There was a fabulously rich mudalali, who, in his time, was an institution in the South. He was not born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth: He had to come up the hard way. The trials and tribulations of that upward struggle may have been the cause, but the man was so cussed that he generally opposed everything constructive or progressive. This cussed attitude of his prompted the villagers to call him ‘Haras’ Mudalali (Obstructionist).
But the mudalali didn’t always score off his fellow villagers. Once he had a house to let, and he had a board put up outside saying ‘TO LET’ in English. A few days later he found that some mischief-maker had inserted an ‘i’ between the two words, making it ‘TOILET’. What’s more, several vandals had used the house for the purpose.
Some sympathetic soul then suggested to the mudalali that he put up the board in Sinhala, and so a board with the words ‘Badhu Dheemata Thibay’ was put up. The next day, to his rage, mudalali discovered that the first letter had been erased, and the board now read ‘Dhu Dheemata Thibay’. (Daughter available for marriage).
Haras ran a tea room beside a very busy bus-stand, and next to his tea-room was another one run by a rival. The rival’s tea-room had no toilet, and to his rage Haras discovered that people who have tea at his rival’s tea-room, walk into his (Haras Mudalali’s) hotel to use his toilet. Haras promptly put up a board outside his tea-room, saying in pithy Sinhala, “The Fellow Who Drinks Tea At One Hotel and Pisses It Out At Another, Is A Shameless Bounder!”
Haras was very superstitious, and if he heard the sound of the gecko (hoona) when he was about to leave the house on some business however important the business was he would promptly put it off.
When they were broke some of his nephews would visit their uncle Haras. And, in order to avoid them, he would get dressed and pretending that he had some very important work to attend to and try to leave the house. As he comes into the varandah, one of the young rascals would make the sound of a gecko (Chik! Chik! Chik!) and the Haras would turn back and walk into the house!”
Haras would sit in his verandah so that he could observe any visitor coming his way long before the visitor could see him. This way, he could gauge why the visitor was coming, (the mudalali had an unerring sixth sense,) giving him time to prepare his strategy for putting the man off.
One day he saw a villager coming to see him, and from the agitated way the man was hurrying, Haras Mudalali’s instinct told him he was coming to borrow his (the Mudalali’s car)
When the visitor came within earshot, ‘Haras’, pretending not to see the man, called out loudly to his driver, ‘Ah, bung, Martiyo, isn’t the repair to the car done with yet?” And driver Martin, well-trained in these things, replied, “Not yet, mudalali, the repair will take another day or two.” The visitor, of course, departed, his request unvoiced.
One day Haras was told by his doctor that he had ‘sugar in his system’, and the first question the patient asked was whether there was enough of it to make his family self-sufficient in sugar!.
Haras had been receiving treatment from the local doctor for years for some apparently chronic ailment, the patient getting temporary relief every time, but with no signs at all of a permanent cure. One evening, the doctor who liked his little drop (and it certainly wasn’t medicine) dropped in at his club, looking most doleful and despondent. “I must have been tight like hell last night,” he groaned, clutching his head. For Haras Mudalali came to consult me, and I gave him the wrong medicine! “Good heavens!” said the others. “That’s a very serious matter.” “You are telling me,” groaned the doctor, again. “The bloody medicine is going to cure him!”
Haras reached his middle-age, a very rich man and a bachelor, and one day he decided that he was going to get married. But there was one hitch. In the time honoured fashion of mudalalis, Haras sported a ‘Konday’, his hair tied in a knot at the back of his head, and he knew no modern miss was going to marry a man with a ‘konday’. What to do? To cut it off would be to invite the derision and the ribald comments of his fellow villagers. Then he got a brainwave. The General Elections of 1947 were in the offing; he would contest a seat. He had no illusions about his popularity with his fellow men, and he took bets with anyone who was interested, that if he lost he would cut off his ‘konday’.
There was also another advantage in his contesting, for none of the other candidates, who were well-known to him, could ask him to lend them the numerous cars, vans and lorries he had, for their election work and to transport voters on polling day. (This was permitted then.)
