FROM KANDY TO ANURADHAPURA
The Alu-Vihara—Dambulla Rock Temple—Sigiri—Murder of Dhatu Sena—
Rita-gala—Restoration of Kala-wewa and other tanks—Ancient system of
irrigation—Serfdom—Opening ceremonial—Vigita-pura—Colossal Buddha at
the Aukana Vihara.
Of course one of the objects most to be desired in visiting Ceylon is to
accomplish an expedition to the ruins of the pre-Christian city of
Anuradhapura, in the heart of the North-Central Province, and of the
more recent, but almost equally ruined, city of Pollanaruwa, which lies
inland on the eastern coast—both buried in the depths of the jungle.
Even now these are not easily accessible to ordinary mortals, and
involve somewhat troublesome and expensive travelling, as it is
necessary to arrange for hiring a carriage for the whole trip, unless
one is content to travel part of the way by a wretched two-horse coach,
and the rest by public bullock-cart, which proceeds at the rate of
two-and a-half miles per hour, the bullocks being adorned with necklaces
of jingling bells—a hateful addition to the creaking of wooden wheels
and the clouds of hot dust. I was, therefore, fully conscious of
singular good fortune when the Governor most kindly arranged that I
should form one of his party to Anuradhapura in the month of June; while
the Bishop, having occasion to visit many places on the east coast in
the autumn, promised that I should then see Pollanaruwa.
Leaving Kandy at daybreak on June 6, we drove down the Ballacaduwa Pass
to Matale—_i.e._, the _Maha-talawa_, or great plain, which lies 560 feet
lower than Kandy. It is a lovely drive to a very pretty, long,
straggling town, with rich foliage on all hands, and glimpses of a fine
river, the Pinga-oya, and beautiful hills crowning all. (A railway is
now open thus far, so that this first stage is made easy for
travellers.)
I would advise any artist in search of characteristic scenery to ride
from here to the summit of Vicarton Gorge, which is about 3,500 feet
above the sea. It is a very steep eight miles uphill, through rocky
coffee plantations—of course without a bit of shade—but on reaching the
summit the view is rewarding. You look down between two mighty crags of
chocolate-coloured rock, crowned with green forest, to a fertile valley
far below, all laid out in thousands of small rice-fields, with here and
there hillocks of rock and timber. These are not prosaic angular fields,
like the familiar fields of Britain, but a multitude of small crescents
terracing every undulation of the land, and at the season when I saw
them each was a glittering lakelet. And the great valley itself winds
like the course of a wide stream, vanishing in the distance amid
interminable ranges of shapely blue hills.
About 100 B.C. Matale was one of the royal residences of King
Walagam-bahu, who lived in stormy times, his country being invaded by
great armies from Malabar. The king was driven from his throne, and,
like our own Prince Charlie, he wandered about, finding concealment in
rocky caves known only to the natives. When, after fifteen years, he was
restored to the throne, he remembered the caves which had given him
sanctuary, and elaborated many of them into rock temples, in one of
which, by his command, a company of Buddhist priests and scribes
assembled, and committed to writing on palm-leaves, and in the Pali
language, the Scriptures, which till then had been preserved by
tradition only.
The cave of so great literary interest is the Alu-Vihara, rather more
than two miles from Matale. We visited it after breakfast, and found it,
like nearly all the so-called cave-temples in Ceylon, to be by no means
what we understand by a cave, but merely a series of recesses among huge
fragments of fallen crag and gigantic weather-worn boulders of dark
gneiss, some of which form overhanging canopies, so leaving partial
caves. These are artificially walled up in front, and a thatched or
tiled verandah is added in front, while the inside is furnished with
divers images, and the rock-walls are frequently decorated with gaudy
frescoes of mythological scenes. Some of these are wiharas, or temples,
others pansalas, or priests’ cells.
We ascended by steep stairs, hewn in the rock, to visit some little
relic-shrines; but the powerful smell of multitudes of small bats, which
cluster among these rocks, was sickening. Their presence, however, is
useful, as the dark-brown soil is greatly valued as manure, and the
natives even obtain nitre with which to make gunpowder by boiling and
filtering this dust.
Thence we drove on, up hill and down dale, passing various finely-shaped
hills, especially Aran-galla, which formed a noble background for an
interesting ruined Hindoo temple (Gedigé) near Nalande, where we spent
the first night. There was the usual gathering of village head-men and
other picturesque natives to receive the Governor; and the approach to
the rest-house, which is very prettily situated among dark trees, was
beautifully decorated with a most graceful pandal (the great honorific
arch), and a long line of low arches, fringed with foliage. The house
was all decorated with calico and flowers; while a group of _cadjan_—
_i.e._, plaited palm-leaf huts—had been erected for the gentlemen. The
wind, however, was so wild as effectually to murder sleep: so we were
all rather tired for next morning’s early start _en route_ to Dambulla
(hitherto called Dambool), where we spent the day and night, to allow
time for seeing the most remarkable group of rock-caves in Ceylon.
The road was very beautiful, partly a steep descent between rocky
mountains, and overshadowed by great trees. On our way we crossed the
dry beds of several streams—the Mirisgoni-oya, the Dambulu-oya, the
Malwatta-oya, and the Nalanda-oya, which are typical Ceylonese rivers.
For nine months of the year they are at best feeble rills, trickling
through an expanse of dry sand, but in the rain torrents of the N.E.
monsoon in November and December the rivers are in flood, pouring down
from the hills in raging torrents, and impassable for days together.
Strange to say, the system adopted in opening up this country was to
make excellent roads first, and leave the bridges to be constructed by
the next generation; whereas it certainly seems as if the bridges were
the primary necessity. These have now been supplied, and fine iron
lattice bridges now allow of secure travel at all seasons.
The banks of some of these streams are suggestive of coarse basket-work,
so close is the network of interlacing roots of great trees. One which
is conspicuous is the kabuk tree, which is very large, and seems not to
mind drought—in fact, the natives say it attracts a reservoir for its
own use, and they can always find water near its roots. The red timber
is prized as being very durable, so the tree is valuable in all its
stages.
Though the road from Matale seems to wind as much up hill as down, we
were steadily losing level, Dambulla being only 533 feet above the sea.
Here from a level plain rises a solitary huge mass of bare dark-red
gneiss rock, about 500 feet in height and 2,000 in length. It is
certainly more curious than beautiful, and the sketch with which I
beguiled the heat of the noontide was largely indebted to its foreground
of luxuriant palmated cacti with yellow blossoms. The great tree-cactus,
with arms like a gigantic candelabra, also flourishes in this hot
district, a very weird-looking plant. I might have included a white
ant’s castle, as these are numerous and conspicuous objects.
A few human beings, looking like moving mites on the summit, gave me a
good idea of the great size of this smooth rounded mountain of rock,
chief among many which tower like dark-reddish islands from the green
levels of rice or jungle, forming a very remarkable geological feature
of this part of Ceylon. One of just the same character and apparent
height as this towers above Kurunegalla, and, in common with most of
these, is crowned by a venerated temple and great relic-shrines: some,
as at Dambulla, have caves in ledges near the summit, which have been
fashioned into temples, and curious weather-worn pot-holes are supposed
to have been the baths of sundry kings and saints.
In the afternoon we started by a jungle path to the base of the rock,
and then passing the pansala, or monk’s cell, began the steep ascent by
a path across the bare rock, which, however, gives a firm foothold, and
at last landed us on the platform of arid rock in front of the temples,
where, strange to say, a large bo-tree and a few cocoa-palms contrive to
subsist. Of course some of the yellow-robed fraternity were waiting to
do the honours, their colouring and gracefully worn drapery being
specially harmonious with the surroundings of dark rock.
