Tag Archives: dagoba

The Dagoba System – Anuradhapura

23 Feb
Entrance to Sri Jaya Maha - Anuradhapura (2010)

Entrance to Jaya Sri Maha Bodhi – Anuradhapura (2010)

Imagine a flat plain stretched out before you for miles with giant white and red mounds popping up like bubbles. That’s Anuradhapura — the fabled Buddhist kingdom and seat of Sinhalese power in Sri Lanka for more than a millenia. It was where Mahindu first met King Davanampiyatissa (Tissa) and quickly converted him to Buddhism and where Sanghamitta had replanted a sapling of the Bodhi tree which she had smuggled to Sri Lanka from India. This sapling then took root as the now over 2,000 year old Jaya Sri Maha Bodhi [See August 8, 2012 post: “Part I (Cont’d) – Tree” https://startupkoan.com/2012/08/08/part-i-contd-tree/]. Standing sentinel around Jaya Sri Maha Bodhi are the Dagobas — the huge mounds of brick and stone corralled meticulously into bulbous heaps of worship. I had come to Anuradhapura from Sigiriya and was dropped off in the modern section of the city.  My plan was to get a room at the Tissawewa Resthouse which was located in the far eastern part of the archaeological park and I decided to walk there. I thought I could use the huge Dagobas that rose before me in the distance as markers to guide me to the hotel — big mistake.  The area was much larger than represented on my guidebook map and since it was the late afternoon, there were not many people around. The heat cooked me thoroughly during my 1 hour of non-stop walking until I finally caught sight of something that looked like a hotel and I zeroed in on it.  It turned out to be a small monastery, but I found a guard there who pointed to where my hotel was. When I entered, the proprietor looked up at me with surprise. I had not reserved a room, but apparently there was no one else staying at the hotel. So, I must have been the first lodger she had seen in some time. I shuffled off to my room and as soon as I got inside I thew off my backpack, pried apart the mosquito netting, and collapsed on the bed. I had to get off my feet which felt like they were on fire. I was staying for 3 nights and with the bike I was able to rent from the hotel, I would have easy access to all the wondrous sights of Anuradhapura — a place where at one time in history the world’s largest Buddhist kingdom had existed. It seemed like I had it all to myself.

Thuparama Dagoba - Anuradhapura

Thuparama Dagoba

The oldest of the Dagobas in Anuradhapura is also one of the smallest. It is called Thuparama. King Tissa built Thuparama in the 3rd century BC soon after his conversion by Mahindu. Inside Thuparama, Tissa encased a relic of the Buddha which he had received from the Emperor Ashoka as a gift.  This relic is thought to be a piece of the Buddha’s collarbone. Thuparama sits like a bell and there are stone pillars which still stand around it. These pillars most likely supported a wooden roof around Thuparama. The bell-shape design of Thuparama has served as the archetype for countless dagobas, shrines, and pagodas throughout the Buddhist world.

Ruwanwelisaya Dagoba

Ruwanwelisaya Dagoba

After King Tissa’s, the next king, Dutugamanu, began the next phase of expansion at Anuradhapura. In 140BC, he built Ruwanwelisaya Dagoba which was 100m (33oft) tall and enclosed within its chamber were other relics of the Buddha, gems, gold, and statues. Some schools of Sri Lankan Buddhism believe that when the Maitreya (Future Buddha) returns, this chamber  inside Ruwanwelisaya will be opened and the new age of enlightenment will be ushered and the ignorance and suffering of today will be swiftly washed away. In the centuries after its construction, parts of the Dagoba were destroyed and burned at the hands of marauding armies from the north. But, the core base of the Dagoba has always remained intact and each time it was attacked, the Dagoba rose gain.

Mirisavatiya Dagoba

Mirisavatiya Dagoba

The last great Dagoba which King Dutugamanu built at Anuradhapura was Mirisavatiya Dagoba. The story goes that Dutugamanu carried a sceptre with him which had a bone of the Buddha encased in an orb at the top.  One day when Dutugamanu was scouting a location for construction of his new Dagoba, he accidentally fell and his sceptre flew out of his hands and landed in a pond. Dutugamanu took this as a sign that Mirisavatiya had to be built atop this pond and so the pond was dredged and diverted into a water tank. Mirisavatiya was then constructed over the site of where the sceptre had come to lay. The 2 most enormous Dagobas at Anuradhapura are also the ones most in need of repair. These are Abhyagiri Dagoba which was built in 88BC and has a height of 110m (370 ft), and Jetavanaram which was built in 275AD and was originally over 12om (400ft) tall.