Well, as everyone, including Haras himself expected he lost badly even losing his deposit. He had spent very little on his election campaign and he gained more than he lost. For not only did he save on the cost of petrol and the wear and tear of his vehicles had he lent them to others for their election work, but he also cut off his ‘Konday’. Haras wore the usual mudalali dress of coat and cloth, and he realised that he would have to change this too. So he thought much about how he could do it without inviting the ribald laughter of his fellow villagers. Then, one day, it dawned on him.
The Sinhala New Year was around the corner, and calling one of his catchers, a schoolmaster, Haras told him to set up a play for the entertainment of the village folk. “There must be a part for a trousered ‘mahattaya’ in the play?” Haras told the schoolmaster, “and I want to play that role.” The master came up with a play, with, a trousered character in it as a proctor’s clerk. Haras acted as the trousered proctor’s clerk, and wore trousers thereafter, causing very little comment. Later he married a girl with a fat dowry.
One day Haras’ wife timidly expressed a desire to go to Dambadiva (India) on a pilgrimage.
“Certainly, certainly, hamine,” said her husband cordially. “I shall make arrangements for it immediately.” He went to town and returned home with a large map of Asia. He spread the map on the dining table and called his wife. “Before going to Dambadiva, hamine, you must go to Kelaniya, Kandy, Mahiyangana, Anuradhapura, Dambulla, Mihintale, Polonnaruwa and Nagadeepa,” said Haras Mudalali.
Then taking his wife’s forefinger, he placed it on the map and said, “Here, hamine. This is Matara, where we are right now. From Matara, Sadhu! Sadhu!, we shall now go to Kelaniya.” And he guided his wife’s forefinger along the map. “There we are, hamine, we are at Kelaniya. Now let us go to Kandy. Here we are, at Kandy! Sadhu! Sadhu!. Next Mahiyangana! Now let us go to the eight holy places at Anuradhapura! Now Mihintale. Sadhu! Sadhu!. Next Dambulla!. And now Polonnaruwa! Sadhu! Sadhu! And now, hamine, the long journey to Nagadipa! Right! Now we cross the Palk Straits and go to Dambadiva! Here, hamine, now we are at Buddha Gaya! Sadhu! Sadhu! Next Saranath! Sadhu! Sadhu! Hamine now that we are in India, we might as well go to Kashmir, Benares, Bombay and New Delhi, the Mudalali added generously. “Now, hamine, you must be very tired. Go and rest a while, and in the evening shall take you to the holy places in Burma, Thailand, China and Japan!
Another day his wife told him that it was one of her dearest wishes to have on all night Pirith chanting ceremony at their home, followed by a Sanghika daana an alms–giving to monks. The next night there was an all-night pirith at Haras Mudalali’s house, by courtesy of his battered old gramophone and a set of pirith records he had borrowed. The following morning alms-giving was sent to the nearby temple, ten packets of rice and curry, packeted at the Mudalali’s hotel, with plantains for dessert.
Haras once solved a very delicate problem, very much the way some of our national problems are solved. Like many busy businessmen, Haras had hardly any time for his wife, who was considerably younger than him. Coming home unexpectedly one day, he found her in a compromising position on a priceless antique couch with his manager.
He pretended not to see the unedifying spectacle, but inwardly, he was filled with rage and humiliation at his wife’s infidelity and his manager’s treachery. He could not very well divorce his wife, for that would mean washing dirty linen in public, and he could not sack his manager for the blackguard knew all his business secrets, including the many ways he was defrauding the Inland Revenue Department. Then Haras got his brainwave. He sold the couch.
Haras’ younger son was very keen to play for the First Eleven of the prestigious school he was going to and turned up regularly for cricket practice. One day during practice, the seat of his trousers tore with a loud ‘baraas’ and from that day, he was called ‘Baraas’.
Despite his keenness, ‘Baraas’ was not selected for the team, he was twelfth man. Even then, playing for the First Eleven was a hell of a rat-race, with no holds barred. So Haras Mudalali began to send petitions to the authorities that one of the players was over-aged. This proved to be true, and the boy was dropped, and Haras’ son replaced him.
