Now that we have bought the lotus flowers, the oil, the wicks and the incense, we start barefooted to the main temple of Saman Devio, who is the protecting God of our province. It is a Buddhist temple, of course, and naturally there is a sanctuary for the Buddha, but the main hall is Saman Devio’s. Big religions have their own flavors and nuances all over the world.
We have washed the lotuses flowers and removed the stems, for only the blossoms should be placed onto the altar. With our offerings in hand, we are making our way towards Lord Buddha’s statue. We quietly queue up in order to put our flowers onto the altar. Carefully placing them one by one, as everybody does, to get perfect little compositions in the river of white flowers bursting sharply with highlights of yellow, purple and rose.
On the courtyard Sunil pours oil into the clay cups sitting in endless rows on the stands. The children are following him to put a wick into each one of them. Ayanthi must adjust nearly all of the wicks, but she doesn’t say a word; let them learn it. They are allowed to light the oil lamps, as well as to might stick the incenses into the huge concrete urns filled with sand.
The Theravada Buddhism, spread throughout the island, is indeed based on the most ancient Pāli scriptures and puts a great accent on ceremonies, and only ceremonies, as I remarked in a weak moment of mine.
“You can’t see into our hearts! You don’t know, what we feel,” the family’s best friend, Nishantha, objected.
“That is true,” I admitted. I feel ashamed having made a superficial judgement once again, and offer a firm promise it would be the last, for the two-thousandth time. However, it took quite a bit of time to see and learn the differences between being religious as I had known it, and that of Sri Lanka.
In Sri Lanka everything starts with prayer. Whether it be the day, an excursion with the kindergartens, building a new house, or the gem-sifting after the wash, a prayer initiates it. In the morning, the TV program starts with religious teachings; first on is the Buddhist and then the Hindu. After that, Christian and finally the Muslim verses inspire people. Oil lamps are lit in all households and everyone prays, offering the new day into God’s Grace. They recite all their troubles and leave them to Him; be as He wants them to be.
“If something doesn’t work out as we planned, we do not worry” Nishantha explains. “We believe it is God’s will. We can do it tomorrow, or the day after.”
The more democratic and Western picture of our relationship with God, namely that we all are of divine origin and without mention of co-creators, would be shocking here.
In the car, on our way to Saman Devali, I announce my excitement with pleasure, to see my friend, Saman Devio again. Dismay immediately follows my words as the air filled with tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. – Saman Devio is everybody’s friend - I say, trying to repair the damage. I hoped to hear signs of relief, as these people always tend to avoid conflicts, but they never came. As if my shame couldn’t get any worse, while at the temple, one of our neighbors frowns at me as I refrain from bowing down to the ground. “You don’t worship Him”– she says. She is right, after all.
We don’t have that kind of respect and humbleness in us anymore. Fifteen years ago I wasn’t able to kiss Mother Theresa’s hand in India, and I feel uncomfortable now as my family members bend to the feet of the Buddhist monks. The Church and the monks are the most respected group in society, which is an imprint leftover from their Hindu origin along with the cast-system. On buses, the seats behind the driver are reserved for them and as soon as one appears in the door anyone sitting there jumps up. In the restaurants they are served first, they enjoy priority everywhere.
Their religion gives them quite a lot to do. All family events are religious events as well, and monks must be invited. There are monks sitting at every first break of soil for every new house, at every name-giving ceremony, at every memorial (dane) and they accompany everyone to their final resting place. According to their faith, offerings a Buddhist monk means good points. The more monks the more good scores. One can get good points for pilgrimages and offerings, so everybody exercises those eagerly.
“Our religion prescribes only five rules,” the hotel owner explains on my first trip to the country. “Abstain from taking life, taking what is not given, sensuous misconduct, false speech and intoxicants”.
Of course, they break these rules sometimes as well, yet they are in a kind of constant intimate relation with the Transcendence, which is sometimes literally visible. You might notice it from the silent introversion on the children’s faces as they stick incense into the concrete urns, or from the awe on the women’s faces listening the holy verses, but mostly from all the cheerfulness that provides the rhythm to their lives. For what else would joy be other than hope, faith and good conscience?
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