The study of four subjects at 'A' Level (the mandarins argue) is inordinately stressful to the late adolescent coping with the myriad problems attending his metamorphosis to adult life. Moreover, the acquisition of knowledge is very close to a zero-sum game. If too much academic stuff is rammed into a brain of finite capacity, there is no room for the finer things in life - such activities as ball-games, singing, dancing etc.

We currently witness a flurry of activity on the part of those whose hands are on the levers of power in the Educational Establishment. Massively disenchanted with the state of affairs that prevail in the senior levels of our state secondary schools, there is a thrashing about - it would not be inappropriate to call it a witch-hunt - to discover the causus belli or the root of discontent in matters educational. It will be recalled that when the new dispensation took over a few years back, the sanguine expectation was that an aggrieved population of teachers would be transformed into eager workaholics by the simple expedient of doubling their salaries. The sad fact - belatedly acknowledged by those in power - is that money alone cannot power a revolution. The teachers may be a happier lot but the seemingly inexorable rot continues.

It is not this aspect of a horrendously difficult problem that will be the focus of attention in this brief article. Lately,learned mandarins of the administrative hierarchy who are comfortably placed close to the ministerial ear have made a major discovery - one which (in their view) bears powerfully on the discontents that have plagued our schools and harried our political leadership. The discovery has its observational base in the diagnosis of 'Academic Fatigue' - and the associated 'Cramming Syndrome' - as the widespread malaise that lays low the student body and destroys the operational efficiency of our schools. A coterie of educational purists also regard these 'aberrations' as an affront to the Old World standards that regulated education in the days of yore. Let us consider some of these matters serially.

Academic fatigue and the overstuffed brain

The study of four subjects at 'A' Level (the mandarins argue) is inordinately stressful to the late adolescent coping with the myriad problems attending his metamorphosis to adult life. Moreover, the acquisition of knowledge is very close to a zero-sum game. If too much academic stuff is rammed into a brain of finite capacity, there is no room for the finer things in life - such activities as ball-games, singing, dancing etc.

This stupid thesis is not the exclusive brainchild of the bureaucratic wing of the Ministry - it is also the favourite theme-song of a motley collection of principals of our leading schools. To mix metaphors, it is the favourite hobbyhorse they love to ride on grand public occasions. The old adage, 'all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy' is transmogrified into a novel principle of limitation of brain activity. Like the warning on cigarette packets, these worthy souls would like to emblazon a scholastic caveat - 'too much study can damage your cerebral processor'!

Less facetiously, must we not condemn unreservedly this foolish attempt to molly-coddle our students? Hard academic work for those with a penchant for study is a species of contemplation. Far from damaging the brain, it is a sure method of enhancing its future performance. What fatigues is the body and it is certainly true that efficient brain operation is undermined and even completely subverted by a physically stressed body. There is widespread acceptance that today's student teenager teeters at the edge of operational efficiency. But, what is the cause of this unfortunate situation? The study of four tough subjects? This is arrant rubbish.

It is the tedious and nerve-sapping travel, the incarceration for many hours in cattle-shed class-rooms, the noise and disorder of a scholastic environment that actually hinders study and the need to 'double-up' with private tutors to meet the shortfall in the work done in the mainstream schools. These are the factors that make study for public examinations in Sri Lanka a perilous misfortune. One shudders to think of lessons conducted at 95 F and nearly 100% relative humidity in those tormented hellholes that pass for classrooms in the poor schools of our country.

The cramming syndrome
It is widely believed that 'cramming' - the large-scale intake of information for regurgitation at examinations - is a pernicious activity that undercuts the true spirit of education. This silly attitude does not bear examination. All tests are, in a sense, tests of memory. Memory of facts, memory of relations, of procedures and of patterns. Those who sneer at this activity as in some esoteric sense undignified and a betrayal of true education are living in cloud-cuckoo land where a divine dialectic replaces humdrum learning and testing.

This point is made because there is a tendency among some pundits to dismiss exam-based academic achievement as the upshot of mere cramming. As a corollary, it is stated that 'A' level achivements in four subjects has a diminished worth as it is a test of 'cramming powers' rather than of intrinsic intellectual excellence. Hence the current impulsion to reduce the number of subjects and to foist a different kind of examination in which the rote-learner is disadvantaged.

Despite grave reservations on this issue, it can be conceded that versatility of testing and assessment is intrinsically good. The difficulty is that the cart is put before the horse. Such IQ and General Intelligence tests must be carried out before the student opts for higher education - before admission to the 'A' level stream in our secondary schools. The facile assumption of some of our top adminsitrators is that higher education starts at university level. This is an outlandish error. Higher education has initiation and first development when the best in our schools choose to do specialised academic work in the closing years of their scholastic career. Restrictions (through exam-results and IQ tests) must apply at this critical point in the life of the student. The deplorable failure rate we witness and also the bloating of the 'A' level classes with misfits is the direct result of this omission. Having a species of extra-curricular and general testing after the 'A' levels is padagogically questionable - except as a covert device to curtail numbers admitted to our universities. Moreover, these so-called 'Intelligence Tests' are tests for the prepared, especially at adult level. The urban upper class may welcome this move.

Is there A Level playing-field?
Among the multitudinous obstacles confronting our students, perhaps the unkindest is the absence of A level playing field for candidates preparing for the 'A' level examiantions. Let us clear away a source of confusion - it is not the standardisation of marks that is pilloried. The statistical correction of crude frequency distributions to annual examiner-bias, regional iniquities etc. is a scientific procedure of high validity. The obnoxious aspect referred to is the head start that the resource-rich and the privileged have in the race to obtain the best 'A' level results. This is possible because of the lack of syllabus certified texts in the national languages.

As things are, the 'A' level examiners are like the shadowy figures projected on the wall in the Platonic Allegory of the Cave. The poor student has to rely on ill-written notes, the 'obiter dicta' of tuition masters and the esoteric knowledge of so-called 'Marking Examiners'. The last-mentioned assume an especially importance because the way of the examiner is idiosyncratic and the lineament of his correctional data-base unknown except to the favoured few. This ridiculous system has survived for so long because of the obtuseness and low intelligence of well-paid administrators.

