Shards of memory

Morning breeze was soothing, disciple thought. He wondered what's next on master's agenda, settling down with two cups of steaming coffee.

"I take it, you are bone-tired."

Master smiled: "I'm sore all over. But not so in mind, though."

"Searching and researching is something in your blood, isn't it?"

Master stared at the disciple's face. It's not just a commonplace statement. It must have took at least a few seconds for those words to sink in.

"Maybe something to do with my genes, you know, my father."

"Your father was a university teacher, you told me once."

"Yes, and he taught mass communication, if that's your next question."

"That's so cool master. You know me!"

"His expertise was creative communication. But deep beneath I saw a jongleur in him."

"A what?"

Master smirked, he sensed this too will come his way.

"A jongleur. Someone like a wandering poet. I see him as a wandering poet in a way. He had a well of stories. I have been tuned to them ever since my kindergarten days."

"Still remember those stories?"

For a few seconds master was thoughtful, stroking the edge of his cup.

"There was an 'Uncle Monkey'. He ate fruits with a kid. I was so lazy to get up for kindergarten. But everyday he would come up with something happening between uncle monkey and kid. I was up once I hear his voice in the morning just to hear what mischief uncle monkey is up to that day."

Master pulled up suddenly and seemed to sink in his own thoughts. He went ahead in a watered down spirit.

"Wish I could recall those stories. But I'm too old, you see."

Disciple was observing his face. He saw creases around master's nose - did they pop out just now or just that he didn't notice it earlier, he wondered silently. Master contemplated what he was to say.

"There were times we didn't actually shake hands. But I remember mother always say how he loved telling stories to me. Even more than my brothers. May be because I was the youngest and he was more matured when I was born. He had more insights to syringe thoughts into stories."

"What are the instances you didn't agree with your father?"

"Don't you think that's something either of us should rather not dig up? Father and I share a bond, we both hardly knew. Even now I can't simply grasp what kind of a bond it is. It outweighs many things, including our differences, that I know for sure." Disciple reached over for a second cup of coffee. Master's was not still over. Even so disciple did not need to disrupt the stream of thoughts.

"Very rarely did we talk about our personal things. Because he always liked to share stories even over our meals together. I have never seen anyone who knew more stories. He did research and all those serious stuff. But he was still a storyteller for me."

"What kind of stories were they normally?"

"Any story on the earth. He collected a lot of stories when he travelled around the world. When others busied themselves hunting for fridges, vacuum cleaners, this and that, he was hell-bent to meet some old man and trade stories. That's why his stories are so worthy. You cannot find some of them in story or folklore books."

"Didn't it sort of disturb his main study area?"

"The thing is he could somehow link it with his subject. He thought stories are the best thing of creative communication and that shapes the man."

"I see."

"Whether stories are made up or genuine, he was least worried. Whatever it is, if it strikes our heart then that story definitely shapes our lifestyle. That's the technique religious leaders followed when they tried to convince something. Parables, fables and sort of things have a big impact on us, he thought. Whenever he researched something he could find a striking story and share it with his students."

"Like father like son, huh?"

"If it's a stroll, I must say father is far ahead, and I am still lagging behind. He is the one who taught me to be up by early in the morning to see sun rise. No matter how late he goes to bed, he made sure he gets up early. And then he would write on and on for hours. Whenever I get up early in the morning, it brings back the memory of my father."

"It betokens his legacy."

"Of course, it does."

Master sipped the cup slowly. He breathed slowly as if he wants to relive the moments of past - shards of memory. Disciple tried to picture the old man who must be master's father. Neither did realize they were tight-lipped letting some minutes pass by.

"Would you mind if I ask you for something."

"Go ahead son."

"Can you share those stories of Uncle Monkey with me?"

"As I told you once, I wish I could remember those stories."

"You said your father made up those stories, right?"

"Yes."

"So then it's no big deal."

"Why?"

"I mean you can come up with your own version."

"Such as?"

"That's up to you, master."

Master was thoughtful for a moment. Disciple's words echoed off and were set adrift in his mind.

"Ok... here we go. Once there was an uncle monkey..."

It started off with occasional pauses. At length, however, words poured out with an ease simply unimaginable.

Disciple basked in that brief blissful instance when master's face beamed with joy.

I want to rewrite source stories

"Did you locate it?"

"No I am still looking for that."

"Keep looking for that. I am sure you will locate it."

"Here you go... We got it."

The disciple unearthed a stack of papers from the dust mountain. They slowly deciphered Ven. Dharmasena's handwriting.

Excerpt 1:

I read Amavathura and Dhammapadatta katha once again. I think I enjoyed Dhammapadattakatha most. I think my life is full of stories like those in Dhammapadattakatha. They actually brim with life.

The peasant I met today was sharing his food dearth. I know a famine is around the corner. I asked him to come to our temple's storehouse. These people give us food out of devotion, and they have no idea when they will run out of supplies. Isn't our tradition so precious?

What do our elderly monks do, other than writing down in bombastic language extracted from other books? They will be tossed into bookshelves forever and ever. I am aching to write a book to my people. My people who come to see me every evening to listen to a story or sermon.

Excerpt 2:

I had a pep talk with one of our novice monks. We had sort of an argument whether it is all right for a monk to engage in literary things, when he is supposed to concentrate on religions affairs. Halfway I agree with him. But I am so fond of these people. They do everything for the sake of us. I always feel we should give them something in return.

I have seen people doze off when I drone on sometimes. They like stories more than sermons. Can't stories be a good sermon that moulds the heart of a devotee, I started wondering. I shared my ideal with the novice monk. He seemed so bright at the idea.

I told him I want to rewrite some stories of Dhammapadattakatha. He was gladly saying he would copy them down. When would I start it, I wonder. Well probably today itself. We both worked on a title for the book.

The title will come out, perhaps when we already work on the book. That's what, I told my student, I enjoy as a monk. Sometimes I wonder if I have given up the idea of Nibbana for this service.

Excerpt 3:

It simply surprises me to think how inspiring this society is. The very same society with hypocrisy provides ample metaphors and similes. I realized this is the best way to reach my folks. They would probably remember me forever, and that means they would read the morals forever.

Title of the book dawned upon me, almost by accident. Sadhdharmaratnavaliya, chain of Dhamma gems.

Excerpt 4:

Sometimes incidents make me warm. They make me smile too. Whenever someone brings me something happens in the village, it creates vivid images in my mind. Listening to someone recount, I have already fleshed out a story in my book.

"What do you think?"

"I think there's more to decipher. I mean it takes time."

"Do you know what Martin Wickramasinghe said about the monk?"

"That he is chubby or something like that?"

"Yes, because he laughed every time."

"How did Wickramasinghe know that? I mean how did he imagine that?"

"By reading Saddharmarathnavliya. Most of the stories are full of sarcasm."

"But he never laughed at innocent people."

"He could smile without insulting anyone. He was in a way sympathizing with common human errors."

"Where else can we study about Dharmasena Hamuduruwo?"

"Best work is Sadhdharmaratnavliya itself. Anyway Professor M. B. Ariyapala has written a book trying to fathom how the monk life could have been in Dambadeniya era."

"He was a monk with a light way of thinking, I think. That's why he could reach common man. Why did Amavathura and Butsarana authors failed?"

"Because they were sort of snobbish. They did not want to fall into ground. I think they liked to float in air."

"And their books are still celebrated. And our modern people find it a little difficult to read Saddharmaratnavaliya too."

"That's something to do with time. But you try to read all three and compare. Bet anyone can understand Dharmasena Hamuduruwo's work better, though it may be hard." "Agreed. And also I think if we suit that style to the modern audience, then it will appeal them too."

"But you have to be very careful. We have to retain his use of similes and metaphors. See he was also concerned about that."

"Now what are we going to do with this stack?"

"We'll take it out. There's no one claim rights for this. We'll get them deciphered and get them published. We can send some excerpts for a paper, probably..."

I'm here

They shut me up in prose

As when a little girl

They put me in the closet

Because they liked me ‘still’

Still!

Could themself

have peeped

And seen

my Brain

go round

They might as

wise have lodged a bird

For treason – in the Pound

“Is that all?” Master asked

“So far, yes.” Disciple said, exhuming the inscriptions.

“What do you think about them?”

“Well, I didn’t get a thing.”

“You cannot do that instantly. We have to read Emily Dickinson line by line.”

“What time did she say she is coming?”

“She should be here now. I wonder why she is so late.”

Then they heard a whisper, “I am here.”

“Isn’t that her?” asked disciple.

“Yes. But where should she be?”

“Somewhere close by.”

“Where are you?” Disciple asked aloud.

Then they heard it again: “I am here.”

“Shall we walk down a little to find her out?”

“That’s a good idea. We have to put up with this, because Emily was more of a private poet. She was so careful in writing too.”

“How do you define that?”

“Her poetry had very short lines. Her famous poem ‘Nobody’ is only a few lines.”

“I remember.”

“What do you remember about that?”

“When we studied English Literature for O/Ls some of my friends didn’t like that poem, because it was too short. There was barely anything for them to byheart.”

This made master laugh; it sounded overly sarcastic.

“I know it sounds so funny.”

“It’s not only funny, son. It’s so tragically funny. We can see how teachers guide our students. What was your teacher saying?”

“She was saying it depicts a social issue. How nobodies feel about somebodies in the society and stuff, you know.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all I remember.”

“Most of her poetry didn’t have titles. She wrote about strangely small things. Something others hardly gave thought.”

Disciple listened to master with a keen ear. He wanted to know more. He wanted to be like Emily Dickinson for a moment.

“Who influenced her?”

“When she was 18, she had a friend called Benjamin Fanklin Newton.”

“Who later became her lover or husband?”

“Not exactly. I don’t think so. But he was a very good friend of her.”

