scene rises before my eyes. I see you with us students at dinner. I see us hostelers sitting at your feet in the garden while you told us stories of your home in Kentucky. I see the queue waiting to say goodnight to you at the end of the evening. I hear your voice telling us ‘Remember only what you GET, never what you have GIVEN’.”

It was an axiom Mother herself followed all her life. She always remembered a favour and never bore a grudge. Father was not over pleased with Mother’s selective memory.

“There is a special God for angels and fools,” he would tell us, his two daughters, “and your mother qualifies for His attention on both counts.”

Mother would smile serenely and go calmly along, thinking thoughts that pleased her and remaining true to her own code of ethics. At this distance of 60 years from childhood, I can see how strong parental example can be, and how difficult it is to emulate it!