Is it surprising that the harried student (and his anxious parents) feel mounting frustration and anger? A student preparing for a foreign examination in the alien language of our erstwhile ruler has a thousand texts to help him. He need not run after an 'ambattaya' who is privy to the thoughts and styles of the examiner-in-charge. Moreover, the format of the question paper and the range of the subject matter tested is subject to rigid control and has a year-by year reliability that is heartening to the pupil. Alas, the opposite is the case in the ancient land of Sri Lanka. Additional to battling with the intricacies of the subject matter, our poor students must cope with the uncharted psyche of capricious examiners.

Syllabus autarchy and its perils
If one is permitted to use the currently fasionable jargon borrowed from computer science, the terms 'software' and 'hardware' have a very useful application in characterising the architectonics of our school system. The buildings, facilities, teaching-staff etc. constitute (figuratively) a machine or hardware that executes the software or teaching-programmes. What is so killingly inefficient is that the same software is fed into schools as dissimilar as the sun and the moon. It is a fact of life that children differ markedly in academic ability. So do schools in regard to felicity of location, wealth and social standing of its student clientele and the collective ability of its tutorial staff. Such huge differences notwithstanding, a kind of 'standard software' is fed autarchically to all 'teaching machines' in this troubled island.

Against this background, let us glance at some of the new 'A' level programmes. All pre-medical students will, by diktat of the central planner, be forced to offer physics, chemistry and biology. While this is an excellent combination, must all would-be doctors of this country offer this triad of subjects for their 'A' levels? An island so redolent of the countryside and famed for the luxuriance of its flora will turn away from the study of botany in its high-schools. This is the one subject where observational, experimental and anatomical study can be fruitfully carried out in even the remotest hamlet. Our plea is for academic diversity. Mathematics is a vital subject for medical researchers. The door should be open for some schools to have a four-subject option, for example, mathematics, physics, zoology and chemistry. The same arguments apply, mutatis mutandis, for the engineering stream. Few frontline engineers get near an engine these days and the insistence of physics, mechanics and the calculus is a hangover from the classical phase of engineering. Today, systems ecology, economics and even business management are prime requisites for the high flyers in engineering.

These details should not divert us from our central message: the monolithic control of the pattern of education by a coterie at the top is narrowing opportunities and blunting the quality of those who pass out of our educational institutions. Indeed, there is a cruel paradox here. The state schools ossify by the unflinching application of rules that stymie free expression of the genius of both teacher and student. Yet, outside the state school system, 'Educational Mudadalis' are allowed the fabled freedom of wild ass. A Sinhala child can be taught in English, purged of all feelings for his nation and race and thereby transformed into an ape (one who mimics or apes) mouthing the shibboleths of an alien culture. This dire transformation is not merely allowed - it is sanctified through example set by some of the highest in the land.

Conclusion
Consider the following descriptive outline of an academic scenario that is both rational and evidence-based. The emphasis is on that vital interface between school and university. The major restriction to advanced academic and professional study is made operative immediately after the 'O' levels. It is a disaster that tens of thousands of students waste three years in a futile attempt to obtain a third-rate degree from one of our storm-tossed universities. The vast bulk of these unfortunates must be diverted, directly after the 'O' levels to trade schools and polytechnics. The state must play a commanding role in the establishment of these vital organs of post-secondary education in every town and villege in Sri Lanka. Resources currently wasted in our 'A' level enterprise must be largely diverted to nourish the trade schools and polytechnics.

There remains the minority willing and able to devote close upon ten years of their brief life to hard academic and professional work - the worth of which is, in many instances, questionable. Nevertheless, this academic elite has showpiece value and we must see that the foundations of advanced study is as broadbased (and as demanding) as we can make it, given the constraints of time and the availability of teachers.

From time to time we hear people ask the familiar question 'What happens next-after Nibbana? Is it the end? Do we live or do we cease to live?'

Many attempts have been made to define Nibbana, but they have all turned out to be futile. Why is this? It is because Nibbana is not something to be talked about. It is because, Nibbana is essentially something to be realized. Indeed Nibbana is atakkavacara, not within the scope of logic because it is a supramundane state, and logic deals only with mundane thinking. We can, therefore, describe Nibbana only in negative terms. And we usually, say, that it is not this, and not that. However, Nibbana is not anything that can be named or anything to which a form can be assigned. It is beyond all names because it is without form. It is generally a fact that something unknown has to be explained in relation to some other thing that is known. Nibbana is something quite unknown to the ordinary mind - to the man of the world, and all our attempts to explain Nibbana in language familiar to him are bound to fail. For Nibbana is nothing worldly. In fact, Nibbana is just the opposite.

We cannot, therefore, equate empirical terms and say that Nibbana is similar to this or similar to that, as we could do in describing, say a tiger, by saying that it is similar to a cat. What do we do then? We do the next best thing: we negate empirical terms and do the explaining. That is why various descriptions have been resorted to by expositors who could not possibly equate Nibbana to any known worldly term. As such, with the mundane knowledge we possess, the easiest way to understand the supramundane state of Nibbana, that ultimate state of human endeavour and struggling, is to use negative terms in describing it. There is no other way out of the dilemma.

Just as we would explain light by saying that it is the absence of darkness, even so do we worldlings say that Nibbana is the absence of Samsara. And also just as light is absence of darkness plus something, so too Nibbana is the absence of Samsara plus something. However, some people imagine that Nibbana is a state of nothingness. Their views falling to the category of Uccheda-Ditthi or Nihilism - one of the false theorising. Nibbana is not complete annihilation, as these folk, believe. For could we think that the Buddha would have renounced the opportunity to reign over a people in the best traditions of a Cakkavatti King (Universal Monarch) as was foretold by the great Rishis who were summoned to his cradle at his birth, if Nibbana was Annihilation?