“Many poetesses have male friends like that, don’t they?”

“Yeah, that’s the thing. Let’s have a talk on it later on. Franklin introduced William Wordsworth to her. She later wrote a poem on him too.

Whose name

my father’s law student

taught me, has touched the secret spring”

Disciple seemed mesmerized by the lines. He was silently listening.

“And quite later on Emily became so fond of popular literature. She even read Shakespeare.”

“But compared with her poetry, I think Shakespeare is a little gothic.”

Master looked at the disciple for a few seconds.

“You haven’t read Shakespeare properly. You are like all those nincompoops who label Shakespeare as unreadable. You have to read him carefully. Shakespeare is not the one everyone sees him to be.”

Disciple realized he had annoyed master. He nodded and spoke in drawl.

“I know. I have to study Shakespeare in more detail. So how did Emily get influence from him?”

“I have no mood to spell that out to you. Go read Shakespeare. And then read Emily. Now let’s go.”

“What about Emily? We are supposed to see her?”

“She is also hiding away from us. May be she doesn’t want to meet us at all.”

Walking further down, master and disciple heard that faint mumbling voice once again.

“I am here...”

In search of that magic potion

Master and disciple pattered along the vault. Within a few minutes they found themselves close to a tomb. It was owned by Ven. Totagamuwe Sri Rahula.

"What's the magic potion you said he used?" Disciple asked.

"It's called Saraswathi Tailaya. Saraswathi means the goddess of knowledge. Scriptures say the monk was conversant in many things including six languages."

An uproarious laugher broke within at that very moment. A voice was trying to say something between the laughter and that petered out at length.

"Now where the hell that sound..." Disciple could not carry on. He felt a cold firm grip on his shoulder. It made him nearly collapse. He took a few seconds to realize it was his master.

"Don't sound so insolent. Mind your words. This is a sacred as well as venerated place. They believe the monk still has life and that's why he keeps on growing hair and nails.

"I apologize for my words..." Disciple said and then a pause reigned. He went ahead.

"But how can that be? Once someone is dead, he should be dead and gone. Nothing can outsmart death."

"That's what medicine and science rule. But there are so many spiritual things the science cannot interpret properly. Tell me what does science say when someone stops breathing for hours? It doesn't accept the very fact itself. So don't be scientific, I say."

"So Ven. Totagamuwe Sri Rahula has used Saraswathi Tailaya to gain immortality?"

"That's what they say. Time was when some quarters believed it belongs to Saint Saviour too. Ven. Sri Rahula is said to have had more power anyway."

"Such as?"

"He could get demons and spirits work for him."

"Do you believe in them?"

"I don't think my knowledge is fair enough to give you a fair answer. But that's not so important."

"Then what is important?"

"The fact that he is a scholar."

"I have heard he was well versed in many subjects such as Ayurveda."

"Not only that. He is a born poet. He authored Selalihini Sandeshaya and Parevi Sandeshaya It still inspires our modern poets."

"I have read both Sandeshayas. Well I found them utter boring. Some poems are all right, but some seem awful."

Master smiled. That smile echoed and disciple heard another within the walls. He could only wonder.

"Why, did I say something funny?"

"No in fact you remind me those who study Selalihini Sandesaya for O/Ls and A/Ls. They are not honest like you. They just mug up stanzas, meanings and their masters' interpretations. When someone asks they say they love Selalihini Sandeshaya. But I have seen it's not genuine."

"Do you enjoy it yourself?"

"I do, my son. I do. You should know the rhythm of the language before studying it. More you study the rhythm, more you develop your intuition. That helps you enjoy classics. This is same in English too. No one can really enjoy Shakespeare or Chaucer without studying the rhythm of the language first."

"Do you mean to say I lack intuition?"

"If you say Selalihini bored you, yes."

"But is that the only reason?"

"No there are other reasons too. When you are too much exposed to modern lyrics and addicted to their simplicity then you lack that intuition."

"But I think simplicity is very much needed for creative works."

"And I don't say no. I think it should be simplicity as well as beauty of the language, rather."

"How do you define beauty?"

"I have no idea. But I can tell you how to make your writing beautiful or belles lettres. When you poise a balance between ancient and modern classics, then I think you can make your style beautifully simple."

"If you can spell it out? I didn't quite get it."

"When you read Shakespeare, you shouldn't borrow all those archaic terms, but there are beautiful coinages as well as words that may seem fit to the modern audience. Are there any favourite lines in Selalihini?"

"Plenty of them."

"May be, but I need one."

"Nala bala sasala dala rala pela nuba negena

"There you are. Now anyone who has read enough modern classics can manipulate this very line to suit the modern audience. I know some people have done it before."

"But young are not so concerned about this learned monk?"

"Not all. There are some. At least there is one."

"Who is that?"

"You."

"Well, that's a compliment. But you cannot exactly say that."

"I can. If you are not interested you wouldn't need me to spell out what I have said."

Disciple smiled.

"That's interesting. But now I want to know more mysterious things about him. Magic potion and stuff."

"That's a good thing. But we haven't got enough time for that. All the same there is a book called Puranokthi Sangrahaya by Sunanda Mahendra. That has some mystery stuff about the monk. Go buy it."

That put an end to their conversation. Whether they left the vault that very moment or not, I cannot exactly remember.

I'm through

"It's strange we can make language our slave!" Disciple held the frost-laden bicycle bar and felt its 'warmth'.

"It's involuntary, when emotions overpower your soul."

"I am hearing something. Do you hear it too? It sounds like something from inside the house." Disciple pointed at the house they stood by.

"You don't have to worry whether I hear it or not. What does the voice tell you?"

"You bastard, I am through!"

And now it was master's turn to smile and laugh out loud. It puzzled the disciple.

"What's so funny here? Or am I going mad?"

"We have all gone mad, son. You get along with my spell, inch by inch. A master mustn't have anything better to be happy and proud of than seeing his student improve, I think."

"And that's not all. I am hearing some more."

"I know. Why wouldn't you share them with me?"

"There's a stake in your fat, black heart

And the villagers never liked you.

They are dancing and stamping on you.

They always knew it was you.

Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through."

And then they both fell silent. Disciple raised his voice again.

"I want to know whose lines are these."

"I am waiting for Sylvia Plath to answer my bell ring."

"Do you think she will answer?"

"She might. Or she might not. Who knows?"

"Isn't that waste of time?"

"No it is not. Especially when we are in an inspired place."

"I don't think I got you clear enough, master."

"You are holding her bicycle. The bicycle that took her to the campus. And this house had belonged to W. B. Yeats. When she bought this house, she took it as a good omen."

"Thinking of her literary works, I guess."

"Exactly. Her life was a flop anyway."

"I heard her father died when she was merely eight. I wonder what made her so arrogant about father."

"I see it little differently. Her arrogance is because she missed the company of her father. Are you hearing anything more?"

"Yes I do," and the disciple continued:

"But they pulled me out of the sack,

And they stuck me together with glue.

And then I knew what to do.

I made a model of you,

A man in black with a Meinkampf look And a love of the rack and the screw.

And I said I do, I do."

"I think she referred to her husband Ted Hughes too. Because Ted was always in black from head to toe. And remember 'Mein kampf' is also the title of Hitler's autobiography. Hitler almost annihilated the Jews. When she badly needed father's company, he left the world. So she found it very hard to survive. She did not know whether it was bad or good. Sylvia likens the relationship between her father and her to something between a German and a Jew. She saw herself as a Jew."

"Now what's its relation to Ted?"

"That's the interesting part. She was attracted to Ted, because he reminded of her father. Whatever the feelings she had for father, it was just the same for Ted too. Tell me more of what you hear; it will explain."

"If I've killed one man, I've killed two-

The vampire who said he was you

And drank my blood for a year."

Master paused awhile for the disciple to think over the lines he recited. He wanted to listen to disciple.

"Did she have Electra complex? I mean father-daughter bond?"

"Probably yes. Father's absence made her attraction even stronger. She tried to dig out her father in Ted. But obviously it was not possible."

"And the result, she got frustrated like hell?"

"It turned out worse, because she was a poet. That disappointment was too much for her to handle."

"What sort of a disappointment?"

"Hard to spell it out. But I feel a poet should never marry another. There is no emotional balance." "Don't you think Sylvia had a psychological issue?"

"It should have been worse, if she didn't write them down. Every thought, I mean."

"And Ted destroyed them."

"Not all, my son, not all. He published some of them. Put yourself in his shoes, you would do the same. Everyone of us has dignity, come to think about that. Ted was no exception. But I think Sylvia was more courageous. She had the stomach to expose her face to the oven and let it take her life but slowly. Just imagine that!"

Disciple nodded and couldn't think of anything to respond. His hand still rested on the bicycle bar feeling its warmth.

"Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through."

Whether he remembered or heard the line once again, the disciple had to wonder.

Life is bare as bone

The disciple was closely observing the purl of the waters. But his mind was elsewhere, master knew.

“Something worries you, my son.”

“I am thinking about insanity and creativity. It’s an article I saw last week. Wonder how creativity is linked with insanity.”

“Then get ready. We will be seeing Virginia Woolf in 1925 shortly.”

“I need to do some research on her. I have no idea who she is.”

“You will know, my son.”

Master peddled the boat so fast. And the scene shifted into an Victorian environment even before the disciple could imagine anything.

Both saw the middle aged woman appear. Virginia recognised master.

“Master, seven years since we met?”

“Yes last time in London. You have a good memory”

“That’s because I really care to remember faces. You are with a student.”

“I am teaching him literature. I wanted him to see you to teach the link between insanity and creativity.”

Virginia smiled, it was a faint one. She seemed as if she want to narrate the whole story of her life.

