Avurudu in a typical year turns Colombo into a desert. Simply, it’s the one time of the year when people go home. ‘Home’ as in ‘village’. It’s a family matter. Extended family, really. It’s the time when people apply for the biggest slice of ‘annual leave.’ The city stops. Life keeps beating. Elsewhere.
It’s shopping time in Sri Lanka. Clothes for the family, gifts for the near and dear, sweetmeats for the neighbors. Well, not this year.
Being sequestered doesn’t really make for a grand celebration. No shopping. No avurudu uthsava. No avurudu races, cycles or on foot.
And yet, let me repeat, there’s no celebration that can even come close to Avurudu, here in Sri Lanka. In fact as far as culture goes there is probably nothing that can be claimed to have anything close to this in terms of level of ingraining in consciousness. Apart from Buddhism, of course. That however is more ethereal. ‘Avurudu’ is more corporeal. Felt.
[The Government has laid down rules on account of the Corvid-19 threat that makes this years avurudu untenable. We can’t celebrate the way we did. Now some well-meaning (or pernicious) set of civil society activists might have found this reason enough to raise a whine if the perceived ‘victim’ happened to be any community other than Sinhalese or Buddhists, but that won’t happen. Simply, the Sinhala Buddhists are not complaining. Even if they did, it is highly doubtful that civil (sic) society (sic) would be bothered. That’s the politics of the rent-a-signature worthies in this island.]
The above was written parenthetically. Contexts should not be footnoted. Duplicity should not go uncommented.
The reality is that we can’t take the threat of infection lightly. Self-discipline is a must. We have to keep indoors and limit interaction with the rest of the world. Social distancing is the order of the day. For now and until who knows when!
Does this mean that this would be an avurudu-less year? Certainly not. Let’s get to the basics as far the Sinhala Buddhist community is concerned. We cease all activity at an auspicious moment and spend the time in religious activities. We light the hearth at an auspicious moment, partake of the first meal at another auspicious moment. We are together as a family.
What’s beautiful is that in almost every household in the country (yes, almost 90%), someone would strike a match at the exact same moment. There will be milk rice being cooked. Someone, typically the eldest in the household, would feed a bit of kiribath to each member of the family.
Togetherness. Smiles. Feeling blessed. Socially distanced solidarity, one might call it. That’s how it has always been and that we will surely have this year too, regardless of the obvious deprivations.
No kavum, but there could be plantains. Not ganudenu at a bank, but someone somewhere will toss a coin into a well and draw a bucket of water. There will be a give and a take in return. Water a chillie plant, pluck a green chillie. Leave some food for a squirrel and enjoy the arrival of the creature. Something for the ants and delight in the orderly gathering of that species. Call a friend or an elderly relative; receive a text message. Here’s one to share:
Sabbītiyo vivajjantu, sabba-rogo vinassatu; mā te bhavatvantarāyo, sukhī dīgh’āyuko bhava.
(May
all distresses be averted, may every disease be destroyed, may there be
no dangers for you [and] may you be happy and live long).
Sabba-roga-vinimutto, sabba-santāpa-vajjito, sabba-veram-atikkanto, nibbuto ca tuvaṁ bhava.
Now that would be harvest and thanksgiving too. A complete and wholesome aluth avuruddha, in fact.
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