Would he have left wife and child, kinsmen and kinswomen, and the comforts of a princely life, in the search of what some people erroneously believe is Nothing? It is hardly likely that he would have done such a thing. Indeed, would the Buddha have devoted forty five years of his life, striving to lead his followers to a state of sheer Nothingness? It is only because words are inadequate to explain the supramundane in terms of the mundane that people come to such false conclusions. That is the reason: that is our trouble. For, the human mind always year's for concepts, as a result of craving for Ideas. And, when, as worldlings, we cannot conceive the supramundane state by our ordinary mind, we conclude that state must be Nothing.

We, the ordinary folk, need not be surprised that we are like this, for even great scholars, distinguished for their erudition, like Oldenberg and Dahlke, seem to have conceived Nibbana in this negative way, though, of course, with a difference. They do not assert that Nibbana is absolute extinction. Thus, when Dahlke in his 'Buddhist Essays' says 'only in Buddhism does the conception of freedom from pain remain purely a negative thing, and not a positive in disguise - a heavenly bliss'. He does not imply that Nibbana is utter and total extinction, for when the scorching fires of greed, hatred and ignorance are extinguished there arises the serene and tranquil state personified in the Arahat who exclaims 'Aho Sukkam', a paean of joy.

There are also others who believe that Nibbana is existence - a sort of Eternalism. This too is another false view - Sassata ditthi. Because Nibbana lies totally beyond existence and non-existence which two aspects are conditioned and relative, one cannot therefore say that Nibbana is conditioned. Nibbana is unconditioned, absolute, and cannot be described as existence or as non-existence, Nibbana merely Is. 'There is," says the Buddha in the Udana, 'where there is neither earth nor water, fire nor air, neither this world nor any other neither sun nor moon. That, I declare to you, is neither a coming nor a going, neither a standing still nor an arising. Without beginning without succession, without maintenance is this: it is the ending of Dukkha. That is Nibbana.'

Again, in the Udana, the Blessed One says: 'Monks, there is an unborn, unmade, unoriginated, and unformed. Were there not such a state, there would be no escape from that which is born, made, originated and formed. Since, Monks, there is this state of the unborn... There is an escape from the born, made, originated and formed.'

'For a proper understanding of this goal, the realizing of the truth of the impersonality and emptiness of all forms of existence remains an indispensable preliminary condition, without which, according to one's personal materialistic or metaphysical leaning, one will necessarily consider Nibbana either as annihilation of the ego or as an eternal state of existence into which the ego enters.'

When we too have attained that supramundane state, and realised the truth for ourselves, all the quibbles and dialectics of human thought will vanish once and for all.

For -

'When in deep, silent hours of thought,
To the Truth the holy sage attains;
Then is he free from joy and pain,
From the form and the formless.
Where water, earth, heat, air, no footing found,
There burns no lighting stars, nor shines the sun,
The moon sheds not her radiant beams,
But the home of darkness is not there.'
(Udana)

When asked whether the Thathagata exists or does not exist after the Parinibbana, the Blessed one replied: 'After Parinibbana, the Thathagata cannot be said to exist; neither does He not exist. Nor does He both exist and not exist, nor does he neither exist nor not exist.'

We see from this that both existence and non-existence, and in fact all entanglements of these associated ideas, being phenomenal, are unreal mere concepts. The point of the Buddha's teachings is to do away with all concepts, for views, concepts (Ditthi) have nothing to do with what is real. 'I have no theories. I have reached the Further Shore', The Buddha said on another occasion. To think on whether Buddhas or Arahats exist or not after Parinibbana, is mere idle speculation. Vacchagotta, the wandering ascetic asked a similar question. The dialogue between him and the Buddha makes the point even clearer.

'Where, Master Gothama' says Vacchagotta, 'will the Perfect One be reborn?'

'That he will be reborn, I did not teach' says the Buddha.

'Then will he not be reborn?' says Vacchagotta.

'That also, I did not teach' says the Buddha.

'Then, he will perhaps be neither reborn nor not reborn?' says Vacchagotta.

'That also I did not teach,' says the Buddha.

'But to all my questions, Master Gothama you give the same answer, that you did not teach so. I have now become bewildered and perplexed. What at former discussions with the Master Gothama I had gained confidence, that has now vanished in me.'

'Now, enough of your bewilderment and perplexity!' said the Buddha. 'Profound indeed is this Doctrine, Vaccha, difficult to perceive, difficult to understand, peace bestowing, sublime, inaccessible to logical thinking, subtle, and only comprehensible by the wise. Hardly will you understand this doctrine without explanation, without patience, without effort. Therefore, I shall put you questions regarding it. As you think fit, so you may answer.'

'What do you think, Vaccha: if there is a fire burning in front of you, do you then know that there is a fire burning?'

'Certainly, Master Gotama.'

'Now, should anybody ask you whereby that fire in front of you is kept burning, what would your answer to such a question be?'

'I should say that it is kept burning by means of straw and wood.'

'Now, suppose the fire goes out, do you then know that fire goes out?'

'Certainly, Master Gothama'

'But if somebody should ask you where the extinguished fire has gone, to which direction, East, West, North or South what would you answer to such a question?'

That does not come into consideration, Master Gotama, because the fire that was kept going by means of straw and wood, has consumed those things, and thus by not being fed by them, it has, through lack of fuel, become extinguished.'

'Just so, Vaccha, have all form, feeling, perception, mental formations and consciousness by which one would like to designate the Perfect One been given up, rooted out, like a palm-tree razed to the ground, destroyed and exposed to no further coming into existence. Now, liberated from form, from feeling, perception, mental formations and consciousness, the Perfect One is profound, immeasurable, difficult to fathom, just as the deep ocean.'

The last words are probably to be understood in the sense of the well-known utterance of the Buddha:

'He who sees the Dhamma, sees me; and he who sees me, sees the Dhamma.' Thus, the Holy One is the embodiment of the Dhamma, and metaphorically speaking becomes one with it.

Nibbana has to be realised as an object, as one of the Vatthudhammas (Ultimate Realities), and this conclusively and decisively proves that it is not a state of Nothingness. There is no necessity for the Buddha to use various descriptive terms as Amata - the deathless state, Sukkhan - happiness, Mutti - Liberation, if Nibbana is total extinction.

