Making a sincere attempt to bring an unimagined and unexplored treasure trove of modern Sinhala literature to the English reading community, Montage is bringing Mahinda Prasad Masimbula’s award winning novel ‘Senkottan’ translated by
Malinda Seneviratne, veteran journalist, writer and poet.
‘Senkottan’ (The Indelible), a remarkable creation of literature by Mahinda Prasad Masimbula was his debut effort in his literary career for which he won the State Literary Award in 2013 and short-listed in Swarna Pusthaka Literary Awards and many other Literary Award Festivals in the same year. The book has been published by Santhawa Publishers and ‘Senkottan’ has blazed the trail in the self-publishing industry as one of the best-selling books in Sinhala literature.
CHAPTER 2, PART 2
‘Why did you bother to get involved? You should have flung the laundry over your shoulder and left without even looking at them. It’s as though you’ve asked for it.’
Weerappuli Henaya looked down in dismay and was lost in his thoughts.
‘I only wanted to gather some merit for our little one and not for me to enter the precincts of Nirvana.’
He fiddled around with the firewood once again as though to lessen his sorrow. A tear found its way into his eyes, that were even then more than fifty years of age.
‘How good have we been to people? Can anyone find even a single fault in us? Not just our parents but theirs too never harmed even a humble ant, ever. All we did was to wash away the dirt and blemishes of people, three hundred and sixty five days of the year. And they don’t allow people like us to do anything that would bring us merit or be one with the Dhamma!
Malmaa Ridee knew all this but apart from finding some consolation, she knew nothing could help.
‘I’ve told you again and again that this is our fate, it’s what we were born into, the yield of the karmic complement we brought with us. For what reason should you struggle so much to touch the sky? We are sinners. Just understand that and be contented. The big words and reasoning of big people are of no use to us, after all. We wash their clothes. When there’s reason to do so we go for various ceremonies, bathe young girls who have reached puberty. What more can we do? What more is there for us to do? Just think of Buduhaamuduruwo. He was born into a royal family. When you think of things in that manner, it’s all very easy.’ What did she know of Budurajaananvahanse? The Enlightened One had been born to various castes and in the end, after considering time, land, community, caste and mother was born into a royal family, having enormously suffered on account of fulfilling the perfections, the paramitas. All this he had learned from listening to sermons. Reflecting now on such wisdom that he had been exposed to, he once again pushed a piece of firewood into the wellaava. Immediately a stream of sparks flew up and out of the fire conjuring an amazing picture. As its glow cast light around the hut, those wise words about the eternal verities took resident in his mind. A fresh strength and resolve began to encompass his entire body, his entire being. And then offered his rejuvenated words to his wife.
‘I thought of something. Now don’t you say this and that upon hearing this and thereby wound my resolve, alright?’
‘What is it? Let’s hear it first.’
‘You and I must make a pilgrimage to Anurajapura.’
‘And how would we do that?’
‘We must go somehow, no two words about it. We will find a way. I am going to ask Guna Ralahamy for the route. We can walk. We can cling to carts that we come across. We will, by and by, get there. That holy pilgrimage, no one can stop. And I am ready to die along the way if that is what fate holds for me. I would face death with much joy. You be with me…that’s all.’
‘How about these children? The laundry? Malmaa Ridee wanted to ask such question, but held her tongue. It was certainly a very interesting idea. Malmaa Ridee had never stepped beyond Pallebedda and in the other direction, never gone beyond Kahawatta. She had heard, however, that the world beyond such places was massive. Upon hearing this youth-like decision of her husband, Malmaa Ridee’s heart leapt like that of a young lass. Then again, this idea may fade and disappear in a few days. Nevertheless she resolved to inhabit this new dream for as long as she could.
A colony of bats cleaved in two above the great kumbuk trees of Nambuluwa, one set taking off towards the jungles of Dikyaya while the other settled among the mee trees of the thicket. Around seven or eight of them alighted on the kaju tree in the yard and began chirping. Podina, Weerappuli Henaya’s elder daughter, was at this time weaving a mat in the verandah. She would sell these at ten cents a piece to Tamil women working as labourers in the tea estates. She would light a small lamp and weave in this manner for two to three hours at night. She was a buxom woman and the fairness of her skin took on an even more intense glow in the lamp-light. Perhaps because she had bathed that evening, she had tied her hair loosely in a bun and it was about to come undone. If that happened it would cover a vast area, so thick had her jet-black hair grown. She was at this moment weaving a mat using coconut and talipot leaves. She was capable of weaving even a maagal mat with excellent finish of neat knots at the linings.
A the other end of the verandah, with another lamp by their side, the father-son duo of Naambu Henaya and Baba Henaya were taking out senkottan nuts from an old tin and selecting the ones good for use. They both got excited by the cacophony of the bats. Naambu Henaya picked up the catapult that was nearby. Baba Henaya picked up from a corner of the verandah the sack of pebbles he had collected that day and gave it to his father. Naambu Henaya had all of a sudden become child-like. Podina noticed these actions of the father and son even as she continued to weave. It occurred to her once again that Naambu Henaya, a scrawny weakling, was not suited for her in any way. Naambu Henaya placed a small pebble on the leather strap of the catapult, to aim, and let go.
‘I pierced the webbing! I pierced the webbing! he exclaimed like a small child. Baba Henaya, seeing this, clapped his hands and laughed. At this moment, Podina’s voice, totally at odds with her beauty, stirred itself like a gunshot.
‘Not only are you thrilled after sinning, you are dragging even the small fellow to hell with you. What a shameless, sinful man you are!’
Naambu Henaya, hearing this, withdraw crestfallen and sat on the step of the verandah. Baba Henaya was perplexed. His face was blank. This was not the first time he had heard his mother berate his father. It happened throughout the day. On each occasion, his father would cower down in this manner. And he had made a habit of whispering something in the ear of his son so his wife wouldn’t hear. It happened this time as well.
‘We shoot at the bats because they eat the kajupuhulang that rightfully belongs to us, you know….’
For Naambu Henaya’s bad luck Podina heard the reference to the juicy fruit at the bottom of which hang the cashew nuts.
‘If this little fellow wasn’t here I would teach you once again the story of kajupuhulang…’ she said and muttered much else while weaving the mat with greater vigour. The father-son duo were silent and once again started picking the senkottan nuts. Naambu Henaya had noticed that since of late his wife was wont to scold him just upon seeing him. He had not done her wrong to the best of his knowledge. The marriage had not been his idea, but hers. On that first day she had behaved wickedly. Her temper only got worse after that. It was rarely that he would look at her face and say anything and yet she would scowl at him at every turn. His older sister, Garu Ridee always told him, ‘leave that she-devil and come back home, brother…’