Agni Chakra

(The circles of fire)- Chapter 3

By Kathleen JAYAWARDENA

Shantha enters the room rolling the towel into a turban that entraps her hair. With great effort, she tries to hold on to the night gown by the chin, loosening the house-coat from the shoulders and getting into the night gown. Suddenly the gown slips out. The turban-knit towel is an obstruction to pull down the night-gown from the head in haste.

Shantha's background image which looks like a shadow in the semi-darkness resembles that of a mermaid.

I recall a Jathaka story. I imagine the king Kusa in Kusa Jathaka Kavyaya which was a prescribed text, sometime ago, for the (GCE) Ordinary Level Examination. Mr. Ranatunga told us that Pabavathi had met King Kusa in the darkness. He who was our literature teacher had a funny face like that of King Kusa. The darkness helped King Kusa to hide his ugly face which looked like a Kevum.

But ..?

Should anything beautiful be hidden in darkness?

We had spent a somewhat difficult period of two months of our marriage. Yet she is a stranger to me. I quickly switch on the light

"Oh... Why" Shantha quickly wraps herself in the night gown.

"So?" What's wrong?"

"Oh!" but then"

"You should not bathe in the night when you have long hair."

While speaking I entangle still wet flocks of her hair with my index finger, I thought that she would come out with usual, foolish and childish remarks once again.

"Usually I won't bathe in the night. But today I perspired a lot after putting fertilizer into orchids in the evening."

Shantha lay on the bed having switched off the light. The fragrance of sandalwood-soap pervades the room. But that is merely a fragrance of soap. Should I tell her straightaway that what my subconscious demands is not fragrance of soap?

I drew her towards me without uttering a word. A mystical feeling engulfs me like a black smoke. I try to generate a pleasant thought and keep my eyes open. I tightly embrace her in order to get rid of that mystical feelings and to release myself from that little anger.

"Oh... Why did you write a foreword for that book?"

I could not, at once, think of what book she meant. I have written diverse appreciations, forewords and blurbs for many books. However, this utterance was neither appropriate nor opportune. I raise my voice with a suppressed unpleasantness.

"What are you talking about?"

"That book by Reggie Warusavithana!"

I was shocked and looked at her. I provided Warusavithana with a foreword without even browsing the manuscript. Except the last page of the manuscript, I had no time to spare for reading the manuscript as a whole during the last couple of days.

"Why? What's the matter?"

"That's dirt! If you write such forewords, you will become the laughingstock!"

My mind wanders. I didn't know whether my feelings were anger or despair. It wasn't clear whether the target of the feeling was Warusavithana or Shantha.

Though I should have asked, "What the heck you want to bring it up now?" I ask instead, "why isn't it right?"

Is it not the common trait of women folks to raise inappropriate questions at inappropriate times?

I think of Swarna, Lalini and Umayangani. Though all of them had differences, it seems that they all arrive at a consensus to express ideas at inappropriate occasions and irrelevant times.

They, who shrewdly hide their subtle expectations in their heart, would consider the most inappropriate occasion as the most opportune one to express themselves. What I meant by the most inappropriate occasion was the time when we fused our bodies and souls together and go into ecstasy.

"How, could I not write such a foreword for him?"

I said so with a sense of irritation and turned back and lay on the bed. I took the hand off her to rub the back of my neck where a mosquito had stung. I have a certain ability to control my anger and such other emotions. For a long time, I have realised that it is essential to cultivate and practise this discipline with efforts, for a journey to reach the intended goals in life.

"But hereafter, don't write them for friendship."

Warusavithana, who is a Managing Director of a reputed national financial company, entered the university in my final year. I was one of those who launched an operation to salvage the newcomers from the inhuman torture imposed on them in the name of "ragging." Warusavithana was among the group of newcomers whom we intervened and rescued. Therefore, I thought that he would consider me as a saviour. Though I knew those memories would fade away after graduating, my eagle-eye which roamed around to obtain a housing loan fixed on Warusavithana. I read in an attractive newspaper supplement where it was stated that an institution which provided loans for small and medium scale enterprises had recently commenced a housing loan scheme. The scheme described in the newspaper supplement would suit well my future expectations.