The deep joy of the monk who is already on the path when he realises that he will one day intuit Nibbana, testifies to is supreme bliss. The Dhammapada, and the paeans of joyous utterances of the elders and nuns as recorded in the Theragatha and Therigatha, are also ample testimony of the ecstatic joy with which Nibbana is looked upon. Indeed, if Nibbana was mere Nothingness, would anyone have striven with so much diligence to realize its supreme state. This clearly shows that Nibbana is not extinction. Yet, its bliss cannot be conceived in terms of human thought and language for Nibbana lies in a new dimension where no thought is.

Everything cosmic and hypercosmic come under two divisions, things conditioned by causes (Sankhata) and things unconditioned by causes (Asankhata). All sankhata-dhammas appear to ordinary worldings as permanent and substantial. In reality, however, they are illusory and transient, for they are ever in a state of flux, not remaining the same for two consecutive moments. Hence sorrowful and impermanent is the nature of all component or compounded things -...sankhata dhammas. As this is so, its opposite must also be true by the same reasoning. That is to say, the real nature of the Asankhata-Dhamma should be permanent and existing. Nibbana as an Asankhata-Dhamma cannot therefore be Nothing; it is real to him who intuits it. To those however, who are part and parcel of the Sankhata objects (of this world), Nibbana will always be Nothing.

The Path that leads to the ultimate cessation of suffering (Nibbana) consists of three powerful and constructive mental factors, namely, virtue (Sila), concentration (Samadhi) and wisdom (Panna). For the realisation of Nibbana the cultivation and development of these noble, moral and intellectual qualities are essential prerequisites. Now could we say that such sublime and powerful qualities would lead to a state of Nothingness? Quite on the contrary Nibbana is the highest state realised, though it is viewed erroneously as total extinction by some.

When the Greek King Milinda questioned the great Thera Nagasena thus; "Tell me, Nagasena, where is this Nibbana?' Thera Nagasena replied: 'Nibbana is wherever there is a man who experiences it. Wherever the fire of Loba (Greed) has gone out, there Nibbana is. Wherever the fire of Dosa (Hatred) has gone out, there Nibbana is. Wheresoever the fire of Moha (Delusion) has gone out, there Nibbana is. The approaching signs of Nibbana," continued Nagasena, 'are freedom from fear and distress, and confidence, peace, happiness, blessedness, delicacy and purity.'

When the great female Arahat, the Theri Dhammadinna, was questioned by King Ajatasattu as to what exactly happened to the man who attained Nibbana, this is what she said:

'Permit me, Maharajah, in return, to ask you a question, and as it shall seem good to you, so do you reply. What do you think, maharajah? Have you among your men an accountant, a master of your treasury, or any official skilled in numbers who might be able to number the sands of the Ganges? Who might be able to tell how many are the grains of sand in that great river? How many hundreds or thousands of lakhs of sand grains are there?'

'That have I not, venerable Lady,' replied the King.

'Or, have you, Maharajah,' continued Dhammadinna, 'an accountant or treasurer or arithmetician who could measure the waters of the great ocean, and say how many drops, how many hundreds or thousands of lakhs of drops, there are in the great ocean?'

'That have I not,' again replied the King.

'And, why not, Maharajah?' asked Dhammadinna. 'It is because the great ocean is deep, immeasurable and unfathomable. Even so, also, is deep, immeasurable and unfathomable. Even so, also, is the being of him who has attained Nibbana, who has brought rebirth to an end, made it like a palm-tree stump, so that it cannot sprout forth again. The being of such a one is deep, immeasurable, unfathomable.'

And when Ajatasatta goes to the Buddha and tells him how Dhammadinna had made reply, the Buddha said that he would have Himself given exactly the same reply had the king come to Him first. For, says the Buddha, 'Very learned, very wise, is the Nun Dhammadinna."

In another place, the Milinda-panha says: "There is no spot looking in the East, South, West or North, Above, Below or Beyond, where Nibbana is situated, and yet, Nibbana is and he who orders his life aright, grounded in virtue, and possesses right Insight, realizes it, whether he lives in Greece, China, Alexandria or in Kosala." (Mil. pp. 323-26).

For, "just as fire is not stored up in any particular place, but arises when the necessary conditions exist, so Nibbana does not exist in a particular place, but is attained when the necessary conditions are fulfilled." (Mil. 327-8). Nibbana, therefore, is not a heavenly place like the Greek Elysium or the Hebrew Paradise, or Brahma Nirvana.

"In this very fathom-long body, along with its perceptions and thoughts, I proclaim the world, the origin of the world, the cessation of the world, and the path leading to the cessation of the world", says the Buddha. (Samyutta Nikaya 1:62).

"World" here, means "suffering". The cessation of the "world" therefore means the cessation of suffering and this is Nibbana.

Nibbana, therefore, depends on oneself, but is not within one's mind. It is not something that created itself, nor is it something to be produced.

"Where the four elements of cohesion (Apo), extension (Pathavi), heat (Tejo), and motion (Vayo) find no footing, there Nibbana is."

"Where is the four elements that cleave and stretch, burn and move, no further footing find, there Nibbana is".

"Just as, O Monks, notwithstanding those rivers that reach the great ocean and the torrents of rain that fall from the sky, neither a deficit nor a surplus is perceptible in the great ocean, even so despite the many monks that enter the remainderless Parinibbana, there is neither a deficit nor a surplus in the element of Nibbana."

Nibbana therefore, is an attainment (a Dhamma) which is within the reach of all and could be attained in this life itself. It is interesting to note that an attainment can never be spoken of as Nothing. An attainment is always a realisation. If it is Nothing, then where is the attainment?

And again, when King Milinda asked Nagasena whether there is any basis whereon a man may stand, and order his life a right, and realise Nibbana, the Ven. Nagasena replied: "Yes, O King, there is such a basis."

"Which, then, Ven. Nagasena, is that basis?" "Virtue, O King, is that basis, For, if grounded in virtue, and with right Insight (Panna)-whether in the land of the Scythians, or the Greeks, whether in China or in Tartary, whether in Alexandria or in Nikumba, whether in Benares or in Kosala, whether in Kashmir or in Gandhara, whether on a mountain top or in the highest heavens, wheresover he may be, the man who orders his life aright will attain Nibbana."