Abhyagiri Dagoba

Abhyagiri Dagoba

IMG_0807

Jetavanaram Dagoba

Abhhyagiri’s brick interior is now exposed and crumbling and somehow bushes and other vegetation have started to grow near the top of the Dagoba. Similarly, the sikhara/spire at the top of Jetavanaram is broken, but at the time Jetavanaram was first built it was the world’s 3rd largest manmade structure behind 2 of the pyramids of Giza. The scars these 2 giant Dagobas bear fade into the background because of the magnitude of ingenuity and painstaking awe of their physical construction. Millions of bricks and other stones had to be quarried, stomped into shape by elephants, and then layered and fused into concentric bands which rose higher than anything else around the land. They are mountains made by human hands and dwarf everything else around them.

"A Man & His Horse" rock carving at Isurumuniya Rock Temple - Anuradhapura

“A Man & His Horse” rock carving at Isurumuniya Rock Temple – Anuradhapura

On my last day at Anuradhapura, I went back to Jaya Sri Maha Bodhi and sat under a quiet corner where one of the great Tree’s branches covered me in the shade. I’ve previously recounted this moment in my prior post “Part I (Cont’d) – Tree“. What I would like to add is that as I gazed up at the Tree, I was also struck by this — as amazing as the Dagobas of Anuradhapura are — their immense size, symbol of spiritual loftiness, and engineering brilliance — they are ultimately each dormant teets. They have no milk — meaning they do not themselves provide sustenance to the community of monks and people who now live in Anuradhapura. It is the Tree which gives meaning to what Anuradhapura once was and continues to be today. It gives meaning to what these Dagobas represent. The Tree connects the past to the present and the present to the future. Its leafy branches billowed over my head as they were nudged by a passing wind. I turned my head so it went along with the wind and I was intensely aware that I was facing east. Sinhalese sailors used the same winds for their trade routes long ago. I had an idea of where I was headed next.

The Ascension – Adam’s Peak

6 Nov

Gateway to start of ascent

I felt good when I woke up that next day. I had some eggs and toast and a full pot of Sri Lankan premium black tea. Nothing — not wind, rain, cold — would hold me back from trekking up to Adam’s Peak. I set off with a brisk pace and at first couldn’t believe my good luck — the conditions were cloudy, but there was no rain. I actually thought the clouds may break-up and the sun would come out. The first leg of the trail took me through a base camp area for pilgrims. There were rows of concrete pit toilets, basic sleeping bunkers, and a large standing statue of the Buddha. I walked past these and then came to a grove where there was a statue of the Buddha in his lion pose (the reclining posture he took at Kushinagar before he died) and there was an ornately carved stoned gateway that marked the official entry to the path that would take me for the next 5km or so up to Adam’s Peak. The initial 1km was more or less a comfortable, steady incline where I walked on a muddy clay.  The next marker of note was a Japan-Sri Lanka Friendship Dagoba that was built a few decades ago, and there were some stone benches for pilgrims to rest on here. Waterfalls streamed from the cliffsides above this pagoda, and as I looked beyond the ravine ahead that’s where I saw the heavy sitting mist ahead.

View of the Japan-Sri Lanka Friendship Dagoba

It was hard for me to judge where the summit was from here. I just couldn’t see anything above the mist. The mountain face was complete hidden. I wasn’t concerned by the situation. There was something completely exhilarating by just letting go and having nature dictate things. I would have to take one step at a time and rise further and deeper into the mist.  There was also no one else on the path! I had yet to see anyone coming down or passing me. During the pilgrimage season, I had heard people crammed on the narrow trails and when you got close to the top, there was only enough space for people to file by one at a time and so there could be hours of waiting while pilgrims carefully passed one another. I  did not have to worry about any human traffic jams. I was going to enjoy every step up. I had packed some food and water, and I would shoot some video along the way. The only traces of pilgrims that I saw were the many lost sandals strewn about here and there.