The manner of his entrance to the team made ‘Baraas’ very unpopular among the rest of the boys in the school, and when, at the big match, he got out first ball, the whole school shouted, “Adoo! Harasge putha Baraas BUROOS!”
One son of Haras was a very bright lad, whose one dream was to be a doctor one day. “What kind of doctor?” asked Haras.
“An Ear, Nose and Throat Specialist,” replied the boy.
“Don’t be a fool putha” – snorted Haras. “Two ears, one nose, and one throat are just four items. How much money can you make out of that? Become a dentist putha; You will have thirty two items to attend to!”
By the time the daughter of Haras was of marriageable age, he kept a sharp look out for a likely lad. One day he went to the Bank and saw a young man cashing a cheque for a large amount. When the cash was handed over to him by the cashier at the counter, the young man began to count the money, though the conventional thing was to nonchalantly pocket money, for bank cashiers were supposed to be infallible. And as the mudalali watched, with growing admiration, the young man counted the money no less than three times. When he was about to leave the bank, the mudalali went up to him and introduced himself and invited the young man home. The rest, of course, is history.
“One of his sons had married a girl from the wrong caste, much to Haras’ chagrin and wrath. He told his son that he was not to step into the old homestead ever again. After the passage of several months, hoping the old man had cooled down, the son visited his father with his bride. “Don’t step into my house,” yelled Haras. “Ho!” said his son with a defiant gesture, turning away. “My car, my petrol.” (Meaning: ‘I have the right to decide my own affairs’). “Very good,” replied Haras harshly. “Your car, your petrol, but no parking here.”
Haras was on his death-bed, and his six sons, who were running the old man’s flourishing building materials shop, were gathered round the dying man. One by one he called out their names (he had reconciled with his errant son), and they answered. “Yes, father, I’m here.”
When the youngest son answered, Haras sat up and shouted: “Yako, if all of you are here, who the devil is in the cashier-kooduwa?”
Breathe clean for better health
Air impurities enter the respiratory system via inhalation, causing various health effects in all age groups.
Air pollution and climate change were recognized as the top environmental global threats to human health in 2019 by the World Health Organization (WHO).
Air impurities enter the respiratory system via inhalation, causing various health effects in all age groups. The health of susceptible and sensitive individuals (pregnant women, kids, elderly and people with severe disorders) can be impacted even on low air pollution days.
Short-term exposure to air pollutants is closely related to cough, shortness of breath, wheezing, asthma, and other respiratory diseases, with high rates of hospitalization. Long-term exposure to these also leads to severe conditions like lung cancer, heart disease and central nervous system dysfunctions.
Nasal hygiene matters
Your nose is a passage to various air impurities; hence it is important to take care of your nose. Air impurities e.g. allergens, pollutants, bacteria or viruses etc. may enter the nose and get trapped, leading to complications.
Take care of your overall health:
*Manage diet – Antioxidants, fibre, protein and polyunsaturated fatty acids (PUFAs) may help you beat the effects of air pollutants.
*Regular Nasal Washing -Saline sprays wash out the impurities and debris trapped in the nasal passage and helps to prevent allergy symptoms and sinus infections. It also supports natural nose functions.
Benefits of nasal saline wash
* It is a good habit to use a saline wash every day to clean the trapped debris and impurities.
* It also helps to moisturize your dry nose, especially in winter.
* If you are taking any steroids or medications to treat your nasal allergies, it is suggested to rinse your nose with saline before using them. It will clear out debris/mucus and help medications work better.
Take care of your nose and practice nasal hygiene regularly to breathe cleaner.
