Garden of Eden

The Pearl of the Indian Ocean, the site of Adam's Eden, the source of gems for the Roman Emperors, a preaching post for Saint Paul and possibly Saint Thomas, the jewel in the crowns of three European empires, home to three earthly races and many mermaids - Lanka, Taprobane, Zeilan, Ceylon or finally and simply the resplendent land - SRI LANKA.

I am only one of the many to be attracted, fascinated and finally bewitched.

The first task that Gautama Buddha undertook after becoming the enlightened one was to teleport to the middle of this island to settle a conflict among the indigenous people and gift to the island the first of his relics - a great lock of his hair. This was the first of three flights he made here during his lifetime, so it was understandable that  the island became a bastion of Theravada buddhism that some call the Buddha's Buddhism.

Despite all the efforts of the saints - Gautama, Thomas, Paul and streams of proselytisers -Catholic, Dutch Reform, good old C of E and a highly respected clutch of Theosophists, the original spirit inhabitants still haunt the forests and frequently possess the villagers both old and young alike.

Perhaps it's no accident that the island is a busy intersection for spirit traffic. Carl Jung discovered that the point above our planet where birthing and departing souls manifest  is high above this sparkling island beacon. Perhaps Arthur C Clarke knew it as a worm hole and made Sri Lanka his home to be close to this entrance to the cosmos. 

Foreign visitors have been frequent - as it stands a gateway between the West and East. The sea lanes made it an inevitable resting place on the way to Cathay, the East Indies and Australasia. Visitors have been as famous as Ibn Battuta, Marco Polo, Sinbad, Vasco de Gama, Chang Ho, Mark Twain, Jung, Donald Friend or as little known as immigrants to Australia, like my grandmother on her way from Dublin, my great uncle on a troop ship, my great aunt on a nursing ship (both headed for Gallipoli), my mother's brother returning from his education and ordination in Rome and me - who first came by accident and returned again and again by impetuous intention.

On my frequent visits, I have taken photos, painted, jotted down impressions, recorded tales from friends and  tried to make my experiences of this land visible. This blog is my salute to this shining land.   

In the first century a.d. Roman cartographer Ptolemy here recorded the already well recognised shape of the island Taprobane in the Indicus Pelagus - the Indian Ocean. 

An early seventeenth century  map 1621 from Padua in Italy.

A NASA photograph of the island and its big sister India. Note the wavy white line joining the two countries. Made up of shoals and some say manmade extensions, was it once the land bridge used by Rama and his army of monkeys to invade Ravanna's kingdom and rescue his wife Sita?

Up country where the majority of tea plantation workers are Tamil, hindu temples are not infrequent, this small one remembers a very famous visitor - Rama - who came to Sri Lanka with his brother and his friend the monkey god Hannuman to rescue his wife Sita who was a captive of the evil Lanka King Ravanna. There are reminders of this visit in several places.

like the great profile of the face of Hannuman on the nearby mountain top.

...and the Hill in lofty Ella believed to be the site of Ravanna's palace and the prison cave where Sita was held captive. The cave is right between the teeth of the giant Hannuman profile on the left side of the mountain. Above is another giant  profile .... is it Ravanna's ? 

Rama embraces his friend and servant Hannuman after their defeat of the demon king Ravanna at his palace in Ella, high in the Sri Lankan mountains.

Extraordinary Kantava - Women of Sri Lanka

Anuradhapura Devi

Rose Bisawa

                                                                                                                                                             Golden Rajini                     

Sumanasaman Devotee

Amma of the Mountain

A Musical Mohinee

She’s a godess and she’s a devil - beautiful in white - sexually voracious - she tears the necks of her favourites. She loves to dance and is attracted by music - unfortunately for musicians.

Percy last saw his Uncle Ranaweera in 1965. He remembers him as being a real Singhalese person - very black. ‘Ranaweera’ means ‘expert warrior’ but it was an expert violin player that Uncle Ranaweera was.