Though I had begun to realise that memories of India must really not be
allowed to force themselves into comparison with scenes in Ceylon, the
mention of famous rock temples insensibly suggested thoughts of
Elephanta and Ellora, with the inevitable result of a feeling of
disappointment at the roughness of detail, and general jar to one’s
sense of artistic beauty. But once comparisons are dismissed, one
realises how strange are the succession of pictures presented by these
five caves, each full of idols, dimly seen by the subdued light.
The first cave is the Maha Dewa Dewale—_i.e._, ‘the Temple of the Great
God,’ a name familiar in Hindoo cities as that of Siva, but which here
is applied to Vishnu, whose wooden image is here present, and so greatly
venerated that ordeal by oath is still practised in its presence. So was
ordeal by boiling oil, which happily is now illegal. It stands facing a
gigantic recumbent figure of Buddha in the sleep of Nirvana, lying on
one side, with the head resting on the hand, and sacred lotus-blossoms
engraven on the soles of the feet. At the feet stands a wooden statue of
a disciple watching his master’s long sleep, and several small images of
Buddha. The great one is forty-seven feet in length, and is said by the
priests to be sawn from the solid rock, which in this case seems
impossible, unless the whole cave were artificial, of which there is no
trace.
The adornment of this cave is attributed to King Walagam Bahu, about 80
B.C., after he had conquered the Malabar invaders, so it is singular
that such a devout Buddhist should have dedicated his work to Vishnu.
The finely sculptured stone doorway is decorated with many figures, and
two guardians canopied by the seven-headed cobra.
In the next cavern—the Maha-raja-Wihare, ‘the Temple of the Great King’—
there is a large statue of the king himself. This cave is simply a
gallery about 170 feet long by 70 feet wide, and 22 feet in height at
the outer edge; but this curves backward, so that the back is barely
four feet high. In this dark cool chamber are grouped about forty-eight
images of Buddha, most of them larger than life: there is something
rather impressive about this great company of idols dimly seen through
the subdued light, and seated around a relic-shrine. Some are canopied
by the seven-headed cobra. There are also images of the Hindoo gods
Vishnu, Mata, and Saman, and the goddess Patiné (who has to be
propitiated in times of smallpox).
Here, too, is a large wooden image of King Kirti Sri Nissanga, who about
A.D. 1193 restored the temple, which had been sacrilegiously injured by
Malabar invaders. He had all the statues re-guilded, and the walls
gaudily painted with such a predominance of yellow, that the cave was
then named Rangiri, the golden rock.
On the roof and sides of the rock are painted curious frescoes in the
crudest colours, which are periodically renewed, in which all manner of
subjects are oddly blended—Hindoo divinities, Buddha and his disciples
represented as of divers nations and colours, and crowned with aureoles,
that of Buddha himself having semicircles of sacred geese and other
sacred emblems. A tiny image of Buddha is shown kneeling at the feet of
his predecessor, praying that he may attain to Buddhahood.
There are also historical scenes, such as the famous duel, fought B.C.
164, between the Singhalese Prince Dutugemunu and the Malabar usurper
Elala, a prince of Mysore, each mounted on a great elephant. They met in
single contest in presence of their armies, outside the walls of
Anuradhapura. After a desperate combat Elala was slain, and Dutugemunu
was proclaimed king. As a pious Buddhist, he devoted the rest of his
days to all possible acts of atonement for the blood he had shed in war.
With chivalrous honour he erected a monument to Elala, and enacted that
thenceforth, as processions passed the tomb, music must cease, and even
kings must alight from their palanquins. So firmly was this custom
rooted, that when, nineteen hundred years later, in 1816, the Kandyan
leader of an unsuccessful insurrection was making his escape _viâ_
Anuradhapura, weary and worn, he caused his palanquin-bearers to halt
that he might alight, and walk past the venerated monument. The story
was told to us as we stood beside the earthen mound which marks the tomb
of Elala.
There are also quaint representations (with figures ludicrously out of
proportion, and fish larger than the ships, popping up their heads from
blue waves) of the first landing (B.C. 543) of the Indian Prince Wijeyo
with his Singhalese followers, illustrating their conquest of the
aborigines. But when our kinsman, Campbell of Islay, visited these
caves, with a mind imbued with the quaint parallel myths he had traced
in so many lands, he descried many mystic meanings, and found that the
priest in charge knew some of them—as, for instance, when the little
daughter of the Yakkas, _alias_ demons, _alias_ aborigines, stands
pleading before the conquering king, who presently is shown holding up
two fingers of his left hand to bless her, who has saved his seven
hundred giants in the lotus swamp. Then comes a strange white steed
prancing about with the king among a lot of headless black trunks, with
heads rolling about all over the place.
‘She became a mare,’ said the priest, ‘and helped the king to kill the
Yakshas, and he married her, and that was the first king of Ceylon.’ To
which Mr. Campbell replied: ‘I know a Gaelic story in which a lady turns
herself into a grey mare and helps a man to slay no end of people, and
escape, and conquer a kingdom. And is not the story of the Master Maid,
in Dasent’s translation of Norse tales, founded on the same set of
incidents in which a “grey mare is the better horse”?... In Scotland it
is the King of Norway and the Princess of Ireland. Here it is the king
who comes from the sea and the princess of the demons on shore.... But
in Barra, Japan, and Ceylon, at three ends of the world, the same myths
are fathered on the fathers of the conquering people and on their little
demon mothers.’[101]
-----
Footnote 101:
‘My Circular Notes,’ vol. ii. p. 155. By J. F. Campbell. Macmillan.
-----
Wijeyo married Kuweni, the princess who had helped him to conquer her
own relations, but afterwards he sought to strengthen his position by
marrying the daughter of an Indian king, and so dismissed her and her
children. Mr. Campbell might in this story have found another connecting
link between the myths of Scotland and of Ceylon. For, as every good
Highlander knows, a red thread bound round any person or object is an
effectual safeguard against witchcraft;[102] and here in Ceylon, no
sooner had Wijeyo landed with his followers than he was met by a ‘devo,’
or god, who blessed them, and tied a thread round the arm of each as a
protection against sorcery. Hence Wijeyo’s deliverance from the
sorceries practised by his princess.
-----
Footnote 102:
‘In the Hebrides,’ pp. 197, 297. By C. F. Gordon Cumming. Published by
Chatto & Windus.
-----
Pure water for the service of the temple is provided by a dripping well,
whose cool crystal drops fall from a fissure in the roof with ceaseless
splash into a small tank on the rock pavement.
The third cave, though only about half the size of the last, contains
fifty-four images, including another wooden image of the Rajah Kirti Sri
Nissanga, and one of Buddha reclining, thirty feet long.
The fourth and fifth are still smaller, but each contains a considerable
assortment of worshipful images, and the last, which is quite modern,
contains a Buddha thirty-five feet in length.
On various parts of the rock there are ancient inscriptions, one of
which, I was told, records, how ‘the Sovereign Lord of Lanka,
Prakrama-Bahu Chakkravarti [_i.e._, the Lord of the Umbrellas], of the
dynasty of Kaalinga, the Heroic and Invincible Royal Warrior [who
reigned from A.D. 1153 to 1186], enriched the inhabitants, who had
become impoverished by inordinate taxes. To this end he relinquished his
revenues for five years, bestowed on the people gifts of land, cattle,
and slaves, together with an annual donation of five times his own
weight in gold, silver, and precious stones. He restored roads which had
fallen into disuse, rebuilt the temples at Anuradhapura and many other
places, and caused seventy-two statues of Buddha[103] in the three
postures [recumbent, sitting, and standing] to be placed within these
rock temples. These images were gilded, and seven lacs of rupees
[according to Maver’s edition of Johnson’s Dictionary, a lac is one
hundred thousand] were expended on a magnificent festival to celebrate
this event.’
-----
Footnote 103:
The erection of seventy-two images and the gilding of the temple is
generally ascribed to Kirti Nissanga, who succeeded to the throne A.D.
1192, and whose image is preserved in two of the caves, but on the
Galpota or Stone Book at Pollonarua there is a reference to his having
simply re-gilded the images.