Minimise the exposure to air pollutants:
* Shift from motorized to active travel e.g. walking and cycling
* Track the air quality index in your area
*Exercise regularly but moderate outdoor activity when air pollution levels are high
* Ventilate your kitchen or cooking room
Places and people
Raddella and Karangoda
By Uditha Devapriya
With input from Roshan Jayarathna
From Panadura to Ratnapura the bus takes three hours to complete the ride. It goes through Horana, Ingiriya, Idangoda, Kiriella, and Kahangama before reaching its destination. The bus stop at Ratnapura is largely empty after six in the evening, and after eight there’s no one. It was raining last December. I was getting late. The clock struck 4.30 when I reached Kiriella. Another hour or so, and there wouldn’t be anyone to take me. I had come to visit Raddella, 25 minutes away. I would be staying for Christmas: I wanted an escape from the fireworks, and I wanted some peace and quiet. Raddella promised both.
Tucked away in a far off corner, Elapatha is one of 17 Divisional Secretariats in the Ratnapura District. The road to it is small, just wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other. Located seven kilometres from Ratnapura Town, it turns and swerves for three more kilometres before you reach a village called Karangoda. From there to Raddella it takes 10 minutes. Filled with forbidding roads and welcoming homes, Elapatha, to which it belongs, is located in Niwithigala, in turn a part of Palle Pattuwa in the Nawadun Korale.
The area is of immense historical interest, though it’s not obvious at first glance. Ratnapura, of course, features in the travels of Marco Polo. Yet this part of the country figured in the country’s history long, long before Polo’s visit, particularly in the reign of Parakramabahu I. In 1156 AD he faced a revolt in Ruhunurata led by the mother of an aspirant to the throne, Manabharana, whom he had defeated and vanquished. The mother, Sugala Devi, provoked an uprising in the South in the hopes of restoring the monarchy to her son.
Parakramabahu was by then engaged in bringing the country under one dominion, a feat unaccomplished since the days of Dutugemunu. Perturbed at the machinations of Sugala Devi, he ordered two of his generals, Damiladhikari Rakkha and Kacukinayaka Rakkha, to traverse to Ruhuna and subjugate her. The mission took years, and it threatened to drain the country’s resources. Yet in the end, the king triumphed.
Codrington speculated that Kacukinayaka Rakkha proceeded to Devanagama, or Dondra, after suffering defeat at Mahavalukagama, or Weligama. From there he and his army made their way through Kammaragama (Kamburugama), Mahapanalagama, Manakapithi, the ford of the Nilwala River, and Kadalipathi. Damiladhikari Rakkha, on the other hand, had taken the route from Ratnapura: Codrington wrote that he may have gone through the mountains between Rakwana and Deniyaya, or the mountains of the Kolonne Korale on the outskirts of the Ratnapura District. Either way, he reached Koggala, and from there to Magama, where he waged a series of battles after which, finally, he won the war.
As they marched through Ratnapura, Damiladhikari’s troops captured the villages of Donivagga (Denawaka) and Navayojana (Nawadun). From there we are told they advanced to Kalagiribanda, or Kalugalbodarata, encompassing the Kukul, Atakalan, Kolonna, and Morawaka Korales; from there, to the Atakalan Korale, Dandava between Kahawatte and Opanayake, Tambagamuwa near Madampe, Bogahawela, Binnegama, and finally Butkanda. Nawadun, roughly the Nawadun Korale of today, hence became the army’s first priority; so impossible to claim did it become that the army despaired of it as “hard to pass through.” During the civil war Parakramabahu had waged with Manabharana, he set about taking the region from Manabharana’s forces, and eventually succeeded in doing so.
The writing of the Tripitakaya precedes Parakramabahu, Manabharana, and Sugala Devi by several centuries. It was in Nawadun that the first puskola poth on which it would be written were made. Two kilometres before Raddella, you stop by the village of Karangoda, which reputedly got its name from the word given to the remnants of ola leaves after they’ve been used to make books. Here, at a temple less well heard of than anything Parakramabahu built and came up with, the first talipot books were put together for the Fourth Buddhist Council. Thus the region from Elapatha to Raddella is linked to two of the most important events in our history: the unification of the Sangha by Vatta Gamini Abhaya, and the unification of the polity by Parakramabahu I a thousand years later.
