Muni: An Incredible Buddhist Boyhood

By Susunaga Weeraperuma

This fascinating novel illustrates how the law of karma operates as well as the power and efficacy of meditation.
It is a pen-portrait of Sri Lankan society with its colourful customs and practices.
When Muni gets into a trance and recognises people and places he knew in his previous life we have evidence of rebirth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781483548975

Book preview

Tree

Nature is Cruel and Kind

The tremendous claps of thunder and occasional flashes of lightning were truly frightening. The animals in the villages and dense tropical jungles were fleeing in panic, running hither and thither and seeking shelter from the furious storms. The monsoon winds had been blowing hard for several weeks without interruption. The gusty forces were howling through the trees. The tall and graceful coconut palms that line the island’s sandy coasts, and even gigantic tamarind trees, were all swaying in the wind, doing a wild dance. Landslides and numerous fallen trees blocked the roads and railway lines. Additionally, the dull and overcast skies were darkening the rubber and coconut plantations. The pervading gloom lowered the spirits of the people who were long accustomed to brilliant blue skies and sunny days. Owing to the elements that were in full swing, the country was in chaos. It was as though Mother Nature were angrily screaming at man and beast and cursing them for their wicked ways.

The rains were pouring down. The swollen rivers, such as the Mahaveli and the Kelani, unexpectedly burst their banks, and then the chocolate-coloured muddy waters flooded the nearby valleys and low-lying areas. So powerful was the force of the raging torrents that even carts and cattle, like light garden debris, were swept away. The wattle-and-daub huts of poor peasants simply collapsed and disappeared. How sad that entire villages were submerged by rising waters! Thousands were made homeless. Seeing the plight and sufferings of homeless refugees was a pathetic sight indeed.

Though the monsoon can cause havoc right throughout the country, we owe it a very great debt of gratitude. Thanks to the heavy showers, the water-starved regions were no longer parched. The rain-soaked soil was ready for cultivation. The long-horned and blackish water buffaloes managed to pull their heavy wooden ploughs in muddy fields. The monsoons are a reminder that it is water that nourishes Sri Lanka’s vast and seemingly endless acres and acres of fresh green paddy fields. The sight of so much greenery soothes the nerves and delights the eye. Because of the rains, the scantily clad farmers with beads of sweat on their dark sunburned bodies could continue with the cultivation of various crops. Rice and a wide range of fruits and vegetables become available in due course.

It was nature with all her beauty, not man-made things like money or motor cars, that engrossed Muni. Whenever he looked at a plant or an animal, or indeed anything in the vast field of nature, it was usually with spellbinding interest. He simply adored the sight of green parrots and loved to become friendly with them so that he could teach them songs. His overtures of friendship almost always failed for the birds would squawk and fly away. He also enjoyed seeing striped squirrels with their bushy tails. How the squirrels nervously grabbed nuts from his outstretched hands and made a dash for the nearest tree trunk! Enchanted with the brilliantly coloured flowers and animals, Muni would lose all sense of time and spend hours just looking at the tropical trees that had captured his attention.

Open-mouthed, six-year-old Muni was gazing with dreamy brown eyes at his surroundings. Although the weather was very damp and cool, the dark brown boy was wearing only a thin cotton vest and a green and brown striped sarong neatly wrapped around his waist. His sleek black hair was even shinier than that of his two elder sisters for he regularly used coconut oil when combing it.

Muni walked gingerly on the rain-drenched and slippery cement floor of the veranda, lest he carelessly trampled to death the tiny black beetles and frogs that had crept there during the night. As the pitter-patter of rain continued to fall on the sloping red roof that morning, Muni watched the downpour, fascinated, as the water splashed against the bright green banana plants. How those tender plants, he thought with a faint smile, must be enjoying the experience of being bathed again and again! Still it saddened him when he thought about the ants and millions of other insects in their watery graves that rainy day.

Muni continued to gaze at the grey skies and listen with rapt attention to the sound of the heavy raindrops falling on the trees. He was truly entranced. The sound was sheer music to his ears.

Staring into space like a bloody idiot! screamed Ramya, Muni’s eldest sister, who was eighteen years his senior. Ramya enjoyed bossing the boy around. This fool, she added almost hysterically, will once again be late for school!

