Hikkaduwa Chronicles

‘Yatha idam, tatha edam - Yatha etam tatha idam”

As this (living body is) -so that (dead one was)

As that (is), so this (will be)

Today I am in the house alone — the would have been grandmother with the would have been grandson.

I sit cross-legged in front of the five candles lit by Ranil the father in front of the ashes in a white box. and closes my eyes to watch that little face float over — forcing my imagination to open the eyes and see a smile.

As I sit and my thought wander I remember the story of Kisagotami … and search for the verse from the Light of Asia…

Kisagotami and the Buddha

A woman — dove-eyed, young, with tearful face

And lifted hands — saluted, bending low:

“Lord! thou art he”, she said, “who yesterday

Had pity on me in the fig-grove here,

Where I live lone and reared my child; but he

Straying amid the blossoms found a snake,

Which twined about his wrist, whilst he did laugh

And tease the quick forked tongue and opened mouth

Of that cold playmate. But, alas! ere long

He turned so pale and still, I could not think

Why he should cease to play, and let my breast

Fall from his lips. And one said, ‘He is sick

Of poison’; and another, ‘He will die.’

But I, who could not lose my precious boy,

Prayed of them physic, which might bring the light

Back to his eyes; it was so very small

That kiss-mark of the serpent, and I think

It could not hate him, gracious as he was,

Nor hurt him in his sport. And some one said,

‘There is a holy man upon the hill –

Lo! now he passeth in the yellow robe –

Ask of the Rishi if there be a cure

For that which ails thy son.’ Whereon I came

Trembling to thee, whose brow is like a god’s,

And wept and drew the face-cloth from my babe,

Praying thee tell what simples might be good.

And thou, great sir! didst spurn me not, but gaze

With gentle eyes and touch with patient hand;

Then draw the face-cloth back, saying to me,

‘Yea! little sister, there is that might heal

Thee first, and him, if thou couldst fetch the thing;

For they who seek physicians bring to them

What is ordained. Therefore, I pray thee, find

Black mustard seed, a tola; only mark

Thou take it not from any hand or house

Where father, mother, child, or slave hath died:

It shall be well if thou canst find such seed.’

Thus didst thou speak, my Lord!”

The Master smiled

Exceeding tenderly. “Yea! I spake thus,

Dear Kisagotami! But didst thou find

The seed?”

“I went, Lord, clasping to my breast

The babe, grown colder, asking at each hut –

Here in the jungle and towards the town –

‘I pray you, give me mustard, of your grace,

A tola — black’; and each who had it gave,

For all the poor are piteous to the poor;

But when I asked, ‘In my friend’s household here

Hath any peradventure ever died –

Husband or wife, or child, or slave?’ they said:

‘O Sister! what is this you ask? the dead

Are very many, and the living few!’

So with sad thanks I gave the mustard back,

And prayed of others; but the others said,

‘Here is the seed, but we have lost our slave!’

‘Here is the seed, but our good man is dead!’

‘Here is some seed, but he that sowed it died

Between the rain time and the harvesting!’

Ah, sir! I could not find a single house

Where there was mustard seed and none had died!

Therefore I left my child — who would not suck

Nor smile — beneath the wild vines by the stream,

To seek thy face and kiss thy feet, and pray

Where I might find this seed and find no death,

If now, indeed, my baby be not dead,

As I do fear, and as they said to me.”

“My sister! thou hast found,” the Master said,

“Searching for what none finds — that bitter balm

I had to give thee. He thou lovedst slept

Dead on thy bosom yesterday: today

Thou know’st the whole wide world weeps with thy woe:

The grief which all hearts share grows less for one.

Lo! I would pour my blood if it could stay

Thy tears and win the secret of that curse

Which makes sweet love our anguish, and which drives

O’er flowers and pastures to the sacrifice –

As these dumb beasts are driven — men their lords.

I seek that secret: bury thou thy child!”

from The Light of Asia, Book the Fifth by Sir Edwin Arnold

Though one should live a hundred years without perceiving the deathless state, yet better indeed is a single day to one who has perceived the deathless state

Dhammapada 114

It’s been a tough couple of days but Ranil and Aileen have had good courage and is being strong amidst the obvious sadness that follows.

Felix’s ashes were brought home today — not something we Buddhists do — but the young couple wanted to bring Felix home for awhile. We have said pirith, sprinkled the “pirith pang” that came all the way from Brisbane and five little candles burn keeping a vigil.

Saturday, the day after the funeral was “Cake and Comfort” day when about 25 or so close friends of the young couple turned up here at their home in Neutral Bay, Sydney

Most friends brought presents to cheer them up — lots of chocolate, which included plenty of chocolate cake, spa packs, and many goodies for Aileen. The good point was that they not only bought presents for Aileen but one guy came and left his bass guitar for Ranil to play and parctise.

So on Sunday morning I found them playing a duet — “I still call Australia home” with Aileen on the piano and Ranil on the bass guitar and singing. Yesterday we played Scrabble which Ranil won easily and then I had a photography lesson

This is not the first time that the clock has come a full circle and the tables have been turned where Ranil is my teacher. He was my teacher on holiday from Uni and introduced me to Wordperfect and programs. And like those times, it is not just teaching — I have set exercises to do. So we took photos of all flowers in the house.

So with friends, family and comfort and their hobbies and interests holding them — I think — hopefully they’ve turned the corner.

Puttã m’atthi dhanam m’atthi –Iti bãlo vihannati

Atta hi atano natthi – kuto puttã kutto dhanam

“These sons are mine, this wealth I hold”

The fool raves thus and comes to ruin;

When self itself owns not a “self”

Who are thy sons, what is thy wealth!

We had loved him much and mourned his loss long before we saw him today. – baby Felix de Silva. His parents thought the name meaning happy and fortunate was th apt name for their first born son . Swathed in white in a white coffin with three white roses he looked tiny. His little face was no bigger than my palm and was rosy pink, his eyes shut tight — a little bud that never opened.

In a little room in the Palm Chapel in the Sydney crematorium, the parents– Ranil and

Aileen and the closest family — the two mother’s in law, and one of Aileen’s sisters, Ivy gathered to say our last blessings even though his journey on earth never commenced. As there was no Theravada Buddhist priest, I read the pirith stanzas and did the best under the circumstances. Aileen’s mother had already conducted ceremonies in Kuala Lumpur keeping with the Confucian traditions.

We left the parents with the baby to say their last goodbye to find quite a large number of almost 50-60 from their workplaces and their dancing school outside the chapel including my other son.

The sermon was by an Australian converted to Mahayana Tibetan Buddhism – Stewart — who was present at their wedding too. Stewart cuts a calm peaceful but a colourful figure resplendent in a yellow sleeveless shirt, crimson robe and sports a huge tattoo on his right arm. His wide smile, the compassion and love for the parents was evident as he hugged them before delivering a calming and soothing sermon — easing much the tension we had felt throughout these last few days.

To close the ceremony, all of us emerged in to the sunny but sharply cold terrace of the chapel to watch Ranil and Aileen release a white pigeon – and to reflect on the impermanence of life…

“Uninvited he hither came,

And without leave departed hence;

E’en as he came, just so went he,

What ground is here for agony!