After Vatta Gamini Abhaya suffered defeat at the hands of a South Indian dynasty, he and a group of his most faithful followers retreated from the capital, Anuradhapura. Among them was a monk, Kushikkala Tissa; he would settle in Karangoda with his disciples and several other refugees from the war torn capital. The village of Weragama is not too far away, and there a sentry by the name of Bodhinayake, who befitting his title had been in charge of the Sri Maha Bodhiya, founded a settlement of his own, giving it its present-day name. Those who hail from the Bodhinayake line, according to local sources, continue to reside in the area. Its history, and the history of the sangha parapura from Kushikkala Tissa, has a great deal to do with that temple in Karangoda: the Potgul Viharaya.
Locals call Potgula the second Sri Pada. There’s no real resemblance: the association with the latter comes off mainly in the fact that locals, and even those passing by the area, tend to pay their respects to it before making their way to the Holy Peak. Not unlike the maha giri dambe at Sri Pada there’s a series of steps – 460 according to a pamphlet issued at the temple, 469 according to Explore Sri Lanka – to ascend before reaching the viharaya. The climb stiffens the limbs, though shorter than Dambulla. Yet despite its reputation, not many seem to have heard of it: an anomaly that proves to be more curious when you consider its history is tied, inextricably, to the history of the Buddhist order in Sri Lanka.
A. H. Mirando has written of the emergence of Ganinnanses or lay monks, comparable to the Achars of Cambodia, in Kandy in the 17th and 18th centuries. With vast sections of land coming into their possession, he observes, they remained priests in name only, contravening the rules of Vinaya and getting involved in the affairs of the laity. Owing to their persecution by the tempestuous Sitawaka Rajasinghe, many Buddhist monks fled to Kotte, contributing to the disintegration of the Sangha in the upcountry further. Dutch and British annexation of the littoral regions distanced the Kandyan priesthood from low country monks, compelling the latter to seek favours from colonial officials.
The descendants of Kushikkala Tissa had made Potgula their sanctuary, and despite the moral decline of the Ganinnanses, the sangha parapura flourished. We next hear of a Chief Incumbent whose contribution to the revival of Buddhism has been as scantily noticed as the historical significance of the Potgul Viharaya itself: Vehalle Sri Dhamadinna. Together with Sitinamaluwe Dhammajoti, the last non-Govigama monk to be initiated into the Siyam Nikaya, Dhamadinna began a campaign to breathe new life to the order and the doctrine in the Maritime Provinces. The two of them had been ordained by Kadurupokune Navaratne Buddharakkitha, who resided in Tissamaharama and became one of two monks initiating a generation of reformists to the priesthood; the other, Suriyagoda Kitsirigoda, Rajaguru and Dhammanusasaka of Narendrasinghe, would ordain Velivita Saranankara.
In 1753 when the upasampadawa was finally established under Kirti Sri Rajasinghe and Buddharakkitha’s students underwent the ceremony to symbolise the beginning of the new chapter, Dhammadinna, who took part in it with 22 Ganinnanses from Sabaragamuwa and 20 Ganinnanses from Matara, would have been 74; if so he was 97 when he passed away in 1776. Together with Malimbada Dhammadara and Kumburupitiye Gunaratne, he formed a trio of low country monks who, after Saranankara’s demise, were placed in charge of the Shrine at the Sri Pada. This proved to be a source of contention once they came to hold two offices – Chief Monk of the low country and the Shrine – following the separation of those offices after Kamburupitiye Gunaratne’s passing away in 1779.
Far, far away, 12 kilometres from Raddella, the Sumana Saman Devalaya continues to occupy a preeminent place in the Sabaragamuwa Province. 13 kilometres away in Kuruwita, the Delgamuwa Viharaya, a quiet, empty, yet still hallowed reflection of its past, links the entire region to the patronage of Buddhism. It was to Delgamuwa that Mayadunne moved the Tooth Relic in the early 16th century. Faced with the threat of destruction at the hands of Portuguese marauders and proselytisers in Kotte, it remained hidden beneath a kurahan gala in Delgamuwa for 43 years. Around it an entire culture and way of life came into being: Sabaragamuwa natum, instituted for the perahera of the Relic, and angampora, instituted for the protection of the Relic from thieves, spies, and proselytisers.