Now, "What" attains Nibbana is another common question that needs careful consideration. Buddhism denies the existence of permanent entity or an immortal soul. The so-called being of which we often hear so much is a mere bundle of conditioned factors. It is Nama-Rupa (Santati) - a flux of mind and body.

"Just as when the parts are rightly set,
The word "chariot" ariseth (in our minds),
So doth our usage covenant to say,
A being when the aggregates are there."

Therefore, nothing attain Nibbana. The individual life-flux (Santati) is all that there is of a being. This comprises both physical and mental elements depending on one's actions, both good and bad. And what is there for a "force' or combination of "forces' to attain anything? The "forces' which formerly kept moving, finding fresh and ever fresh manifestation, now stop moving: there is an end to it. That explains why in reply to Angulimala who shouted "Stop Ascetic, stop, until I come up to you", the Buddha replied calmly, "I have stopped Angulimala; it is you who are still running!"

How aptly, then does the Visuddhi-Magga (XVI)

says:

"Misery only doth exist, none miserable;
No doer is there, nought save the deed is found;
Nibbana is, but not the man who seeks it;
The path exists, but not the traveller in it."

We derive a greater measure of happiness in this existence itself when greed, hatred and delusion are temporarily inhibited. The happiness can in no way be explained to others, much less could it be conclusively proved. When the five Hindrances are inhibited, through the exercise of mental culture, Jhanas are developed and a greater measure of happiness is experienced. These are blissful states of mind which the ordinary individual cannot conceive of. Nibbana is beyond even the Jhanas. For, there alone the fires of greed, hatred and delusion with their attendant hindrances, fetters and torments, cease. Hence, Nibbana alone is Eternal, Happy and Desirable.

The misery, pain and anguish gone through the countless number of births in Samsara may be compared to a person suffering from an itching skin disease, and Nibbana to the happiness beyond i.e. after its cure. Temporary happiness, no doubt, is experienced by the sufferer scratching his sores, but the nails soon infect the wounds thereby causing eruptions that prolong the disease. Likewise, craving for sense-desires, bring temporary gratification which prolongs one's stay in the sandy desert of Sansara. The joy of the final cure can, in no way, be compared to the momentary happiness experienced in the process of scratching. So too, is it with Nibbana, wherein an end is put to one hundred and eight kinds of Craving which, in turn, cause birth, old age, disease, death, grief, lamentation, pain, misery and despair.

When that ultimate state is attained, we will understand how this happy wordily life for which we crave ceases to be an object of desire. We would realise, as no books or monks can teach us, the sorrow and impermanence, and soul- lessness of all lives. Our dreams would vanish. No castles shall be built in the air. The tempest would be ended. Life's struggles would be over. Nature's processes would have ceased.

The wheel is broken. The desireless attained. The river bed is dry. No water flows. No more the broken wheel will roll. It is the end of Sorrow. It is the Final Release: Nibbana Alone Remains. It is our Finest Hour.

There is no fire like lust,
No crime like hatred
There is no misery,
Like the constituents of existence;
N0 happiness, higher than the Peace of Nibbana.
- Dhammapada verse 202

Many a house of life
Hath held me - seeking ever him who wrought
These prisons of the senses, sorrow-fraught
Sore was my ceaseless stife!
Though builders of this Tabernacle - Thou!
I know Thee! Never shalt though build again
Those walls of pain
Nor raise the root-tree of deceit nor lay
Fresh rafters on the clay.
Broken thy house is, and the ridge pole split.
Delusion fashioned it
Safe pass I thence deliverance obtain.
- Light of Asia - Sir Edwin Arnold

In the time of the Buddha there lived a householder named Papaka who had entered the Buddhist priesthood by his devotion to the Sasana. Since his name was Papaka the monks addressed him by this name. Reflecting on his name Papaka (which meant 'sinner') he thought thus, 'In this world the name Papaka appears to be stupid, wretched and inauspicious.

Therefore, I must adopt a name that brings luck'. Having deliberated thus, he approached his preceptor and said, 'Venerable sir, my name is inauspicious. Therefore, please do give me another name,' to which he replied, 'Brother, a name is a mere designation. Success does not lie in a name. So be satisfied with your present name'. Not contented with this reply he pleaded again and again.

The hours turned to days and the days to weeks and months. One day when the bhikkhus who had congregated at the spiritual assembly were engaged in a dhamma discussion the Omniscient one arrived thither and on ascertaining their topic of discussion uttered thus, 'O monks, it is not only in this birth that he had yearned after auspicious names even in the past too he had done so'. Having uttered these words the Master related the story of the past.

The Bodhisatva dwelt in Thaksala of yore teaching five hundred youths and among them there was one youth whose name was Papaka. The other young men were in the habit of addressing him as Papaka quite frequently. On hearing these words 'Papaka, Papaka'. constantly ringing in his ears, Papaka pondered over his name repeatedly and he gradually came to believe that it was an unlucky name.

Having decided that he should ask for another name he approached his teacher and said, 'Venerable sir, my name is not lucky. Therefore please give me another name'. Thereupon he replied, 'Son, then travel about the country and find a name you like that would pave the way for your progress and happiness. After you return with the new name I shall change your present one'.

In compliance with his preceptor's request the young man taking with him his bag and baggage embarked upon a tour of the country in quest of a lucky name. He ambled from village to village and reached a city where he saw the corpse of a man by the name of Jeewaka being taken for cremation by his kith and kin. On his inquiring who this man was, he learnt that his name was Jeewaka (giver of life or physician). Thereupon he remarked, 'What does this mean? Does Jeewaka too, the giver of life, die? Replying that he is a dullard they said, 'Whether a person is a Jeewaka or Ajeewaka he too dies. A name is a mere designation'. Unperturbed by this reply Papaka proceeded to the inner-city where he espied a female servant being flogged by her master and asked why he was doing so.

