Agni Chakra

(Circles of Fire)

(Chapter 25)

By Kathleen JAYAWARDENE

Translated by Ranga Chandrarathne

Edited by Indeewara Thilakarathne

What is the destination of this journey creeping and scrolling through the steep labyrinth of Samsara? Is it a simple task to climb mountains heavily burdened with these baggages? How many thorny bushes and pitfalls are there throughout the way? What is the difference between a man who embarked on a journey without a destination through thorny bushes; falling down and encountering obstacles on the way and bleeding, and an animal which caught up in a snare? Like an ostrich that hides its head in the sand whenever it senses danger, am I also trying to hide myself?

My hands and legs were aching as I drove continuously for four hours. Though the moon was emerging over a rock, environ had covered with a black smoke. What a curse was it even the white fog had been turning to black?

Even the murmur of the trickle that flew beyond the Tea-estates and through the rows of boulders intensified my anxiety. What sort of a journey did I make? Was it like king Vessantara who gave up luxuries and had gone to the labyrinth, that I made this journey? What had I given up? What were in my possession? How was the stream of thinking which made this repentance and woes? Was it I who created it?

I was travelling through a valley which gradually descended to Horton plains. I could hear the approaching rain with a loud noise. I could guess that the last town passed by was Watawala. The abandoned pinus plantation covering the mountain tops created a dreadful scene in the darkness.

A series of questions came to my mind which had hitherto never come up. A certain area in the subconscious had been stimulated. But the stimulation was unclear. I was afraid of whether I was becoming insane. Was there a psychoanalyst who could analyse the state of my mind at the moment?

Freudian psychoanalysis …..?

Freud…..?

Einstein…?

The Buddha….?

Nietzsche …. ?

Video cassette…?

Shantha…? Kanchana…? Amritha…?

I reexamined the switched off telephone. My confused mind was still conscious that I could not bear up calls at the moment. It was Fredric Nietzsche, a great philosopher who said that “The world itself is the will to power - and nothing else! And you yourself are the will to power - and nothing else!”

He said that society is controlled by ‘will to power’ and that it connects to the ideals in society. In a second, I was reminded of the fundamental teaching in Buddhism that real happiness lies not in the acquisition of all the wealth but renouncing them all. Is it a simple task? Often I had argued with Ratnaweera against the Buddhist teaching of renunciation which hinders man’s progress. I considered Ratnaweera’s attempt at putting into order interpretations of Buddhism along with their primary sources a sheer waste of time. But now I wanted to find out more about this.

Ratnaweera often says that one who dives deep into the bottom of a river would encounter layers of pure water as well as currents of pure water. But I don’t have diving gear for such a dive. Can I find these gears without destroying the image of soul? I am on a journey without an end through the city of death. Everywhere are the tombstones of life.

I was tired off like a man trapped in a dark tunnel searching for an opening. Is my soul dissolved in the great life long attempt at possessing many things? What have I gained in life? Aren’t all my achievements such according to social standards? Do these social values have a power, potential to bring about reconciliation? What is the end result of knowledge painstakingly built up over the years, analysing cause and effect and logic and anti-logics? What are my movable and immovable properties?

Gimhana Asapuwa…? Shantha…? Prabuddha…?

I could not control any of these things or persons as I wished. Ratnaweera says ‘world has not men and women but human processes’. He says ‘A lot of issues arise as a result of identifying changing images of persons as ‘reality’’.

The still camera records a man in a posture at the moment. It is video camera which can record him beyond that stage. X-ray camera records the internal states of the body going through a person’s body. Kirilian camera can see through further.

But none of these cameras are perfect. A camera has not yet been manufactured with the potential of absorbing and expansion of information about a person.

I could recall the shock at a crack of a wall in Gimhana Asapuwa. In a way, it can be compared to the fear of death. Like the fading walls, parapet walls of Gimhana Asapuwa, even colourful curtains of yesteryears had now been turning to yellow by the exposure to sunlight. I thought, recently, that all these should be renovated before they become decayed. But, now, I don’t have that need. By now, my concentration is on the actions that I should take to eradicate cancer cells growing in my body.

Therefore, Gimhana Asapuwa is now a burden for me; trouble. Isn’t it because I am the owner of it? Does a man need a house of his own? Are there such permanent residences in the world? Is there Protractor which can measure our happiness as we have been deeply entrenched in urban consumerism? If a sensitive company produces such an instrument, could it be possible to find out even a person who leads a happy life in the competitive society?

I thought why people could not be contended with living in a temporary place or to live in a rented house. Aren’t the temporary arrangements such as house, lands, vehicles, dresses and even friends that bring about consolation to the man? I was reminded of ‘The Shirt Society’ that Prabuddha founded with some friends. How nicely the shirts were exchanged among friends through this society? I thought that we could satisfy our urge to wear a new dress for a fresh day through such exchanges. Didn’t we experience a feeling that we had wasted a lot of money on an expensive suit displayed in muscular dummy in a glass cage after we put on it once?

