The clay oil lamps lit around the Bodhi-Tree and its precincts, are countless. They emit a continuous glow, yellow and orange, flickering in the cool breeze, with warmth, beaming as though with joy, hope and love. It is the festival of Poson – a commemoration of the arrival of Arahat Mahinda to Sri Lanka, bringing the priceless gift of the Dhamma – the teachings of the Buddha, the supremely Enlightened one.
The Temple is crowded with devotees, clad in white, symbolising purity, simplicity and humility, who have come to pay Homage to the Blessed one.
She lights a few lamps. Her heart fills with great inspiration and deep devotion. She pours oil into the lamps, dips the wick in it, and strikes a match-stick, recalling the Buddha’s great virtues, his victory of good over evil, light over darkness and knowledge over ignorance.
She is well versed in the Dhamma and is aware that all sincere adherents of the Dhamma, would be treading along the path that leads to eternal peace and happiness.
She looks at the lamps she lit. Has not the Buddha preached that Death comes to each and all? The wicks in the lamps will burn up due to the consumption of all the oil, which she likens to Death that comes when one finishes one’s life span, or, when the wind or rain blows off the flame, which she likes to an early death caused by external factors.
She moves away, and places three fresh Lotuses at the feet of the image of the Supreme One, recalling that the Lotus emerges from muddy pools and blossoms in the air without touching the water.
Likewise the Noble one has not been affected by what is wholesome or unwholesome.
She understands that even as these lotuses fade and wither, our bodies undergo decay, and that Death is inevitable.
Having paid homage to the Buddha by lighting lamps, offering flowers and incense, chanting pirith, she walks back home, her mind purified, and full of peace and tranquillity. She sees from afar, lanterns hung up in her garden. Her grand-children were busy making them, for days and days. Her little grandson Maithree, came running towards her.
“Athammi, I kept these two for you to light and hang up on the mango tree.”
He was just eight years old, and had made two ‘bucket lamps’, the easiest to make, unlike the lanterns his older brother had made.
He had pasted coloured paper to cover the base and rim, with a space for the candle.
Athammi lit the candles, and Maithree held them high. Weren’t they beautiful, the colours reflected by the light, blue, green, gold, and orange! Maithree’s happiness knew no bounds.
His eyes glowed with warmth and love. Athammi and he, hung them up, close to each other. He clapped his chubby little hands with glee.
“I made them all by myself, Athammi”.
“You are so clever, my little one”.
“How long will they burn?”
“Till the wax melts and the wicks burn off.”
“Before that, will the wind blow off the light of the candles”.
“You can never say, Maithree”.
“Which will blow off soon, yours or mine, Athammi?”
“I think it’ll be mine, and I hope so”. They both laughed, and she hugged him tenderly.
The Buddha’s last words came to her mind – all component things are not lasting. She reflected, the Blessed One’s Wisdom, continues to live forever in His Dhamma.
-Rupa Wijesinghe