Self-explanatory signpost

About an hour and a half into the ascent, I noticed a steady rain was falling. Not big drops — only pinpricks and they felt sharp upon impact. I was inside the outer layer of the mist and every now and then I was blasted by a gust of wind. When I got to a rest area, I sat down and took about a 10 minute break. I could imagine that during the pilgrimage season this rest area had to be packed by tired pilgrims who would pass out some tea to drink and share conversation about how much longer it would take to get to the top. It was a bit eerie to sit there all alone thinking about how many souls typically filled the area as they sought the merit that would come from accomplishing the climb. I assumed that I was about halfway up to the summit at that point. As I got up and began to hike again, the wind grew stronger and buffeted against me. I would take a step up and get hit by a blast, and then take 3 or more steps, and get hit again. I put my head down and went through it the best I could, but my thighs and knees began to slowly ache. After about another 30 minutes, I came across a sign that said the Buddha had torn his robe in this spot and he had stopped his climb until he was able to mend the loose strands of his robe so they would not get caught on the brushes and rocks along the way.  In order to commemorate that moment, pilgrims take a long white string from this spot and carry it along the railing until the entire string has been unwound and released.  I could see all these strings placed along the path up from where the Buddha had torn his robe.  They hung like a tangle of wet spider webs and it energized me to be connected to the Buddha in such a concrete way. I was actually walking in his steps now and the strings before me were reminders of his own journey.

Stringed remembrances of the Buddha’s torn robe

Then, as the strings dropped away, I found myself in the mouth of a cloud. Visibility was limited to only about 20 feet or so and the rain was colder now. I told myself I must be about an hour away from the summit, but there was no way to know for sure. I couldn’t see the top. I couldn’t really see anything except endless steps that cascaded into whiteness. I was literally on a stairway to heaven, but had no idea how long it would take to get there. I powered through the next 30 minutes and then another 30 minutes, but whenever I thought – aha – this must be the last stretch – I was wrong! And that happened over and over again, but I noticed the trees dropping away and getting smaller and more rock face appearing. I kept on going driven by a spiritual hunger I had never known before. I rose higher and the steps became steeper and thinner. I was squarely in the center of the monsoonal cloud now. The rain continued to fall in sharp incessant beats. The wind was not only wild, but it howled and howled. So much so that I thought of the song “Wild Is The Wind” and began to sing it to myself. The stones were slippery and I had to sidestep dozens of tree branches, rock debris, and rivulets of mud. Each time I looked up I still only saw the thick cottony blanket of a cloud which enveloped the peak. I pushed myself upwards and into the cone — into what appeared to be the dividing line between cloud and sky, earth and heaven. It had to be at hand.

Out of India [South – The Doctrine of the Elders]

27 Oct

Gangaramaya Temple – Colombo, Sri Lanka (2010)

In May 2009, the 30-year-old civil war that had been waged in Sri Lanka effectively ended with the killing of Velupillai Prabhakaran – the leader of the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE). The Tamils are a largely Hindu minority in Sri Lanka who live in the north and northeast of the country, and in the early 1980s, a militant, separatist group led by Prabhakaran. The LTTE or Tamil Tigers employed various terrorist-like tactics (including the use of vest-wearing female suicide bombers) in an effort to gain independence from the Buddhist Sinhalese majority. I visited the country in June/July 2010 and was intrigued by how such a bloody armed conflict could have gone on as long as it had within a predominantly Buddhist nation. It seemed like the last vestige of the Dharma must have been cast out because otherwise how could any devout Buddhist sanction the killing of another person? I grappled with this question from the moment I landed in Sri Lanka’s capital city, Colombo. I had taken an overnight flight to Colombo from Dubai and the contrast between the dry, desert landscape and sultry, tropical blanket that covered me when I first stepped outside could not have been more extreme.  I flagged down a taxi and began the long drive to Colombo. There was no highway or expressway at that time which linked Colombo to Bandaranaike Airport, and instead, we were just on a sinewy, congested 2-lane road.  But, this drive gave me my first insight into the omnipresent nature of the Buddhist faith in Sri Lanka.  I saw may small shrines, temples, and monuments along the way. At one point, my cab driver stopped at a light that was near a road-side Buddhist shrine and did a quick, respectful prayer before the light turned green and we drove away. There were only small windows into the tangible pulse of Sri Lanka’s Buddhist heart.

