Battle of Waterloo and the Dasa Maha Yodayas

by Padma EDIRISINGHE

The colonial system of education almost imprisoned us within an unfamiliar Western world. That made the Battle of Waterloo more familiar than the valiant campaigns of Parakramabahu the Great where women unabashedly went along with warriors to nurse them.

With all due courtesy to Florence Nightingale who says the nursing profession began in Europe? Any entrancing stuff like this on the native land, I have only garnered after my post formal education.

Anyway, the memories of the famous Waterloo battle that rang the death knell of Napolean might way back in 1815 raked up the writer’s memories by a recent photograph showing the new French President ‘being dwarfed’ by a British Regiment called the Coldstream Guards on his first State visit to Britain this year.

And the Gallic leader in addition to the shame his race suffered at Waterloo is said to suffer another shame as he makes his way among the very tall British guards.

The novice that I am, this is the first time that I read about height denoting a statesman’s degree of dignity. I think the islanders of Paradise Regained cared the least about it for we have a saying in our villages, Athi Deergomaha murgho, (the more long the more foolish).

Of course, we had our adulation of the Dasa Maha Yodayas, who served king Dutugemunu. They were very tall and sturdy.

And in their young days the parents when going out had tied them to coconut trees to prevent them committing devastating mischief in the neighbourhood. But lo and behold, when the parents were returning they saw their kids along the roads carrying the tall coconut trees and frisking.

Combat

News of the feats spread making the far seeing king Kavantissa summon them to the palace to be trained for the likely combat between his son and those of the North. However, when the time came (still BC era) each of the ten giants played their role so well that the task of conquest by the “Sinhala Sangha“ was accomplished. Sinhala Sangha? Actually it emerges by this name almost during the latter part of the Kotte period, reacting against the growing affinity between Sapumal Kumaraya and Jaffna.

A legend even surfaced that he was the son of Panikki, Tamil officer in the Kotte Court. The son accompanying the father to the palace became the pet of Parakramabahu VI and was allowed to grow up as his own son. This is the history that should be raked up for the task of “National reconciliation”. Jackson Anthony should be encouraged to make a film portraying little Sapumal, son of Tamil Panikki, cradling in Sinhala Parakramabahu’s arms. What amity!

What love overriding the grim barriers of race and religion. But as the boy grows up the king slowly poisons his adopted son’s ears by telling him that Jaffna, Panikki’s native land should be conquered and so, it is done. Sapumal emerges the deified hero.

However, things do not go smoothly and the patriots including Lanka’s greatest Bhikkhu poet, Ven. Sri Rahula form the Sinhala Sangha after Sapumal becomes king of Kotte. In fact, the Bhikkhu himself flees from Kotte and makes Thotagamuwa his headquarters to wage the battle better. He begins to be called Thotagamuwe Sri Rahula Himi.

Colonialism

The West has been bitterly bludgeoned about the spectre of colonialism; but I cannot forget the Ministry officer, who once during pre-independence celebrations of the late 1980s (when Isuru Paya had just vacated the earlier Military Barracks and withdrawn to the rustic village of Pelawatte) murmured to me, ”Padma, true to my heart I cannot fall in with all these victory celebrations though I am Sinhala and Buddhist and my grandfather had brass buttons on his Jagalettu.

How could we have got all these roads and high rise buildings like Isuru Paya if the Suddhas did not come?”

Sh!Sh! I tried to silence her and stop her treachery on a sacred day as this by a short cut, “See. Thailand. Minus the blessed colonialism it has all this”. The celebrations were over but Pragnalatha, granddaughter of a Mudaliyar of the South pursued me to my seat..(Poor dear, she so fond of me is now dead and gone).

“I was thinking of what you said Thailand I mean. How did they become so clever minus colonial aid and they are so short”.

“I have not noticed that about the Thais and it is not nice to make personal observations like this.” I wished to get rid of her as my table was full of unattended files due to many coming to ask me about this and that about the by—gone days. Not that I minded. In fact only yesterday at an alms-giving an old colleague introduced me to his wife, “It was she who informed us that when people approached Rasingh deiyo for a favour they introduced themselves as Balugaththo, Here is Your dog, your Highness”.

Coming back to my friend, Pragnalatha she went on.

“But I read that Burma is refusing entry to a certain tribe because they are ugly and short“.

Telescoping into the future, I added like an ‘Anjanam Eli Karaya’ prying years ahead “I see in the future that our statesmen will never be dwarfed by anybody....They will be standing neck to neck even with the tallest. Their moustaches will bristle defiant challenging even the Mara Sena for during the coming decades, that is the 90s they will be going through hell’s fires, the bitter trauma strengthening them.

Unlike Sarkozy, the predecessor of Hollande they need not stand on wooden boxes or stand on tip toe or wear stacked heels borrowed from their wives”.

A Ministry boss returning from the celebrations passed by along the corridor of our office room.

”Gossiping on pre-Independence Day out of all days! How do you expect the land to prosper with everyone having a merry time!” he stopped and bawled.

I felt somebody crawling between my legs, Pragnalatha, my friend had vanished between them. My 5’ 3” would not have allowed that trick that five footed Pragnalatha did to avoid a disciplinary note. Shortness and dimunitive size do pay almost as the “longness” and gigantism. But athi Dheergo maha murgho too pays.