-----
In the same inscription the king ordains that ‘when permanent grants of
lands are made to requite meritorious service, such behests shall not be
recorded on palm-leaves, which are liable to be destroyed by rats and
white ants, but shall be engraven on plates of copper, so as to endure
for ages.’
Three great dagobas at one time crowned the summit of this huge rock,
but they have wholly disappeared. A point of interest, however, is a
pool of water very near the summit, which is said never to fail, even
when in seasons of drought every water-spring far and near is dried up.
A few trees are dotted about the hill-top, affording a grateful shade,
and there is a small slope of short sun-scorched grass.
The view from the summit is very fine, overlooking a vast expanse of
country—fertile lands pertaining to this temple, a sea of green jungle
dotted with bare dark rocks of the same character as Dambulla, great
tanks, the gigantic reservoirs constructed in olden days, fine
mountain-ranges, and sundry spots whose old historic interest appeals to
those versed in the semi-mythical early history of the Isle, in the days
of gods and heroes, and in its later wars.
Foremost amongst these is the wellnigh inaccessible rock fortress of
Sigiri, clearly seen, although distant about fifteen miles, as it rises
almost perpendicularly from the brink of a neglected tank encircled with
forest-trees. The lake is beautified by the red and white blossoms of
the lotus, but these are guarded by a legion of grim crocodiles. The
rock itself is a huge square crag towering 400 feet above the plain, and
is all bare except on the summit, which is crowned with stunted
vegetation. It bulges and overhangs so as to have made it exceedingly
difficult of access in the first instance.
It is supposed to have been originally fortified by the aborigines (whom
the Singhalese always describe as ‘Yakku,’ or demons), but the
fortifications and other traces of habitation date from about A.D. 478,
and are a memorial of King Kaasyapa the parricide, who, having dethroned
his father Dhatu Sena, stripped him naked, loaded him with chains, and
caused him to be built up in a wall, which was plastered over with clay
to hide all trace of this tomb of the living.
Kaasyapa then tried to murder his younger half-brother Mogallana, but
failed in the attempt, the latter escaping to India, whence he
eventually returned to avenge his father. Meanwhile the parricide,
haunted by the remembrance of his crime, sought security by constructing
a dwelling or palace on this lonely crag, round the base of which he
erected a massive stone rampart, enclosing divers fortifications.
The ascent from the base to the summit is effected by a series of
artificially constructed galleries, dependent for their support on a
foundation of brickwork built into a groove which had previously been
cut spirally round the rock, to a depth of about four inches. On this
slender foundation, assisted by every available atom of natural support,
was built a platform about six feet wide, edged with a wall about nine
feet high, the whole coated with hard polished chunam, once white, but
now red from the action of water tinged with iron. The galleries, which
are haunted by innumerable bats and swallows, are now in a very ruinous
condition, and are connected here and there by rickety bamboo ladders;
and the further ascent to the summit by scarcely perceptible fissures on
the face of almost perpendicular rock is a thing to try the nerves of
the hardiest cragsman.
The summit is a level of about an acre in extent, and here Kaasyapa’s
palace must have stood, but of this, little if any trace remains, a
thick growth of jungle having taken possession of the ground. Water was
supplied by two tanks one 90 feet square by about 15 feet deep, and the
other 15 feet square by 6 feet deep. These were apparently constructed
to catch rain-water, but there is also a natural spring near the summit,
and the water-supply seems to have been good. Kaasyapa, however, did not
stand a siege here. For eighteen years he lived as an ascetic lay
devotee, striving to atone for his crimes by showing favour to the
priests. Then Mogallana returned from India at the head of an army, and
Kaasyapa came forth to give him battle, and was slain by the hand of his
own brother.[104]
-----
Footnote 104:
Probably no other history more fully illustrates how
‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown’
than does that of Ceylon; so very many of the kings reigned less than
one year ere they were murdered, or else were so weary of their own
crimes that they committed suicide. One was murdered on the very day
of his accession. One died of strong drink. _Several, who were deposed
by usurpers, had their eyes put out._
-----
The fortified palace, constructed with such incredible toil, was
thenceforth abandoned to bears and leopards, owls and bats, the people
deeming it accursed, and haunted by demons.
The origin of the name Sigiri is disputed, some maintaining that it
should be Sikhari, a hill-fort; the general impression, however, being
that it is a contraction of Singha-giri, ‘the Lion’s Rock’ (like
Singa-pore, ‘the Lion’s City’). Forty years ago an adventurous traveller
described the paintings of lions on the white chunam of the great
gallery, as white as if it were only a month old, though constructed
nearly 1,400 years ago. It seems probable, however, that that traveller
drew on his imagination, as the chunam is now iron-stained, and the only
frescoes to be seen are several large human figures, supposed to be of
Buddha, in a hollow rock chamber 60 feet above the gallery, with a sheer
drop of 160 feet to the base of the crag.
How the artist got there, and how he was supported in his perilous
position, were insoluble mysteries till June 1889, when Mr. Alick Murray
determined to solve the problem. This proved no easy matter. The local
chiefs and people absolutely refused to help in any way, having been
warned by the Buddhist priests that inevitable destruction awaited any
one who should dare to intrude into the demon-guarded chamber.
Nothing daunted, Mr. Murray secured the services of some Tamil
stone-cutters from Southern India, who bored holes in the rock-face, one
above the other, and therein inserted iron jumpers, which were secured
with cement, and to these wooden staging was lashed. The man of lightest
weight was selected to make the necessary holes, but after a while even
he declared that it was impossible for him to ascend any higher, but he
added that, if he were allowed to devote three days to fasting and
prayer to his gods, he thought he might succeed. This he accordingly
did, and effectually overcame that difficulty.
But even when the rock chamber was reached, the slope of the floor was
found to be so steep that no one could even sit on it, so there was no
rest for the explorers till more iron stanchions were driven in, and a
wooden staging prepared, on which was erected a platform, on which
(notwithstanding a fierce wind which shook the woodwork in the most
alarming manner) Mr. Murray spent the livelong day, lying on his back
from sunrise till sunset, for a whole week, patiently tracing the
frescoes, which are painted on the roof and round the summit of the
cave.
He found that these really represent thirteen female figures (others
have been obliterated by time and weather). These are mostly in couples,
each showing a very high-caste lady loaded with jewels, but naked to the
waist, and attended by a Tamil girl of darker colour, and wearing
exactly the same jacket and jewels still worn by girls of the same race.
These damsels are offering to their mistresses sacred lotus-blossoms on
a tray. The fact of these ladies being nude above the waist points to
their being natives of the Malabar coast, where one race (the Nairs, I
think) have adopted this singular badge of nobility, and their
high-caste women will on no account cover their shoulders. So it would
appear that a Singhalese king married a few Nair princesses.
It was strange to be thus suddenly brought face to face with the work of
an artist of fourteen hundred years ago, the colouring almost as fresh
as when first laid on, and with a singular predominance of green, a
colour now rarely used by native artists. Here and there pieces of
plaster had fallen off, showing how the rock had been prepared by being
chiselled to a smooth surface, and then coated with two layers of fine
clay, the under layer being mixed with rice husk, the upper layer very
smooth.
All the time Mr. Murray was at work, a number of most interested
spectators, including a few village head-men and Buddhist priests,
watched at the foot of the rock, expecting to witness some awful
catastrophe, when the vengeful demons asserted themselves. On the third
day curiosity overcame prudence, and a minor chief asked Mr. Murray
whether he would protect him if he ventured to ascend to the
demon-haunted chamber. He was so amazed and delighted with all he saw,
that on his safe return to earth a young Buddhist monk found courage to
follow, on Mr. Murray’s assuring him that it was really quite safe; and
so, gathering up his yellow robes, he cautiously ascended the first
bamboo ladder, when a shout of warning from friends below made him
hesitate, and again appeal to Mr. Murray to know whether he might really
venture to beard the demons in their cave. On a renewed assurance of
safety from supernatural foes, he clambered up, his countenance
betraying how sore had been his mental struggle. Then came the physical
anguish of the descent: however, that likewise was accomplished in
safety; and when the week was ended, and all the tracings successfully
secured, the many prophets of evil were all compelled to admit that the
demons must have taken flight.
