Sansaaraaranyaye Dadayakkaraya

(Chapter 1)

(The hunter in the wilderness of sansara)

By Simon Navagaththegama

Translated by Malinda Seneviratne

Part 2

Up to this point, everything was done by the hunter. All that the Hamuduruwo did was to observe. And yet it was as though they both partook of some perfectly ordinary morning exercise. The hunter engaged in a certain hunting expedition early in the morning. The wise Hamuduruwo, in accordance to the customs of his asceticism, participated fully and as appropriate in a morning’s sport. It appeared as though it tired him, but only on account of age. The hunter ascertained through the morning sunrays that the ancient life-signatures that marked the Hamuduruwo’s face had been washed in heavy perspiration.

Simon Navagaththegama

The Hamuduruwo looked at the hunter and turned his gaze upon the brine marked horizon. Many miles away a wisp of smoke pierced the mist and made its solitary way into the sky. It may have been the residual mark of a chena that had been set fire to the previous day.

As the reverend’s thoughts traversed the horizon, they were overtaken by a faint trace of sadness as well as compassion. Perhaps into those compassionate thoughts had strayed a tinge of pity for himself, all mankind and the hunter.

His thoughts went to his teacher, Gauthama the Buddha, who lived many centuries before. The Lord had arahats who could share with him the splendour of a beautiful morning even in a lonely world laden with sadness just like this.

As the Lord, having woken up early, paces in meditation, Arahat Kashyapa the Great comes towards the Exalted One. To Lord Buddha’s eyes are gifted the calm face of Arahat Kashyapa, as clear as an autumn sky upon which the full moon has spread itself.

‘O Kashyapa, did you spend the night in pleasant slumber? Did you suffer any discomfort?’

It is not necessary to respond in word. In their eyes reside both question and answer. Nevertheless arahats and Samma Sambuddhas just like any of us see worth in the conventions related to the courtesies of pleasant conversation. And thus the Reverand Kashyapa indulgences in convention.

‘Yes, Lord, I slept well indeed. I believe you too, Lord, spent a night of pleasant slumber.’

The Hamuduruwo looked upon his abiththaya with a sense of self-pity. This giant of seven feet with a body of an elephant, this pruthagjana, in comparison with the vast spaces that surrounded them, was indeed a tiny man. The hunter was looking with a sense of curiosity. Although the Hamuduruwo’s mind enveloped the heavens, extended to the far away sea and traveled through the past, present and future he was not privy to its inner chambers. He only noticed the Hamuduruwo’s face which appeared to be wearied from some conflict or another.

Finally the Hamuduruwo himself understood the meaning of the hunter’s gaze. After a few moments of reflection, the Hamuduruwo spoke falteringly.

‘Yes, you are correct. I am unable to meditate in peace. In the early hours of the morning one of Mara’s daughters arrives in the form of an angel. She caresses my entire face with her soft fingertips. My composure is shaken. I close my eyes tight and refuse to look at her. She does not leave me. She leaves, but returns to me again.

The Hamuduruwo remained for a long time with his eyes closed.

‘You are a hunter. It would be good if you protected me from tonight onwards instead of the jungle that surrounds me. I can then meditate in peace in the knowledge that these evil females will not arrive knowing that you are by my side.’

It took the hunter a long time to understand this directive. He had realized again and again, even after he took the gun, that he had become a hunter.

And yet he did not remember the Hamuduruwo ever having told him to expend his services in this way, by the Hamuduruwo’s side.

After a long time something strange had transpired on top of this rock that stood in the middle of the jungle. The hunter tried to carry out his diurnal tasks as though nothing strange had happened. He roasted rice in the kitchen hearth, turned it into flakes, mixed it with honey and offered the noonday meal to the Hamuduruwo along with some fruit. With this the heaviest task of his day was done.

In the evening he cut open three pomegranates, squeezed the juice out and made ready the offering to the Buddha. The two remaining parts he poured into the Hamuduruwo’s bowl. The Hamuduruwo took the poojawa to make his offering to the Buddha. The hunter took one pomegranate and tore into it as would a gorilla and started his way down the hill.