Tourists and devotees flock by the hundreds to the Saman Devalaya, yet few, if any, seem to visit Delgamuwa. The road to it is narrow, empty, and quiet: house after house line up along the way, reminding you more of a suburb than a religious site.
Potgula endures the same fate, though more pilgrims make their way there. There, at the viharaya after climbing the 40 or so steps, you come across a well full of holy water – and plastic cups to drink it with, used and reused by devotees and visitors – as well as a stupa, a watering hole, a swarm of wasps said to be descendants of the sentries who had guarded the temple, and a long, winding, though enclosed tunnel which some believe goes up to the Ehelepola Walawwa in Ratnapura town. Regarding the latter, no one really knows where it ends: a local told me someone tried to test the Ehelepola Walawwa thesis and lost his way, never to be found again. Vatta Gamini Abhaya apparently hid himself here, though locals dispute it: according to them, given his contribution to Buddhism, temples everywhere went on claiming that he and his family sought shelter in them.
Living next to these edifices, genuflecting to them, but also dispelling them of the myths surrounding them, are the people of Ratnapura. At least one local I met took me by surprise with his candour. Unlike the people of the South who tend to accept unconditionally the folklore their societies are rooted in, their counterparts here who I met didn’t seem to buy the Orientalist aura visitors conjure up about their surroundings.
Modernity in the Western, cosmetic sense has obviously arrived, and you see it in patches everywhere. The old cohabits with the new. Thus family bonds are reinforced and adhered to, while the lucrative occupations – not just gem mining but also textiles, groceries, and the law – are breaking them apart. Religiosity exists with rationalism: one generation follows the myths of popular Buddhism, while the other spurns them. And of course, there’s the dialect. Osmund Jayaratne, canvassing for the LSSP here, was once offered a maluwa. Expecting fish, he was astonished at being handed a completely vegetarian lunch: “Maluwa,” he was told, “can include anything with rice in it.” Things have in one sense changed from then – a period of half a century – yet in another, they have not: I too could barely conceal my astonishment when, expecting fish, I was handed a maluwa full of anything but fish.
The writer can be reached at email@example.com
IDIOMS: Befriend Languages and Communities
‘Idioms are the distilled wisdom of a community’
By K. A. I. Kalyanaratne
Consultant – Publications
Postgraduate Institute of Management
University of Sri Jayewardenepura
Vice President, Hela Havula
While being locked down with the rising high tide of the recent COVID-19 gush in the country, I kept on reading as there was nothing much to do to spend the spare time. This was of course in addition to my legitimate work of the office. In my ponderings while reading I came across a phrase which said “a bad apple would spoil all the apples that surround it”. It struck me that a bad apple would be like someone who would act irresponsibly, without caring a tuppence for the incessant publicity given by the authorities as to how we should behave and act hygienically. In fact, these practices have taken near-mandatory status, as they are that important in our struggle to bring new-normalcy to the society. It is a must that one should get acclimatized to ward off the threat of the current pandemic. Is it that necessity knows no law?
I was imagining what would happen if there’s one rotten apple inside a basket of apples. This picture will help you to convince that a bad apple is someone who creates problems or trouble, or exerts a bad influence on the other people in a group. Herein I was pondering as to how COVID-19 has been capable of bringing back to normalcy certain words and phrases in our attempt to create new normalcy!
