Whenever I visit the Aukana Buddha Statue, look at a photograph of what an exceptional sculptor extracted from a rock face or even think about it I remember Mr Ilyas.
Mr Ilyas was my scout master. Years later he agreed to teach me Tamil. We also discussed things of common interest. I remember discussing with him the issue of religious icons. We talked about the Hindu and Islamic views on the subject. Later, reviewing Gunadasa Amarasekera’s ‘Pilima lovai, piyavi lovai (‘The world of images and the real world’ or ‘Reality and its representation’), I referred to Mr Illyas.
I argued for the Islamic position because I felt that images detract from comprehension. "But it can be argued this way too," he said, "If you see the image, you do not see God, but if you see God, you do not see the image". The Buddhist elaboration on impermanence and illusion would then resolve the issue. Still the fact that images are consciously employed to deceive is something that one needs to be vigilant about.
Today there’s a discussion on the Aukana Buddha Statue or, to be more precise, the ‘dressing’ of the statue with a robe. Much of the discussion in social media on this can be captured in a single word. Preposterous!
Anuruddha Pradeep Karnasuriya explains it well: ‘ශිෂ්ටාචාරයක් තිබුණ යුගයක නෙලපු පූර්ණ පිලිමයක්, මෙච්චර කල් නිරුවතින් තිබුණේ කියලා හිතෙනවා කියන්නේ ශිෂ්ටාචාර අර්බුදයක් (To think that a statue perfectly crafted at a time when there was a civilization is naked, is itself a civilizational crisis).’ Liyanage Amarakeerthi’s comment on the above Facebook post probably resonates with many, myself included: ‘මමත් අවුකන ප්රතිමාව දෙස නොයෙක් වර පැය ගණන් බලා සිට තියෙනවා. විශේෂයෙන් බලල තියෙන්නේ සිවුරේ රැළි නෙලා ඇති සැටි (I too have gazed upon the Aukana statue for hours, especially the way the folds of the robe have been sculpted).’
Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. Those with authority can and often do impose their notions of beauty on others. A crude example would be the king who commissioned the unknown sculptor to wrest image from rock. Someone could argue that it was beautiful as it was in the natural state and that the carving of an image disrupted aesthetics.
Then again, art is typically followed by critic. The artist and the artist’s intent be it buddhalambana preethiya (the joy of ‘beholding the Buddha’) or something else can and does get obliterated by the gazer and the gazer’s predilections.
It does get complicated with ‘art’ that has taken on the kind of cultural significance that is associated with the Aukana. There were objections raised when a canopy of constructed ‘to protect the Aukana from the vagaries of the weather’ several decades ago. No one disputed the intention; the criticism stemmed from notions of propriety. People argued on the basis of ‘as is’ or the natural state which, as pointed out was essentially a reordering of a previous ‘natural state.’ Others lamented that the majesty diminished because of this canopy. It was removed.
Part of it has to be about familiarity. Part of it has to do with something that has nothing to do with the doctrine, namely archaeology. The Aukana is an archaeological artifact even as it is a cultural icon, in particular one that is clearly valued by Buddhists. It is living heritage, though, since the devout do engage in a religious manner at Aukana, offering flowers, chanting gathas etc.
The first thing that came to mind is ‘why a second robe?’ I concur with Anurudda and Amarakeerthi. However I do acknowledge that the aesthetic element lends itself to any number of opinions on what exactly is beautiful. What exactly makes for buddhalambana preethiya I do not know. It’s subjective. It is, to me, unfamiliar. I am drawn to vote in favour of aesthetic valuation closer to what I find more familiar. Therefore I, being a prthagjana, am rather disturbed by the Aukana being draped with a robe.
There is nothing to indicate that either sculpture or king planned to re-robe the Aukana or in fact did so. For me, therefore, the act is not one of robing, but disrobing. It is an insult to that unknown sculpture who made Amarakeerthi, Anuruddha, myself and countless others stop in wonderment and perhaps nudged us to reflect on some element of the doctrine.