In those days, before television and DJs had torn traditional life into shreds, villagers loved the Peduru Party. For occasions like engagements and weddings, mats were spread on the ground near the home of the celebrating family and local musicians were invited along. The villagers did not have to be invited, drawn by the sounds of violin, flute, raban (flat drum), mandolin and tamborine as the musicians improvised for hours in alternate waves of collaboration and competition. (Today young Sri Lankan rock musicians ‘jam’ together on the top floors of Maradena warehouses.) These proud old musicians never asked for money but expected generous amounts of toddy or arrack. It was not unusual for a household organising a Peduru Party to have 100 litres of toddy delivered for the evening event.

That evening as Uncle Ranaweera reached the decorated ‘Thorana’ gateway, that marked the path to the wedding house, he felt particularly thirsty. Tonight he would drink well and not just of the sweet oily toddy made from palm sap. He knew there would be arrack layed on by the doting father of the bride. His singing voice reached mesmeric heights after arrack and his virtuosity with the bow was never available to him sober. His famous trick of playing a frantic jig with the violin on his back, while sawing the strings with his bow arched over his shoulder, was best executed in a near trance induced by the strongest drink. He ambled expectantly down the track, carrying his violin and bow.

The party had gone well. The villagers had crowded in, not to see the bride and groom, but to enjoy the music. It was 2am and Uncle Ranaweera had a mind to return home to his wife. The bride’s father tried to dissuade him from the walk in pitch darkness through the jungle and past the cemetry. “Stay the night! “ they advised. But Uncle set out, weaving uncertainly, clutching his treasured fiddle and bow.

As he passed the cemetry, he saw a beautiful lady in a white sari on the path ahead. She asked him to play his violin for her. Uncle Ranaweera broke out in a cold sweat. He recognized her as Mohinee. Now she ordered him. “Play for me!”

He knew that once he started to pay, he would be unable to stop. If he did, the Mohinee would jump to his neck, tearing his throat with her clawing nails. He also knew that he couldnt refuse - alone in the dark jungle with the Mohinee.

Uncle started to play. The Mohinee began to dance. He was afraid to turn his back on the alluring spectre. So, playing wildly, he began walking backwards towards his home.

It was less than a mile through the jungle, but it felt like a hundred miles. Finally he sensed that he had reached his own front door. Stll the shimmering Mohinee danced before him. Still he played his frantic jig. What to do! He could not stop. He could not turn his back.

With the heel of one foot he clapped on the door loudly. His wife heard the music and the clamour. As she opend the door, Uncle Ranaweera made one desperate step backward, throwing the violin and bow at the dancing spectre, slamming and bolting the door of the house.

Warily peeping through the front window curtain, he could see his silent instrument lying in the dusty moonlight, but there was no sign of the Mohinee. She never troubled him again, not even after the wildest Peduru Party.

An Island is a body of Land surrounded by Water

The Sun sets over the Indian Ocean off Colombo

 Sunday crowds on Galle Face Green give the sun a frenzied farewell.

The same city of Galle  as approached by Chang Ho and Vasco de Gama

Boats for viewing coral reefs moored off Hikkaduwa

Sentinel rock guards the old city of Galle

The Crusoe story was modelled on Robert Knox a castaway on Ceylon in the 17th century. Thanks Terry for modelling for Crusoe on a Matara beach.

This islet called Taprobane was once the home of Paul Bowles. During last year's Galle Literary Festival I was among the guests who waded 200 yards through a waist high tide to an evening dinner entitled Sex in a Sarong to fete American author Candace Bushnell.

Another sunset over Galle Face Green

The Mango Tree

One evening Percy shared one of his stories.

When I was in the army, something happened very interesting. It was 1976 and Mrs Bandaranaike was our Prime Minister. When she went to other countries, always we had an Acing Prime Minister. His name was Mr Maitrhripala Senanayke. He was living in Colombo and at such times we gave him the guard - not only us but Airforce, Police, Navy and everybody.