On being told that she was refusing to work he inquired what her name was. When the master said that her name was Dhanapali (Ruler of wealth) he remarked, 'How can a person having the name of Dhanapali be engaged in menial work' Stating that he was asking stupid questions they said, 'Even Dhanapalas or Dhanapalis live in poverty. Name is a mere designation'. Cool in the face of this reposte, Papaka left the city and while continuing his journey he met a person who had lost his way and asked why he was roaming about. On being told that he had lost his way Papaka asked what his name was. Learning that it was Panthaka, (a wayfarer) he asked whether wayfarers too lost their way. 'Wayfarers as well as non wayfarers do lose their way. Name is a mere designation. You are a fool to ask such a question,' retorted Panthaka.

Unruffled by this rejoinder, Papaka returned and presented himself before the Bodhisatva. Thereupon the Bodhisatva inquired whether he had found the name he had yearned for. Then Papaka addressing his revered teacher spoke thus, 'Venerable sir, doctors and non-doctors also pass away. Dhanapalas and Dhanapalis too become impoverished. Wayfarers as well as non wayfarers lose their way. A name is, therefore, a mere designation. Success does not lie in a name but in one's own actions alone. Hence another name is of no use to me. Let my present name stand'.

(From the Namasiddhi Jatakaya - Retold by N. de S. G. Punchihewa, Retired Senior Translator, Postmaster General's Office, Colombo and Ex-Editor Sarvodaya International Newsletter).

About the author
E.C.T. Candappa was one of Sri Lanka's been feature writers in the mid-fifties till the seventies. He was an outstanding journalist at Lake House and distinguished himself as a reporter and feature writer. He is now domiciled in Australia but still very much interested in his country of origin. He visited Sri Lanka last year and interviewed many of the personalities featured in this book.

Continued from yesterday

Chapter 13

Each of the numerous watering holes in Colombo had a distinctive character and clientele. The appearance had something to do with the age and ownership of the building. Some proprietors cared little for style. There was a large and thirsty community which assured them of a regular and equally voluminous patronage from the time the licensed liquor shops opened at eleven in the morning, until they closed at 10.30 in the evening.

In addition there were literally hundreds of illicit booths where the tippler could toss down any of the known brands at a premium price or a range of moonshine of incredible origin and ingredients and with highly imaginative names. Those who spoke from tragic, personal experience claimed that some manufacturers of these potentially lethal brews added geckoes, roaches and other vermin to achieve greater potency. Such was the depth of thraldom in which some alcoholics were held that they guzzled such poison because it was cheaper.

But such dens of iniquity were removed from the city and were usually to be found among the wretched shanties that line the banks of abandoned canals.

The Dominion Hotel was a venerable old inn in the very throbbing heart of Colombo, within hailing distance of both Houses of Parliament, almost a neighbour of the Governor General’s official residence and rubbing shoulders with some of the best known business houses, those belonging to Shell, Caltex, Carsons, Whittal’s, the major foreign banks and the Central Bank.

It was an ancient, broad-fronted building with a flight of wide steps leading up to it, with a large hall on the first level holding a bar at one end and a billiards table at the other.

On the second level there were several alcoves affording some privacy, while on the third level there were rooms for lodgers, a large dining room suitable for receptions and parties; and a row of toilets, a hazard for some as the evening wore on, and none too steady gents had to find their way up there, and down.

Pubs also had distinctive clientele. Some served clerks predominantly, others wharfies, stevedores, bank employees, others flybynight businessmen and confidence tricksters.

The National Restaurant attracted journalists until they formed their own Press Club, and even later.

This establishment was visible from the offices of The Clarion and thus was accessible within a five-minutes walk. Its main attraction was an extension into a small lawn outside the main restaurant where tables with reasonably clean napery were disposed under the sky. Large beach umbrellas protected the customers from the heat of the sun, always modified by the unfailing cool breezes blowing from the Indian Ocean a few hundred metres away.

It was to this spot that Raj invited Bill one balmy evening for a drink and a leisurely chat.

Bill had quickly learnt how to get about in Colombo’s maze of criss-crossing streets and countless lanes and cul de sacs and by-ways.

He declined Raj’s offer to pick him up on his scooter and agreed to meet him at the pub at seven. Raj was already in earlier when he spotted Bill enter a minute after seven, clad in white shorts, a bright orange shirt and rubber thongs. The neon lights subdued his flaming red hair. His face glowed from a recent shave.

When their eyes met, Bill called out, ‘G’day!’

Raj grinned and waved him over.

‘Great place you’ve got here, mate.’

‘One of the best,’ said Raj.

A waiter was beside them in an instant.

Bill was impressed. ‘Great service, too.’

Raj merely smiled a crooked smile. He knew waiters jumped when white people had to be served. Usually it took an irritating fifteen minutes to get the attention of one of them.

‘What’ll you drink?’

‘Whatever you drink.’

‘Oh, you wouldn’t dare. We have a local brew called arrack. We think it’s the nectar of the gods. It’s pure goodness from the coconut palm. But, how shall I say, it takes some getting used to. I’ll get you one of our beers. We brew some excellent stuff, you wouldn’t believe it. Or I can get you an Australian beer, a Swan lager?’

‘ I’ve already sampled arrack, I’ll try some of your beer.’

Raj ordered a bottle of Three Coins lager, a dram of arrack for himself, with a ginger beer for a chaser.

The air was a blend of various odours; of sizzling meats and other accompaniments to the drinks, frying onions, pastry rolls, stuffed chillies, fried fish served with capsicums and tomatoes. And weaving between these aromas the whiff of salt from the sea.

It was an elegant place full of good-humoured conversation underscored by the hum and swish of the sea. No one ever got drunk here. The best thing one could have said of the place was that one could have taken ladies there, when ladies didn’t mind being treated as ladies.

Raj noted a few of his colleagues chewing the cud of the day, the scoops and the ones that got away, the latest political scandal, the spilled Cabinet secret, the next trip up for grabs. He also spotted a couple of low-key public servants.

Bill swept the lawn with a glance. ‘They all look the same to me, mate.’

Raj was puzzled. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, can you tell who’s a Sinhalese or Tamil or Moslem or...’