I was completely confused when Shantha whom I saw like an idol of women and who boasted of a lot of ideals in life, had suddenly fallen into such a lowest level. Has she got lost like a Ranevskaya in Chekov’s ‘Cherry Orchard’? Didn’t the cherry trees fall down at the axe’s strokes symbolising the fall of feudalism together with the break down of Ranevskaya’s smooth emotional life? Was Shantha frustrated like Ranevskaya becoming weak with the loss of traditional cherry orchard which inherently linked to her emotional life? Was it that which led her to seek momentary pleasure avoiding problems? I felt now as if the answers to all had been written in this dark void. I could not read them because of darkness. I thought that the nutrient which made life fertile was ‘love’.

I often got into arguments with Ratnaweera on this subject. But Ratnaweera had an entirely different view. He says what we identified as ‘love’ is our ‘ego’. It is because of this that we don’t allow the loved one to exercise freedom. He accuses me of being an ideologue. I don’t know how Ratnaweera arrived at the conclusion on me knowing well that I totally refused racism and religious fanaticism. I often noticed that he looked at the ‘Bridge’ organisation with irony.

Why is it so? Is it scornful irony? Is it pitiful irony? He says that organisations which cry out and hold demonstrations, are trying to impose their ideology on others. He firmly believes that instead of improving their physical existence, their activities will not contribute to social progress. I am now ready to tolerate such ideas and views that Ratnaweera comes out with. It is because whenever I present my ideas logically, he withdraws like a hog that hides in its shell. He believes in a method by which knowledge can be produced without subjecting to logic.

I could remember once he tried to cite a clause in Samyukta Niyaka and in the Puppha Sutta. The Buddha had said, “Fellow Bhikkus, I don’t argue with the world but world argues with me. One who believes in doctrine will not engage in arguments with anyone.” He says that logic is there to prove the untruth. It is his view that by virtue of logic that statues of some politicians, who should be served with indictments, are erected and that some lawyers, who should be behind the bars, are living in palatial residences. Ratnaweera said that this can be observed in television talk shows.

The viewers would be convinced, at least for a few minutes, that all the representatives of political parties who participated in talk shows are saints because they applied logic so skilfully. I also thought so watching television talk shows after Ratnaweera’s remarks. However, I still think whether man can swim upstream. But the radar systems in my stream of emotions are now citing different areas. I suddenly got the urge to meet up with Ratnaweera. I stopped the vehicle in a bend-less slope and took up the switched off mobile. After a long time, the sleepy voice at the other end was not that of Ratnaweera’s.

“Uncle Siri, Father had gone to California! Now it’s a week since he left!”

Though I was reminded of Ratnaweera telling me that he would spend three months’ vacation at his daughter’s in California after retirement, I put down the phone after taking down his e-mail address.

I was reminded that I could not switch off my mobile phone only when it began to ring again. My heart beat became fast. Definitely Shantha would have trying for a long time to contact me.

“Why?”

“Where are you? Will you come for dinner? ”

“No”

I quickly switched off the mobile. I began panting. Shantha spoke in a shaken voice. She would have thought that I was with a woman in a place in a compromising situation. How have we been stranded and deceived?

I realised that I had reached the summit of the mountain when I noticed circles of light around the Circuit Bungalow. Suddenly it stuck me that I should have reserved a room before coming here.

But, now, there was nothing to be done. My mistake would not be a problem as the Inn keeper of the Circuit Bungalow had now been intoxicated with alcohol.

“Sir, no problem! Come Sir! You can use any of these rooms!” he said opening a room for me.

I remained impatient until the dawn. Was it in the expectation of a new dawn that I waited till the last star going to sleep?

New day?

For a long time, I had searched for this new day. Amidst darkness in the midnight, my hope was grown up like saplings. Growing saplings in a tree would gradually make buds in every joint and then would turn into fruits. But, that’s only in a tree not in mind.

The sun gradually dawned upon my range of vision lighting the eastern sky. Many days beginning with the dawn had passed by. But, that ‘day’, was ‘yet another day’ and not a ‘new day’. It was those rays of dawn that were now emerging beyond a range of mountains in the horizon. But I was not still ready to imagine when the maiden rays came, shadows would disappear. What I know was that nothing we thought of new or maiden would fill us with that novelty.

I looked into the far through the open window. I did not change postures because of the unbearable cold. But hadn’t I had the space not to open the window? Why should I remain still like an image of stone as if cold had tightened my hands? Am I the only person who felt the ecstasy of ‘pleasure of pressure’? Do all the philosophers, intellectuals or books that touch upon this multiplicity of life?