The Aukana is sculpted from rock. Robes have far shorter life spans. The Aukana stands not because of the robe. The robe has value because of the Aukana. Whether re-robed or not, I will always see the Aukana, replete with the sculpted robe. The cloth won’t hide it. Perhaps those who see the robe will not see the Aukana. Perhaps those who see and have seen the Aukana have not and will not see the rock. Perhaps in these transformations, interventions and debates over what Aukana is and how it should be, we could comprehend the eternal verities of jati (birth), jaraa (decay) and marana (death).
My reflections on the Aukana (before re-robing) were as follows:
I have imagined the rock without the statue. I have imagined images trapped in rocks and therefore releasable. And reflecting on the reflection, I have obtained a sense of what upadanas (fixations) are, how they are created and how, perhaps, they could be avoided. All this from an image released from a rock. All this from working back from release to entrapment and all the traps that distract and stop the exercise of grasping the eternal verities.
The Aukana can direct people to the doctrine. It doesn’t mean that everyone who gazes upon it will necessarily peruse the philosophical canon. The Aukana, robed, mis-robed or disrobed, does not necessarily impede such exploration either.
['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 the 277th article in the new series that began in December 2022. Links to previous articles are given below]
malindadocs@gmail.com
Other articles in this series:
The word as a sword held to the throat of truth
Residents of and residency in heart and mind
Merit, integrity and seniority in the superior courts
Hunters and 'victims' of immemorial light
The unbearable lightness of pause
Seasons bookeneded by leaves on park benches
The world shall not be emptied of poetry
Reclaiming the everyday with solidarities of tender fury
An Aussie broke a SLan heart in Ind for Afg
Writing magical pieces about something beautiful when time permits
The scattered archives of art and protest
Friendship that keep friends permanently at 16
Amherst: silent, rural, poetic and serendipitous
The virtues of unemployability
A breathless hush at the close
Ahmed Issa, fearless and audacious in Gaza
Let us take a deep breath now...
How Grolier Poetry writes 'Harvard Square'
Following children and their smiles
Let's plant words in cracks and craters
When the earth closes upon us...
Let us now march to the battleground of words
The most pernicious human shield
Who bombed Frankfurter Buchmesse
Love's austere and lonely offices
The mysteriously enjoined in the middle of nowhere
Reflections on the unimaginable
Jackson Anthony is a book and will be read
A village called Narberth Bookshop
'Irvin' and other one-word poems
Earth pieces Kerala and Sri Lanka
In the land of insomnial poets
When you don't need an invitation, it's home
When the Canadian House of Commons applauded a Nazi...
The importance of not skipping steps
No free passes to the Land of Integrity
Hector Kobbekaduwa is not a building, statue, street or stamp
Rajagala and the Parable of the Panner
Let's show love to Starbucks employees!
Octavio Paz and Arthur C Clarke in the stratosphere
9/11 and the calm metal instrument of Salvador Allende's voice
Whitman, Neruda and things that wait in all things
Thilina Kaluthotage's eyes keep watch
Profit: the peragamankaru of major wars
In loving memory of Carrie Lee (1956-2020)
Mobsters on and off the screen
We're here because we're here because we're here
Sha'Carri Richardson versus and with Sha'Carri Richardson
A stroll with Pragg and Arjun along a boulevard in Baku
Daya Sahabandu ran out of partners but must have smiled to the end
Sapan and voices that erase borders
Problem elephants and problem humans
The 'inhuman' elephant in a human zoo
Ivan Art: Ivanthi Fernando's efforts to align meaning
Let's help Jagana Krishnakumar rebuild our ancestral home
Do you have a friend in Pennsylvania (or anywhere?)
A gateway to illumination in West Virginia
Through strange fissures into magical orchards
There's sea glass love few will see
Re-residencing Lakdasa Wikkramasinha
Poisoning poets and shredding books of verse
The responsible will not be broken
Ownership and tenuriality of the Wissahickon
Did you notice the 'tiny, tiny wayside flowers'?
Gifts, gifting and their rubbishing
Journalism inadvertently learned
Reflections on the young poetic heart
Wordaholic, trynasty and other portmanteaus
The 'Loku Aiya' of all 'Paththara Mallis'
Subverting the indecency of the mind
Character theft and the perennial question 'who am I?'
