Ancient stories:

Sansaaraaranyaye Dadayakkaraya

(The hunter in the wilderness of Sansara)

(Part 17)

By Simon Nawagaththegama

Translated by Malinda Seneviratne

The Hunter felt unsafe. He remembered the gun that was hidden near the tree at the foot of the rock. He could not however bring himself to go there, if only to just make sure it was still there. He spent his time in utmost consternation, therefore.

One night found the Hunter seated inside a dark cave. Having been inside the cave for so long, he did not notice any darkness within it.

The entire rock was bathed in soft moonlight. The moonlight took his thoughts to the icy cold water of the pond. The next moment he heard a splash of water. He peeped out of the cave. His gaze was met by a white clad angel walking across the rock.

It was indeed fortunate that at this very moment he heard the Tree Spirit calling out to him. The Hamuduruwo needed him. He was perplexed as to why the Hamuduruwo would call for him at this time of the night. The Hunter came out of the cave.

That midnight the Hamuduruwo launched a sermon meant only for astral entities.

‘It was easy for me when you walked this jungle as a Giant and then as a Hunter. I followed you as you traversed the jungle as though I too was another hunter, but one endowed with a sharp mind, an alert intellect and the ability to treat things with equanimity.

You are no longer a hunter. Neither are you an aboriginal. Today you are a fugitive, hiding in various places on this rock, little different from a hapless creature pursued by a hunter and an aboriginal.

‘When you walked the jungle I could follow you by looking out for your footprints. Now you have forsaken the great wilderness that I bequeathed unto you and spend all your hours at its centre, this rock. I cannot discern footprint on granite. This inability perplexes me and I spend my hours in consternation.

‘You who were once a hunter have now been reduced to a deer pursued by a hunter. As such resident within you are the joys and sorrows peculiar to a deer. On the other hand, I the yogi hunter pursuing the deer am not burdened by sorrow or joy.

Nevertheless, from the moment you discarded your hunter role and became deer, I am wearied and panting from following the agitations wrought in your mind by your sense of insecurity.

‘There was a time when the path you took up the mountain was clearly visible. In recent times, out of fear, you took the other route. I can see clearly the footprints along that path. Now what can someone like me comprehend seated as I am at the top of a rock with these footprints before me, imprinted on two different sides?

‘Since you are a deer, I run hither and thither throughout the jungle, armed with bow, armed with arrow, following you as would a hunter, an aboriginal. Running through the jungle, spurred by the fear of death, you encounter this rock.

The deer climbs the rock from one end and runs down another. I see the footprints of the deer here and there. I see also the footprints of the fleeing deer at the other end of the rock. And on the rock I see none at all.

‘And yet, I surmise from the location of the footprints, “the deer ventured onto the rock at this point and left it right here, then emerged at this point and disappeared at that”.’

‘In the same manner, from your life, your behavior upon this rock, I understood the bliss of pursuing a specific objective, the sorrow of pursuing the indeterminate and the quality of equanimity where both are absent,’ the Hamuduruwo thus concluded the complex and perplexing discourse delivered at midnight.

Perhaps because it was a sermon delivered at an hour reserved for heavenly beings or because he had obtained from it an understanding quite different to what the Hamuduruwo had intended to convey, he climbed up to the top of the mountain. He understood that he was no longer a hunter but was a deer tamed by innocence.

At the same time he decided that he should become a hunter once again. He decided also that in order to become a hunter he needed to pick up the gun which was at the foot of the mountain.

Thus, the following day, immediately after offering alms, he began descending the mountain from the usual side, passing the pond. He walked with the determination of one who has understood that it is far better to embrace pain rather than avoid it.

And typical of one who has thus concluded, the moment his eyes fell on the icy cold water the very same determination began to tremble.

He stood by the pond, realizing that he would have to pass the cave which had become the dwelling of the drummer’s daughter.

He noticed on the rock the remnant of a struggle that took place on one moonlight night, the partly congealed mix of dew, sweat and semen clinging to the rock surface like algae. It was an inconsolable curiosity that took root in his mind thereafter. At that very instant he heard a lament wrought of pain coming from the direction of the cave.

He hid himself behind a rock and cast his glance in the direction of the sound. He was greeted by an amazing sight.

She was writhing and rolling on the rock outside the cave mouth. She was moving in such a frenzy that it was difficult to recognize her as the drummer’s daughter.

Her body was covered with wounds that had healed and had once again broken and from which oozed blood and pus.

In some places, where they skin was tough enough to resist bruising longer, they appeared as dark patches. She tore her hair, beat her breasts and drew her fingernails up and down her thighs as she turned this way and that and turning wailed in agony and ecstasy. She wept.

Finally she fell lifeless, gasping for breath. After a while she got up and began wailing.

‘O Mother Kali! O Mother Pattini! Grant me the power…give me the power of command…give me the power to eat live this Hamuduruwo and this hunter, these men who have conferred on me agonies that not even this earth can bear…let me tear them to shreds, let me drink their blood…O Mother Kali, come break through the earth’s crush! Come O Mother Kali breaking asunder the holy mountains…Mother!’