THE INCREDIBLE VOYAGE OF THE KANDARUKEE
Emily and Per Ola D’Aulaire

The three young fishermen were not concerned when their inboard diesel conked out on the afternoon of January 4, 1980. Although beyond the sight of land and bobbing helplessly in the Indian Ocean, they could see several other boats nearby. In these waters, the usual presence of many boats spread for miles around, allowed a leapfrog type of contact with shore. It was a risky system at best, however, and there were those who had vanished at sea, never to be heard from again. But the fishermen were certain someone would see them and tow them to port.

One of the crew removed his bright – print shirt, tied it to a bamboo pole and waved it. The others hauled the fishing lines on board. But it was already late afternoon, and one by one the boats in the area headed toward land.

The crew now began to realize that the glare from the sinking sun must have made their boat invisible. They shouted until their throats ached, but soon they were alone, adrift in their 28-foot, open wooden boat, the Kandukaree.

The castaways, Sunil Adambarage, 24, Cyril Hendavitharana, 19, and Nimal Guneratne, 17, were cousins. They fished for their livelihood, as do thousands who inhabit the coastal villages that ring the island nation of Sri Lanka just south of the Indian subcontinent. The three now found their diesel was beyond repair, its main crankshaft apparently broken. The small boat had no compass, radio, or other navigational gear, but since the young men could not see the mountains in the island’s interior, they guessed they were about 20 miles south of landfall. Hoping that the evening breeze, blowing shoreward, would carry them back to land, the youths jury – rigged a sail. It grew dark, and they slept.

When the three awoke, they discovered that the wind had shifted and was carrying them away from shore. They could not see even a glimmer from the lighthouse at Dondra Head on the southern tip of the island. Where was Sri Lanka anyhow?

Sunil, the eldest, took command. He ordered the sail left up. Since they’d have to drift somewhere, the sail might get them there faster – wherever “there” was.

When the last boats from the cousins’ village had returned to port and the Kandukaree was not among them, Cyril’s father questioned the fishermen, who said they had not seen the missing boat since early afternoon. Sunil and Nimal lived with elderly grandparents, who had no news of the boys either. A daybreak, Cyril’s father borrowed a car and followed the coastal highway north – the direction in which the returned fishermen had guessed the boat might have drifted. At each village he made inquiries.

Working up the coast he arrived at Galle, the first big town, where a friend with a trawler agreed to help. For four days the men patrolled the offshore waters, until they ran low on fuel.

Meanwhile, government authorities had been notified and an extensive air – se search was organized. Navy patrol boats spread out toward the Maldives, 400 miles t the southwest where other castaways had been known to drift. Air force helicopters scanned the coastline. But after more thantwo weeks, it was concluded that the Kandukaree had sunk, taking her crew with her. What no one knew was that Sunil, Cyril, and Nimal had drifted eastward and were now some 200 miles from Sri Lanka, heading erratically toward Austrilia.

As morning dawned on their second day at sea, the three young men took stock of their meagre stores. Sunil ordered the four – gallon plastic container of fresh water rationed – only half a cup per person, twice a day. They mixed it with other supplies – a jar of cocoa powder, a can of condensed milk and some sugar – to make chocolate drink. Nimal now tossed a fishhook overboard, and a small shark took the lure. They cooked the fish on their portable kerosene stove and ate hungrily. That evening Sunil took a jackknife and carved two notches in the boat’s rail to keep track of the days.

There were seven notches on the Kandukaree when the weather turned rough. Steep waves lashed the boat, while the three clung tightly to the gunwales to keep from eing pithed overboard.

Then, in the midst of the storm, a freighter heaved into view. As the trio shouted and waved, the boat passed so close they could see people on deck looking toward them through binoculars. But, incredibly, the ship steamed on and disappeared.

The near rescue was so discouraging that for the next few days it became a struggle to try to survive. They caught a occasional fish, which they cooked and ate without enthusiasm. When there were 11 notches on the boat’s rail, their water supply was gone. And no rain was in sight.