‘Oh, I see what you mean? No, I couldn’t either. I could tell a Burgher or one of European descent because they are usually fair-skinned, though not always, and also usually light eyed. Again as a general rule Sinhalese tend to be lighter skinned than Tamils, and the Muslims, well...’ Raj grinned self-consciously but did not continue. ‘But why did you ask?’

‘Well, if I’m going to work here, I’ll have to mingle with all the different racial groups, and from what I’ve heard it’s all pretty complicated to me.’

‘It is a complex matter.’

The waiter turned up with a shiny, anodised tray, with the drinks and a bottle opener. Did they want anything to eat ? ‘Later,’ said Raj, and the man slid away.

‘This is an excellent beer. Look at that head.’ Bill was impressed, and Raj swelled with pride.

‘Yes, no doubt about it,’ said Bill after the second deep draught. There was an interval of appreciative silence and Raj picked up their interrupted conversation.

‘It is also a very vital matter, even for survival,’ he said, sipping his own potent liquid slowly.

‘I know something about that,’ said Bill.

Raj understood that it was a reference to the bloody racial riots that had torn the country apart nearly an year ago.

‘Pretty gruesome stuff from what I’ve heard,’ Bill added.

Raj was unhappy about the turn of the conversation. He had looked forward to a pleasant evening, but Bill was evidently keen to gather information that would be useful in his YCW commitment to see, judge and act. He had already picked a few Sinhala phrases like ayubowan as a greeting and parting word, and kohomada? for ëhow are you?’ but the nuances of the racial mix had barely dawned on him.

Gently Raj steered the conversation away from the riots to the historical origins of the conflict.

‘Trouble is to find a logical starting point,’ Raj began. ‘Next problem is to place the different strands without getting them tangled. I’ll try to simplify it for you.

‘Right now we have the Sinhalese, Tamils, Burghers, Moslems, Malays, Chetties, Eurasians, Chinese, a few naturalised Britons and other assorted ex-patriots on working visas or intermarried with locals.

‘For the present I’ll confine myself to the Sinhalese, Tamils and Moslems. Among the Sinhalese and Tamils there are further sub-divisions. There are Low Country Sinhalese and Up Country Sinhalese. The Tamils are divided between Jaffna Tamils, Colombo Tamils and Batticaloa Tamils depending their ancestry and where they consider home. To complicate matters further, among the Sinhalese and Tamils there is the structure of caste which determines social life. These racial and caste lines are not crossed without causing severe upheavals. They are ignored by some for so-called love marriages as opposed to arranged marriages but a price has to be paid somewhere.

‘There is a definite hierarchy among the castes. Among the Sinhalese the Radalayas form the aristocracy and they look down on the rest though they may mingle with them out of necessity. Likewise the people of the Goigama caste, the land-owning gentry or their descendants - caste, by the way, is hereditary: you’re born into it and you’re stuck with it - look down on the Karawa caste, the fisher folk, or the Radhava people or the dhobies. It goes on to the drummers and other vocations. At the bottom are the people of the Rodi caste. They are really outcastes. They may not cover the upper part of their bodies, and if they meet people of the higher caste, they must stand aside deferentially, or in the case of the really high-caste people, they must step into a ditch until the carriages of the mighty have rolled by.’

‘You got to be joking,’ said Bill quite aghast.

‘The Tamils are worse,’ said Raj. ‘Their differences cut even across religion. People of the lowest class, the so-called depressed class, cannot even worship in the same Hindu temples with the higher castes. If they ever do that, there’s bloodshed. So there are separate temples for them...’

‘That’s bloody apartheid,’ said Bill quite heatedly. It upset his wholesome Aussie egalitarianism. He emptied the rest of the beer into his glass, and in a swift motion emptied the contents into himself.

‘What are you, Raj?’ Bill asked him.

‘I’m a Tamil.’

‘Which caste?’ Having asked the question, Bill turned a deep red. He had fallen into the age old trap so fast and so easily.

He reached across and placed a hand on Raj’s arm. ‘I’m terribly sorry, mate. I would never have believed I’d ever ask a thing like that.’

Raj smiled a little triumphantly. ‘It goes to prove what I’ve been saying.’

‘But we don’t have this sort of thing in Australia.’

‘Are you sure? You have class lines, haven’t you? And it’s nothing to do with a Western outlook. Even our Burghers who fancy themselves because they are the offspring of white people have their own castes, though they don’t like to call it that. The Burghers of Dutch descent don’t much care for those of Portuguese descent. Both groups spit on any among their clan who ply the shoe-making trade.’

Bill seemed agitated. His raised his arm and a waiter leapt to his side. He seemed to bring cooking smells with him.

‘Will you have the same again?’ he asked Raj.

‘Listen,’ said Raj, ‘I invited you. I do the ordering. And the paying.’

‘But it’s my shout,’ Bill protested.

‘Pardon?’

The expression puzzled Raj.

‘We order alternately in Australia,’ Bill explained.

‘In Ceylon it’s different. The person who invites is the host for the evening. And he pays. For all his guests. On a later occasion he is invited. Then he does not pay.’

‘Then...be my host.’ Bill grinned.

Raj ordered another round of drinks and two plates of devilled beef. He told the waiter to go easy on the chilli for the suddha, or white man.

Bill picked up the conversational thread.

‘So why do the Sinhalese consider themselves the master race?’

‘You picked that up so soon.’

‘I was given a bit of a briefing by Fr Grutzner.’

‘Let’s get back to history, then, or even legend,’ Raj suggested. ‘Historically an aboriginal race came down from the huge Indian sub-continent and inhabited Ceylon, which is one of the several names by which this tiny island at the southern tip of India is called. In pre-historic times, Ceylon was connected to India and the veddhas walked across and peopled this land, which was virgin forest, in the dawn of humanity, the Stone Age.’

‘Were these the original Sinhalese?’

‘No, they were distinctly apart from the Sinhalese.’

‘Then what was the beginning of the Sinhalese people?’

‘Ah. So here history mingles with legend. Most countries as you know, have enchanting stories to explain their beginnings or the foundations of their nations.

‘The beginnings of Ceylon are recorded in an ancient and much respected and epic poem called the Mahavamsa. It records the history of the Sinhalese nation.