“That’s a long story, master. I have written down them as memoirs. I always loved reading and writing memoirs, you know. I named it ‘A Sketch of the Past’. I am not sure if I should publish it. Perhaps I wouldn’t. Sometimes only literature was my comfort when I had my usual nervous breakdown. I had a good literary family background. My father Leslie Stephen was an author as well as a mountaineer. My mother Julia dealt with artistic world. So I may have had it in my genes.”

“But you were suffering all throughout, weren’t you?”

Virginia heaved a sigh.

“Yes I had a troubled childhood. I have been fighting with my emotions all throughout my life. Because I couldn’t live on the standard life they expect on me.”

“You mean the lesbian relationship between you and Vita even when you were married to Leonard?”

“Must be so. Who knows, you cannot judge your own life.”

Virginia sat relaxed to read out what she has written in her essay ‘A Sketch of the Past’. She wanted pour out her stream of consciousness.

“Once when I was very small Gerald Duckworth lifted me onto this, and as I sat there he began to explore my body. I can remember the feel of his hand going under my clothes; going firmly and steadily lower and lower. I remember how I hoped he would stop; how I stiffened and wriggled as his hand approached my private parts.”

Master and disciple were listening silently. On what to progress, they knew not. Virginia set the book aside.

“That experience never left me alone. Never. Anyway the relationship between Leonard and I was basically based on our similar thoughts and philosophy. Leonard knew this episode and we both expanded our Hogarth Press to make sure we don’t have to submit our works to be published in my half-brother Duckworth’s company. It was an experience of horror. I am so grateful to Leonard. We had only a few major differences.”

“Such as…?” Inquired the disciple.

“Leonard liked Ceylon very much. But I did not. I didn’t want him to grow old with those darkies.. Leonard had to come back. Yes he had to... because of me.”

“But people think you both had many conflicts.”

“No I don’t think so. In literature we were almost perfect. Even in our personal life, he was so helpful at times of my psychological breakdown. He was so patient, when I go depressing and frustrating. I don’t think even Lytton Strachey would have tolerated such moments. Unlike Strachey, Leonard was a reserved guy. That’s why I preferred him even though he was a ‘penniless Jew’.”

“You founded Hogarth press?”

“We did. But none of us wanted to make it quite a big deal. We wanted to maintain it small so then we can publish the books we like. We published the books of T. S. Eliot, Laurens van der Post and others. I was suffering from neurasthenia. It was a medical term that desribed headaches, irritability and fatigue. Well I had to get used to that but I was so often under an emotional stress. I found it difficult to sleep. I started hearing voices. Sometimes I see my dead mother roaming in my room.”

“You are tired?”

“Sort of yes. But pouring out all these emotions is in a way very soothing.”

“You are considered as a major lyrical novelist.”

“Yes people do say that. I don’t know but writing is my medium of blurting out my emotional distress. It’s a good way to let go of my insanity at times. That’s why I come across with unusual settings.”

“Ok then, thanks Virginia for sharing time with us. We have to go now.”

“Thanks for visiting me, master. Sometimes I really do like to share my ideas with others. That’s why we formed Bloomsbury Group too.”

“I like to know a little about the group before setting off.” Disciple said.

“Following my studies I came to know Lytton Strachey, Clive Bell, Rupert Brooke, Saxon Sydney-Turner, Duncan Grant, and Leonard. We formed the Bloomsbury Group to have intellectual discussions. But we had our setbacks too. Dreadnought Hoax is one. I have included that experience in my memoirs.” Said Virginia smilingly.

Where joy forever dwells!

Master was quietly waiting for his disciple. He saw the disciple appear at length.

"You are punctual, I must say." Said a beaming teacher.

"What is our plan today, master?"

"It's a long looked-forward journey. Follow me."

The disciple followed the master without inquiry. His teacher's movement spoke a lot. When they walked further down the disciple could see the river. The master got into the boat and beckoned his follower to hop in.

"Now forget all other nonsense. Remember all what I have taught you. We will now sail off to the past - England in 1674."

"That's the year John Milton breathed his last."

"And we will see him alive, a few months before he breathes his last."

The disciple was not shocked. Neither was he surprised. He knew his teacher. He listened to the murmuring sound of the rippling waters. Handling the boat, his teacher was mindful of the rippling waters too.

"I remember Wordsworth."

"I remember his lines of 'London 1802', master.

'Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour; England hath need of thee: she is a fen.'"

The disciple had questions, but he knew this was not the right moment. Then they both were silent until they reached a patch of land seemingly different. They could glimpse an old man waiting for them. Master raised his voice.

"Look at him. John Milton was completely blind when he died. But he had a sharp inner eye. That was his support right throughout."

They got closer and shook hands with Milton.

"What would you like to have, tea or coffee?"

"Anything convenient for you, John."

"My man will bring something. Ok where can we start?"

"Perhaps with your source of inspiration?"

Milton smiled and it turned into a ripple of laughter in a little while. Master and disciple looked at each other.

"A tough question to answer. May be I should start from my father's life. That will be better. I have written about him too. You have read my works?"

Master looked at the disciple. The disciple spoke up.

"You wrote: 'My father destined me in early childhood for the study of literature, for which I had so keen an appetite that from my twelfth year scarcely did I leave my studies for my bed before the hour of midnight.'"

Milton smiled once again, this time in an even way.

"My father's name is John Milton too. His father, my grandfather's name is Richard Milton. My father was so fond of literature, he read almost anything. But my grandfather didn't like him reading Holy Bible. Can you guess what was my grandpa's punishment?"

Milton paused a little for a response, and then went ahead.

"My father was banished from the family. I think he was the driving force in my literary pursuit in a way."

"But you were a little disappointed with your colleagues?" Asked the Master sipping the cup of coffee.

"That's right. Because many so called scholars did not have depth in their knowledge. They taught themselves gallant men, but I thought them fools. I studied theology, but never joined the Church ministry for that matter. But I had the company of a few genuine friends. That was enough, yet it was quite so."

An abrupt emotion swept across Milton's face. Both master and the disciple remembered Edward King, a college mate who could earn high respect from Milton. His 'Lycidas' is a pastoral elegy written in memory of King.

Silence reigned. But both master and disciple did not want to tear up that wounded past. Master was thinking of going off on a tangent. Then he saw two books lying on Milton's lap. Milton sensed it and went ahead.

"These are two books from Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained."

"Paradise Lost is the most remembered one." Master stimulated the speech.

"Yes. Even I feel so at times. Paradise Lost seems more frank. It tells the Christian story of the Fall of Man. In other words it is the temptation of Adam and Eve by the fallen angel Satan. I try to make Satan less evil. In fact William Blake and Percy Shelley saw Satan as a hero."

"Paradise Lost is the peak of your literary career, I think. You have maintained your rhythm of the language."

"Many people share your thought. May be my blindness has helped me out too. When my eyes went dead, I was born in another form. I could see many things beyond this region. That's why I coined the word 'space' to explain what is beyond the earth's sky."

"John, you were a civil servant and political analyst but you are more fond of poetry? I mean that's how I feel."

"That's because my blood runs in poetry more than anything. I studied many languages: Latin, Greek, Hebrew, French, Spanish, and Italian. I wanted to discover the rhythm of all these languages. I started researching on them. I like writing on politics and civil service, but poetry is my soul desire."

"Master aren't we running out of time?" The disciple whispered to the master.

"Yes my dear. We have no control over time," said Milton and went ahead:

"Farewell, happy fields,

Where joy for ever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail,

Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell,

Receive thy new possessor-one who brings

A mind not to be changed by place or time.

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven."

Solace in wilderness

Siddhartha was about to give it up. It was sore in every way.

Wilderness was dark, yet he could hear and feel rustle of soft leaves. He looked up to watch clouds leaving the moon alone. Moon was skeletal a tad with a few days and nights to reach its ripe plane.

He had to look downcast in an instant, because what pierced through his neck and eyes was painful. His body was aching all over. He shifted body on terrain, a bed of leaves, and leaves of course gave out a little shriek as if it hurt them a lot. Ruins of these woods fitted Siddhartha enough, only if he could get wise to right muse.

He knew he could touch his spines from the front, he dared not. He was feeble, he dared not to contemplate on it. He has been with this tough mission now for six odd years.

It is but a chain in retrospect: renunciation, encounter with teachers Alara Kalama and Uddaka Rama Putta, outsmart them, penance and Siddhartha is now an ascetic through with absolutely nothing, save disappointment caked all over his face.

Is truth something that cannot be dug out? Or is there a thing called truth that exists actually?

Siddhartha rested his back against the tree. He set eyes on his mind's reel. His princely life at the palace. Soft-spoken father Suddhodana, seven days of infancy with mother Maha Maya, tender stepmother Prajapathi Gothami, caring wife Yasodhara, stubborn cousin Devadatta and friends faded in and out. He did not regret leaving them behind, that happiness would not last. But memories kept on stirring Siddhartha's peaceful mind.

A moment passed on. The rustle of soft leaves ceased inch by inch. It was uneventful, Siddhartha did not notice as yet - until the dark crept away too.

Siddhartha has never seen such a stony footpath before. It was dazzlingly lit, soothing Siddhartha's strained eyes. He could see a figure walk that footpath. Is it a hallucination, or just an offshoot of a tired mind, Siddhartha was at a loss.

That figure turned out to be a heavenly spirit. Her face betrayed her middle-age, but it was adorned with splendid features. She got closer and placed her divine hand on his head.

Maha Maya spoke up. Siddhartha closed his eyes to concentrate.

"Siddhartha my son. I fought many a time in this cycle of births to own the womb that bears the greatest being of this eon.

"I ached many a time to hear saints prophesy my son would conquer the cycle of births. It is no simple thing, my son, O the Greatest One. Prove them right. Be firm and solid, make me worthy to have borne you."

When he opened his eyes at length, he noticed she was gone. The woods were dark once again, with the rustle of soft leaves reigning the woods. Whether the footpath existed or not, Siddhartha was not sure in this dark.