Buddha statues – Gangaramaya Temple

Sri Lanka is an island that hangs like a teardrop in close proximity to India’s southernmost point. Yet, despite this proximity, the visual and cultural impact of Sri Lanka more closely brings to mind the look and feel of Southeast Asia and not the Indian subcontinent. Part of the reason for this is that the dominant Buddhist school that took hold in most of Southeast Asia was the Theravada tradition — the “Doctrine of the Elders”.  Sri Lanka was the petri dish in which Theravada was cultivated, groomed, and then exported abroad. In Bodh Gaya (India), I had learned the story of Princess Sanghamitta who had saved a cutting of the sacred Bodhi Tree which she then brought to her brother, Mahindu, who was a Buddhist monk already spreading the Dharma in Sri Lanka. I thought I would be seeing old sites tied to a Buddhist tradition that was likely no longer relevant or integrated into the everyday life of Sri Lankans. I thought the sangha or community of monks and laity had been weakened or marginalized by years of strife, war, and thirst for material possessions, the internet, and etc.  I could not be more wrong. What I found instead was an incredibly vibrant, active brand of Buddhism that provided a social infrastructure for lay people, monks, families, and other individuals of all walks of life to have a role in sustaining the Dharma — whether through giving alms, performing rituals, conducting parades and ceremonies, or undertaking pilgrimages to holy sites on the island.

Relief on outside wall of Gangaramaya showing Mara tempting the Buddha

The great surprise of Sri Lanka is that in the midst of its core Buddhist culture and tradition are various colorful odds and ends– remnants of Portuguese colonization such as striking Catholic churches and surnames, tea estates formerly owned by the British who supplanted the Portuguese with their own Anglican Tudor-designed churches and the Tamils they brought to Sri Lanka to work the tea plantations, and sprinkled here and there are mosques and calls to prayer in Arabic. The island took me on an immensely satisfying journey — both physically and spiritually — where I worked my way down to the south and then circled back up through the Hill Country, on to Sri Lanka’s cultural center, and finally up to its northern plains and ancient past. There is such radical contrast in the terrain and atmosphere in this small country. In the southern point of the island lays the colonial town of Galle and there stands an old Portuguese fortress with large sea-walls which held back the waves of the 2004 tsunami — although many people died around Galle and in the other low-lying areas of the southern Sri Lankan coast. But, things began for me first in Colombo where I had come to see the Gangaramaya Temple and the Kelaniya Raja Maha Vihara Dagoba (“Dagoba” being the Sinhalese word for Stupa) which marks the spot where the Buddha spoke during a visit he had made to the island. Both sites were remarkably active with streams of people and pilgrims pouring in and out, praying, sitting in contemplation, and performing rites. On the outside of the Gangaramaya Temple, there are very detailed reliefs which vividly depict stories from the life of the Buddha. These reliefs are all found on one large exterior wall of Gangaramaya and this wall itself looks like 2 large, gilded doors which reminded me of Ghiberti’s “Gates of Paradise” (the Renaissance-era doors created on the eastern side of the Baptistry of St. John in Florence). Ghiberti’s doors contain reliefs showing the story of Adam and Eve and other stories from the Old Testament, and that same kind of snapshot storytelling was impeccably conveyed in the reliefs found on Gangaramaya’s outside wall. From Colombo, I set off for the Hill Country. I hopped a train at Colombo Fort railway station and soon rose from the coast to the hills where I was surrounded by rolling greenery and tea bushes. When the sunlight hit these bushes and a wind rustled them slightly, they would flicker like gold. It was the monsoon season and I was headed to a sacred mountain. A mountain that I was intending to scale despite being told that no one — not even the most devout pilgrims — climbed the mountain during the time of the monsoon. I was unmoved. I would do the climb — not because it was there — but because I had to. It was a calling.

