It was a Tuesday.
Ratnayake Hall. Dumbara Campus, University of Peradeniya .
First day. I remember it being a cold
morning. There was an English Test. An hour, perhaps a little longer. I am not sure if there was one of those orientation-programmes
after the exam, although I do remember Prof Ashley Halpe giving a lecture on
responsibility to us freshers around the time.
I know one thing for sure. I didn’t know that Sisira Premashantha
existed.
I didn’t know of him until a few weeks later when there was
an athletics meet to select the Arts Faculty First Year Athletics Team for the
Inter-Faculty Freshers’ Meet. I believe
he won most of the track events. I
remember someone referring to him as ‘Naaththandiye Pora’ (The Dude from
Nattandiya, if you will). He led the
Athletics team to some spectacular victories at this meet. I remember being beaten to 3rd
place in the 5000m race by a Science Faculty fresher. There were only three in the race. Later Sisira represented the Faculty and left
the competition far behind in the 100m, 200m and the 400m too, if I remember
right. He went on to represent
Peradeniya in the Inter University Games.
When you’ve known someone for a quarter of a century, you
have enough and more anecdotes to relate. Yes, even the most boring of
characters are story-made and a narrator with memory can do wonders with
moment, event, personality and their intersections with larger processes,
institutions and the people who inhabit these things. Every human life is an epic, Sisira’s
too. Impossible to write down in minute
detail.
Some stories though are memorable, others not. Sisira is
made of many stories and these included some pithy observations and some crazy
explanations for the way things are. Let me relate one to give a sense of the
many flavours that made Sisira.
About 20 of us decided to climb Sri Pada. This was in 1998
if I remember right. It was, naturally,
a tiring pilgrimage. We went up one
evening, stayed at the peak to watch the sun rise, worshipped, and climbed
down. By the time we reached the Sama
Chaithyaya, built by the Japanese, we were quite knackered. We stopped to rest awhile. No one spoke. Just
too tired. Sisira broke the silence. Here’s a rough translation.
‘Do you know why Lord Buddha placed the print of his foot on
the top of the mountain?’
No one knew but everyone knew he was going to say something
funny. We all smiled. He continued.
‘Surely, Buduhaamuduruwo could have placed the print
at Nallathanni or somewhere more accessible where the devoted did not have to
expend so much energy! Well, here’s the story.
Did you notice all the little boutiques and kiosks that line the path
right to the top? This is what happened.
Buduhaamuduruwo must have signed a contract with the ancestors of those
who own these places. It was a brilliant
move on their part. They were ensuring a
decent income for their respective families for generations to come, centuries
into the future.’
There’s no such thing as ‘blasphemy’ in Buddhism. To me this
was healthy demystification. It took
‘weary’ out of the journey. We laughed.
I remember also a far more sober comment. It happened a year
before the Sri Pada trip. We had just entered the second year and therefore
were new to Peradeniya (Arts students spent their first year at Dumbara Campus,
Polgolla back then). This meant that we
were ‘new’ and therefore fair game for raggers.
We had antagonized students from two batches senior to us, i.e. the 4th
year students. One day I was ordered to
accompany them to their rooms in Arunachalam Hall. Had no choice. Went. My best friends were all on the floor. There were about 10 of us and about 20 of
‘them’. They told us, kindly, that they
were according us the favour of saying whatever we had to say. This is what Sisira said:
‘When I entered campus I thought this was a wonderful place
to be. I though that the truth triumphs here, that justice has meaning. Today I realize that the truth is not what
wins. Power.’
I remember that day. The setting. The man. I remember other
days. I remember how he led a residence
hall called ‘Hindagala’ (aka ‘Lenin’) to the Inter-Hall Volleyball
Championship. How he led our batch to the Inter-Batch Volleyball Championship.
How he led the Arts Faculty to the Inter-Faculty Volleyball Championship and
the University of
Peradeniya to the
Inter-University Volleyball Championship. He was no longer the sleek freshman
who scorched the cinder track back in 1985 and 1986. He was heavy. Bellied. A
great leader. A fantastic sense of humour.
And a man who, despite the philosophical thoughts uttered that day at
Arunachalam Hall stood up to the JVP thugs in the late eighties along with a
handful of his batchmates.
He was not a man of many words. He was a man of many smiles. On October 19, 2010, sometime between 4 and 5
in the afternoon, a great heart burst, unable for whatever reason to contain
itself and within itself the sorrow and joy apportioned for this lifetime. No, I cannot say ‘what a shame!’ He gave enough. And more. His wife and fellow-batchmate Ayanthis said, softly, how he would force her
and the kids to stop everything if he saw a batchmate on television (we have a
few who make the odd appearance as musicians, singers and political
commentators). These things
mattered.
Some people are too fast for their fellow creatures. Some of
these people leave a trail for the stragglers and slothful to follow. Then they
are gone. We remain. It feels, however, that he is here still and
I am gone. Forever.
msenevira@gmail.com
0 comments:
Post a Comment