He contemplated about holy life. He tried out everything. He cannot return to lay life. He doesn't want to. He knew penance would not help him discover the true meaning of this life. He was feeling tired again, and in a little while a tired Siddhartha dozed off.

Then it came to pass again. The dark crept away and the rustle stopped. He made out the figure this time: Prajapathi Gothami treading soft toward him.

She virtually followed her sister Maya, place the hand on Siddhartha's head.

"Siddhartha, my son. I fought many a time in this cycle of births to mother the greatest being of this eon. So rare O the Holy Being, is your birth in this world. Oh the Greatest Man of the earth do not turn back. Make me worthy to have mothered you. O Great Being make me worthy."

Then he watched Gothami walk back into the darkness slow and solemn, the footpath shrinking away.

It was the third watch of that night. Siddhartha was feeling like waiting for another guest.

He witnessed the footpath for a third time. He had a keen eye on the figure. He knew it should be no one else but Yasodhara, at length.

His memories raced back to those days of sweet-nothings. They aroused no emotions. They flared up no fires of lust. It was a long looked-forward-to meeting. He was amazed about his determination not to look back at her and their kid in the renunciation.

He was strong, and Yasodhara's presence made him feel even stronger. It now wove a spiritual link between them, anyone could hardly analyze this bond. He listened attentively to her soft voice seemingly frail but teemed with inspiration.

"Siddhartha, you are precious. You have that legacy buried deep beneath your soul. Exhume that and pass me down that legacy.

"O great being, I need you, this whole world needs you. Do not give up, do not turn back. Do not come back to me empty handed. Do not let evil hang over you. Be brave Siddhartha, for you can."

Siddhartha watched her make way back. The three most important women in his life, come at the darkest hour to rekindle the drained-down hopes of a great sage.

He knew it will be his strength to curve and bend his mind as he wishes. He knew it will be the strength to be the shield against the three tempting daughters of Mara.

He watched the sun rise - which he would liken to the wisdom later on - and invade the woods,. He was blessed feeling the sunrays touch the ground..

That dawn was a moment of solace in wilderness. Because wisdom was about to dawn upon him. He took a decision. It is a steady journey from the dark into the light; that footpath he was certain he would never turn back.

Tony brings Julius Caesar in print

William Shakespeare should be the widest known English playwright to the local gallery. How could one man have been privileged with such fame for centuries? Scribes from all walks of life share one theory: Shakespearean themes are but universal. Running your eye on century-old writings is nevertheless no plain sailing. Only a few in the local intelligentsia got enough nerve to establish the Bard in the local scene. Tony Ranasinghe perches high in that dovecote.

Julius Caesar does not stand close to Hamlet or Othello or Macbeth. Its duration is relatively shorter and do not contain the natural Shakespearean features. But still it is one of the most referred creative works in socio-politic analyses. In his 167-page introduction, Tony spells out the Elizabethan era and Shakespeare to the Sinhala reader; an excellent as well as thoroughgoing effort for the sake of especially the Sinhala-only reader, probably a theatre enthusiast.

Tony was born in a period when both the Holy Bible and Complete Works of Shakespeare were made compulsory by the British rulers in Ceylon.

"When it comes to Shakespeare, I was quite an eager beaver in my schooldays. I used to read all his plays, if not, at least anything else written on him. Hamlet captivated me most." Septuagenarian Tony recalls his heydays.

There are times, even now, Tony sits back to enjoy his journey with the 16th century poet. Anything to come by.

"In fact I reduced the duration of the play. I thought it might not go for the Sinhala audience. Julius Caesar is a craftsman-like job, but it provokes cheers only from the serious theatre enthusiasts."

The play wraps up the story of conspiracy against Roman dictator Julius Caesar bringing in elements such as patriotism and honour. Ernest Schanzer in his 'Problem Plays of Shakespeare' attempts to justify why it is problematic:

"Julius Caesar is one of Shakespeare's most controversial plays. Commentators have been quite unable to agree on who is its principal character of whether is has one; on whether it is a tragedy and, if so, of what kind; on whether Shakespeare wants us to consider the assassination as damnable or praiseworthy; while of all the chief characters in the play contradictory interpretations have been given."

As Schanzer aptly suggests, Julius Caesar is a problem play, more than a tragedy, comedy or tragicomedy. It questions the age-old recipe of political thinking. When Brutus takes the lead role in the conspiracy against Caesar, the former genuinely feels it is for the benefit of the society though his behaviour is naturally put into question by the subsequent turn of events signaling signs of impending doom.

When Bandula Withanage produced 'Merchant of Venice' in Sinhala as Venisiye Velenda, it would have been no play at all had not Tony starred 'famous' Shylock. It should have been the most famous local work for its commonplace features such as subplots and comic characters. It proved its unmatched mettle when the gallery was not much interested in other Shakespeare productions such as 'Midsummer Night's Dream' by both Tony and Bandula.

"I really wanted to produce and play live roles. Unfortunately I grew up old, passing that stage before long."

The good old days of Tower Hall, recollects Tony, saw plays such as Othello, Macbeth and even Anthony & Cleopatra produced on the local stage. It offers fresh historical evidence on the way Shakespeare had been remodeled on the local stage.

Shakespeare had no academic credentials. What he read sharpened his style. He knew people from all pillars of the earth - it could have been a beggar, prostitute, lawyer, mayor or a professor - and he could get closer to them in writing. What he had used as contemporary in his times now seems quite old world. Tony apparently had challenges in translating a centuries-old inscription. Which mode should be ideal: idiomatic, conversational or classical?

"I don't think it is right to go into extremes. You should make use of all these modes. Then only you can achieve what you need."

"The script was not something like this when I first brought up Caesar on the stage. I made several changes in the translation before it went to press. I am very grateful to Prem Dissanayaka for publishing this. I will keep tabs on the sales and think of following up with publishing the rest of my translations of Othello, Measure for Measure, Much Ado About Nothing and Twelfth Night."

Shakespeare remains too refined to translate for some scholars. How do you translate, for instance, Hamlet's famous quote: 'to be or not to be, that's the question'! Hamlet, Tony points out, is the most famous play which will go on steadily even though other plays might be extinct. "True, you cannot translate something so refined. But most of these plays are translated into Japanese, German and a host of other languages too. I am not sure whether it is an irony or not."

The best way, I think, is to perform the Shakespeare. They are written to be staged and performed rather than to be read in leisure. "But at the same time we should be careful not to go for adaptations. If you remodel him into a Kandyan set up, Shakespeare will be lost. We should always go for originals, especially because our Sinhala audience is not much familiar with the plot outlines." The 16th century poet gradually invaded the silver screen and then the small screen. But Tony is still in love with the stage.

"That is where you get the essence. You get a live feedback, then you are motivated to give life to the characters."

It's simply like painting for Tony. Everybody believed painting will be gone forever with the advent of photography. But painting evolved with more and more branches like impressionism and expressionism. Stage did, and continue to, refresh the audience. How could have Shakespeare stolen the show when there were other men like Christopher Marlowe, Ben Johnson and Thomas Kid too in the scene? William Shakespeare was a man who was smart to figure out the pulse of the commoner, because he was one himself. The surge of hardships in life, which were constantly at the ready, helped him sidestep his genius contemporaries.

When Tony translated the biography of Dilip Kumar, it was a sentimental experience to him.

"Dilip Kumar has an unsurpassed flair for acting. But as time passed by he was stuck to that, so people got a little bored of him. You know an actor should be updated and should never outshine the character he is given. For example you can never see Marlon Brando or Lawrence Olivier as a carter. Because they outshine the character."

This work is only a first step, Tony says, and someone should do a more brilliant translation. Shakespeare is quite old world, I may be repeating, but doesn't modern English use many of his expressions? Quite a paradox, or is it not?

Et tu, Brute? - Then fall, Caesar!

http://www.dailynews.lk/2009/06/17/art01.asp

Evergreen entertainer no more

With Ruwini Jayawardana

If laughter was the best medicine Annasley Dias was a drugstore. The veteran and versatile comedian was not only recognized for his ability to make others laugh but also the fact that he himself was a cheery and bubbly character.

He was well known for his portrayal of the Hamu Mahaththaya in Vinoda Samaya, the renowned radio drama aired years ago. His talent soon took him to the stage as well as the mini screen, and he lost no time in carving a niche for his vitality and vivid acting skills.

Born to Muthukudu Arachchige Pedris Dias as the youngest in the family, he enjoyed a calm and collected even form in his younger days. He was past pupil of St Francis Government School, Dalugama, St. Paul's Waragoda College and St. Joseph College, Colombo where he followed his studies in the English medium. However he was not ignorant in the Sinhala language for he attended Peliyagoda Vidyalankara pirivena where he was taught the language properly, as it was compulsory to be competent in the language to enter Government service employment. Thus Venerable Walpola Rahula, Bambarande Siriseevali and Kotahene Pagngnakiththi Theras were some of those who guided and nurtured the mind of the young lad.
Closest companions

H D Wijedasa, Alfred Perera, Samuel Rodrigo and Berty Gunathilaka were some of his closest companions, all whom he met during his stint at the pirivena. That was when they turned to comedy plays. Iskolayak was their debut attempt of entertaining the public through comedy.

Following Wijedasa's post of relief announcer at Radio Ceylon the rest of Dias' clique entered Radio Ceylon too. The comedy play Vihilu Tahalu was banned as it focused on condemning the politicians of the time. Soon the group had to look elsewhere for a program to take its place. That was when Alfred confided with Annasley, Samuel and Berty to initiate another program. Hence came Vinoda Samaya during Thevis Guruge's period as head of Radio Ceylon. They were unofficially dubbed Raja Thun Kattuwa (triumvirate) as they were able to work wonders and the program soon shot to fame.