Parinirvana

1 Aug

After many, many decades of traveling through different lands, kingdoms, villages, valleys, mountains, plains, and forests, the Buddha’s body began to fail him. He had grown old and was prone to sickness. Yet, he was determined to travel back to the place of his birth one last time. He told Ananda, one of the Buddha’s closest disciples, that they would travel to Lumbini and there the Buddha would pass on. Ananda wept and protested against the Buddha’s wishes. “When the Buddha is no longer in the world, who will teach us?” Ananda asked. The Buddha admonished him thus, “What more is that you want of me? I have taught you all I know with an open hand. I have kept nothing back. There is no hidden teaching, Ananda. My teachings are your teacher now. Follow them and you will stay true to me. Take refuge in yourselves and be islands unto yourselves. Hold fast to the Dharma as an island. Hold fast to the Dharma as a refuge. Resort to no other refuge.” Ananda then went to prepare the other disciples for their trip to Lumbini. As they began the journey, the Buddha became ill, but he pressed on the best he could until his body could no longer carry him. He did not want to leave his followers without speaking to them one more time, so as they neared the village of Kushinagar he told Ananda to prepare a mat for him to lay down upon between 2 large sala trees. The Buddha slowly lowered his body onto the mat and rested on his right side with his head propped up on a cushion so he could face his disciples. Although he was just a simple monk, there was something regal about how he reclined before his followers. Others in the village heard the Buddha was near death and was preparing to give his last sermon, so they gathered around him. They too were captivated by the Buddha’s “lion pose” as it thereafter became called. The Buddha was using his frail body to teach these people about death and that there was nothing to fear. “The moment has at last come. Do not forget that death is but the vanishing of a body. The body was born from parents and nourished by food, so sickness and death are unavoidable. But, although the human body must vanish, the wisdom of Enlightenment will exist in the truth and practice of the Dharma. You who see only my human body, do not truly see me. But, you who accept my teachings, you are the one who see me. So, you to whom the truth has been made known, make yourselves masters of it, practice it, meditate on it, and teach it to the others. Satisfy your desires only in the same way that the butterfly sips nectar from a flower, but do so without destroying its fragrance or its texture. Be mindful of the truths I have tought you and actively pursue the right practices in order to keep to the eightfold path that leads to Nirvana.” As the Buddha spoke, his eyes became heavy and he started to sink into a deep meditative state. Just when it appeared the Buddha had finished, he spoke his last words: “All things must grow old and be dissolved again. Seek out the truth and work out your salvation with diligence.” The Buddha then entered into the ultimate state of bliss. Some of his disciples despaired at the thought of going on without him, but Ananda and a few others assured the rest that the truth which the Buddha had taught them would live in their minds and they could now go out into the world, preach the Buddha’s message, and continue to foster the community that would support them along the way. The disciples and village people began to anoint the Buddha’s body with perfumes and garlands. Some music even began playing while the Buddha’s body lay in its final repose. A continuous stream of people passed by in order to pay their respects. Finally, when they were ready, they lit the funeral pyre that had been placed around the Buddha and the sky turned black — not from the smoke, but because of the sudden absence of both the late day sun and early evening moon. The earth quaked and a forceful wind snaked through the forest shaking all the trees and causing flowers and leaves to fall on the ground. When the flames of the pyre had become extinguished, so had the Buddha attained Nirvana. The disciples and other people who stood over the Buddha’s remains then did something that only human beings would do. They let their feelings for the Buddha take over and they all wanted to claim a share of his earthly remains. There was an overwhelming desire these people had to stay attached to the Buddha through some physical link. Not even Ananda nor the Buddha’s other most trusted disciples were able to stop this, and instead, they ceded to this desire. They agreed to distribute the Buddha’s relics — pieces of bone, clothing, hair, and teeth — into eight parts. Whoever received any relic would have to preserve them within the walls of specialized shrines — what became Stupas, Dagobas, or Pagodas — depending on the country in which these were constructed. So, although the Buddha had said otherwise, his body had not quite vanished. Instead, his relics would travel far and wide across the land and ocean and there would be stories passed on from generation to generation about the perilous and epic journeys some of these relics would make until they reached their final resting spots. And when they did reach their destinations, the most amazing shrines rose — created by the mortal hands of the faithful and the communities which supported them. For each would receive the Buddha’s message and each would take refuge.

%d bloggers like this: