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after king Walagamba regained his capital the Buddhist texts were for the first
time reduced to writing, with the commentaries. This was about twenty years
before our era: for four countries they had been handed down orally from teacher
to pupil. Now five hundred monks met recited the texts and agreed on an
acceptable version, and wrote them on leaves of the Talipot-Palm.
Traditionally
this was at the Aluvihare, near Matale like most tradition s it is contested,
but the temple is worth visiting for itself. Ceylon specializes in rock-temple:
none I think surpasses this one in extravagant beauty. Not placid elegance but
a purer landscape. And this because most of the rock temples nest confidingly
like swallows under the overhang of rounded boulders. Here huge shape-edged
gneiss rocks were thrown one on another when a baby giant tired of his toys,
and the buildings cower below them.
There
is a little to see except the rocks. There are some wall paintings: Most of
them are modern and bad. On the other hand the little modern bell-arch is at
least simple, and its gentle curves contrast attractively with the rocks, like
a small confident bird in a crocodile’s mouth.
Where
the five hundred monks assembled to record the next is a puzzle. There is one
flat space, but it would not seat five hundred, nor even stand them: many must
have perched themselves on rock edges and in rock-crevices, like a flock of
golden birds. And how did they work, I wonder? Probably one elder, famed for
his knowledge of the texts, would recite slowly while sweating monk-scribe
wrote with iron style on a palm leaf strips. Then a doubt might arise, one of
the five hundred rising in his place to catch the eye of the presiding
arch-abbot & suggest a variant reading.
It
must have taken years. The texts alone are said to be eleven times the length
of the bible, to say nothing of the commentaries. Many million foot prints must
have worth the steps which climb from the road. Lots and lots of steps but not
steps ones, and well shaded. Halmilla was there, and Daluk, and much of what I
thought were ferns but was later assured were mere imitations. A flock of
Munias burst like a brown explosion from one grove as I intruded for a photo
graph. One of Ceylon sudden small boys usefully warned me as I began to push
into the thorny entanglement. Be careful, that Dulak juice will kill your
eyes. He correctly shouted. It would have been only too easy to get some
on a hand in breaking on to be strong, square sectioned branches and the rub
& sweat-pestered eye.