A point of some interest connected with Dambulla is, that the last
insurrection against British rule broke out at this place in 1848. It
was a small affair, stirred up by a few Kandyan chiefs and Buddhist
priests, and was chiefly remarkable as showing how very little influence
the latter possessed over the people, when not supported by the ruling
power. Though the insurgents numbered about four thousand, they were
quickly quelled by the Ceylon Rifles and part of the 15th Regiment, who
attacked them first at Matale and afterwards at Kurunegalla, in each
case routing them effectually. A few necessary executions followed,
including that of a Buddhist priest, who was shot in his robes, greatly
to the disgust of some Europeans. His own brethren, however,
acknowledged the justice of his sentence, and voluntarily declared that
they did not consider the fact of his being shot in his robes as any
indignity to their order. We saw one of the chiefs who had been
concerned in this last struggle against foreign rule—a very fine old
man.
About sunset we returned to the rest-house, whence in the evening we
witnessed a pretty show of native fireworks, and the burning of orange
and blue lights in cocoa-nut shells, both on the top of the rock and in
the rest-house.
Early the next morning we drove ten miles to Ellagamuwa, where, as
usual, crowds of people had come some way to meet the Governor, making
the most appalling noise of tom-tom beating and other evidences of
rejoicing. There were the usual temporary huts hung with calico, and
very ornamental pandals (the arches of welcome). The view from here of
the blue Rita-gala hills is very beautiful, though the foreground of
dead-level paddy-fields laid out in small squares like a chess-board is
not attractive.
Though I speak of blue hills, Rita-gala is in fact an isolated
mountain-spur rising to a height of 2,506 feet, and specially
interesting as having been the last refuge of the ‘Yakkos,’ or
aboriginal inhabitants of the Isle, when invaded by the conquering
Singhalese; consequently many legends attach to certain very ancient
ruins on the mountain. It is further interesting as being the
northernmost mountain of any importance in the Isle. Beyond its base
commences the great level extending over the northern half of Ceylon. We
were told that the view from the summit is very fine, and it is spoken
of as a desirable situation as a sanitarium.
About five miles to the west of Ellagamuwa lies the Kala-balalu-wewa, or
Kala-wewa, _alias_ Kala-wapi, which is the second largest of the great
tanks, or rather artificial lakes, of Ceylon, being thirty-two miles in
circumference, and formed by means of an embankment of earth and huge
blocks of stone, the whole about 60 feet in height and 20 feet wide at
the top. Tennant said this was twelve miles long, but more recent
measurement says six miles, natural high ground doing the rest. The
spill-water, all of hewn granite, measures 260 feet in length, 200 feet
in width, and is about 40 feet high.
It was originally two distinct tanks, the Kala-wewa and the Balalu-wewa,
fed by different streams, the Dambulla-oya, the Hawanweli-oya, and the
Mirisgoni-oya. But the waters of the great twin lakes contrived to
effect a meeting, and now the great united lake is known as the
Kala-wewa, and the united waters of the three rivers flow on as the
Kala-oya, which enters the sea near Puttalam.
These grand reservoirs, in which was stored water for the irrigation of
the whole Province, were constructed about the year A.D. 460 by King
Dhatu-Sena, who was so horribly murdered by his own son. On pretext of
pointing out where his treasures were concealed, the captive monarch was
permitted to revisit it, and was sent thither in a shabby cart with
broken wheels, the driver of which, for very pity, shared his meal of
parched rice with the king.
On reaching the tank, he bathed in the beautiful lake he had made for
the good of his people, and having drunk of its waters, and having
conversed with his friend, the priest Mahanamo, he declared that this
friend and the great lake were the only treasures he possessed, and so
was carried back to Anuradhapura to meet his awful doom. In recording
this incident, Mahanamo, the priest, remarks that this living entombment
of the king was the just retribution for his own impiety, in that while
making the embankment of the great tank, he therein buried a priest who
was so deeply absorbed in meditation that he could not be aroused; so
the earth was heaped upon him, and he perished.
Of all the wonderful traces which remain in Ceylon of the work of the
mighty Singhalese kings, none are more impressive than those of the
great artificial lakes, and of the canals by which water was carried
thence to innumerable village tanks, and distributed according to the
need of each separate field. The perfection of the whole system of
irrigation, designed and carried out by the hydraulic engineers of those
ancient days, could scarcely be surpassed, and the ingenuity and skill
whereby the heavy rainfall of certain seasons was secured, and the
precious water treasured to save the thirsting land in times of drought.
And water is doubly precious under a burning tropical sun, having
apparently the same fertilising influence that the richest manures could
have in colder lands.
In all parts of the Island, in wildest solitudes and most unhealthy
jungles (where stagnant swamps and dense forests now cover the plains,
once fertile and rich with waving rice-fields), these ruined tanks are
found, of all sizes, from the small village tank to the great artificial
lake. These last were formed by erecting a vast embankment of huge
blocks of stone, strongly cemented, and covered with turf—a mighty
barrier of solid masonry—perhaps 100 feet wide at the base, narrowing to
40 feet at the top, and furnished with mighty sluices to regulate the
escape of the water.
And then, when one of these large-minded kings took to this sort of
work, it was done in such a wholesale fashion, several of these great
tanks being perhaps constructed simultaneously in remote districts. Thus
King Maha-Sen, who about A.D. 275 constructed the beautiful artificial
Lake of Minery, near Polonarua, which is twenty miles in circumference,
also constructed sixteen large tanks, including Kanthalay, near
Trincomalee.
The gigantic tank of Padivil in the Northern Province (which is marked
on some maps as Vavuniya-vilan-kulam) has also been attributed to him;
but an inscription on the sacred rock at Mehintale records that this
great lake was temple property at an earlier date. It must have been by
far the largest of all these ancient lakes, having an area of fifteen
miles: its dam is eleven miles long, 200 feet wide at the bottom, 30
feet wide at the top, some parts being 70 feet high, and the whole is
faced by steps of large squared stones, many of them 12 feet in length.
Many great stone blocks are finely sculptured.[105]
-----
Footnote 105:
Sir James Emerson Tennant states (vol. ii. pp. 501-508) that although
it was the dry season when he visited the Padivil-kulam, the water
still covered an area of ten miles in diameter, and the stream issuing
from it by the great breach in the embankment was about 300 feet
broad, and so impetuous that the horses had difficulty in crossing it.
Sir James gives a most fascinating description of the many thousands
of water-birds which he, arriving long before dawn, saw nesting on
trees or among the swampy sedges of this utter solitude,—tall
flamingoes, herons, egrets, storks, ibises, and many more, as also a
vast colony of pelicans, who had built their heavy nests, each
containing three eggs, in the tops of tall trees. When the sun rose,
all the birds soared slowly away to the sea-shore, distant about
twenty miles, there to seek their breakfast. The lake was swarming
with crocodiles hungrily watching for the fall of young birds.
-----
Due west from Padivil, on the coast of Manaar, are the stupendous ruins
of the Giant’s Tank, which (like Padivil) was designed on a magnificent
scale for the irrigation of that vast district known as ‘The Wanny,’ now
chiefly arid jungle, but capable of being so fertile were irrigation
possible. At present such land as is cultivated only returns about one
crop in three years. With full irrigation it would give two crops
annually. The embankment of this ‘Giant’s Tank’ is 300 feet wide at the
base, and can be traced for fifteen miles. A causeway of hewn granite,
15 feet high and 750 feet in length, was to have connected the river
with the feeding canal. Enormous labour must have been expended on the
whole, and the result should have been the formation of a lake as large
as Geneva. But by some lamentable miscalculation of levels, the great
canal by which the waters of the Malwatte river were to have been led
into the lake carried them back to the channel of the river, and all the
toil and expenditure were proved to have been in vain.