One day when Mrs Bandaranaike left for another country, we wanted to give him the guard and everyday they sent to his house about twenty four soldiers from our regiment and one day they selected me to go there - me too.

Then I went therefore to guard.

That day was a very nice day - no rain -and my turn was at midnight - from 11oclock to 1oclock. At his house so many soldiers - maybe every twenty metres - one soldier, one airforce, one police around his house.

My guard commander said to me “Percy! You go from 11 o’clock to 1 o’clock as a sentry.” Then at night he relieved another soldier and I took my point. I had a helmet and 303 - No not a 303 but a SLR self loading rifle and full battle order kit.

Around his house there were so many flower bushes and from the flower bushes they made so many flood lights to the house. Then I took my point and I walked a little bit.

This house was very popular among the soldiers because there were three mango trees. Very excellent mango there - very small mangoes but sweet and every soldier know about this mango and how it tastes. When they go there to the guard however they liked to eat mango - they plucked them without permission and ate - very tasty.

My point was behind the house and under the mango tree. At that time was mango season and so many mangoes in the tree - thousand and thousand mangos I can see from the floodlight and also I knew how tasty - I tasted it before this mango.

When I went to my point - this house had three floors - on second floor I could see Acting Prime Minister reading the book..... just he had his PT vest and I could see his bust - only I could see his bust, the book, with the glasses and the light. But he cannot see what happened outside the house because the floodlight came from the bushes to the house. He cannot see outside but the soldiers can see everything what happens inside the house.

Maithripala Senanayke M.P. 

I was very lazy. My arc was about 30 metres to left and right and I walked with my gun. Also after a few minutes I got very thirsty when I saw the mango. I looked everywhere on the ground - maybe sometimes mango fell down and we could eat that. I couldn’t see any mango. Maybe the soldier before me he found it. About 5 or 6 metres off the ground there were so many mangoes. So many small bats come to the mango but they were never falling down.

I am looking everywhere between the trees. I didn’t guard - I looked between the bushes. I never cared about the Acting Prime Minister. Now I was only looking for mango. The Acting Prime Minister doesn’t know what I do. He thought I do 100% correct my duty. I couldn’t find any mango between the bushes, so I decided to pluck the mango, but I cannot. I am not tall enough. I looked for a stick. Very beautiful grounds - not like a forest - no stick. There were nice branches on the flower trees but I could not break them.

Then I was very sad because time was going so fast. One o’clock I had to remove from there. Now already 12.30 time and I was greedy to eat mango, so I am thinking what to do - I am planning.

Always when the bat came, I looked - but just mangoes shaking -never falling to the ground. I took my gun to down. On it was a half metre long bayonet. Before I removed the bayonet I tried to pluck the mango with my gun. I could not reach high enough . I cannot shoot to the mango bunch. I decided to remove the bayonet and throw it to the mango bunch. But I had to do it in only a very correct way because the Acting Prime Minister was only a few metres away, so I have to throw my correct shot.

So I removed the bayonet, which was about 750gm heavy and very sharp and very long. There was a very nice mango bunch of about 30 nice mangos. I decided to throw to the mango tree. I wanted to do it just one time. If it was a wrong shot, it must go straight near to the Prime Minister.

I threw the bayonet to the mango bunch. It was a miss. Directly it went to the window. Thrum thrum ta tum! Bayonet fell down to the verandah. The Acting PM heard it and he took off his glasses. He looked down, but he couldn't see anything because the floodlights came to the house and I was very afraid if he made a phone call to my regiment maybe I would go to the jail, because he can say one of the soldiers wanted to kill him.

Then I was very afraid now. I forgot all the mangoes. Now I am thinking how I could collect my bayonet before the guard commander came. I could see other soldiers, airforce and police are in a big hurry. I saw they looked everywhere for what had happened. I walked there like nothing happened. I walked like a cat. After a few minutes I went a secret way and collected my bayonet, fixed it back to my rifle and came to my point.

Then I heard the Acting Prime Minister - he had a servant his name Siri Pala - calling “Siri Pala! Siri Pala! There is a soldier downstairs there. You give him 10 mangos from the fridge.” Then after a few minutes Siri Pala came with cold fresh mangoes - 10 mangoes. And I ate very much - also I gave some to the next soldier.

Maithripala was a very good man. If something happened like this now, definitely I would have to go jail for ten years.

An Unforgettable story in my life.

Ancient Footprints

Prabhash and his wife Desika on the ceremonial approach to the Mahiyangana stupa

Mother and son do homage to the Buddha  at the Mahiyangana stupa covering the simple  mound containing the first Buddhist relic - the topknot of his hair given by his own hand when visiting the indigenous people of the area in 588 b.c.

Not large but containing the most convincing relic of the Buddha in the land, the Thuparama dagoba in Anuradhapura was built in the third century b.c. to house Lord Gautama's collarbone.

Glowing in the fire of setting sun and red clay, the Jetavanaramaya dagoba was constructed  c 380 b.c.

One of the purest forms in world architecture is the Ruvanveliseya Dagoba in the ancient city of Anuradhapura. It was raised by King Dhutgemenu in second century b.c. and, at over 100 metres in height, it stood as the highest man-made construction after the great pyramid until the erection of St Peter's dome in Rome almost two millennia later. An apocalyptic expectation about the dagoba has grown up and can be read on a stele in front of the stupa. ( see below) 

This prophecy on a stele in front of the great Ruvanveliseya Dagoba in Anuradhapura promises a little known resurrection and dissolution of the physical remains of the Buddha timed for for the year 5000 of the buddhist era. This is no resurrection but rather the end of the last vestiges of Buddhism on this planet and possibly the time of the birth of the Maitreya or next world teacher. For any Christian disappointed that a correlation with the Second Coming contradicts that the event is  imminent can take heart that the Buddha halved the 5000 year bid when he allowed women into the order, assuming that the dharma would be lost at twice the rate. For the pessimist and the sexist that puts the dissolution much closer. Approximately 2015 a.d. So good news for the fundamentalists and glum news for the rest of us.

Two women pilgrims make obeisance at the foot of the great Ruvanveliseya Dagoba, which was the scene of great thanksgiving prayers at the end of the Tamil conflict, particularly when triumphant President Rajapaksa was equated with the builder  King Dhutugemenu.

Subha saha Yasa

In the fifth century after the death of Lord Buddha in Sri Lanka's great city of Anuradhapura, King Yasalalaka found his life a little boring.

He had observed that the face of one of his servants - Subha the gatekeeper - bore a remarkable likeness to his own royal countenance. He decided it would be amusing to secretly arrange with the gatekeeper to change places with him for a few days. Subha agreed to dress in the King's clothes and sit on the golden throne, while Yasa would happily act as gatekeeper and, from this humble vantage point, be able to observe how people behaved publicly and privately towards the king.

The first two days went well. Subha carried off the charade with amazing skill - sitting proudly in the King's magnificaent dress; holding his head askew and nodding gravely to the comments and requests from courtiers and ambassadors.

Yasa was particularly amused by the moments of obeisance, when all gathered before the throne fell prostate, clasping their hands above their heads and murmuring the traditional address “Paswan Dahasakata Buduwanda Devayanwahansa!” It was clear to him that no one, not even his oldest Ministers, suspected anything.

It was on the third day that things went horribly wrong. Watching the morning obeisance from his gate-keeper’s post at the back of the throne room, Yasa could no longer hide his amusement as the ceremony began. Seeing the lowly gate-keeper Subha proudly presiding over a room full of ministers and courtiers lying face-down on the floor, Yasa began to laugh.

As gate-keeper, his role required that, even when the court fell to the floor, he must stand tall at his post, clasping his spear and looking firmly ahead. Unfortunately for Yasa his laughter was clearly visible to Subha and the first row of prone ministers.

Subha leapt to his feet in a display of his recently acquired royal anger. “See that gate-keeper!” he shouted. “How he insults me with his insolent laughter. Take him out and kill him!”

They carried out his orders swiftly. The jeers of the onlookers masked the ranting of the poor demented gate-keeper. Something about his crazy fantasy that he was no gate-keeper but really the King.That brought a great deal of laughter from the front row of the crowd who overheard it. Then it was over.

Subha ruled quite well for a further eight years and most historians agree that he was a good and wise ruler.

asa

Fleeting Glances

The Seeker

Malu Man

Kissin' Cousins

Castor and Pollux in their chariots

Charioteer

Two monks and an aspirant

the traveller

Sadness at Remuna

"Why do the sensitive ones leave us so soon!" said the white banner. White flags and white paper ribbons curled along the road edge leading from the very public grave beside Kalutara Road to the privacy of his own family home.

Pavanna had been taken in the midst of laughter at the party. His shocked companions watched him fall back in his chair to the floor - dead.

Pavanna heard the sobbing close at hand; then later murmuring of two or three close friends who stayed by the grave into the night; finally alone except for the sound of motorbikes or the occasional three wheelers on Kalutara Road.

Is that a jackal howl that set the local dogs to barking? Pavanna can recognise his own dog Bala in the agitated chorus.

His original reaction to the party chair incident had been one of surprise. That had given way to a calm resignation. Now he did not feel more alone than usual.He realised that he had always been alone. Rheumatic fever at the age of fifteen was followed by isolation from his peers. An only son, there had been his Amma's warnings. "Don't run! Don't join in the sport!" Leaving home alone early each morning so as not to tax his young body with a hurried walk to school with his class-mates.

He felt a small twinge of regret though, about leaving his mother, so suddenly and without any goodbyes. He imagined how, had this journey been like any other journey, he would have readied up in his best kit and then she would have waited for him at the door - waiting for his parting obeisance. He would have bowed to her with clasped hands and would she have responded as she sometimes did, by clasping his hands and kissing him tenderly on the forehead? Now he remembered those fleeting kisses as the only tender kisses he had ever received.

At fifteen there had been awkward, giggling moments with village girls and a particular girl who had for months waited after school to let him walk her home to her house only ten doors from his, but there had only been some timid hand-holding.

At twenty, after memories of five years of injections had faded and unfamiliar feelings of health and virility stirred, he wondered whether he might make some more serious advances. It was then, that early one Sunday morning he heard of serious party preparations ten doors away from his home. That evening would be the farewell party for the young lady who had waited so patiently for him each afternoon after school. She had obtained a position as house-maid in Oman. His mother's chaste kisses remained his only experience of intimacy. Yes, it was sadness now that he felt for not taking farewell of his mother in the usual way.

The sounds from Kalutara Road became infrequent and there was a gentle thrumming of midnight storm rain on the earth above. Acceptance, relief and peace followed fast upon the other.

How clearly he saw that there was nothing to be done. That realisation dissolved into a deep sense of relief. He had now to do nothing more. There were no further expectations to be met. Family and friends had all returned home and expected nothing more from him.

There were no more tasks to be carried out; no more visits to be made to relatives; no more essays to be written for teachers; no more smiles to be maintained at parties; no more endless rounds of the Bo Tree bearing water pots. Others would slake the eternal thirst of the sacred leaves. All duties were at an end.

But relief was not enough - it was changing - transforming - the empty darkness was beginning to glow with a warm comforting light. There was no need to name this unfamiliar new experience. He knew that it was Peace.

So it had been here all along waiting for him. How often he had prayed for it; sat stiffly in bhawana to find it; read in newspapers how it would be won after just one more advance by the Armed Forces or after one more round of peace talks. How many friends had been killed in the struggle for it - victims of bombs on buses, of bullets in Jaffna, of internecine purges in the night? Yet here it was - unmistakable, fulfilling Peace. He knew he would never leave it. It would never leave him.

Dawn broke above, in the world of struggle and strife. A rooster crowed and the first three

wheelers of the new day sputtered along Kalutara Road. Pavanna did not hear them.