The likes of Eddie Jayamanna, Eddie Yapa and Joseph Seneviratna had been conducting comedy programs, but they were more West oriented. Annasley and co introduced local flavour to the comedy which turned a new leaf in the local comedy scene.

Annasley was employed as an English teacher at Gurukula Vidyalaya for a considerable period. He earned Rs100 before joining Moratuwa Municipal Council as a clerk. As a Grade I Translator at Colombo Municipal Council he engaged in all his part time activities in the entertainment field with care because it was prohibited then for government servants to generate income from outer sources.

One significant feature of Annasley is that he when everybody was rolling with laughter at his witty phrases, he himself was able to keep his composure without even a mere hint of a smile. Significantly there was no end to the amusing experiences which added spice to his own levity. During World War II, he had witnessed a British soldier taking the plunge from an aircraft. The village monk nursed him and saw him back to camp.

Being well read he could well analyze most of what happened around him. He possessed an immense knowledge in both local and foreign affairs. Although he was Catholic, he had a good knowledge in Buddhism too.

He published two works: Vinoda Samaye Hamu Mahattaya, based on his own life story and Vinoda Samaya. His humour did not flow into complicated issues. Rather he dealt with simple things and tit bits which made people see the lighter side of life. Popular actress Mercy Edirisinghe joined them later on in the scene. Portraying comedy in the early 1950s was no easy task especially due to the fact that there was no recorded transmission facilities. You have to transmit it live, which required rigorous rehearsals for an allowance of Rs.

According to Annasley, most of the today's humour programs contain obscene meanings. If not, they contain insulting remarks. His vision was to get across a message without hurting others. This feature is inborn for it is more of an instinct rather than something which can be practiced through learning. Furthermore his jokes were not limited for a specific age group. Both young and old were able to join in the merriment.

With the emergence of the Television, life took a different turn. The trio was well known on Rupavahini when they started the program Vinoda Samaya in 1982. Interestingly their humour always comprised a deep philosophy. This is mainly what set them apart form the rest.

Significantly none of the trio wanted to ascend the ladder by overtaking each other. They were the best of friends till the end and there was no competition among them. They were inseparable in their ventures, be it radio, stage, tv or stage.
Exceptional comedian

Though there were times when Annasley could not cope with his duties at work as he was requested to take part in concerts his superiors were quite understanding. They never gave him a hard time because at the end of the day he always made sure that he caught up on his responsibilities. His family, especially his wife Noeline, two sons, Rajendra and Janaka, daughters Jayamali, Nilina, Manori and Samanthi, too were very supportive towards his work.

The exceptional comedian recently bid adieu to the nation at the age of 81. The final rituals will take place at Roman Catholic Cemetery in Dalugama today. His remains are lying at his residence at No. 378, Old Kandy Road, Kelaniya.

http://www.dailynews.lk/2009/06/17/art02.asp

Intellectual discussion

Survival of the Buddhist philosophy totally depends on the association of wise. Why is the survival of the philosophy needed? The Buddhist philosophy has methods of relief for those unhappy in technologically advanced society.

We have got almost everything we need, and our strong need is to be happy. Intellectual discussion is one way to be happy. Intellectual discussion itself is a broad concept. An intellectual can live in any person, not only among university dons and other scholars. There are people who know only a little, but essential features, whereas we come across erudite scholars interpreting their knowledge in diverse ways.

An erudite scholar may attempt to interpret and publish another book. They hardly attempt to adopt what they have learned into their daily life. People with little, but essential knowledge, are most practical. They attempt to adopt the essential knowledge they have into the normal life. By hearting thousand stanzas will be useless, if you don’t apply them into practice.

Why intellectual discussion? It is basically required to keep on updating your existing knowledge base. This is helpful to tolerate the pains we come across.

For instance, we keep on listening to Dhamma Chakkapavattana Sutta, which describes the natural disasters we face in life. But when we encounter them personally, we become shocked. We have listened to the Sutta, but did not try to realise the contents. An intellectual discussion is required to work on how to adopt the theory into practice.

People in the Buddha’s period did not have the written form to discuss what they have heard. The absence of a written medium could make them remember what they have heard very clear. They all had a sharp memory. Ven. Ananda is the most common example of the memory strength. They could discuss the Dhamma they have heard.

This hardly happens today. We listen to endless sermons almost everyday. Dozens of books on Buddhism are being published regularly. We listen to and read the philosophy everyday, and we hardly have time to contemplate and review what we have heard and read. We do not discuss but add many things to our head. If we can discuss how to apply essential features of the philosophy in daily life, that will wipe out most of our sorrows.

However intellectual discussion does not help always. What we have discussed some time ago will go away from the memory, which is natural. We should keep on discussing.

Engrossed in Dhamma does not mean escaping from the day-to-day life. Dhamma reminds you the nature of life, when you face things like getting sick and decaying body.

How do we get association of wise? It may be hard to find anybody with a sharp knowledge of the essential features of Dhamma. The best thing, in a case like this, is to write down your inspirational ideas on Dhamma. When you read Dhamma Chakkapavattana Sutta, you slowly realise decaying body is something natural which happens to anybody and unavoidable. However in another occasion, you will be upset to see the decaying body, because the memory of Dhammachakkapavattana Sutta has faded off. You will have to be watchful of the mind in such instances. When some such thing occurs, you should go back to the Sutta, or the inspirational notes you have written down on the Sutta.

When nobody is around to have intellectual discussion, the best person is your self. Discuss with self. Keep on analysing what we have heard on Dhamma. There is nothing to be frustrated over in this life. Many people are ignorant and they are subject to do ignorant deeds. What the Buddha’s philosophy teaches us is to be indifferent considering the circumstances. And this is what we keep on forgetting, and what we should write down somewhere to be referred whenever it slips our memory.

The monk and the law

The recent turn of events led us to contemplate on the role of the monk in the law. Should the monk respect the country’s judiciary by standing up when the Judges approach? A sensitive and complicated issue that has no straight 'yes' or 'no'.

In Britain, the Archbishop has to rise when the head of state arrives. The British constitution rules that the Queen or the King remains highest in the country's echelon hierarchy. This is otherwise in Sri Lanka. Even in an award ceremony, whoever the layperson in the stage has to step down to offer the award to the monk. Monks do not rise for the Speaker in the Parliament.

Ever since the inception of Buddhism, the religion has been considered ultra-venerable in Sri Lanka. Heads of state always sought the advice of the monk. This position is given since the monk was considered aloof from the lay bonds.

The history has the common story of Emperor Ashoka and Ven. Samanera Nigrodha. Emperor Ashoka asked the Venerable monk to take an appropriate seat. The Venerable monk took the Emperor's seat. His justification was that he could not see any other suitable seat than that of the Emperor to impart Buddha's philosophy which is far higher than the whole empire.

Even today political high-ups like President himself hardly make an official visit to a fellow lay person. But he makes official visits to any temple and rises when a monk approaches.

In the case of Judiciary, the Judges are expected to treat both lay and monk equally. Even when monks do not rise for them, they cannot stick to ‘ultra-venerable’ theory. If the Judge has to rise in the temple for the monk, the monk's role in the Judiciary premises should be reconsidered. The Mahanayake Thera of the Asgiriya Chapter, Ven. Udugama Buddharakkhitha Thera, in this backdrop, has declared that monks should respect the law by which they set a model to the lay people.

On the other hand, Judges represent the Judiciary. So rising means respecting the Judiciary, not the Judges individually. Quite similar to the situation when Buddhists worship the individual monks out of reverence to the whole 'Sangha' community.

The President is to issue a directive that clergy should be reserved a separate enclosure in courts. However the issue on which is higher is yet to be solved. Whether it is Buddha's representatives considered as 'ultra venerable', or the Judiciary representatives in this Buddhist country.

It is ironical to see a monk being charged just for airing Pirith in a country where the official religion is Buddhism and Pirith is the normalcy. This is the root cause for the monk being forced to appear in the courts. We learn on grapevine that the petition against the monk was initiated by a Sinhalese, which is paradoxical in a way.

Starving shades outside the wall

When he was wandering along still a saint with no mission accomplished, King Bimbisara wanted him to make one promise: visit him first on the next visit to Rajagaha. The sage’s next visit took five long years of hardship. The Buddha kept the promise when he was in hometown after nine months of enlightenment; King Bimbisara, for that matter, was topmost even above his one-time family.

On the Buddha’s second day at Rajagaha, the king’s palace was experiencing great hue and cry from some apparitions. The apparitions were workers tasked with distributing alms to the Buddha and the retinue, eons ago. But they neglected their duty keeping some gifts for themselves. They suffered so long, for that reason, and became apparitions in Kassapa Buddha’s period. Kassapa Buddha asked them to wait for Gauthama Buddha’s time when King Bimbisara, their one-time relative, gathers merit for them by distributing alms to the Buddha. They waited so long, and had to create a scene when King Bimbisara failed to fulfill what they require.

The Buddha could see the plight in his divine eye and spelled it out to the king. The Buddha accepted the alms by the king and invoked blessings to the dead relatives reciting Tirokudda Sutta.

This contemplative recital is found in Khuddakapatha recitals in Khuddaka Nikaya (short recital section), which is modeled as an elementary textbook for the novice monks. Tirokudda Kanda, hungry shades outside the walls, is the seventh of nine short passages: 1. going for refuge, 2. the ten training rules, 3. the 32 parts, 4. the novice’s questions, 5. protection, 6. treasures, 8. The reserve fund, 9. The good will. The seventh passage elucidates the generosity expounding how gifts to the Sangha can be dedicated to the welfare of one's dead relatives.

Here goes the poetic translation into English by Ven. Thanissaro, an American Buddhist monk of the Thai forest kammatthana tradition:

Outside the walls they stand,
and at crossroads.
At door posts they stand,
returning to their old homes.
But when a meal with plentiful food and drink is served,
no one remembers them:
Such is the Kamma of living beings.

Thus those who feel sympathy for their dead relatives
give timely donations of proper food and drink
— exquisite and clean —
thinking: "May this be for our relatives.
May our relatives be happy!"

And those who have gathered there,
the assembled shades of the relatives,
with appreciation give their blessing
for the plentiful food and drink:
"May our relatives live long
because of whom we have gained (this gift).
We have been honored,
and the donors are not without reward!"

For there (in their realm) there is
no farming,
no herding of cattle,
no commerce,
no trading with money.
They live on what is given here,
hungry shades
whose time here is done.

As water raining on a hill
flows down to the valley,
even so does what is given here
benefit the dead.
As rivers full of water
fill the ocean full,
even so does what is given here
benefit the dead.

"He gave to me, she acted on my behalf,
they were my relatives, companions, friends."
Offerings should be given for the dead
when one reflects thus
on things done in the past.
For no weeping,
no sorrowing
no other lamentation
benefits the dead
whose relatives persist in that way.
But when this offering is given, well-placed in the Sangha,
it works for their long-term benefit
and they profit immediately.

In this way the proper duty to relatives has been shown,
great honour has been done to the dead,
and monks have been given strength:
The merit you have acquired
Is not small.

Schindler's List: tracing the roots

Elitist writers at Galle Literary Festival (GLF) have one ‘golden rule’: do not give interviews to no-homework journalists. Quite contrarily I could approach Thomas Keneally with the ‘no homework’ confession, because he was glad to welcome someone with a vacant mind - at last! The Sydney-born Nobel and Booker winner hence had an uninterrupted audience.

The sunset in Galle Fortress lifted Keneally’s spirits to head out with his much-talked ‘Schindler’s List’, which was earlier published as ‘Schindler’s Ark’.

“In 1980 I was in a luggage store waiting for my flight. Over a small talk, I found out that its owner is a Schindler survivor. I wasn’t familiar with this name, but Leopold Pfefferberg, the Schindler survivor, gave out some important information about him. I came to know that Oskar Schindler is famous for his Holocaust activities. I was established as a writer by then, and that made Pfefferberg have faith on me. Later we were on our way to Poland to unearth more materials.”

Most of his works are far more fiction. Except for ‘Schindler’s List’ (1982) and ‘Searching for Schindler’ (2007), he admitted. Oskar Schindler is alive with his real name in 1989, and the 2007’s work ploughs on with the Keneally-Pfefferberg journey in search of Schindler’s list. The novel on Oskar Schindler earned Steven Spielberg his first Oscar award for being the Best Director as well as the Man Booker Prize for Thomas Keneally.

Listless people ask Keneally what his fav is. For him Schindler’s has raked in fortune, but ‘Towards Asmara’, a novel on conflict of Eritrea, is one of his favs. Which didn’t perform well like Schindler’s.

“Enough of Schindler’s. Now tell me what do you think about famines?” I was stunned with this abrupt question. I did not need to answer his question on purpose and he took the hint.

“What I believe on famines that they are not natural or god made, but man made. They are political. Politicians need to create them, so they can get benefits from them.”

What an interpretation? And he goes on, “Well, we have exceptions like Tsunami in your country, which are, of course, natural disasters.”

“I have seen many famines myself including Ethiopian famine. You see, I was born with the World War – Australia was never invaded, thank God. But I know the pain of war. And how people suffer from famines. War and famines are both man-made ones to gain benefits.”

Then suddenly he changes the subject to families.

“I love studying families. I have seen families in Bengal, Ireland and Ethiopia in particular. I have written many novels on those families. I fancy seeing them as one entity.”

Family subject tempted Keneally to talk about his own.

“My father was a good storyteller, but he could easily get depressed. In my early childhood I wanted to be a priest, but soon I lost interest when I got disillusioned with the religious system. I took up studies of law, and that was when I started writing my first novelist. I was a schoolteacher and university lecturer for sometime until novel made my destiny.”

Love came to Keneally’s life when his mother was in sickbed. He felt love when he saw Judy who nursed his mother. Finally as in any other story, Thomas Keneally, a young novelist was marrying a beautiful young woman. Change was going to happen in his life.

“Literary festivals are essential for countries like Australia and Sri Lanka. Australia is a country located a little close to Sri Lanka. But Australia comes to know about Sri Lanka through festivals held in either London or New York. When Sri Lanka has a literary festival we can have direct contacts with you.”

Keneally has also acted in a handful of films. He had a small role in The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith (based on his novel) and played Father Marshall in the Fred Schepisi movie, The Devil's Playground (1976) (not to be confused with a similarly-titled documentary by Lucy Walker about the Amish rite of passage called rumspringa).

In 1983 he was made an Officer of the Order of Australia (AO). He is an Australian Living Treasure.

“I am a strong advocate of the Australian republic, meaning the severing of all ties with the British monarchy, and published a book on the subject Our Republic in 1993. Several of his Republican essays appear on the web site of the Australian Republican Movement.

Keneally is a keen supporter of the Manly-Warringah Sea Eagles rugby league football club in the NRL.

http://www.dailynews.lk/2009/02/10/fea10.asp

Heads that ruled...

“Social upheavals have at least one advantage,” writes down E R Sarachchandra for an anthology of Sinhalese literature, “they provide rich material for literature.” The late professor seems exact in his analysis since post-independent politics is plump with upheavals offering a host of rich materials for literature.

To have the white lords driven away home was a mistaken prophesy back then. The whites of course said bye, but their spirits stayed on – at least in the country’s politics. What D S Senanayaka had enjoyed as the first premier under a dominion was not what Sirimavo Bandaranaika had in her third official term. What was Ceylon in 1948 became Democratic Socialist Republic of Sri Lanka towards 1972 and that explains the difference between dominion and republic; Lanka had the British monarch as its head of state and it became a republic with an self-governing constitution in 1972. Things geared high up towards the open of 1978 when President became important with more powers than the premier ever had. Before the1978 power-shift premier had been heading the government, hence was the highest local authority.

Sirimavo Bandaranaike and Dudley Senanayaka enjoyed three terms in office. Politics was windfalls for widow Bandaranaike, but she marked her position down history: being world’s first woman Prime Minister and the first ruler of republican Sri Lanka. With J R Jayawardene charter stirring up Sri Lankan history with open economy policy and full-powered executive presidency, the premiership was confined to a ceremonial rank. Exceptions were, nevertheless, unforeseen till 2002 when President and Prime Minister with the majority camp were from two different parties. Constitution had to be reworked and rethought.

Mrs. B was not the only one to sit back with windfall of her husband’s death. Dudley Senanayaka became premier following his father’s death, Wijayananda Dahanayaka following S W R D Bandaranaike’s and D B Wijetunga following Ranasinghe Premadasa’s.

Mirigama representative Don Stephen Senanayake knew his onions thanks to his experience in pre-Independent State Council. Senanayaka had a balanced diplomatic relations with Britain. He refused knighthood but maintained good relations with Britain. Dudley Senanayaka is well respected for his frank politics who stressed on nationalist economy. The landmark of Sir John Kotalawala – famously nicknamed as Bandung Donkey for his political faux pas in Indonesia – is his introduction of country to the United Nations. Despite his Oxford credentials Solomon West Ridgeway Dias Bandaranaike is ironically famous for nationalistic movements. His tenure is well remembered along the political corridors for his drastic changes and for being the first high-up political victim of daylight murder. His successor Wijeyananda Dahanayaka was not too lucky to remain in the office for long. Junius Richard Jayawardene moved to a presidency with executive powers before long. Ranasinghe Premadasa should be the very first one from a modest family to reach premiership, which was naturally followed by executive presidency. As in Dahanayaka’s becoming acting Prime Minister D B Wijetunga became acting president following the death of President Premadasa. He is well known for his simple attitudes as both premier and president. Ranil Wickramasinghe is the youngest cabinet minister who held the premier post twice: first following Wijetunga’s ascension into presidency and second going along election triumph. The second tenure was short-lived as the President Chandrika Kumaragunga dissolved the Parliament. Chandrika Kumaratunga’s victory was inevitable as she brought hope as the daughter of two Prime Ministers. As J R Jayawardena she did not want to be happy with premiership, and aimed at being the world’s fourth woman President, which was no hurdle in the least. Mahinda Rajapakse won a hard battle for premiership over a few other opponents. He was the unanimous choice of the party first for the opposition leadership, second for the premiership and later for the presidency. Rathnasiri Wickramanayaka is well known for his nationalistic attitudes along with anti-terror campaign.

Family links are commonplace in the premier lineage: the first trio and Bandaranaike trio. The turn of events seem all the same. Governor General Lord Soulbury had chosen Dudley Senanayake as his father’s successor over his cousin Sir John Kotalawela, who – quite a paradox – succeeded him as the third premier. Sirimavo Bandaranaike entered the scene following his husband’s death making the stage for their daughter to be in. Ranil Wickramasinghe entered the cabinet as the nephew of President J R Jayawardena.

English episode in Ceylon

“Political disturbances may arise out of small matters, but are not therefore about small matters.”
- Aristotle

Sri Lanka cannot speak high of a still and smooth sovereignty before the European intrusion in 1505; the isle had been fragile for takeovers by its giant-built immediate neighbour, India. However the European involvement was a turning point ushering into a new terrain of culture. The most remarkable chapter in European invasion is the English period, told with a surge of aesthetic complexity in politics and culture.

The English enjoy a well-reputed notoriety far more than their predecessors, Portuguese and Dutch. The English was never happy with their commercial empire set in the coastal area as predecessors, and soldiered on inwards. But it was no cakewalk on a country with geography, climate and warfare beyond the ken. The English landed in 1798 but could take up the whole kingdom only in 1815.