So the people returned to live as best they could on the arid land, and
in A.D. 1791 the Dutch found no less than twenty-four villages in the
area of what should have been the lake. Strange to say, the native
records which so minutely detail all that was deemed creditable in the
acts of the kings, make no mention whatever of this great abortive
effort. Tradition ascribes it to a nameless king of the fourteenth
century, who, with the best possible intentions, strove to emulate the
good deeds of his predecessors. But in that short lapse of time the
hydraulic engineers had lost their cunning, and so all alike reaped the
meed of failure in mortification and oblivion.
About the centre of the Isle, and due east from Kala-wewa, lies Lake
Minery, which was formed by diverting the waters of the Kara-ganga, or,
as it is now called, the Amban-ganga, by means of a dam twenty-four
miles in length, ranging in height from 40 to 90 feet, and averaging 80
feet for many miles. This dam was repaired about the year A.D. 1153 by
King Prakrama Bahu I., who thus formed a series of lagoons navigable by
boats, which are supposed to have been the celebrated ‘Seas of
Prakrama,’ though that name may have been applied to the multitude of
tanks which he created, and of canals by which rivers were diverted to
these great reservoirs. He is said to have constructed 1,407 tanks,
besides 100 for the exclusive use of the priests, and to have restored
1,395! That, of course, involves connecting canals and much other work.
Some of these must have been exceedingly ancient, the earliest of which
we have any certain information being the Bassawa-kulam at Anuradhapura,
which is supposed to have been constructed about B.C. 500 by King
Panduwasa, and was restored in 1867. Probably next to this ranks the
Tissawewa tank near Kattregam, in the Southern Province, a great lake
covering an area of about 3,000 acres, made about B.C. 307 by King
Deveni-pia-tissa, and restored in 1876.
The account of King Prakrama’s enormous energy in regard to these
irrigation works, as also in the matter of building temples and palaces,
would be quite bewildering but for the knowledge that these autocratic
kings had the right and power to claim from all their subjects a very
large amount of free labour, or, as it was called, Rajah-karia, ‘King’s
service’—a system which, of course, was often very gravely abused, but
which, when applied to work for the common weal, such as this storing
and distributing of precious water, had certainly great advantages in a
country where the cares of agriculture do not claim more than half a
man’s working days.
Its necessity was proven by the fact that so soon as the strong
controlling hand was removed, these great works, which were for the good
of all, were grievously neglected. Probably the mischief began long ago,
when, owing to wars and other political causes, the seat of Government
was so frequently moved from place to place; and though the villagers
must have remained to profit by the blessed waters, attention to keeping
the tanks in repair was doubtless relaxed, and so ‘little leaks’ were
established, and sluices got out of order, and general efficiency was
impaired.
But it is certain that the reign of ruin set in in earnest when the
disorganising presence of Europeans became permanent, and the finishing
stroke was given in 1832, when (too hastily and without fully
understanding the character of the people, and the need of exercising a
certain amount of control for their own good) the British Government
proclaimed absolute freedom, and the total abolition of Rajah-karia.
In this proclamation of freedom exception was made for the very
large[106] lands belonging to Buddhist and Hindoo temples, where the
people continued in absolute serfdom to the priests, holding their lands
on the condition of cultivating those of the temples, and of rendering
all manner of other service, which included taking part in idolatrous
ceremonies, in some cases against the bidding of an awakening
conscience. Better would it have been for the people had this exemption
been reversed, and the only compulsory work retained in some modified
form been that for the upkeep of roads and irrigation.
-----
Footnote 106:
In Mr. Mitford’s report for Sir Hercules Robinson, on the existing
state of serfdom on temple lands in 1868, he says:—
‘The Order in Council by which in 1832 compulsory labour was abolished
in Crown villages, _by excepting royal temple and private villages
from its advantages, is now the strongest ground on which the existing
state of servitude is built_. Here is a great wrong legalised. We
found the despotic principles in existence, and superadded British
forms, and THUS RIVETED THE CHAINS OF THIS GALLING TYRANNY ON
ONE-THIRD OF THE POPULATION.
‘Under this system men are bought and sold with the land, agriculture
and industry are checked, oppression is legalised, and Christianity
prohibited. The exaction of services is arbitrary. I have known
instances of men working for three months in the year, and others even
for six months, during which time their own lands were lying waste.
Besides agricultural and menial tasks, each landholder’s family was
allotted a portion of the temple service, such as repairing the
temples and idols, carrying the images at festivals, furnishing
musicians, devil-dancers, &c. If a temple serf should become a
Christian, he could not, of course, perform any of these services in a
heathen temple, consequently he would lose his land.
‘_I maintain that we have no right to hold any British subject in a
position compelling him to perform idolatrous ceremonies, with the
alternative of ruin.... I have often felt a blush of shame when
obliged to decide cases against temple serfs, in violation of the
rights of humanity and the first principles of justice._’
-----
I have already shown (p. 65) that in 1870 an Act was passed to enable
temple serfs (in other words, the tenants of temple lands) to pay an
equivalent in money in lieu of rendering these services—an Act which,
however, from various causes, has not yet wrought the expected
deliverance. For one thing, the exemption of these lands from paying
grain-tax renders them peculiarly desirable holdings, so that most
tenants fear to take any step which would risk the loss of their tenure.
As regards the roads, it was after a while found necessary for their
maintenance to require every man between the ages of eighteen and
fifty-five to work thereon for six consecutive days annually, or, as an
equivalent, to pay a sum of about two rupees.
Then, when the salvation of the country was found to depend on the
restoration of the ancient irrigation works, it was found positively
necessary so far to revive the old system that the men of each village
have been obliged to help in the reconstruction of their own particular
tank, and are bound to take their annual share in its repair, in
proportion to the number of acres for which each requires irrigation.
Moreover, though paid labour was employed for the restoration of the
great Kala-wewa and its canal, the landowners who profit thereby are now
each required to give about fourteen days’ work annually to keeping the
whole in repair. Of course, the re-imposition of even this shadow of the
old law, which had been so rashly abolished, has called forth a certain
amount of grumbling from the men whose very lives and those of their
families have thereby been saved.
The immediate result of the abolition of compulsory ‘service for the
king’ was the destruction at one blow of the whole machinery by which
great national works were kept up by the native rulers, for when every
man suddenly found himself absolutely free from all necessity of taking
any share in keeping up public works, although a few individuals might
do their part, the necessary combination became impracticable, and tanks
and watercourses very soon fell into ruin, the perpetually recurring
monsoon floods soon converting small fissures into extensive breaches:
thus the precious waters all ran to waste. There was no reserve for
seasons of drought, and the cultivation of rice was impossible. The
tanks themselves and the adjacent lands became unhealthy swamps,
breeding poisonous miasma; and the ever-increasing unhealthiness of the
districts under these conditions compelled the villagers to disperse,
and to make a scanty living by the cultivation of such unwholesome grain
as can be grown on very dry soil—chiefly millet (_Panicum miliacæum_)
and Kurukkan (_Eleusine indica_). The latter bears a seed something like
clover, and the meal prepared from it makes tolerable porridge; but the
natives use it chiefly in the form of most indigestible cakes, as tough
as leather. Pulse and kollu are also grains which grow on dry soil, as
also does gingelly, an oil-giving grain—which, however, flourishes only
on newly cleared forest-land, and speedily exhausts the soil.
