By Suranimala –
I got tired of watching down and smiling to myself for the last twelve years The antics that go on there continue. Now, now this is no longer a voice from a grave. I am up here. Yes, a chosen one. Unlike my time down there St Peter welcomed me. Seems I earned a double promotion. But I must confess (here there is no need for that) I do miss scribbling. But that’s the price I paid to the guy who sent me here. Non curae sibi est.
But pause for a minute. What is going on down there? Nothing has changed since Samuel Baker wrote his book after eight years in Ceylon (1847 – 1855). Only the name has changed from Ceylon to The Democratic Socialist Republic of Sri Lanka. A mouthful to spew but that’s just it. Beautiful outside, rotten inside.
After I was elevated many a fellow scribe has left your shores under trying circumstances. They did not try to hang around long enough like me. Some cannot be blamed for doing so whilst others tried their best and succeeded in proving they were friends and associates of mine. They know it, I know it and even St Peter knows it.
But what of others who remained? Many have stayed true to their calling. Not venturing to go that extra mile but not selling their souls either. Lessons learned in a smart manner. This is but one side of the story. The one with the baton thinks he is more powerful now than the time I was there. He and most of you may think so. I do not. The Boss here is making certain that each one pays for what they have done. But I do not wish to spoil the story by revealing the end.
Be that as it may, my old abode is crumbling. This pandemic has laid you people bare. Not the virus itself but the cause and effects of your attitudes over centuries. You need an enemy to blame for all your faults. That has not changed The master before he was given the baton was well fortified and used his minions to decimate and subjugate scribes and others by use of force and words. He cannot help himself. He has forgotten that he wields the baton and the purpose of being given such by 6.9 million of you. The barrel was taken away from him and given a baton to lead the orchestra. The orchestra has not been fed and is crying for food. The rumbling has started. The bandmaster is livid but does not know how to alleviate the hunger of his people.
February this year he picked on another. This time it was a scribe from a sheet that is owned by one of his blue eyed lads. I know this lady well. She learned a thing or two from me when I was there leading another sheet. Never mind that she has to feed herself and the dependents by plying her chosen trade even with a blue eyed lad of the master. Even she may have not been aware that the master may pick on a garbage bin not taken away by one tasked with doing such to pick on a scribe if he/she writes about it. She did. She was called out of the blue before she could say Dilip. She was told. No, she was told off in no uncertain terms. First thing in The Morning. The language was a little more civilised than that Three little Shit eating Piggy story. All must Mandy your business or else….The blue eyed boy is safe, no matter. Even he cannot safeguard his people from the master. So I say once more, Mandy your business.
Let me tell you, people, down there something. You are hungry. All of you. The master may/can frighten, threaten, do away, harass, remand, and torture a scribe, opponent, or people who do not agree with him. That will not make the hunger go away. Keep reminding him that he cannot show that he has thin skin anymore as the master of the orchestra. The master cannot barrel away all of you. Why? He is no longer the bouncer at the door but the leader of the orchestra. The baton is not a barrel. You gave the baton and thought you took the barrel away from him. He has not understood that. His task is to feed you. Not frighten you.
The Cardinal may blow hot and then cold. Everyone up here knows what cards he holds close to his chest. The yellow robed rabble rousing lot might impress you for a while. Quit rem.
Oh by the way……the hunger referred to here is not only for food. It could be a living wage, potable water, access to medicare, schooling a child, safe transportation, peace of mind, respect for humanity, and above them an all encompassing Sri Lankan identity.
Oh, by the way, St Peter said to me that Nero was only fiddling when Rome was burning. I did not notice him looking over my shoulder when I was peeping down upon you guys.
Ticking tempus sit.