Siripaala the dead - මැරිච්ච සිරිපාල

Keeping up with my promise of not being an extensively technical blog, this one will give a small story that I heard from the person in the title. First, let's get a background check.

My home-village, is nothing short of a cultural calamity in many aspects. The major reason for this as I see is that until recently, despite being well in the proximity of Colombo, roughly twenty (20) kilometers, the transport facilities were not that good. Neither were the infrastructural facilities in most regions in the village. So the 'outsiders' were reluctant to buy the land to settle here. As a result, until about seven or so years ago, the village was semi-rural. There were lush green lands, not used for any sort of housing or agriculture, and even the rubber plantations were more closer to forests. I remember I spent a good portion of my childhood running around in those bushes and the wild. Especially with the two boys who were to become Buddhist monks and lived in the village temple at that time. Indika and Sampath ( now, rev Rahula and Sujatha  respectively). All three of us have been caught and punished many a time for our mischief. ( Dammit... Kids nowadays know about Twilight... What the hell did humans do wrong? )

Well, this story, happened in the same background. One day, a balloon-man, who was called Siripaala, who used to live and serve as a helper in the Old Temple of the village (Kahathuduwa Nandanarama Viharaya), came to our house. He was just on one of his routine balloon-sales-trips in our street. And since one of my cousins with their then little daughter were at our place, my mother called Siripaala in. They were all sitting in the veranda when I took an interest in the conversation.

Siripaala was a short man, about 4'8'' with an average Sinhalese complexion. He was very thin, and his face was sort of deformed. One of his eyelids covered half that eye.He wore a simple three-quarter short with a moldy, dirty shirt which was a complete different color than the real color of it. Despite this appearance, it didn't take long for us to realize that he was a very pleasant man.And he didn't hold a lot of his life back on the newly met friends. He literally described what books he had read, what musical shows and where he had been to. What sort of dances  he has performed there. And he also shared a bit of his knowledge on Buddhism: How lord Buddha 'summoned a great fire and destroyed Alavaka' (For those wondering, Alavaka was taught a witty lesson in bullying people by Lord Buddha, but he never summoned a fire or any gimmick like that. Not as far as I know at least). And how Lord Buddha wrangled Muchalinda the great Cobra ( again, check this out on the internet or something if you haven't already heard it. That's  not how it happened... ). But all too well, we went on listening to his innocent misconceptions(supposedly).

Among the stories that he shared with us, this one is best told in his narrative.

'When I was younger, I was living in the Dehiwala Temple. Our Chief Monk was a good person. He gave me permission to visit my mother once. And I went home (...Siripala's home was in Weediyagoda),and on my way back, in the public ground of Bandaragama ( now this ground is in ruins actually ...pretty sad) there was a musical show there. I took my time and spent the night dancing on the ground and it was a nice show. But in my absence, something weird has happened. I didn't know then.

'I went to Dehivala temple, and just as I did, the Cheif Monk widened his eyes and asked how I am there. This was surprising for me, because, well, why couldn't I be there? And when I asked what's wrong, he said , "never mind. I thought you were dead". I just ignored this remark because he was a good humored person.

'A couple of months later, I thought of going home again.This time, I took something for my mother and went. And as I walked past the fence of my house, I saw my mother sitting on the porch, nibbling on a piece of bread. But just as she saw me she gave a loud shriek, threw everything away, and ran out of the house through the back door.

'I was lost. I then tried my neighbor's house. This time, my neighbor-a woman- gave a loud shriek and fainted.

'Now I realized something was definitely wrong. So I tried going to the small boutique near my house. As I went there, the vendor in the store grabbed the Yanthra on his neck, and started mumbling 'ithi pi so bhagawa..' (this is a pali phrase Buddhist use as a remedy for fear, crudely put). And then a woman who just came to the shop stood there, dumbfounded, and wide-eyed. I asked her, since she was the first person who didn't either faint or ran away from me, what is wrong. She barely managed to say 'oh brother... you died.. you died' before she too dropped her bag and ran away giving a loud shriek. This sound however, brought me to the attention of the young three wheeler drivers in the park right next to the boutique.

But then when they came, they started throwing me rocks and poking me with pieces of wood and so on. So I ran away from there to the temple. And the reaction of the chief monk of my villages' temple was the same as my mothers'-he ran away.

I realized that something led them to believe that I died. I didn't have a penny left to go back to Dehivala, so I had to stick around. I stayed two weeks, in the cemetery. Just ate scraps of food left in the boutique. No one gave me a glass of water to drink.'

This story, seemed to be a stupid one. Because it was difficult for me to imagine a whole village of people, buying into a ghost-story, even when the ghost appears in broad daylight. But then again, this is a small village, so there is enough reason for this to be true.

After that, the Police had picked him up, and literally begged him not to harm them in return they'd let him go to Dehivala.

Somehow, he had managed to go to Dehivala and ask the chief monk of that temple what happened.

Here's the story then. During that day that he spent at the musical show, someone who was wearing pretty much the same clothing as he does, a plain moldy teeshirt with shorts, had met with an accident. This was right near the Dehivala temple. And the people who saw him, had thought it was Siripala. The body was not properly identified because his head had been smashed in the accident. How ever, within the matter of couple of hours, the chief Monk of the Dehivala temple had gone to the kalubowila hospital where the body was kept. And since he couldn't give Siripala's body in this poor condition to his mother, his only family, he had given consent to do the burial(or cremation) by the Hospital, and sent a telegram to his mother. When Siripala came next day, he had written a letter to Siripala's mother about it, but it never got to her, and even if it did, she couldn't read. He didn't want to upset Siripala again, so he didn't tell it to him first time.

Now, realizing it was his discretion that led to this fiasco, he had taken up the responsibility in clarifying the whole thing in a public gathering in Weediagoda.

Siripala still sells balloons, plastic flutes, toy carts and planes etc. in the Friday fair in the Kahathuduwa Junction. In the weediagoda area, how ever, he is still known as 'Siripala the dead'.