‘It begins with the story, quite manifestly a legend or an allegory at best, of how a princess from Bengal, tired of the royal lifestyle, ran away from the palace and joined a caravan in search of adventure. She didn’t have to wait long, for as they passed the forest a lion attacked them. Having kept one eye on the pot, as it were, after appeasing his hunger, the lion being in an amorous mood took the princess away. But being a king in his own right and a gentleman to boot, he married the princess, with no doubt other beasts attending some forgotten jungle ritual.

‘And in the fullness of time the princess bore the lion a son whom they called Sinhabahu, and a daughter, Sinhasivali.’

‘Hang on,’ said Bill placing his beer on the table and leaning over, ‘Sinhabahu, Sinhasivali...was that how the name Sinhalese came about?’

‘Bill, you are a most perceptive guy. You see, Sinha means lion in Sinhala. But it must have meant that in an earlier language too to bequeath the prefix to the two children.

‘Anyway, we anticipate the story.

‘When Sinhabahu grew up, and he must have had a heck of a lot more of his mother’s genes, he felt this was no way to live. So one night, while the king of the jungle slept very soundly - so soundly that the regal snores kept the rest of the denizens wide awake - Sinhabahu took his mother and sister and escaped to Bengal.

‘When the lion awoke, he pursued his family as any other father would in the hope of putting some lion sense into them.

‘To make his resolve clear, he first attacked bordering villages and consumed a few inhabitants to fortify himself against the final assault.

‘But that was not to be. Sinhabahu killed his father, unwittingly setting a precedent for a future Sinhalese king and a very distinguished one, some centuries hence, to kill his own father in a less forthright way.’

Bill looked at Raj steadily. ‘Could it be because you are a Tamil that you are cynical about the origins of the Sinhala people?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps I get my cynicism from my profession.’

He stared blankly for a while, then said: ‘I’ve also seen and heard a couple of things in the past year, Bill, that did not improve my humour.’

He felt his head throbbing. The conversation was threatening to move in the direction he did not want it to go.

‘Yes. Now Sinhabahu proclaimed himself king, married, no doubt a human being, and sired a string of sons. All sons of India, too, it must be noted, and noted well.

‘But the top seed, the eldest, Vijaya, by name was bad seed.

‘He became a brigand and led a band of buddies and gave a lot of trouble to an otherwise peaceful kingdom. You never know with genetics, can you? Like grandfather, like grandson.

‘The people complained to Sinhabahu. Sinhabahu advised son Vijaya, and like most errant sons, Vijaya ignored the advice and went on with his wicked ways.

‘In those days, when royalty could not be attacked in the press and brought to order, the custom was to put wayward royal offspring into some kind of a tub, fill it with nourishing victuals for the journey and wave a tearful farewell from the shore, and give them a heave-ho.

‘Likewise Vijaya and his merry men were put to sea, much against their will.

‘Eventually they landed in the island of Ceylon.

‘Now things were pretty grim here too. Apart from the veddhas, there were also he-devils and she-devils in residence. And Vijaya being the kind of man he Äwas, married a she-devil, a rakshini called Kuveni. And as you can well imagine, he was no match for her, so he went back to South India and married a princess from the kingdom of Pandya. Having settled the matter of finding a queen, he returned and proclaimed himself King of Ceylon.

‘All ill-will towards his father having evaporated by now, Vijaya honoured him by naming the country Sinhaladweepiya, or island of the Sinhalese.’

Raj leaned back and exhaled deeply. ‘So there we have it. And that has made me very thirsty indeed. Waiter.’

In that moment of letting up he saw Tony Miguel enter. He cast a long shadow for Raj. He felt the brightness fade from his face. Tony was evidently still on an assignment as he was wearing a white suit, the jacket limp with the rigours of the day.

Miguel had a mannerism of looking sharply in all directions most of the time. It reminded Raj of the crows. These birds lived in constant fear of all other forms of life, suspicious of any movement. Crows were notorious thieves, scavengers as well. They ate anything. And they feared that it would be taken away from them. They rarely remained on one perch for long. They alighted for a few seconds, nibbled on a scrap they had stolen and took flight. Restless beings, thought Raj. A most apt symbol for Miguel.

Soon, as a result of the darting glances, Miguel sighted Raj. He must have taken in the whole picture, Raj with a foreign stranger, and his pathologically suspicious mind took over. He loped over to their table, unbidden, in a trice. And is his customarily boorish manner demanded, ‘And who is this?’

Raj yielded to the inevitable.

‘Ah, meet Bill Wilberton.’

Miguel kept his eye fixed on the Australian. ‘What brings you here?’

Bill glanced at Raj uncomfortably.

Raj answered for him. ‘He’s a member of the YCW and he’s here on a visit. To see things for himself.’ The instant the words were out his mouth Raj regretted having uttered them.

‘And to judge and act?’ asked Miguel, completing the famous ëmethod’ of Cardijn, the founder of the international movement. It was a natural response to Raj’s statement but the way Miguel said it there was a hint of suspicion in it. As in almost anything he said. Like the crow, he considered everyone a threat. Raj knew then that Miguel would dig in for other possibilities.

Miguel now turned his attention to Raj. ‘So when are you going?’

‘When the PM goes.’

Miguel turned to Bill. ‘Do you know your friend is planning to go to the UN with our Prime Minister?’

Raj’s light brown eyes grew limpid with rage. He could have felled Miguel where he stood. Even now his hands were clenched with the recently subdued reflexes of a boxer. He had been a bantam-weight champion at school and had boxed for the YMCA later.

He half rose from his chair. ‘Beat it, Tony,’ he said between his teeth.

Miguel was undaunted. He leaned over and placed his hands on the small table. It creaked under his weight.

‘That assignment was mine. By rights. Your friend wangled it for himself.’

‘I did not.’ Raj retorted angrily but in a low voice.

‘Anyway, we’ll see about it, Raj. There’s still time. Don’t pack your bags yet.’

He turned sharply and left them to seat himself from where he could watch them. The waiter came to them.

‘Let’s go somewhere else, Bill. We can’t enjoy a drink with him here.’

Continued tomorrow