By Vinod Moonesinghe
In the days of the British Raj, bullock carts were used to transport goods inland and to bring coffee beans (and later tea) from the montane plantations down to Colombo, for shipment overseas.
The distance from the coffee plantations to the main seaport of Galle caused the colonial government to override the wishes of the British Admiralty and of the steamship lines (who all wished to operate from Galle, which was closer to the main sea route to the Orient) and to develop Colombo harbour at a considerable cost.
Although railways took away much of their business, carters still toiled up the mountain roads into Uva well into the 20th century, as the Ceylon Government Railway did not complete the Main Line to Badulla until 1924.
Tindals
During these journeys, the carters would relieve their boredom by singing quatrains of folk music known as Gæl Kavi or Karaththa Kavi (cart songs). These speak of the suffering undergone by both carters and draught oxen, understood as karmic justice for past sins.
The most famous is:
තණ්ඩලේ දෙන්න දෙපලේ දක්කනවා
හපුතලේ කන්ද දැකලා බඩ දනවා
කළුකැලේ ගාලෙ නොලිහා වද දෙනවා
පව්කළ ගොනෝ ඇදපන් හපුතල් යනවා
Driving the tindal and the two (bullocks) on either side
Seeing the mountain of Haputale his stomach burns
Tormented without being unyoked in the corral of Kalukelle,
Sinful bullock, drag away, we are going to Haputale
The term tindal here is a translation of the Sinhala thandalé. Tindal derives from the proto-Dravidian thandal (the Tamil being similar), through Malayalee thantal, Telugu thandelu, and Urdu thandel. The original Dravidian means “master of a small ship.”
In English it is used variously for a native petty officer among lascars, a bosun’s mate, a coxswain or a maintenance seaman, as well as for a foreman of a gang of labourers. In Sinhala, thandalé preserved its primary meaning of the captain of a dhoni, a small ocean-going vessel common to South India, Maldives, and Sri Lanka. In naval usage, thandalé also came to mean the chief sailor or maintenance seaman.
The term got transferred additionally to the outlying bullock, provided as a spare for the arduous cart journey, possibly because it tended to lead the way – placing a bullock in front of the others was called thandal damanava (“putting a tindal”).
Interestingly, the Indo-Aryan-derived term for a cart, vaahanaya, has now come to mean a “vehicle”. The term “karaththaya” for cart or waggon derives from the archaic (also Brazilian) Portuguese Carreta (cart).
On the other hand, the term gæla for cart or waggon also originates from archaic Portuguese, in this instance galera derives from the Portuguese word for “galley”, galera. The term may draw a parallel between the size or structure of a ship and a cart.
Modern Spanish uses the same term for both “galley” and “covered waggon.” The related Portuguese term galeão (galleon) has the same etymology as galera, both deriving ultimately from the Byzantine Greek galea for galley.
Dhonis
The people who conquered ancient Sri Lanka and created the Sinhalese people came to the country by ship. Artistic evidence suggest they arrived in dhonis, outrigger-free sailing ships. A pre-Christian Brahmi inscription at Duvegala in the Polonnaruwa District features a depiction of a ship characterised by high prows and a single mast.
It must have been large wooden ships such as these that Megasthenes mentioned as bringing elephants from Taprobane (Sri Lanka) to Kalinga (Orissa). The term dhoni came from the Sanskrit droni, a hollowed-out log – also applied to medicinal bathtubs. The Tamil form is thoni.
Sri Lankans and Maldivians, however, used (and still use) outriggers on small dugout sailing canoes, called an oruwa in Sinhala. This term may be indigenous pre-Sinhala, of Austronesian origin or of similar derivation to the type of Keralite dhow known as an uru boat. Interestingly, the term beheth oruwa (“medicine canoe”) is used for a medicinal bathtub (similarly to dhoni). Larger ships, called Yathra dhonis, some of which sailed in the mid-20th century also used outriggers.
There is evidence that, in later eras, Sinhalese sailors and traders went as far as China. However, most of the maritime trade in the Indian Ocean was carried out by Iranian, Arab, and Tamil sailors and traders.
The greatest evidence of this is the fact that the inscription erected by the Chinese naval commander Zheng He in Galle is in Chinese, Persian, and Tamil. Witnessing Iranian influence, the Farsi term for “pilot”, sambandar,saw use as late as the Dutch period, and is still preserved in the surname “Sahabandu”.
The later maritime trade in Sri Lanka was most influenced by Tamil, Muslim, Malay, and Javanese traders. As a result, the Sinhalese language has incorporated many Tamil and Malay words related to maritime trade. The Malay and Javanese ship type “sampan” was called “hamban” in Sinhala.
A Sinhala proverb hints at the antiquity of the term:
සුළු සිදුරෙන් ලොකු හම්බන් කිඳා බහිනවලු.
They say great hambans founder through small leaks.
Hambantota is “Sampan Thota” (sampan-harbour). Since the merchants came in sampan ships, they were called “hambankaryos.” Even today, small merchants who came to some rural areas are called “hambankaryos.”
Another Malay term, kappara (sloop or sailing vessel) entered the Sinhala lexicon. We find it in Kapparathota, a fishing harbour at the entrance to Weligama Bay, and in the proverb:
අසූචි කප්පරයක් කෑ බල්ලාට සුළු ගඳක් මොකක්ද?
Will the dog that has eaten a kappara load of excrement be bothered by a little bad smell?
Another, Tamil term for a sea vessel has been preserved: Tamil marakkallam, for “wooden boat”, produced marakkalahe, a term for “sailing master,” which in turn gave us the surname “Marakkalage.” Marakkallam also gave us another, now obsolete term for a Muslim, Marakkalaya.
Parangi
The 16th century advent of Portuguese had a massive impact on the Sinhalese language, as seen by thandalé, gæla, and karaththaya. Portuguese remained (as Portuguese Creole, somewhat modified with Dutch terms) the ruling language and the Lingua Franca of Sri Lanka well into the 20th century.
Naturally, Portuguese nautical terms entered the vernacular lexicons. An excellent example of this comes from the shipbuilding trade. Leaks in-between the planks of a wooden ship would be sealed with cotton or hemp fibres soaked in tar made from tree gum.
This process is known as “caulking”. In Portuguese the term is calafate, a term derived from the Latin calefacere (“make warm”). This has led to the Sinhalese term for caulking, galappaththi karanawa, and thence to the surname “Galappaththi”.
Sri Lanka’s maritime history reveals a deep interconnectedness between its people and the sea. From the ancient Sinhalese who sailed to distant lands, to the diverse influences of traders from different ethnicities, maritime heritage has left an indelible mark on culture and language.
The evolution of terms such as dhoni, thandale, gæla, and hambankarayo underscore the importance of seafaring in shaping the nation’s identity.
Even in the face of modernisation, the endurance of bullock carts and their cultural expressions reflects the resilience and adaptability of Sri Lankan traditions. This enduring maritime heritage continues to stand as a testament to the island’s historical and cultural richness, connecting the past and present in a journey through the waves of time.
Vinod Moonesinghe read mechanical engineering at the University of Westminster, and worked in Sri Lanka in the tea machinery and motor spares industries, as well as the railways. He later turned to journalism and writing history. He served as chair of the Board of Governors of the Ceylon German Technical Training Institute.
Factum is an Asia-Pacific focused think tank on International Relations, Tech Cooperation, Strategic Communications, and Climate Outreach accessible via www.factum.lk.
The views expressed here are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the organization’s.
