Innocence ~ Malinda Words

Looking back, I realise that my father was largely indulgent of my youthful arrogance (maybe one day my daughters might come to the same conclusion!). I have on occasion argued with him and expressed the view that he was showing signs on delayed adolescence. At least on one occasion I went further, insisting that he was suffering from delayed childhood. He was probably hurt as I was when one of my daughters once said ‘you are a glutton for suffering.’ But he was indulgent. He offered the following response softly, ‘children are innocent.’

They are.

This is a different innocent-story. It happened about 30 years ago in a place called Sinhapitiya, a couple of kilometres from the township of Gampola. It happened at the house of my closest campus friend, Nishad Handunpathirana. The house was about a kilometre from the Sinhapitiya Junction along the Ambuluwawa Road.

It was a quiet place. A lovely family. Kind and generous. I was treated like a son and a brother. The best of times in my university days were spent in that house and with that family, even in the worst of times.

It wasn’t a quiet day, though. It was nevertheless the day I learned the true meaning of innocence. It wasn’t quiet because there was a wedding; one of my friend’s many sisters was getting married. The ‘innocence’ arrived after all the formal ceremonies were done, except one — the 'mangala sabhava'.

The family, relations and friends of both parties had gathered outside the house. Most of them were all seated. A few of us, my friend and myself included, were standing in a corner. There was a Master of Ceremonies but I can’t remember who it was. After some introductory comments, he invited someone representing the groom’s family to address the gathering.

I was close to the family. Like a son and a brother, as I said. It immediately occurred to me that next up would be someone representing the bride. I asked my friend, ‘who?’ He didn’t know. The most senior ‘family member’ was the husband of one of the older sisters. I asked him. He laughed and flatly refused. He fled, in fact. I was overcome with a sense of foreboding. ‘We’ would be shamed, I feared.

It didn’t help that the speaker was going on and on extolling the virtues of the groom. All true, probably, but it seemed a bit too much to digest for thirty minutes or so, each passing minute increasing my agitation, not about someone among us having to match virtue for virtue in a speech but the same, initial, question: ‘who?’

The speech ended and the MC announced that it was the turn of the bride’s party. I looked at my friend. We looked around and then proceeded to meditate on the gravel at our feet. No one said anything. There was no ‘designated speaker.’ And then her father, as fathers invariably do in such situations where the honour of their daughters are at stake, rose to the occasion.

A retired railway shroff who was also a music teacher and in fact the inventor of a musical instrument, the Chaturadvani, a composite of four well-known instruments of the North Indian tradition (for which he was recognised with the state honour ‘Kala Bhushana’), this quiet and unassuming man got up, walked to the designated speech-making area and spoke.

‘අහිංසකත්වයේ සංකේතය, අහිංසකත්වයේ ප්‍රතිමූර්තිය, හාවා කියන සතා. ඒ හාවටත් වඩා අහිංසකයි මගේ මේ දියණිය.’

[‘The symbol of innocence, the ideal of innocence, is the creature we call a rabbit,’ he said. And then, after a pause, continued, ‘more innocent than the rabbit is this daughter of mine.’]

The key word here is ‘this.’ Not just anyone, not just any daughter but that particular daughter. He wasn’t lying. It was the shortest ‘mangala kathava’ or wedding speech I had ever heard. And I’ve never heard anything shorter since either. It was the sweetest, softest and the most innocent speech I have heard in my life.

Today, more than thirty years later, I can’t but help thinking that ‘Uncle’ could not have been more innocent than he was at that moment. Childlike. Honest. Absolutely. It was as much about his daughter as it was about him.

If I was in his position today, having to make a similar speech, I am convinced that all the words I know would abandon me forthwith. Rendered speechless, I would have to speak in tears. And that would be how I recover my innocence and obtain forgiveness for the unkind words I spoke to my father.

A Sinhala version of this article was published in the now defunct 'රැස' newspaper under the title 'ෂෝට් ඇන්ඩ් ස්වීට් අහිංසකත්වය'

malindadocs@gmail.com

['The Morning Inspection' is the title of a column I wrote for the Daily News from 2009 to 2011, one article a day, Monday through Saturday. This is a new series. Links to previous articles in this new series are given below]

15 July 2023

Innocence

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