It’s been ages. Haven't talked or written to my Uncle for a while. He is domiciled in Australia now. I remembered him over something three months back.
Anyway, I will dispatch my virgin feelings over a little trip I made recently. Uncle always fondly remembers his childhood home in Polonnaruwa. He grew with those tender winds that brushed the lush greenery and cultivated fields. There was sun, more gorgeous, dark reddened and perfectly round when it sank down the Buddha statues, made of kirigarunda that stood far away touching the sky.He was lucky. But some things will surprise him.
The scorching April sun made me sweat, wetting my t shirt. We stopped at a little shop for tea. Mudalali discerned that we were from Colombo. He claimed that the temperature was 40 Celsius just two days before we’ve arrived to Polonnaruwa. He was disturbed by the weather. He wept over the wild animals and even those rabbits who die without water. Even the waters in Minneriya have gone. Almost sucked up by the blazing sun. Flowers have turned black. They ‘ve got burnt. Only if Mahasen knew their pleadings for rain. In least if Bodhisattva knew a medicine to heal the starving stomachs. We are blessed to have been born and brought up in towns, nurtured with all facilities. They are unfed . Dryness is running over the rocks standing against the Parakrama Samudra. Brownish and clumsy. There is life simple. Nothing too tight to cling, so they aren't loss of anything.
A dramatic change has taken place in Gal viharaya . The “sathapena pilimaya “is different from what I saw in “Gal pilimaya saha bol pilimaya”.There’s no sunlight shedding on the stone , making its dim spots glow in the heat of rays. Those red brick walls are replaced by cement tables to offer flowers. Even a sophisticated white ceiling is coming above them. They say it’s to prevent the statue getting wet from rain. It is terribly becoming artificial. The ancientness is gone. When will the modern man reconcile with history? Even trying to stop nature. The flowers were rotten . Probably those ones which were offered the previous day. There was no care taker to clean the dirt. Not even the visitors bothered to. I was taken back to Uparis in Gal pilimaya saha bol pilimaya, the trustee care taker of Gal vihara who bestowed his duty day and night, considering it as dewa rajakariya. We don’t see men like Uparis today. Regrettably, Uparis effort and hard work was useless when people started worshipping the fake statue which looked more elegant than the original, even those days. The transition in thoughts are clear. So even today what matters is some gold polished, neat looking, carefully crafted thing .Whitewashed shrines and buildings. No single scratch or a patch they would call beautiful. We run behind flowery and the synthetic. We happily greet the mockery. Are we that foolish to spurn the existence? It’s a shame.
We should worry ourselves to be called “Buddhists”. The Department of Archeology once exclaimed that 66 military personnel, 34 Buddhist priests and 30 odd Police STF members were caught for stealing Buddha statues and even the deities. Robbers are cracking open moonstones. They are taken to England. What shall we call as our past? Is there anything left for us to see? We are inviting ourselves into Hell. In a country where “Addinnadana “is preached and chanted every morning and night, this is what happens. We should kick our buts for hearing them.
There is very little people who love this country . A little who treasure and talk proud of history. The majority are giunea pigs, trying to grab every buck into their pockets. They know how well to grin at others when the faults are within themselves.
Times have changed a lot. Even history is been altered with the very artifacts. We are been beguiled.
Things are different now, uncle. I’m forloned.
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