Saji Coomaraswamy and rewards that matter
Seeing, unseeing and seeing again
Alex Carey and the (small) matter of legacy
The insomnial dreams of Kapila Kumara Kalinga
The clothes we wear and the clothes that wear us (down)
Every mountain, every rock, is sacred
Manufacturing passivity and obedience
Sanjeew Lonliyes: rawness unplugged, unlimited
In praise of courage, determination and insanity
The relative values of life and death
Poetry and poets will not be buried
Reunion Peradeniya (1980-1990)
Sorrowing and delighting the world
Encounters with Liyanage Amarakeerthi
Letters that cut and heal the heart
A forgotten dawn song from Embilipitiya
The soft rain of neighbourliness
Reflections on waves and markings
Respond to insults in line with the Akkosa Sutra
The right time, the right person
The silent equivalent of a thousand words
Crazy cousins are besties for life
The lost lyrics of Premakeerthi de Alwis
Consolation prizes in competitions no one ever wins
Blackness, whiteness and black-whiteness
Inscriptions: stubborn and erasable
Deveni: a priceless one-word koan
Recovering run-on lines and lost punctuation
'Wetness' is not the preserve of the Dry Zone
On sweeping close to one's feet
Kumkum Fernando installs Sri Lanka in Coachella, California
To be an island like the Roberts...
Debts that can never be repaid in full
An island which no flood can overwhelm
A melody faint and yet not beyond hearing
Heart dances that cannot be choreographed
Remembering to forget and forgetting to remember
Authors are assassinated, readers are immortal
It is good to be conscious of nudities
Saturday slides in after Monday and Sunday somersaults into Friday
There's a one in a million and a one in ten
Kumkum Fernando installs Sri Lanka in Coachella, California
Hemantha Gunawardena's signature
Architectures of the demolished
The exotic lunacy of parting gifts
Who the heck do you think I am?
Those fascinating 'Chitra Katha'
So how are things in Sri Lanka?
The sweetest three-letter poem
Teams, team-thinking, team-spirit and leadership
The songs we could sing in lifeboats when we are shipwrecked
Jekhan Aruliah set a ball rolling in Jaffna
Awaiting arrivals unlike any other
Teachers and students sometimes reverse roles
Colombo, Colombo, Colombo and so forth
The slowest road to Kumarigama, Ampara
Some play music, others listen
Mind and hearts, loquacious and taciturn
I am at Jaga Food, where are you?
On separating the missing from the disappeared
And intangible republics will save the day (as they always have)
The circuitous logic of Tony Muller
Rohana Kalyanaratne, an unforgettable 'Loku Aiya'
Mowgli, the Greatest Archaeologist
Figures and disfigurement, rocks and roses
Sujith Rathnayake and incarcerations imposed and embraced
Some stories are written on the covers themselves
A poetic enclave in the Republic of Literature
Landcapes of gone-time and going-time
The best insurance against the loud and repeated lie
So what if the best flutes will not go to the best flautists?
There's dust and words awaiting us at crossroads and crosswords
A song of terraced paddy fields
Of ants, bridges and possibilities
From A through Aardvark to Zyzzyva
Words, their potency, appropriation and abuse
Who did not listen, who's not listening still?
If you remember Kobe, visit GOAT Mountain
The world is made for re-colouring
No 27, Dickman's Road, Colombo 5
Visual cartographers and cartography
Ithaca from a long ago and right now
Lessons written in invisible ink
The amazing quality of 'equal-kindness'
The interchangeability of light and darkness
Sisterhood: moments, just moments
Chess is my life and perhaps your too
Reflections on ownership and belonging
The integrity of Nadeesha Rajapaksha
Signatures in the seasons of love
To Maceo Martinet as he flies over rainbows
Fragrances that will not be bottled
Colours and textures of living heritage
Countries of the past, present and future
Books launched and not-yet-launched
The sunrise as viewed from sacred mountains
Isaiah 58: 12-16 and the true meaning of grace
The age of Frederick Algernon Trotteville
Live and tell the tale as you will
Between struggle and cooperation
Neruda, Sekara and literary dimensions
Paul Christopher's heart of many chambers
Calmness gracefully cascades in the Dumbara Hills
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