No sooner had Ramya left the veranda than Khema rushed to the boy.

Please take this with you to school, said the shy and soft-spoken Khema, handing her only brother a brand new umbrella. Muni smiled at the kind-hearted Khema, appreciative of her thoughtful gesture.

Ramya was happily reading The Daily News in the overcrowded bus on her way to her office. She held a managerial position in a local bank. It never mattered much to her that she had been responsible for making Muni unhappy that morning.

Conscious of her pretty face and slim figure, this proud young woman had had many suitors but she, alas, was still without a husband. Nevertheless, captivated by the charm that Ramya exuded, many were blind to her shortcomings. But a few close relations believed that her haughty manner sprang from a certain pride not only in her good looks but also in her Western education, for she had several degrees from European and American universities.

Only seven years older than Muni, Khema was very different from her sister Ramya in both appearance and temperament. Khema wore her long and gleaming black hair in two plaits. But Ramya had her hair cut short in the manner of a Western woman. None of the daughters followed their mother Soma’s traditional Sinhala mode of wearing the hair in an enormous roundish bun over the neck. Whenever Ramya’s mother tried to dissuade her from having short hair, Ramya would strongly disagree and say, I don’t want to look like a peasant or a servant with long hair! Don’t you realise that I’m an educated lady who has good taste?

While Khema was like a very dark and youthful Negress, oval-faced and studious, her elder sister Ramya was wheat-complexioned, round-faced and rather flirtatious. Khema and her portly middle-aged mother had similar interests. They had a religious temperament. Khema, for instance, did not mind skipping her lectures at medical college from time to time just in order to accompany Soma on her pilgrimages to sacred sites in Sri Lanka and India.

Soma held Muni in deep affection. Yet she became increasingly neglectful of him as she was hardly at home. Most of her time was spent at a forest meditation centre in the tranquillity of the ancient Buddhist city of Anuradhapura. Soma’s decision to stay away from her family — husband, two daughters and son — merely because of her involvement in Buddhist activities resulted in a motherless house, which situation was especially hard on Muni at such a tender age. Viewed from the standpoint of her husband, he now had to lead a wifeless life. Poor Premadasa could barely sign his name, let alone do any housework, with his arthritic hands. Actually, it was rheumatoid arthritis. His perpetual pains made him somewhat irritable during trying times. But the man put on a brave face, trying his best not to let his suffering show. His few friends failed to understand how Premadasa, following his early retirement from teaching, managed on his own with his grown-up daughters and son. Premadasa lived with the great expectation that Soma would someday return home.

Hard though she tried, Soma did find it difficult to divest herself of thoughts related to her son. Sometimes during the silence of the night when everyone at the meditation centre was fast asleep, lying on her narrow camp bed inside her cell, Soma would have fond memories of her long-suffering son. She would particularly ruminate over the first few months of Muni’s life. She would remember how the infant used to doze off when she carried him in her arms. Those days it was her practice to wrap the baby in the soft folds of her long cotton sari, slowly walking the village streets of Dangedera. This village was a sleepy suburb of the historically famous city of Galle on the sea. When he became a toddler the restless child would stumble across the furniture of their house, trying in vain to reach his mother at the far end of her room. That was where Soma loved to sit quietly and enjoy Sinhala songs on the radio.

Hearth and Home

Muni lived with his father and two sisters in a simple country cottage. Their home was situated on top of a hill. From the veranda one could have a panoramic view of rubber trees and coconut plantations in the far distance. There were picturesque scenes of vast expanses of land with much greenery and tropical flowers. One could also see the vegetable garden and the stone walls of the well. The well water was hardly used for farming because the gushing streams that bordered the property provided sufficient water for the plants.

The spacious single-storey brick house was quite new but its peeling paint made it look rather old and neglected. The family’s four-bedroom home was originally designed for four persons. At that time no one could have foreseen the subsequent departure of Premadasa’s wife to a Buddhist retreat.

The rain-stained white walls of the house were all bare except for an enormous wedding photo of the couple in the dining room. In this picture Premadasa, dressed in a two-piece cream suit and a matching tie, is beaming, his white teeth contrasting with his black moustache. Dressed in a shiny and silken white sari, Soma stands beside him arm in arm. The bride has a faint smile but her sensitive eyes look confused and somewhat insecure about the future.