King Sri Wikrama Rajasinha’s rule was constantly scoffed at by his own chieftains. The king descended from a Tamil ancestry and had issues with his personality before the massive popularity the chiefs had. The king cashed in on his power to trample down the rise of chieftains. A complete English rule, however, was the last idea of the chieftains. They had the wishful thinking of enthroning a Sinhala king with the protectorate-type British contribution. The chieftains’ move – for some it is a betrayal – thus drew a halt to the Sinhala royal lineage with its last bastion Rajasinghe taken as a prisoner.

The English had the premeditated benefit of colony management practice which was obviously undersupplied in Sinhala rulers; this outweighed the brilliant military techniques and offensives the Sinhalese were equipped with. Forget about natural disadvantages, but the British could make the best use of chieftains’ negative opinions in outmaneuvering the Sinhalese military strategies. The 1815 achievement, so to say, was naturally in spades for the English. Captain Elmo Jayawardena offers a classic portrayal in his ‘The Last Kingdom of Sinhalay’:

“This was the land, thought the Englishman, of temples and prayer, of a religion that spoke of tolerance and harmony. People have lived here so long, thousands of years. Simple tenants in the land of their forefathers; civilized in culture and rich with tradition. That was before the New World opened and the white men came. All this will coon be finished. Men will rise with the cry of freedom and they will be ruthlessly crushed. When the guns become silent and the smoke clears, the land would have been destroyed beyond recognition. That was inevitable. It was the law of the empire, the way of the colonizer, to take what he wanted, regardless of cost and totally oblivious to the devastating consequences.”

With Ceylon being just one colony in the ‘infinite empire’, Britain enjoyed the supremacy of global power. They held the control of one-quarter of the world’s population by 1922; no wonder ‘the sun never set on the British Empire’. This was the best territory for the British to spread the influence of their political and cultural legacy.
The English, all the same, had many issues to handle with the Ceylon rule. Many English Kalinga Maghas naturally did not wish the preservation of Sinhala culture. However their attempts to crush down the Sinhala culture was never to become a reality. Apparently they had to shake hands on preserving the Sinhala culture in Kandyan convention, which had the backing of Kandyan chieftains as well.

While some rulers were harsh destroying the Sinhalese culture, some had other tactics. They built many Christian schools and made various high-up positions available for local Christian converts.

However the British rule was not up to the satisfaction of the locals. A passage in ‘The Revolt in the Temple’ sketches out the frustration:

“The Chiefs were disappointed and discontented. The Sangha was even more dissatisfied. The ascendancy of a Christian government in the Kandyan provinces constituted a distinct menace to Buddhism. The projected establishment of an English Seminary at Kandy for the Western education of the children of the Chiefs further inculcated the fear of proselytism. The politic patronage of a Christian government was hardly a satisfactory substitute for that of a Buddhist King, nor could the former take the intimate part in Buddhist rites, ceremonies and processions which the latter had naturally performed. It was with difficulty that the Sangha was induced to bring back to Kandy that most sacred symbol of Buddhism, the Tooth Relic. The Sangha was never fully reconciled to the new regime….”

1817 rebellion is the upshot of Sinhalese disappointment over the British governance. The British ruling was forewarned on a rebellion against them towards the close of 1816. One Duraisamy was gathering the support of masses for a rebellion that showed signs of success. Duraisamy’s claims to the throne had a royal weight as was exposed in a trial later on. The British carried out the massacre of the 19th century by wiping out the all able bodied Sinhalese men from the Kandy.

The English employed another shrewd technique of causing ethnic uproar. A Malay appointed as a Muhandiram, a high Sinhalese rank, raked in seeds of ethnic violence earning wrath on the British rule. The Muslim Hadji governed the Badulla area with his army who razed villages in numbers at their own will.

Sinhalese in the meantime had to worry about the Sacred Tooth Relic too; whether invaders lay hands on the sacred object or not. In nature the English had no reason to grab some locally-considered-sacred object, though ironically they seem to have trusted royal claim possibility with the possession of the Sacred Tooth Relic. As the rebellion marched on, Ven. Wariyapola Sri Sumangala shifted the Sacred Tooth Relic from its original place to Hanguranketha, a hard ground. Many rebellions were to follow up in areas such as Matale, Dumbara, Denuwara, Walapane and Hewaheta.

As mentioned elsewhere, the Sinhalese had the advantage of familiar climate and geography over the rivals. Sinhalese found it easy to gun down many soldiers in the British Forces. The British had to summon troops from India to curb the rebellion. The English gazette notification had offered a reward of 2000 Rix dollars to the head of each rebel: Wilbawe, Kiulegedara Mohottala, Butawe Rate Rala and other rebel leaders. The British, at last, could arrest most of the rebel chiefs. Properties of 18 rebel leaders were taken away. Pilimatalawe was exiled to Mauritius Islands.

Keppetipola and Madugalle were captured and beheaded before the Dalada Maligawa. The British introduced this move to humiliate the ‘traitors’, but it turned out a moment of pride for the patriot to give up life dedicated for a worthy cause in a well-revered place.

Although the English officially said bye to the country in 1948, their style and rhythm still haven’t gone out of fashion. The country remained a dominion: from 1948 to 1972 Ceylon had a British monarch as its head of state. Even the Bandaranaike revolution in 1956 could hardly rework the social strata. English is considered far more superior in Sri Lanka. Many English-speaking locals still sidestep the Sinhala-only crowd.

Aristotle plainly set the record straight with his statement; the English episode was fuelled by a conflict that seemed small but it spread far and wide with its own style, which is not a small matter.

Hark the Koha's call!

Our elders say it’s time to celebrate the New Year, when the Koha cries out loud. Ornithologists tell us that it’s their breeding season to charm mates, which has nothing to do with any festivity. Twitchers have something to say too: Koha makes that sound mostly from March to August. Koha’s mating call, in Sri Lankan culture, beckons us to rejoice over the prosperity in April.

It’s not so hard to locate the Koha when you trawl the Google with keywords ‘Asian Koel’. Koel belongs to Cuckoo family; most of the cuckoos have migrated from Singapore to settle down here. The Asian Koel is quite welcome, because we like to hear its call to feel the Avurudu stepping in.

Towards March’s end we can see scarlet coloured Erabadu, erythrina indica blossom to lure the Koha to make his announcement. Who knows, possibly the songbird knows its voice has such a melodious tone to charm the would-be significant other. You may hear its sound, but still as ornithologists say, its sight might be thin on the ground. Because Koha is such a coy creature. It’s sometimes seen settled down in deserted areas with its partner. The countries of its residence are mostly India, South China, Australasia. The male koel sings to charm the female and the female sings at a stretch to stay away from other males. Once settled down, they need space to themselves, after all.

Koel has a bad name for its nestling habits. Ornithologists call the poor creature a brood parasite. Which means he never builds his own nest but lays eggs on others. Its hosts - the victims, of course - are always Jungle Crow and House Crow in Sri Lanka, because their eggs look quite similar on the surface. A koel egg is grayish green with red-brown flecks. The crow egg however has a brighter brown colour. The koel is born with that knack for making the maximum of the other bird’s charity. It has a very good sense of nests; it lays only one or two eggs in some nests and seven or eight in most. For the koel, doing away with the crow’s eggs is easy as pie. Koel’s eggs hatch much earlier than those of the crow’s. It’s a menace for the crow, but pity, it can’t help. Sometimes the crow will fly far away never to come back. So the koel has more free time to think big on other affairs. But, credit where credit is due, some koels are believed to build their own nests close to those of crows.

Nowadays it turns out to be a different kettle of fish. The number of koels has gone up, but their breeding is not much spotted because of the lack of crow nests. Crows on the other hand have a good reputation for their weather expertise. With this long remain of the dry weather, the crows sense a food shortage, hence they have to think better of nestling.

The folklore sees the koel as a weather bird too. Some twitchers believe rain and the koel’s call have a link. But then again ornithologists argue this call is purely for the sake of breeding season and nothing else.

Just like the crow, the koel can eat up anything it comes by. It can be an insect, egg or a fish, but adults are mostly frugivores, creatures fed on fruits. They in fact help trees produce more fruits chasing away other creatures.

The koel is called as ‘nightingale’ in India mainly because of its call sweet to ears. The male koel mostly seem as black as a crow, but it’s mixed with glossy blue. The female is more towards being brown. Underside of the both birds are striped white. Other birds of the family differ in complexion.

http://www.dailynews.lk/2009/03/27/fea30.pdf

Creativity

“Thank goodness I was never sent to school; it would have rubbed off some of the originality.”
Beatrix Potter

I think this quote explains the creativity best. Creativity is, in other words, originality – when you create something, it’s original. Creativity and education are poles apart. Helen Beatrix Potter is known as an English children’s writer, who was taught at home. Her quote, however, does not mean she is uneducated; only that she did not get a proper school education.

Then why education is a barrier for creativity? This is something hard to go into details. It’s easier when we start from the language and literature. Think of two categories: first category thinks creatively but doesn’t have a good command of written language (so to say, written language is what you inherit by education), and the second category is excelled in the written language but not creative enough. Who attracts more audience? In my opinion, it’s the first category.

William Shakespeare and Christopher Marlowe belong to these two categories respectively. The history of literature maintains that Marlowe is much more learned than Shakespeare. Shakespeare was just an actor who later turned out to be a writer almost by chance. Still, who got the plum audience? Marlowe isn’t even in the A/Ls English Literature syllabus, though every Tom, Dick and Harry knows who Shakespeare is - at least heard of him.

Way back in 1960s, Jacque Derrida, a French philosopher, popularised a particular term - Deconstruction. It’s so hard to locate a simple definition for this term. However deconstruction is simply rewriting a source – that can be history or some contemporary incident – creatively. Shakespeare used to take a source, which is raw in material, and rewrote it creatively. He was largely criticised for anachronism, but it was also a part of his creativity. He cut and chopped wherever necessary, and made it audience-friendly. If you say creativity is inborn, Shakespeare needs no further introduction.

Some opine Shakespeare plays were actually written – or rather rewritten - by Marlowe. It’s something you should see when you study their works; interesting . Anyway just leave both Marlowe and Shakespeare alone. Let’s talk about the latest Sinhala epic work – Jackson Anthony’s Aba. Anthony must have studied many sources too, but our official chronicle is Mahawamsa. If you read King Pandukabhaya’s chapter in Mahawamsa, you will realise the power of creativity. The two Yakshas are killed by the prince’s father to protect them. This is quite absurd in modern sense. So Anthony makes the royal command take the responsibility of their death. You need creativity to deconstruct the actual event. I don’t think this change has damaged the actual history. After all ‘Aba’ is a movie, which needs creativity in first place.

Now don’t get me wrong that education is not needed at all. It’s needed at all. But it’s needed only to sharpen your originality. If you have no creativity, however much you get education, you can’t get it.

They say poetry is best written in simple creative language. Say, you are so excelled in the language, and you use a heavy language as much as possible. What happens? You loose the audience.
I have mentioned that education and creativity are poles apart. But you come across exceptions too. Sarachchandra is the best example, who did the same thing Shakespeare did: rewriting a raw source creatively. On the other hand, G B Senanayaka did not have a proper education, and yet pioneered free verse in Sinhalese poetry. His poetry was full of creativity.

Martin Wickramainghe is a also a good example for the creativity sans proper education. I have heard one saying Mahesh Rathsara Maddumaarachchi, scripts love more passionately than Wickramasinghe. And now puritans will certainly chase me for breaking this news.

Need I write more on creativity, if only space permits!

Does reading make a perfect man?

One batch mate has dropped a short to-the-point mail asking me to confine the facts into one topic. With hats off to her request, I still got to have my say: I just can’t help treading on side alleys. One is connected to the other. Or near enough, anyway.

This time I am trying to edge my subject: reading with the Book Fair season. A fat subject area. I do not want to go into details why a book fair is important on encouraging reading. Sorry for putting it this way: these are nothing but empty talk for me. Especially when you have so many things to think of sideways.

Why read in the first place? Well they say reading makes a perfect man. A funny inbox mail reads: reading makes a man perfect. Nobody’s perfect. So why read?

Professor James Moriarty in Sherlock Holmes fiction is a well-read professor. But all his knowledge was powered to harm the living. Osama Bin Laden is also said to be a well-read scientist. What could he do with his exceptional brain? Reading makes you either a professional or a professor. And some professors are just ivory towers. Is it what we interpret as, or, mean by, ‘perfect’?

The intellectual Dr. E W Adikaram dropped reading towards the last stages of his life. The biography has details on how the philosopher had felt enough of reading and needed time to reflect his readings. This biographical episode cast a spell in my childhood thinking path, and elders got scared that I would drop reading too. You should not get the wrong end of the stick. The Adikaram theory does not prompt dropping reading, as it might be to a lazy reader. His matured decision has a meaning: you shall know what you will read.

Reading whatever falls on your hand is good for language development, but not for the perfection, I think. I bought Adolf Hitler’s biography in a previous book fair, but could not complete the voluminous book. First because of the boring language, and I felt like reading a biography of a notorious politician. You have hair-splitting answers against my stand here. There are political elements in the biography. You can get to know the making of a fixer. You can analyse modern politics with the contents. With many other reasons to justify reading the ‘great work’. May be good for political and social scientists, but not for a simple folk like I. I gain nothing by reading a voluminous biography of a notorious politician written in an archaic language.

So come to think about categories such as religion, literature and medicine. You will get ‘something’. Analysis of such reading may lead us towards a particular type of perfection. Religion brings you the feel of some sort of salvation. Literature makes you forget the real-life drama. Medicine will lengthen the beloved life. And there are many categories that might bring you to the brink of perfection. I have doubts on categories like ‘crime’. Just give this a thought. You are the Jury to choose a category between ‘religion’ and ‘crime’.

Today we live with heaps to read. Internet and Mobiles are worse. Some read papers on the mobile. Now that you have many things to read, even on the go, you got to learn how to read fast. They teach you that faster reading means faster learning. It’s like learning English in 8 days as guaranteed by ‘qualified English teachers’.

Don’t get me wrong in the bottom line. I do not want to spoil your reading habit. Just carry on. But be selective. I am going to stick to my words too this time keeping tabs on my bony wallet.

So happy reading to you all, and keep away from credit cards at the book fair!

Richness of a culture

Perahera – known as Procession in English – has been fascinating many ever since its inception: Fa Hsien, Robert Knox and S W R D Bandaranaike to name a few.

Though little known for his collection of Sherlock Holmes style writing apart from his familiar field, much respected late premier Bandaranaike has dedicated the last story for Esala Perahera in the collection. The story narrates the proud feelings of the writer on seeing the richness of the culture embedded in the event. Sinhala being made an official language came as no surprise from such a politician though raised in a Western environment.

Perahera has more depth and meaning than procession; in fact the local term has already become the buzzword among foreigners. Perahera is not just a group moving along in an orderly manner, as its English rendering defines. It can well be compared with a board of Chess; every item carries significance with one or many reasons for taking part.

Whip crackers opening the Perahera is a kind of ‘declare open’ function. They announce the approach of the rest of the group. Traditionally only Adigars, the high officials in the king’s court, were allowed to employ whip crackers to announce their approach. This was not an essential item of the Perahera, which was introduced only during Disawe P B Nugawela’s period.

Whip crackers are followed by flag bearers showing the provinces and towns they belong to. Peramune Rala, the leading official, is the first to ride on an elephant. The official has the right to conduct Perahera, and keeps the records of the temple. The next elephant carrying Gajanayaka Nilame, chief officer in charge of elephants, looks regal and upright. Drummers engage seriously in their performance. This is to be followed by many dignitaries like Diyawadana Nilame, and the royal retinue in ancient sense.

The major feature of the Perahera is use of light. The heavy use of light can be a little debatable when it comes to energy crisis. However light symbolises wisdom in Buddhist philosophy, with numerous references. Moving into light from darkness means achieving wisdom ridding the ignorance in Buddhism. Many Buddhist events, especially Vesak, are celebrated with hugely lit lamps and pandals. Buddhism, on the other hand, is not a grim philosophy as many misinterpret; it spots light even in the spiritual life devoid of worldly bonds.

Why Perahera held between Esala and Nikini poya is also theoretically notable. Esala marks the first sermon of the Buddha and Nikini marks the first Dhamma convocation. Buddha started preaching only after Brahma’s invitation, because traditionally Buddhas never set the Dhamma wheel without invitation. The first Dhamma convocation was the need of the hour, as the philosophy was on the verge of shatters following the Buddha’s death, hence the convocation was held with the participation of 500 Arahath monks presided by Ven. Kasyapa. Both events symbolise the survival of the philosophy. Perahara aptly celebrates this theme.

The Perahera is rooted in Indo-Aryan tradition and was a ritual invoking the gods' blessings for rainfall during drought in the ancient. The belief on spiritual forces remained even when the British were occupying the land. When Perahera was banned in the first year of British rule, 1815, a severe drought is said to have followed crippling the country's agriculture. British had to give in for the stern protests of the locals, and lifted the ban and the heavy rains had followed. Superstitious it can be, but it shows the strong local faith on Perahera, let alone admiration. Invaders had a number of attempts to get hold of sacred relics in vain. Many scholars accredit it to the invaders’ need to wipe out the national heritage, while some view that the British shared the local belief of linking sacred relics with royal entitlement.

The Perahera has many origins, apart from its Indo-Aryan roots. As one writer mentions, 'it's lost in the mists of centuries'. Perahera has been continuing ever since taking different forms. Fa Hsien's descriptions on the Perahera, for example, do not have references on Dewale traditions.

The recent history records King Kirthi Sri Rajasinghe as the first lay patron who added colour to the modern Perahera with Ven. Welivita Saranankara, the Chief Monk of the country. The royal opinion was that Perhera should have influence from Hindu rituals too, hence many Hindu temples were built alongside Dalada Maligawa.

However, the king had to rethink about his policy because of Siamese monks who wanted to establish Upasampadha ordination in Sri Lanka. They are reported to have been taken aback to observe Hindu elements in the function. The King had then ordered the Perahera to be headed with sacred relics. However in today’s context – as Sir Richard Aluwihare notes in The Kandy Esala Perahera - sacred tooth relic is not carried in the Perahera. Only a duplicate of the casket is carried because it is considered inauspicious to remove the relics from the sacred precincts.

The ceremony starts with cutting down either a jak or rukattana tree that gives out a milky sap. The intention of this procedure is to open the function with a sign of prosperity. Before cutting, the tree is anointed with a preparation of sandalwood and offerings of a lamp with seven wicks, nine betel leaves and nine types of flowers.

Elephant and tusker play a major role in not only Perahera but Buddhism too, unlike other animals. In the case of Perahera, Tusker is the only animal privileged with carrying the sacred tooth relic on the back during the Perahera. Elephant has many allusions in Buddhist references: he is compared with a being who bears all the shortcomings in the life. Campaign against tusker slaughter seeking tusks partly stems from the Buddhist traditional thinking. Dalada Maligawa has interesting and moving stories about tuskers who carried the sacred relics. Raja, stuffed in Maligawa museum, is a ‘living’ example.

Perahera may look as another colourful pageant to a general observer. The Kandy Esala Perahera, strictly speaking, is really not so; it implies a lot of nuances that have survived the ages – they deserve a great deal of patient observation.