As to water, which is the only drink in the interior of the Isle where
cocoa-palms do not grow, the people were (and are still in some
districts) occasionally reduced to drinking mud from little pools in
which the buffaloes have wallowed. Sir John Douglas mentions that,
having to halt at one of these villages in the hottest season, he asked
for a bath, and the people laughed at the very idea. They told him he
could get some water if he sent six miles to fetch it. This he did, and
longed for the return of his water-carriers; but when at last they
arrived the water they brought was so foul, and smelt so bad, that,
after filtering it six times through towels, he could not bring himself
to wash in it, and so sacrificed three bottles of soda-water, and
therein luxuriated, only wishing there were more of it!
Unfortunately, poor Singhalese villagers cannot indulge in soda-water
baths, and their consequent state of unavoidable filth (in these jungle
villages in the dry season), combined with bad air to breathe, bad water
to drink, and unwholesome and insufficient food, produces a condition of
utter debility, resulting too often in the frightful disease of parangi,
resembling leprosy—loathsome to behold, and most terrible to the
sufferer. In some districts the population has been literally decimated
by the scourge.
In the almost abandoned tank districts, luxuriant jungle rapidly
overspread the rich rice-fields, while the shallow waters became the
favourite haunt of all manner of wild-fowl. Here troops of elephants and
great herds of wild buffaloes, deer, pigs, and other animals, came to
drink in the cool of the day. Grim crocodiles lay basking on the shore;
monkeys of all sizes chattered and screamed among the branches, and the
jackals lent their music to the chorus. Peacocks and golden orioles
flashed in the sunlight; great pelicans, tall white cranes, and pink
flamingoes stalked along among the sedgy shallows. In short, these
ruined tanks were each centres of attraction to sportsmen and
naturalists.
I rejoice to speak of all this in the past tense, because, although very
much remains to be done, so much has been effected, in the way of
restoration, in the last fifteen years. About thirty years ago Sir Henry
Ward strongly urged the British Government to take the matter in hand,
and a commencement was made by restoring some tanks in the Batticaloa
country, in the heart of a settled population, by whom their inestimable
value was at once recognised.
Sir Hercules Robinson carried on the good work, and secured an enactment
for the annual expenditure of £20,000 by Government on irrigation work,
to be repaid by the cultivators by payment of a water-rate. Kanthalai,
near Trincomalee, and Tissa-Maharama, in the Southern Province—capable
respectively of irrigating 10,000 and 15,000 acres—were next restored.
These, till recently, were deemed failures, because the disheartened
villagers could not shake off their apathy and return to the cultivation
of abandoned lands. So those who grumbled at what seemed unremunerative
outlay deemed their prophecies of ill omen all fulfilled. Happily these
proved to be only deferred successes, for each of these great tanks now
irrigates a vast tract of luxuriant rice-land.
In 1867 Government called for a return of all the tanks in Ceylon, and
obtained a list of 4,903, many of which, of course, were small village
tanks, and the majority quite out of repair. The report for the North
Central Province in 1871 stated that out of 1,600 village tanks not a
single one had sluices, or was capable of containing water to any
extent. This was on the vast plain of Nuwara-Kalawiya, around
Anuradhapura, once so fertile as to have been known as the granary of
Ceylon, but where at that time rice (which to the Singhalese is the
equivalent of beef, mutton, and potatoes) was simply not to be obtained.
When in the following year Sir William Gregory first visited this once
luxuriant district, and saw for himself the pitiful condition of the
people, few in number, dirty, diseased, and apathetic from
semi-starvation, having apparently lost all heart and hope, with
characteristic energy he resolved that their case must be taken up in
real earnest. At that time the North Central Province was little visited
by Europeans, the roads being mere tracks, and all the streams
unbridged. It was sixteen years since any Governor had made his way
thither.
To secure a larger share of attention and care, Sir William separated
this great district from the Northern Province, and formed it into the
new North Central Province. (In like manner, a few years later, Sir
Arthur Gordon divided the Southern Province, creating the new provinces
of Sabaragamua and Uva, that those neglected regions might receive a due
share of recognition.)
In commencing work on Nuwara-Kalawiya, it was evident to Sir William
that the first necessity was to reconstruct the village tanks, and this
could only be done by the work of the villagers themselves, every man on
the earthworks of his own village tank. By the agency of the village
councils this was effected, each man being required to work without
remuneration for thirty days per annum, until the particular tank with
which he is connected is completed, Government undertaking to provide
and construct free of cost to the village the ironwork and masonry
required for the sluice and waste-weir. By the close of 1882 Mr. Fisher
reported that, as the result of nine years of the villagers’ earthwork,
199 tanks had been restored, and that Government had supplied 206
sluices. In May 1884 Sir William Gregory was able to state at the Royal
Colonial Institute in London that, out of the total of 1,600 tanks,
1,200 were either repaired or in process of being so, a large number
being already in such thorough working order that when Sir William
returned to revisit Ceylon, he had the joy of beholding near every
village a wide tract of well-cultivated and luxuriant crops, and of
knowing that the people had home-grown rice in such abundance as to be
far beyond their own powers of consumption; paddy—_i.e._, rice in the
husk—actually selling at 5_d._ per bushel, whereas in Colombo, where the
cost of freight has to be added, its price ranges from 1_s._ 8_d._ to
2_s._ per bushel. But the most surprising and delightful change was that
of the people themselves. All the hopelessness had vanished, the skinny
half-starved children were fat and healthy, the horrible parangi had
almost disappeared, and the population was increased by the return of
many, anxious to share the blessings of abundant cheap food and
comparatively good water.
But all these village tanks were dependent for their supply on the
rains, consequently in times of prolonged drought they must inevitably
fail. It was, therefore, a matter of the gravest importance to secure a
supply as nearly permanent as it is possible for any such to be in the
tropics; and when Sir Arthur Hamilton-Gordon succeeded to the office of
Governor, he was deeply impressed with the absolute necessity of yet
more extended and systematic action in restoring the full irrigation
system of the old rulers.
The primary necessity was the restoration of the great Kala-wewa, and of
the Yódi Ela, or Giant’s Canal, which is fifty-three miles in length and
forty feet wide, and by means of which water was carried from the great
reservoir of Kala-wewa to eighty village tanks along its course, and
ultimately to many more, and so flowed on to Anuradhapura, the ancient
capital, where it supplied the three great tanks of Tissa-wewa,
Bassawa-kulam, and Bulan-kulam. A second great canal carried water from
the Balalu-wewa to the north-west.
At that time the beds of the great lakes, and of the canals, were, in
common with all the surrounding country, overgrown with the densest
forest of large trees, with such thick undergrowth that in many places a
horse could not pass through it, and the only way in which it was
possible to get an idea of the country was by climbing to a sort of
‘crow’s nest’ built in the top of a very tall tree. Of water there was
no trace.
The first thing to be done was to fell and burn all this dense jungle,
and then it became possible to see exactly what was necessary. It was
estimated that the cost of restoration would amount to about 550,000
rupees. In point of fact the work was done for 510,000 rupees, and the
sum originally named covered the cost of making necessary roads and
other items.
As a matter of course, the mere suggestion of such an expenditure on a
sparsely peopled arid jungle, at a time when the colony was in pecuniary
difficulties, aroused strenuous opposition, to which Sir Arthur turned a
deaf ear, taking for his motto the old English proverb, ‘It’s dogged as
does it’; and so through all the storm of criticism he carried the work
steadily on, having good proof of how certainly irrigation affected both
agriculture and sanitation, and how much it had already accomplished in
raising the people from a state of misery and degradation.
Mr. Ievers, the acting Government agent, and Mr. Wrightson, the
engineer, worked heart and soul, the latter never leaving his post for
four years, notwithstanding repeated attacks of malignant fever. All
that time there was an average of six hundred men employed on the tank
and canal works. The breaches were repaired; a new spill-wall of solid
granite and real English Portland cement, and various regulating
sluices, were constructed at the great lake and on the canal.
