Agni Chakra (Chapter 6)

By Kathleen Jayawardena

Translated by Ranga Chandrarathne and Edited by Indeewara Thilakarathne

Shantha remained stunned before the Vijoyothpaya. In the same bewildered manner, she fixed on the remnants of the Lankatilaka Vihara. It was not a pleasant idea to see that she was virtually stranded among remnants overwhelmed by patriotism.

"Marvelous!"

"Was it ironically that Shantha said so looking at me? Did she take me for a foreigner? Didn't she know my indifferent attitude towards notions such as nationality and national identity?"

"What has become of us, now, who performed such miracles in the 12th century!"

Silently I followed her. I thought it was neither the time nor the place to start a debate. We walked forward trampling the ancient heritage.

"This is called Baddhasima Prasada . This is the Uposhathagara of Alahana Pirivena. The king Parakkramabahu constructed this twelve storied building"

How Shantha listened with great enthusiasm to a description by a guide /buffoon with a crafty face fanning the narrow racism?

"Let us have a bath in the Parakrama Samudra!", I whispered Shantha. With astonishment, Shantha looked at me. I thought that my sarcasm was written over the face. It was because of that her bewildered eyes looked pleading.

"Please, shall we see these remnants too, and then go for a bath? If we are to go to the Parakrama Samudra, we will have to pass the Circuit Bungalow…."

'Why do you want to dig up history so much', though I wanted to ask her though I remained silent. She should be allowed to enjoy the rare opportunity. It was the sense of utter disgust about Sitara's company which generated sympathetic feelings in me towards Shantha. The closure of the university following students' clashes would also prompt me for it.

Was it because I had no such happy past that I consider harping on the glory of history as malady? I had no intention at all to look back on that history which was locked up fast. I considered it as a futile and time-consuming exercise. My ears and eyes were always fixed on tomorrow. The questions such as 'what is the absolute end of the life?', 'where is it?' as well as 'the religious dogmas that teach the path for that' were alien to me. Was it not that some religious and moral notions were made out of conventions and traditions that were made during the evolution and adaptation of man to the environment? I believed that notions of good and bad as well as ethics were made against man's natural tendency towards evil and because of fear of hell. Ethics could not have been anything but a set of symbols in the language.

The Bhagavath Geetha which advocates that 'non-violence' is the foremost ethic among all ethics, extols the violence perpetrated by a Brahmin in a war. What is implied by stressing that sin could not be caused by waging a war with indifference to suffering, profit and loss, victory and defeat and that the dying Brahmin would be born in heaven? Aren't there such contradictions in all religions?

Freud said 'Religion springs from deeds in the mind'. 'Man's supreme happiness is to explore the truth with insightful mind', though Aristotle and Plato said is somewhat incomprehensible for me. That's there is no finite interpretation for 'truth'. I like Epicurus's definition of truth which says that ' supreme bliss is happiness'. Happiness comes through physical and mental satisfaction when material needs are fulfilled? I don't believe that there is a soul without a body. If I am not the one who would enjoy luxuries in heaven or suffer in hell, why should I bother about it?

"If you don't like the ruins, we could have gone to Nuwara Eliya or any other place", Shantha said as soon as she entered the room in the Circuit Bungalow. She spoke in a tiresome tone and was in a weary mood. It reminded me of the melancholy look on her face when she was looking at the reclining Buddha in Galvihara. It was certain that she was tired not because she walked a lot around watching ruins.

"Who told you that I liked watching ruins? ", I asked with a smile.

"I thought you would. None told me"

"I like watching ruins. But it is from a historical and archeological point of view and not to repent on the lost glory".

Shantha who was engrossed in thinking looked at me, showing that she was making a genuine attempt at understanding me. I had respect for her because it reaffirmed my potential of putting across my ideas in society.

"On the way, we could go through Nuwara Eliya", I said.

"Can't we go through Talawakele?"

"Why?"

"Is the servant girl of whom your friend Kalinga spoke, in Talawakele?"

"She is in Lindula. I have the address and we can visit her"

It had been a long time that I felt the need for a domestic aide for Shantha. Kalinga told me that I could find a servant girl for lesser pay from the hill country. I knew that he could do it easily as he frequented the hill country in order to muster estate labourers' support for a leftist political alliance. The other day Kalinga told me that a daughter of a woman who committed suicide by pouring kerosene on herself, had been looking for employment. As soon as we stepped onto the gloomy 'lined room', it was clear for us that it was not the immature girl who wanted employment but her drunkard/ scavenger father.

The monsoon rain poured down while we were passing through the tea estates in Talawakele. Though Shantha told me how comfortable the cool temperature in Talawakele was compared to the unbearable heat in Polonnaruwa, the body shivering from the cold warmed up my heart.

I considered Senthamare, with a beautiful face and red limps, as a coincidence of nature.

"How can we get her to work", Shantha whispered.

"It's ok, we will take her home", I said.

"Leaving the child here causes more harm than taking her home"

Shantha agreed to take the girl home after I said so. We got the girl into our custody after paying a sum of Rs.500 to the zombie like labourer/scavenger. On the way, I wondered several times how a red rose which was well nurtured in the botanical garden of Haggala emerge from a 'lined room'.

I thought how prudent it was to bring Santhamara home as Shantha's mother died after couple of days. I too, was worried a bit bout Shantha's shock and grief at the sudden death of her mother. I knew that she was thoroughly disappointed. But what could I do? I could not go against my will to devote time for Shantha. There were instances where I felt that I had shirked my responsibilities towards her. But is it possible for me to do more for her? Was there such an interest and enthusiasm in me?

The death of Shantha's mother brought me neither happiness nor a great sorrow. Once in a way, I felt sad and the loss of melodious music. There were instances when I was engaged in an academic exercise at the study in a cold night, songs such as Kokilayange Kokilanade or Rella Nagenne reverberating in the air, brought about a soothing effect on me. But it was nuisance for me to bear up the noisy sermons on radio that virtually shook the walls and split the ear drums.

Some of the facts that monks emphasised would make me confused:

Blameless power…?

Blameless pleasure …?

Shantha's mother increased the volume of the radio without knowing that it would be a nuisance for me and that it would confuse me. But it gave me the impression that she did that deliberately to trouble me or to harass me. Sunday mornings, I would go out on the pretext of buying weekend papers and then would go to the beach near the railway station in Dehiwala and would spend the time enjoying the cold sea breeze. I’d come back home only after the Buddhist sermon on the radio was over.

Was listening to Buddhist sermons harmful only to those who are engaged in secret mental and physical activities?

Footnotes:

Uposhothagara: Congrigation Hall

'line room'- shabby living quarters built in a raw for labourers in Tea Estate in hill country.