Their house had no curtains to keep away the powerful rays of the sun. The wooden shutters were closed only occasionally, especially when it rained heavily. The windows were left open all the time, yet none complained about the lack of privacy in their rooms.

At first Premadasa and his asthmatic wife Soma shared the largest bedroom. That dark and damp room not only worsened his arthritis and aggravated her asthma but also precipitated her decision to leave home. Ramya, Muni’s elder sister, lived in what was, by all accounts, the best room. It was a capacious room with fitted wardrobes for her numerous saris. It also commanded a wonderful view of the coconut tree-lined pathway leading to the house and the splendid garden with its very bright and showy canna flowers.

The compassionate Khema, Muni’s favourite sister, was the happy occupier of the third room. It was full of medical books that were essential reading materials for her course of studies. Khema loved to hang up her stethoscope on a peg near the window as though it were a garland of fragrant jasmine flowers. She hardly used the stethoscope at home, but why was it so prominently displayed? She regarded it as a little reminder that she should study hard to become a doctor someday.

Totally absorbed in her studies, Khema had no time to do any housework; however, there were two capable servants.

There was Tissa, the thirty-year-old houseman. He did all the general jobs in the house, including gardening and carrying heavy bucketfuls of water from the well. This strong man with foxy features was an efficient gardener. Thanks to Tissa, the garden always looked well kept. There was also Manel, the fleshy nineteen-year-old housemaid. She was responsible for cooking, washing clothes and keeping the house clean and tidy. This country lass came from a neighbouring village. It would have been better if this girl of little education were attending school. It was a sign of the times that the semiliterate and poverty-stricken were more keen on earning some money than studying hard and thereby bettering themselves.

In Khema’s sparsely furnished room nothing was more noticeable than an upright human skeleton. She used to examine it from time to time when studying the structure of the human body. It wasn’t a fake but a real human skeleton. At anytime of the day or night one could see it there, as though it were a shrivelled man who was standing all alone and absolutely still for all time.

Manel found the skeleton’s silence very eerie. Its very sight made her shudder. It was with a certain reluctance that she swept the floor of Khema’s room.

One day Manel marched over to Premadasa in a fit of anger and blurted out, Sir, a ghost is haunting your house! I feel its presence beside me most of the time. But the ghost is most active when it’s dark.

Are you sure? asked Premadasa with a touch of scepticism.

Yes, she replied, I know that the skeleton once belonged to the ghost. Sir, the ghost likes to see its former skeleton and then think about its previous life as a human being! Please, sir, I request you, I beg of you, please get rid of the skeleton!

I don’t own it, replied Premadasa with a shrug of his shoulders as if the matter were very unimportant.

If you’re going to keep the skeleton then I’ll have to leave and find work in another house, said Manel, making it very clear to Premadasa that soon he would have to choose between retaining the skeleton and retaining her services.

He stopped talking, thinking over the problem for a while.

The subject of disembodied spirits interests me a lot, remarked Premadasa, but I’ll ask my family if what you’re saying is true.

Next, in the presence of Manel, Premadasa questioned all his children over the dining table.

Has anyone at anytime seen a ghost in this house? Premadasa inquired.

What a crazy idea! remarked Ramya.

No, I haven’t seen any, said Khema.

No, but I’d like to see a ghost, said Muni, and find out for myself if ghosts are any better than human beings!

Isn’t it very clear to you now, said Premadasa, turning his heavy teak chair towards Manel standing beside him, that none has seen a ghost? Maybe you should free yourself of this childish fear. Why are you afraid of dark places? Manel, be brave!

Bitterly disappointed by the reaction of her boss, Manel slowly walked away from him. During the next few weeks the interest in ghosts began to disappear gradually in the minds of all.

After using the outside lavatory one night, Manel was standing at the rear entrance to the house. It was then that she started screaming for help. Her hysterical screams rang through the house. Everyone rushed to the scene of panic. She was lying on the hard cement floor, looking pale, dishevelled and frightened.

The poor girl has fainted, said Khema, feeling her pulse.

But Manel soon regained consciousness and started staring at the anxious faces of everyone around her.

What has happened to you? asked Premadasa, looking very worried.

I think the ghost was walking behind me. Then I think it grabbed at this place, Manel muttered, pointing her finger in the direction of her bountiful breasts.

But does a ghost have hands? asked Muni.

That’s a good question, observed Premadasa, agreeing with the point made by his son.

Tomorrow, said Manel, I’ll be returning to my village. I can’t live here any longer.

The following morning just as Manel was packing up and getting ready to leave the house for good, Tissa the houseman hurried to meet the departing Manel.

Please continue working here, said Tissa tearfully, imploring her to stay. I’m very fond of you, he explained, declaring his love for the first time, and if you’re not going to be here anymore I’ll be heartbroken, won’t I?

That may be so, replied Manel, but I’ve got to run away from the ghost.

Ghost? What ghost? said Tissa, gasping with surprise. He added, My dearest, I’m the person who was trying to touch you that night!

All the members of the family, except Premadasa, burst into laughter once they heard the story about the so-called ghost. Manel breathed a sigh of relief on realising that the house, after all, was not at all haunted. She decided not to leave her job.

Tissa got a scolding from Premadasa for instilling fear into Manel.

I don’t like servants who mix business with pleasure, said Premadasa, while giving Tissa the sack. Premadasa immediately replaced Tissa by a youth called Banda.

Poor Tissa, the unpleasantness of losing his livelihood was worsened by the loss of his sweetheart.

Moved by Animal and Human Suffering

Bitterly disappointed with Tissa’s unexpected behaviour, over a long period Premadasa searched for a reliable servant. Premadasa eventually decided to employ Banda, but only after Banda’s father had repeatedly assured him that Banda was a youngster of good character.

Six-year-old Muni struck up a friendship with the much older Banda, the new houseboy, who hailed from a highland village close to Kandy. The slightly built and innocent-looking teenager did create a good impression. But was he strong enough to do the household chores?

Whenever Banda had nothing to do, it became his practice to drop in on Muni to have a good natter. Such chats were mutually enjoyable in the absence of a television or a radio to amuse them. Most of the time Banda was barechested and barefooted.

Wearing only a cotton sarong that was clumsily draped around his slim waist, its whiteness contrasting with his dark complexion, Banda squatted on the dusty floor of Muni’s room.

Why don’t you sit on that chair? said Muni, politely offering Banda a comfortable seat.

My place is the floor! exclaimed Banda, feeling uneasy about the kind offer to sit in a chair. Sir, I’m your servant, and I’m also a low-caste lad.

Nonsense! shouted Muni, showing his opposition to the prevailing caste system that creates unnecessary barriers and bitterness between otherwise friendly people.

The months passed quietly and uneventfully and Banda settled down in his new surroundings. One day as Banda was feeling rather bored he popped in to see Muni who had just finished having his afternoon nap.

You live in the smallest room of the house, remarked Banda.

I’m happy here. I’ve a roof over my head. That’s something! Millions are homeless! What a world! commented little Muni sadly, watching a lizard hungrily chasing an insect crawling across the wall.

Muni’s room adjoined the veranda, making it easy for him to enter the house or leave it whenever he liked. He didn’t have to use the main entrance when going in or coming out. Muni was usually disturbed by the noises from the veranda, especially if the visitors to the house spoke loudly.

The ceramic floor tiles of the house had a certain pinkish glow. It must be said that ceramic floors are easy to wash. Only the tiny shrine room had a marble floor. Slabs of marble were very expensive at that time but Muni’s parents were keen on using marble for this special room, which they regarded as an especially sacred place. At anytime of the day or night anyone was free to retire to this shrine room for meditation. Every evening the family would gather here for ritual chanting. Although Muni liked to hear the chanting of holy hymns, what he particularly loved doing was sitting here all alone in total silence.

In his room Muni slept on a simple wooden charpoy bed with a very hard surface. A shiny palmyra palm mat from Jaffna covered his bed. The coolness of this mat was conducive to sound sleep even when there were soaring temperatures. When the heat became oppressive, as was usually the case during the months of March and April, it was Muni’s practice to wear a bare minimum of clothes. He either wore white shorts or cotton sarongs along with his favourite threadbare shirts. The odd thing was that he preferred wearing worn-out shirts to new ones like a rag-donning mendicant, and in the manner of a paddy-cultivating peasant he enjoyed being barefooted. But his parents compelled him to wear western-style shoes or Asian open-toed sandals when attending school.