Their work was not all plain sailing. In 1884 the drought was so
intense, that the officer in charge of the irrigation works was obliged
to suspend all operations except those of surveying and collecting
materials for future masonry work. No water could be obtained for miles
round, so it was impossible to assemble large bodies of men. Even for
small working parties, drinking-water had to be carried several miles.
The ground was so thoroughly baked that it was like sun-dried bricks,
and no ‘mamotie’ could make any impression upon it.
In the following year the difficulties were all the other way. Heavy
floods seriously endangered the half-finished earthworks, and one breach
in the embankment was so quickly enlarged by the sudden breaking of the
coffer-dams, that one of the working elephants and his caretaker were
swept away by the mighty rush of waters, and it was feared that both
were lost. Happily, after a breathless interval, the great creature’s
legs appeared three or four hundred yards lower down, and presently it
contrived to get its head above water, when, to the amazement of all,
the driver was seen clinging to the neck of the elephant, which
eventually swam safely ashore.
On February 22, 1888, Sir Arthur had the happiness of formally opening
the effectually restored works.
That was a scene much to be remembered by all who took part in it. Close
to the embankment of the clear blue lake was a camp of over fifty white
tents and temporary huts, about twelve feet square, as sleeping
quarters, besides large dining and refreshment rooms, and reception
rooms. These were all built of green boughs, thatched with straw, and
lined with white calico hangings. This was the European camp. There was
also a grand durbar-hall, somewhat apart, which, though only temporary,
was a really handsome building, with open sides, and pillars supporting
a double roof, the whole most gaily decorated with brightly coloured
draperies, mats, and graceful treasures of the forest, with a raised and
carpeted daïs for the Governor. At night this was transformed into a
fine dining-hall, lighted by many Japanese lanterns—a most fairy-like
scene, to have sprung up in the heart of the desert jungle.
There was also abundant accommodation for natives, of whom about three
thousand assembled from far and near for this great occasion of
rejoicing, not only on account of the restoration of the tank, but as a
special celebration of the Queen’s Jubilee. All provision of ‘good
entertainment for man and beast’ was made on the most liberal scale, and
perfect weather added all that was desired to this gigantic picnic. (One
luxurious detail in the caterer’s provision list was ten hundredweight
of ice, brought from Colombo in perfect condition!)
Of course there was a profusion of native decoration, one conspicuous
inscription being, ‘Hail, Sir Arthur Gordon, G.C.M.G., the Restorer of
Dhatu-Sen’s Great Tank, the Kala-wewa.’ The same recognition was
gracefully expressed in the address of the Singhalese head-men, who
prophesied that ‘the great tank of Kala-wewa and its magnificent canal
will in the distant future carry the name of Arthur Gordon down the
river of Time, along with those of Sri Raja Dhatu-Sen and Prakrama Bahu
the Great.’
The members of the great picnic had assembled in the previous week, the
Governor’s party arriving on Monday. On the following afternoon there
was a most picturesque reception of all the native chiefs and head-men
in the fine durbar-hall, and at sunset the foundation-stone of a
commemorative monument was laid by the Governor in the name of the Most
Holy Trinity.
The Buddhist priests, however, had previously had their full share in
the ceremonial, in the manner most calculated to impress the native
mind, a group of about forty priests being assembled in the durbar-hall
to open proceedings by a special chant of welcome to the Governor. Their
yellow robes, and the gorgeous dresses of the Kandyan chiefs and the
more statuesque village head-men, mingling with other very varied
costumes, combined to make an altogether unique scene in that
long-desolate region, as they stood on the banks of the blue lake in the
golden light of the setting sun, which glorified the great sea of
forest, and the beautiful distant Matale hills.
Then a great procession was formed of all Government officials, gorgeous
chiefs and richly caparisoned elephants, torch-bearers, devil-dancers,
men dressed as dancing-girls, noisy musicians, and natives of every
degree. The aforesaid elephants had earned a good right to take part in
the procession, having by their strength and sagacity lent valuable aid
to the workers. The great embankment was illuminated by long lines of
fairy lights; then followed much feasting of tired and hungry people,
with fires blazing in every direction, and all the picturesque details
of a jungle camp; and finally, the memorable day ended with displays by
wonderfully apparelled Singhalese dancers and Tamil actors. Conspicuous
among the latter was a company who had come from Jaffna, in the far
north of the Isle, and who performed a pathetic Sanskrit drama called
‘Arichandra’ (the Martyr for Truth), showing how an ancient Indian king
had sold his wife, his only son, and finally himself, to a man of the
lowest caste, rather than tell a lie. That certainly must have occurred
in pre-historic times, judging by the prevalence of unblushing perjury
in the present day!
There was also a very successful display of fireworks, which were let
off from the end of the bund, blending with the silvery moonlight which
illumined the twin lakes and the surrounding forests, all combining to
form a lovely scene.
At the same time that this grand work was being accomplished, smaller
details in the great irrigation scheme were being vigorously pushed on,
and no less than two hundred village tanks in the North-Western and
North Central Provinces were restored and provided with sluices in the
course of 1887-88. Thus it is hoped that new life will be restored to
one district after another, till the whole land ‘shall stand so thick
with corn that it shall laugh and sing.’ With much practice the work of
tank restoration has become very much simpler and cheaper than it was
when first tried, one very important reduction being due to the
invention by Mr. A. Murray, Provincial Engineer, of how to make sluice
pipes of concrete or baked clay, instead of the expensive iron sluices
which were used at first. Thus in the year 1890 alone, 300 tanks were
restored, and 500 sluices were provided at a very much lower figure than
half that number would have cost fifteen years ago.
In the report of the Central Irrigation Board, it is stated that between
the years 1850 and 1889 there have been restored 59 large tanks and
2,250 small ones. Two hundred and forty-five anicuts have been
constructed, and 326 irrigation channels have been constructed or
repaired, making a total length of 699 miles.
Within the three years immediately following its completion, Kala-wewa
fully justified its restoration. For five successive seasons were the
fields so abundantly irrigated that heavy crops were reaped twice
a-year, in striking contrast with the fields belonging to villages
dependent on rainfall, where, in consequence of an insufficient
water-supply, even the ‘Maha’ or great crop was very poor, and
cultivation for the ‘Yala’ season was not even attempted.
But as the drought continued during two years, the rivers by which alone
Kala-wewa is fed ceased to flow, and in September 1890 the great
reservoir was almost dry—only a few shallow pools remained in the bed of
the grand lake, and all the lesser tanks were either hard-baked soil, or
at best contained a few puddles of black liquid mud which the wretched
inhabitants scooped up in gourds—perhaps laboriously collecting about a
cupful at a time, as it slowly trickled into exhausted wells.
Rice-growing was impossible—the villagers had to return to the
cultivation of kurukkau, and very soon the terrible old story was
repeated. Foul water to drink and scanty unwholesome food, together with
the unavoidable filth of having no water for bathing or for washing
clothes, and that in fierce tropical heat, produced a renewed outbreak
of the terrible disease parangi, which once again was seen on every
side.
Even in view of the good already done, there were not lacking murmurers
who could only see in all this a proof that, after all the expenditure,
the great tank had failed to keep up the water-supply. To these came an
answer from one[107] who, when the restoration was under discussion, had
strongly opposed it, but who confessed that he had been mistaken, and
was now convinced of the wisdom of what had been already done, and the
incalculable benefits certain to accrue ere long.
-----
Footnote 107:
The Editor of the ‘Ceylon Observer.’
-----
He pointed out that when there are two consecutive years without rain,
many rivers cease to flow, and that the Matale rivers had actually not
run since Kala-wewa was completed. The Malwatu-oya, which is the chief
river in the whole of this great district, had, for the second time in
the memory of the living, been quite dry, and had never flowed in 1890.