They now began drinking minute amounts of sea water, to wet their parched throats. When they caught a fish, they first drank the blood, removed the eyes and sucked at the liquid in the sockets. After the 20th day, when their last mach had been used, they ate their fish raw or sun – dried. The number of notches mounted.

As the days dragged on, their hair and beards grew long and matted. They no longer bothered to clean and dry the fish they caught but ate them whole. They now collected and drank their own urine. When rain did fall, they plugged the scuppers, and risked being swamped for the sake of some fresh water in the bilge.

Finally, Nimal, unknown to the others, began drinking a mixture of sea water, diesel oil and a small amount of fresh water. The others noticed after a month and a half that Nimal’s strength was failing, and when he confessed to them the concoction he had been drinking, they dumped the fuel overboard.

On one full – moon day, when the youths had the usual good catch, they made a vow to the gods. Since thirst worried them more than hunger, they offered to exchange all their fish for a little rain and tossed the catch overboard. That night it did rain but for a full week they caught no fish.

The rail now held 62 notches, and there had been neither water nor fish for a very long time. Nimal was drinking sea water steadily. “Let’s jump overboard and be done with it,” said Sunil. Cyril agreed. But when Nimal, the youngest, pleaded, “ I don’t want to die,” the others felt ashamed. “We will all stick with the boat until the end,” Sunil assured them.

Through the following weeks, they began to subtly blame one another for the ordeal. As strong believers in karma – the force generated by a person’s actions and believed to determine his destiny – each wondered if the bad karma of one was causing the suffering of all.

Then, as he was about to carve notch 102 onto the rail, Sunil sat upright. “Land!” he screamed. On the horizon was the silhouette of a palm-fringed island. The three watched, hypnotized, as the Kandukaree drifted within several miles of shore. “We’ll stay together,” said Sunil. That night, again, the wind shifted cruelly, and by morning, the horizon was empty.

Three days later Nimal died peacefully in his sleep. Sunil and Cyril wept bitterly as they kept vigil over the body until noon. Then in the Buddhist funeral custom, they tied Nimal’s hands and his big toes together and eased his body into the sea.

On April 24, more than 15 weeks into the voyage of the Kandukaree, the throaty thump of an engine roused the two survivors. A foreign fishing boat was approaching. The youths jumped to their feet. They tried to explain with signs: “No food. No water. No engine.”

The fishing vessel pulled alongside, and the two survivors were brought on board. The captain spoke a language they could not understand. Using hand signs, he offered them food. Then, with the battered boat in tow, the fishing vessel chugged towards a nearby harbour on the Indonesian island of Sumatra. The incredible voyage of the Kandukaree had finally ended.

Cyril and Sunil were turned over to the Indonesian harbour police who could not figure out where these castaways were from. Although the two kept saying, “Lanka, Lanka,” the mystery was not solved until an inspection of the Kandukaree turned up an empty matchbox. On its cover were the barely legible word: Ceylon Match Co., Ltd., Colombo. A call to the Sri Lankan embassy in the Indonesian capital of Jakarta confirmed their identification.

A few days later, the two young men flew to Jakarta. They were whisked to the Sri Lankan ambassador’s residence for checkups. Amazingly, except for swollen feet and bloated stomachs brought on my malnutrition and ingestion of sea water, they were in sound health. The ambassador provided clothes and, best of all, two air tickets home.

Sunil and Cyril arrived in Colombo, Sri Lanka’s capital, and were met by a swarm of reporters. Cyril’s father, with 50 family members and friends, had made the four – hour trip to the airport. After a joyful reunion and a time of mourning for Nimal, the party headed home.

The journey was interrupted by throngs of fishermen seeking a glimpse of what could only be called the result of a miracle. The epic journey of the Kandukaree – both its more than 1400 – mile distance and in 111 days spent with no stores – had no parallel in the annals of survival at sea.