The breeze that brought with it the drizzle would integrate into my skin, bones and veins searching for gaps in my collared shirt. It was under the influence of this breeze that sheets of chunky fog on top of the mount Namunukula dissolved into the sky in the form of circles. The fat orange tree was weighed down with ripened oranges. I could remember this tree in the same state twenty five years ago.

That day I came to the Circuit Bungalow with Shantha. After spending two days at Belihuloya Rest House, we came here. Now I thought whether it was the beginning and the end of our honeymoon. Though the sheer cold had warmed up my heart that day, I could remember it was unbearably harsh for Shantha. This bungalow which had been a residence of a colonial Governor, had a mystic air of loneliness which lit up lamps in my world, what a gory picture that it marked in Shantha?

Thereafter, I had never come here with Shantha. In other words, thereafter, I came here with someone else; often with a friend or a girl friend; this was for the first time I came here alone.

It would have been only in this mystic world of honeymoon that I thought Shantha would light up my life as a guiding star of the dawn. I thought that day that the bottom of her eyes lay a vitality which would penetrate into the very stem of my soul. But how could I expect such a vitality which would light up deep craving for life in me, from a bottom of a placid lake?

As soon as one heard of the word ‘placid lake’ one’s mind would be calmed down. But could it be the same feeling that one would have when looking at it from a distance? What automatically occur to a weary soul would be the urge to watch the roaring sea with breaking waves and sprinkling water into the air? One must stay on a couple of days in the beach in order to appreciate the sheer beauty of loneliness in a placid lake.

Where was the fault?

I knew well the monotony had negated mine as well as Shantha’s life. I could not think of what kind of happiness one may derive by allowing life to be ran along a straight line. Who could see the sublime beauty not found in a waterway that flew down from precipice taking a meandering course in a placid surface of water?

Though Shantha knew as I was, that we were walking towards an un-returnable destination, this truth was beyond her radar of beliefs. Why should she who claimed to be truthful, trying hard to conceal this truth from the world?

I think Shantha as well as I are living in a void between truths and imaginations. For Shantha, this space of imagination had been created by elders and books. Shantha always read life through books. I have been spending more time on reading books than Shantha. I have also written a large number of books. But there are many contradictions among my readings, writings and beliefs. I have never read or written life. What I do is to write and read about the physical world we live in and we interact with.

Shantha interpreted this as ‘ugly opportunism’. I thought she was in deep slumber entrenched in dreams of just life without pomp and pageant. If not until yesterday, I thought about her in that light.

But.…? My dream has faded away

The hammer stroke that shattered my entire hypothesis was the video cassette which I watched yesterday noon. I watched it with amazement, curiosity and doubt. I observed even the nail- tips of Shantha’s hands that embraced Kanchana. As I tried hard to think that it was not her, I realised it was not someone else either.

In a few seconds, the ‘morality’ that Shantha believed in and which I scornfully refused had entered into my mind and camped in it. That ‘morality’ which I interpreted as a rebellion against human nature began to envelop myself like a virus which rose up at weak times. I thought what a wonder that my passion automatically took wings.

I could not think according to what natural phenomenon that how old man’s sex urges could be stimulated by wife’s adulterous deed. She who had been an ant before my mounting desires, and had been a dusty particle in the store of mind like an expired good, had suddenly assumed value before me. Until then, I did not know that there were such amazing norms in nature in the formation of relationships.

‘Discarded stick’ had suddenly turned into a precious stone. A powerful youth emerged in me immediately eradicating all the weaknesses. I was with voyeuristic urge to see Shantha. I switched off the video and rushed home.

Being tired, when I reached with effort to the upstairs Shantha was in a room dedicated to the Buddha. Through a gap in the curtain, I saw her half-closed eyes directed at the Buddha’s statue. I plunged onto a cane chair in the TV room and began to perspire profusely.

That moment which passed by without a sense of time, sometimes, would have been minutes or hours. Shivering, I looked at her deeply engrosse. My hands clashed against each other like an electrocuted person.

I climbed down the stairs holding on to the banister to the first floor. I became calmed down only when I took the wheel after jumping onto the vehicle.

I could not still imagine how I could see Shantha running to the balcony as I started the vehicle loud and turned it to a by-road.

However, at the time, I had the strength to drive the vehicle even more than one hundred and fifty kilometers of distance.

I thought what could have happened to Shantha if I had caught her up yesterday after my room was ready in the Circuit Bungalow. I could have prompted to thrash her with fury or strangled her to death or to embrace her tight?

Foot note

King Vessantara – In a former birth, the Buddha was born as king Vessantara who was an absolute philanthropist.