Half way down the rock there was a pond filled with ice cold water. The moment his eyes touch the water, he gets goose bumps. The hunter, who wears not a stitch apart from his loincloth, never felt the cold, not even in the coldest nights of January. The water here was still and yet the moment his eyes fell on it his muscles broke out in the manner of a wild animal. He got goose bumps. The Hamuduruwo called him a hunter. He remembered this again. He wanted to walk past the pond but his legs carried him towards it. The conflict in his mind did not last long. He looked at the hole in the rock at the far end of the pond more out of habit than anything else. He loosened his loincloth and lay down on the rock in full view of the cave. The sun went down in the western sky and the sounds of day subsided and gave way to those of the night. His eyes and ears were oblivious to all this. Like the Hamuduruwo he was as though in deep meditation, his half-closed eyes directed at the cave. He had involuntarily taken hold of one end of his thick moustache. Like a buffalo chewing the cud, he sucked on it.

The objective of his anticipation arrived, sliding out of the cave. She is the Naga Manavikava that spends days upon days within the cavernous bowels of the rock and emerges on certain evenings. She came out and stood still. He was convinced that she was looking at him. At the same moment he heard a ‘poosh…poosh’ sound behind him. He knew this sound very well. It was the Naga Raja that guarded the treasure hidden behind the Viharaya. He knew that the Cobra was looking at the Naga Manavikava beyond him and signaling her as he approached. The hunter did not turn to look.

The hunter was hypnotized by the beautiful and small hooded head of the Naga Manavikava. He deliberately avoided looking at the Naga King. He didn’t look at the splendid and handsome creature almost as though such a glance would evoke in him a jealous hatred. The Naga Manavikava unfolded her hood and began swaying to and fro in the manner of beginning a dance. His peripheral vision caught sight of the Naga King slithering towards her. At the same time the snake that had been still and quite within him began to come to life and uncoil. It too struggled with the desire to proceed towards the Naga Manavikava. And yet the hunter stood his ground like an enormous tree that had sunk deep into the soil its roots. All he did was to spread his legs just enough for the Naga Manavikava to be able to see the slow dance of his snake. The Naga King who protected the treasure was not by her side, hood touching hood, bodies entwined in slow dance. If the hunter so wished, his Naga Raja would in an instant be grapping with the Naga King in deadly battle.

The hunter knew that his cobra would easily slay the Naga King. He also knew that if it so happened it would spawn a hatred that will live from one lifetime to the next and the next thereafter and so on for centuries upon centuries. Knowing well the signs of such altercations and their adverse effect on the natural patterns of existence and co-existence in the jungle, the hunter caught hold of his Naga Raja in his hand and held it still.

Once or twice it escaped his grip and directed its hood which was filled with the blood-desire hvgbt60 blood-hatred towards the Naga Manavikava. The hunter recalled the sorrow-filled countenance of the Hamuduruwo who spent his days and nights in the exercise of self-control. And in an instant the Naga Raja spit out the hatred and desire that had so filled its being and like a heart that becomes lifeless trembled and then lay still. The hunter fell as though his body had become like an empty anthill. Wearied by the torture of desire and the grip of the hunter’s strong fingers, the Naga Raja began to retreat into the empty anthill body of the hunter.

The hunter felt that his entire body had been warmed as would an anthill heated by the lava deep within the earth’s bosom. He left his loincloth upon the rock and stood up. He entered the pond.

He did not feel its cold now. His flesh did not break out in goose bumps. He stayed in the water for a full half hour. As on land his eyes remained half-closed, half-open. And in the water countless number of tiny creatures of countless colours began dancing the dance that spoke of the countless creatures across the limitless universe.

Fully satiated by the cool water, the hunter put on his loincloth and began descending the rock once again. By the pond the premises of the Naga Manavikava was but an empty cave.

His being was filled with thoughts that spoke of the co-existence of all creatures, those with legs and those that slithered. In the great earth there were countless other caves, other crevices. He too was but just another empty cave. And in this earth there were countless other snakes.