Moreover, springs which had never before been known to fail had dried
up. Nevertheless, so well had Kala-wewa stored every drop of precious
water which reached it (rising from 3 feet to over 15, under the
influence of a single rain-storm in which 18 inches of rain fell), that
five consecutive harvests had been secured, and that but for these (not
to speak of the supply of good water for man and beast) the North
Central Province might as well have been at once abandoned to the bears,
for its population would have speedily altogether vanished. Could the
restoration work be deemed a failure because, in a year of almost
unprecedented drought, the feeding rivers had failed to supply it? It
had been shown to have a storage capacity sufficient, in a year of good
rainfall, for the irrigation of 20,000 acres, or in a year when it was
called upon to supplement a deficient rainfall, for 10,000 acres. The
object, therefore, to be aimed at was to secure the water of a perennial
stream which might keep it full; and this, it is hoped, can be effected
without excessive outlay. Moreover, every foot added to the height of
the embankment would increase the storage capacity of the lake.
In Mr. Ievers’ report on the North Central Province in 1890, he states
that, but for the restoration of the elaborate system of irrigation
works, enabling the cultivators to utilise the scanty supplies of rain
which fell, a grievous famine must have swept away the already meagre
population.[108] He says: ‘In calculating the cost of the restoration
works, we must always regard them in the aspect of insurance against
famine, and the fatal fever which ever follows in the wake of famine.
The question is one of money expenditure, against the extinction of
human life, and the reversion of territory into desolation.’
-----
Footnote 108:
70,000 persons.
-----
Even as I write, news reaches me of the heavy rainfall at Anuradhapura
in May 1891—nine inches in a week. The rivers Malwatu-oya and
Mirisgoni-oya were overflowing, the waters rising fast in Kala-wewa,
Tisa-wewa, and Bassawakkulam, while several village tanks had burst. The
people were rejoicing in the certainty of a magnificent Yala harvest.
Year by year improvements of all sorts are progressing, one item being
the planting of many thousands of palms and useful timber-trees all
along the course of the great canal. In short, there is every reason to
hope that the restoration of the great system of irrigation will do more
for Ceylon than even its original construction. What that first change
was, we gather from the old chronicle, which tells how, when Wijeho, the
Indian conqueror, landed with his followers, the friendly princess fed
them with _rice which had been obtained from wrecked ships_. But after
the completion of the irrigation works, rice became so abundant, that
the large surplus appears to have been exported to the mainland. It was,
however, reserved for foreigners[109] to insist on the multiplication of
cocoa and palmyra palms, which now form so important a part of the
national diet.
-----
Footnote 109:
See Chapter xx.
-----
The bed of the great lake and the Giant Canal were not the sole traces
of ancient days which lay so long hidden in the dense forest. At one end
of the embankment stands a dagoba of the usual bell shape, about fifty
feet high, said to contain the jawbone of Buddha. (How carelessly he
must have been cremated!) Round it are four altars, and near it are the
ruins of a preaching-hall and of a monastery, with sculptured stones
guarding the entrance. The dagoba is approached by twelve stone steps,
on each of which is an inscription now illegible, but said to be in the
Nagara character. It is supposed that this great relic-shrine was built
of bricks taken from the ancient city wall, when, in the twelfth
century, the great king, Prakrama Bahu I., rebuilt the chief monuments
in this deserted city.
This place is called Vigitapura, ‘the town of Vigita’ (so named after a
relation of King Wijeyo, the leader of the original Singhalese
invasion), and dates from about 500 B.C., having been a stronghold and a
place of note ere Prince Anuradha had founded the mighty city which
bears his name,[110] and which lies at a distance of about thirty-five
miles, as the crow flies. This, by the way, is a contested derivation,
as it has generally been assumed that the name was Anu-rajah-pura, and
meant ‘the City of the Ninety Kings,’ who reigned here from the date of
its foundation, about 500 B.C. to A.D. 726, and of whom Emerson Tennant
gives a complete list. But as the city bore the name of Anuradha through
all these centuries, we need scarcely assume that this was given in
prophetic reference to ninety future kings. So this derivation might
well be deemed an exploded fallacy; but, as we all know, such die hard.
-----
Footnote 110:
Wijeyo having repudiated his island-wife and her children in favour of
an Indian princess (see p. 244), found himself without an heir, the
sovereignty devolving on his nephew Panduwaasa, who likewise sought a
bride from India. She arrived escorted by six stalwart brothers, who
settled in various parts of Ceylon, Vigita and Anuradha founding the
cities which bore their names.
It is stated in the Mahāwansa that Anuradhapura was so called on
account of its having been the settlement of Anurādho, and also
because it was founded under the constellation of Anurādho.
The still more ancient chronicles of the Dīpavamsa say that the city
was founded by the minister who was called after the asterism. Knowing
the immense reverence with which the Singhalese have ever regarded the
stars and their interpreters, the astrologers, this statement seems to
leave no room for further discussion.
-----
The ancient annals record that Vigitapura was surrounded by a triple
battlement, and entered by a gate of iron. Its capture (about B.C. 160)
was a most picturesque incident. It had been seized by Malabar invaders,
and the Singhalese, led by King Dutugemunu, besieged the usurpers. For
months the rocky fortress held out; then it was determined to carry it
by assault, and the famous War-Elephant, Kadol, was directed to charge
the eastern gate.
On he rushed, through a pitiless hail of large stones, spears and
arrows, which were hurled at him from the walls. But on his attempting
to charge the gate, he met with a still warmer reception—one very
familiar in the medieval warfare of Britain in the defence of
Border-keeps, namely showers of molten lead poured down from the
battlements above the gateway.
This proved too much for even so docile and plucky an elephant as Kadol,
who, refusing to listen to the voice of his mahout, fled precipitately,
and sought refuge and alleviation for his cruel burns by immersion in
the cool waters of a neighbouring tank (not Kala-wewa, of course—it was
constructed six hundred years later).
After a while his pain lessened, and his wounds were dressed. Then his
whole body was protected by a thickly padded coat, and over that a suit
of armour made of plates of copper. Thus equipped, he was once more
induced to face the molten lead, and rushing to the assault, he
succeeded with the sheer strength of his mighty head in bursting open
the gate, whereupon the besieged were compelled to submit.
I have already alluded[111] to that chivalrous duel between Dutugemunu
and Etāla, Prince of Mysore, when the latter was slain, and the Malabars
defeated before the walls of Anuradhapura.
-----
Footnote 111:
P. 243.
-----
All through the surrounding jungle are pillars and ruins, suggestive of
much that may yet reward patient excavation. Below the lake, and
crossing the bed of the Kala-oya, a path has been cut for two and a half
miles through dense forest to the summit of a low hill crowned by a
great square mass of rocks. In ancient days temples and houses for
priests were built up in the fissures between the rocks, and this Aukana
Vihare must have been a place of great fame.
Here in utter solitude stands a gigantic statue of Buddha, with the
right hand raised to bless the worshippers who have so long forsaken
this shrine, and (as is the case in all the images I have specially
noticed) wearing the robe so as to leave the right shoulder bare, in the
manner which distinguishes the priests of the Siamese sect from the
purer Buddhists of Burmah.
This huge statue, hewn from the solid granite crag by order of King
Prakrama Bahu, is 39 feet 9 inches in height, and the colossal foot
measures 7 feet 8 inches in length. The big toe is 1 foot 4 inches in
length and 9 inches wide! It was accidentally discovered by a sportsman
while following the track of a herd of wild elephants. A priest, whose
solitude was shared only by one pupil, made his home among the rocks,
devoting his own existence and training his young companion to striving
after the attainment of that state of perfection which consists in the
total extinction of all care for and interest in anything except one’s
own progress in this laudable effort—and all this in order to obtain the
final great reward of NIRVANA, which is the highest ideal of every
devout Buddhist, and of which the most accurate description is said to
be THE CONDITION OF A FLAME WHICH HAS BEEN BLOWN OUT—a poor substitute
indeed for CHRIST’S GIFT OF ETERNAL LIFE IN THE CONSCIOUS GLADNESS OF
HIS PRESENCE.