For a long time, I have been engaged in diverse exercises to reach the goals. Shantha also knew that. Although she didn't know the nature of my future activities, I knew that it would be a pleasure for her to help me. One day Shantha told me that she had a fixed deposit of three million rupees which would mature in November of the following year. I know for sure that there are no blanks in the Shantha's statement of assets and liabilities. Though I was not quite pleased with all her habits and behaviour, I had no doubt about her genuineness. I know that I could obtain a loan against Shantha's deposit with her consent at any moment. But it was not sufficient to construct a building according to my plan. A section of six hundred square feet had also been set aside for a theatre space for students in my building plan. It was my friend in Australia who drafted a magnificent plan with a central courtyard. At the time, it was not plausible to carry out the plan without a capital of at least, two million rupees. I thought of Warusavithana's past when I contemplated on an institute to obtain a loan. I called Warusavithana on the phone and met him with my application.

"If the house and the land are transferred to Siri, it would be easy to grant a loan," he said.

"What's that? Are husband and wife two different people? Expedite the transfer."

"I will try," I said and got up to leave.

"Siri, you must also do me a small favour," Warusavithana said leaning on the back of the chair.

"What kind of favour?"

Opening the drawer in the table, he produced a neatly-bound manuscript.

"This is a novel I have just written for pleasure. A publisher is insisting me to publish it. But I am not a writer. As I am a novice to this field, it is good if I have a good introduction? Siri, if you can, read this and write a foreword at your leisure."

I was ecstatic as I felt that the opportunity to write a foreword for Warusavithana's book was sheer luck by chance.

I felt that this manuscript was as if a certificate confirming my housing loan, and ensuing the loan. I had qualms that his publisher must have been someone who had the ulterior motive of obtaining a loan. However, it was not an easy task to convince Shantha or any other woman of this reality.

Shantha, who lives caught up between memories and future expectations, is a prisoner of the soul. Though she prefers me too to be a prisoner of the soul or a physical slave, should I yield unto it? Though she touches books on philosophy, she could hardly understand that one is not born for another. I thought of questioning Shantha as to what kind of purity the love provides, if it doesn't bring even freedom. I have no dislike for bridging the gap between her and me. But, for that, any support doesn't come from her. If the marriage is only these deceiving rights and traditions, could it stockpile the warmth of love?

"Whether the book is good or bad, I must write a foreword for Warusavithana," I firmly declared.

"Why? What's that law? This is our private matter. What has that got to do with literature?"

Though I wanted to say "what the hell you know about it," I exercised my usual self-control. Yet, I thought that I should silence her with a word or two.

"If not, he would reject my loan application!"

"How can that be? Isn't it a funny? How could he do that? If you have submitted all relevant documents, he'll have to approve the loan." Though a filthy word came to my mouth, I held my tongue. I felt as if the entire body was shaking and the life was slipping away. Turning to the left, I wrapped myself in the bed-sheet.

Though I wanted to say; "That was during your father's and mother's time," I didn't break my silence.

"Please don't do that again," Shantha said rubbing over my chest with her cold fingers.

"Then, what would happen to our literature?"

"If not what would happen to us?" I told myself.

I thought that the clouds would have drifted away in the sky which was threatening to rain in the evening. That was because of the intensity of heat. Suddenly a lightning struck into the house and a fearful thunder burst out. The fan slowed its speed down like gasping the last breath because of the power shut down. Shantha's hand in the midst of a hot environment is a burden to my body and mind.

"It's so hot," I released myself from her. I felt extremely restless. Definitely the blood pressure would have either risen or dropped.

I find relief because of the gush of wind that comes in a second from the electric fan. Were my unpleasant thoughts drifted away with that wind? It is only at times of power shut down, that we realised the comforts that electricity would bring about for the mankind.

At the moment of it's becoming live again, how blissful we should feel?

Footnotes

Jathaka story - Story of a previous existence of The Buddha.

Kusa Jataka Kavyaya - This is a narrative poem by Alagiyawanna who lived in the Sitawaka period.

Kevum - A dark-brown coloured Sri Lankan rice flour oil cake with a prodding node in the centre resembling an ugly nose.