A taste of Sinhala - 6

Sinhala and Sinhale

By Prof. J.B. Disanayaka

In Sinhala folk speech, one comes across another word, 'Sinhale' which refers not to the language but to the land occupied by the Sinhala people. It is thus synonymous with 'Sinhala rata' (Sinhala country) or 'Sinhala de:se' (Sinhala land). In the past, this island was divided politically into three segments:

Raja Rata (King's Country)
Ma:ya: Rata (Maya Country)
Ruhunu Rata (Ruhunu Country)

These three segments were collectively called 'tun Sinhale' where the Sinhala word 'tun' meant 'three'. Raja Rata, which was also called 'Pihiti Rata' covered the northern segment, Maya Rata covered the western and the central segments and Ruhunu Rata, the southern and eastern segments.

The central highlands came to be known by another name, 'Malaya Rata' meaning 'the land of the mountains'.

The Highlands, with its royal capital at Kandy, formed the heart of the Sinhala kingdom when the Portuguese and the Dutch were occupying the western and southern coastal belts in the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries.

The land that belonged to the Sinhala King thus came to be called 'Sinhale' and until quite recently traders who went to the Central Highlands said they were going to Sinhale: "api Sinhale: yanava" (We are going to Sinhale).

Learning a thing or two about charity

'Charity begins at home' the old adage goes but since leaving my 'home' in England for Sri Lanka I'm not so sure that this is the case. Amongst the many things that life in a new country - this country - has lead me to re-evaluate and reconsider, 'charity' is one of the most prominent in my everyday life. This was brought to my attention recently when entertaining a friend of my mother's from Britain who was here in Colombo on business last week. She was keen to explore a little more of the country than the inside of hotels whilst visiting so I agreed to accompany her on a pit stop tour.

Taking in a couple of the capital's temples, stopping off for tea and making detours to worship at the occasional altar of consumerism too, we took in quite a variety of inner-city life. Following at least an hour's worth of 'wow'-ing at the wonders donated from all over the world to the Gangaramaya Temple followed by tea in the sumptuous surroundings of the Gallery Cafe, we took to the busy streets in the hands of our trusty tuk-tuk driver.

Minds still full of glittering gifts from around the globe, bellies full of finest quality tea and laden with bags of Sri Lankan souvenirs we passed a man lying sleeping on the street and the inevitable question arose: "What's the form with charity to people on the streets here?" It was a question I found hard to offer an answer for, one I hadn't had much chance to research or discuss - and also one I had struggled with myself.

I recall distinctly on my first ride through Colombo from the airport, my response of compassion and helplessness for the people proffering outstretched hands and disabled limbs at the taxi window.

In my raw-edged, jetlagged state there was a knee-jerk sense of somehow needing to help in a more effective way than simply thrusting a few rupees through the open window - but how?

Of course we have similar problems back home, the homeless, the hungry, the desperate and needy on the streets but it seems that familiarity can breed a certain immunity, even passive acceptance of such every-day events. Stepping outside of the normal points of reference seems to refresh the vision and make reality somehow more 'real'. This can manifest itself in both brutal and brilliant ways but is always a wonderful chance to really open your eyes.

The same conundrums in such situations however, still apply wherever you are-what to give and to whom and the motivations/ramifications of your presumed 'charity'. Tempting as it is to offer money without thought at those outstretched hands, it is also all too easy to find yourself appeasing your own need to feel generous/charitable and ignoring the real source of the problems and need for change, not to mention the individuals themselves.

In conversation with a local friend on this subject, she offered some insight to such problems. "If you don't speak Sinhalese I think it's made even more difficult," she explained "I've also found myself forgetting to treat these people as I would anyone else, to give eye contact, talk to them and acknowledge they are individuals too and that's a terrible way to treat anyone. I don't always give money, you can't give all the time, but I try to always talk to people or at the very least, realise them rather than ignore their presence or needs completely."

It was an encouraging response, prioritising human compassion and understanding and one I've certainly taken on board.

Although Sri Lanka becomes steadily more familiar throughout my stay and is rapidly taking on the status of 'home' itself, it somehow manages to keep me in check with daily reminders of such important insights. Whilst taking a break in Unawatuna, seemingly a million miles away from the harsh realities of life in the city, I ventured away from lazing in the shade in my 'Banana Garden' to wander down the beach for half an hour. It just so happened that I stumbled in on a local meditation class teaching Mettha Bhavana, or 'loving kindness'. The message and effects were yet another eye-opener in my daily interactions.

On my return to the guesthouse the owner Saliya explained the arrival of a new addition to the fold, a youthful looking cow 'saved from the slaughterhouse as thanks for my own health,' he explained.

What I'd thought was a weekend of pure hedonism had a moral after all and offered inspiration enough for me to make an appointment I'd been meaning to for a while, with the local cats and dogs sanctuary in Dehiwala. Here as elsewhere in my stay in Sri Lanka, I was certainly to learn a thing or two about charity, loving kindness and the generosity of human spirit beyond that to our fellow men, enough for a story in itself in fact.

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