Some extremely poor students would attend classes without any footwear. On the whole students loved to wear good shoes. They would shudder at the thought of being without shoes for that would bring disgrace on their families. Muni, however, never treated students without shoes as persons of inferior social status.

An elegantly carved wooden table placed on the corner of Muni’s room was clearly meant for use as a writing table. Premadasa, who was a connoisseur of fine furniture, insisted that Muni must use this table. But much to Premadasa’s regret, it was rarely that Muni used it. In the presence of visitors and guests, Premadasa was keen to show it off by saying that’s an antique mahogany piece but Muni took no great pride in it. Nevertheless, acting out of deference to his father, Muni would use it once in a while.

Premadasa never liked Muni’s annoying habit of using the floor as a table whenever he wanted to do any writing. While lying in a prone position on the bare floor, looking rather like a frog, he would relax his whole body and write. Even when the boy felt the need to do some reading, he avoided using the table, preferring instead the comfort of the cane chair on the veranda. Sitting there for hours without a care in the world, Muni would pore over numerous books, magazines and newspapers.

Once it was so silent as if the birds had stopped singing. All that one could hear were a few raucous caws from crows perched on the enormous jack fruit tree. The midday heat was intolerable and beads of perspiration were rolling down Muni’s face. Enjoying the coolness of the ceramic floor tiles of his room, Muni was lying on the floor. With his stomach and arms pressed against the ground, Muni’s legs were stretched out.

Why aren’t you sitting at your desk? said Premadasa, telling off his son for doing his homework spread-eagled on the floor. Don’t you like to sit behind a desk and feel that you’ve become a very important person? Why not imagine that you’re a principal of a college or a rich and powerful bank manager?

I’m only a schoolboy! That’s what I am in actuality, opined Muni, but if I start believing that I’ve become an important man such as the President of this country, people will rightly say that I’ve gone crazy. Dear father, why pretend to be important when I’m very unimportant?

Muni’s possessions were very few indeed. All his clothes — several short-sleeved shirts, shorts and sarongs — were all neatly folded and kept inside a suitcase that lay on the floor. There was no cupboard in his room. It did not matter to him in the least that there was no place to keep his clothes. Even Muni’s most treasured possessions, which were his favourite books, were all safely tucked away under his bed. He made sure that these were all hidden from sight!

The winds of change were blowing but blowing far too slowly in the lush green rural villages. Lorries had not yet completely replaced the snail-paced bullock carts that were widely used for transporting goods. Only the very wealthy minority owned cars. Many poor people still travelled in carriages — the two-wheeled bull-drawn buggies. Muni got a lot of fun out of going around to nearby places by buggy. Often Muni accompanied his father on these trips. On several occasions the sight of carters shouting at bulls and whipping them or goading them onward filled Muni with disgust. Sometimes he felt so upset that even his stomach turned.

Once an impatient carter had used a sharp stick to prod and drive a bull that was moving slowly.

I’d prefer to walk, complained Muni to his father, jumping down from the buggy in protest.

It is true that Muni’s home had the comparative luxury of electricity but, alas, there was no running water. This lack meant that everyone was required to walk downhill to the well to have a bath. This well was a dark and mysterious-looking hole in the ground. The small wall around it was there to avoid accidents. There was no tap even in the kitchen that one could turn on for preparing food or washing plates. On the whole it was a comfortable house, yes, but it wasn’t well organised.

The task of fetching gallons of water for daily use in the kitchen fell to Banda, the domestic worker. Drawing water from the well and climbing up the hill thereafter, following this rigorous ritual several times a day, was one of Banda’s many duties. But unfortunately he was a weakling.

I suppose I’m the two-legged donkey of your home, remarked Banda with a heavy heart while having a conversation with Muni. You like animals, don’t you, he added with a forced smile. Everyday my arms ache and I don’t have the strength to carry heavy pails.

Are you searching for a better job? asked Muni, showing a sincere concern for the servant.

There aren’t any, replied Banda with woeful eyes. My father, he said, "is unemployed. At home we have to live on a starvation diet of white rice, salt and chickpeas. Last year my mother died, as there wasn’t enough food. She was always ill.