Becoming Curiouser and Curiouser to Know More About Idioms
It is but natural that when you come across a peculiar word or phrase, obviously, you become curious to find out more about it. So I accessed the sources at hand, and that search gave me the clue, that ‘a bad apple’ is an idiom. This is how I began to dip my pen to write this short essay. As I became curiouser and curiouser to know more about idioms I searched in every possible nook and cranny to first find how the word ‘idiom’ crept into the English vocabulary. The English language is full of idioms. My university teacher Dr. George Thambaiyapillai, climatologist, writing his research findings on rainfall in Ceylon commenced his monograph with the sentence ‘In Ceylon it never rains but it pours”. I was then wondering whether what he meant by this phrase was the ferocity of the downpour we experience, especially our monsoonal and inter-monsoon tropical thunderstorm weather. However, I little knew then that it’s an idiom he has used to connote a deeper meaning. Now I know that in modern English this is an idiom which means that a series of events, and especially misfortunes never come singly. The Proverb Hunter website elucidates this idiom with an apt episode,
‘What a day it’s been’, sighed Mrs Wood. ‘First, I burnt out the kettle, then the electricity fused, then Mrs Mopp didn’t arrive, then the butcher didn’t deliver the meat in time for lunch, then the doctor called and said Tommy’s got measles. It was one thing after another. They say it never rains but it pours.’
Origins of Idioms – Covered with a Haze Dust
No one has so far been certain as to how ‘Idioms’ entered the English language. It is guesstimated that the origin of idioms goes back to the 14th century. Those who have researched say that the idiom ‘nook and cranny’ had come into usage after the two words first appeared from mid-1300s and 1450s respectively. While ‘nook’ had been used to connote ‘a distant corner’. ‘cranny’ had meant ‘a crack or gap’. It thus becomes pretty obvious that the particular idiom came into being after 1450s.
As we know English is a ‘mixed up bowl’ or a ‘mixed bowl’, and the word ‘idiom’ had got mixed up in this bowl from the French word ‘idiome’, which had been again borrowed from late Latin ‘idioma’, which had again been a word loaned from Greek ‘idiome’, which meant ‘peculiarity, peculiar phraseology’. Fowler, the famous lexicographer writes that “A manifestation of the peculiar” is “the closest possible translation of the Greek word” idiome. He further says that idioms are sometimes treated as ungrammatical. It is normally said that ‘borrowed things will never shine’. But whatever said and done, after the word got into the English-bowl, idioms are ‘shining like nothing’.
Idioms Bemuse All Measures of Grammatical Classification
It is found to be a common trait in any structured language that those who are familiar with that language know at a glance to which part of a speech a word belongs. It is also a common trait in many languages that some words can belong to two or more parts of speech. However, there is a category of words which cannot be readily understood or brought under any part of speech. Their meanings can only be construed through the common usage of years or centuries, for that matter. Such a category of words (or phrases) that bemuses all linguists and grammarians are the so called idioms. Idioms, thus have not only bemused them, but have also brought haziness that challenges all the rules that classify and define the parts of speech.
Idioms as Seen by Sinhala Grammarians
Idioms are common to all communities as they are offshoots or spinoffs (upstarts?) of their total communication process. In the Sinhala language idioms are referred to as ‘prastha pirulu’. (in the spoken dialect ‘pirula’ has been changed to ‘piruvata’. In a verse composed by Veedagama Thero ‘pirula’ appears in a poem starting with ‘Pirulen aragath abarana mangulata’ which means ‘jewellery borrowed/loaned for the ceremony’. Hence, the word ‘Pirula’ means borrowed or loaned. The Pujavaliya of the Dambadeniya period had used ‘pirula’ in the transformed form ‘piruvata’. ‘Prastha pirulu’, therefore, connote words/phrases that are borrowed/loaned for the occasion. ‘Sinhala grammarian, linguist, writer and poet, the late Raphael Tennekoon, explaining Sinhala idioms in his ‘Honda Sinhala’ says that idioms of the language could be categorized under upama and bevahara:
‘upama’ (Similes) are those words used by learned people of the past, to elucidate or to explain some phenomenon and to make it clear and easy to understand. ‘uru thudehi datha thebuwa se’ is an example cited for a simile by Tennekoon. A pig could dig into the soil with its long snout that is strengthened by a prenasal bone and by a disc of cartilage at the tip. The simile says that ‘placing a tooth in the pig’s snout’ would make its digging much easier.
‘bevahara’ (Vyavahara/Usages) are traditional or popular sayings that have been passed down through ages. These are also rendered into English as ‘proverbs’. For a proverb or a traditional usage Tennekoon refers to the famous saying ‘inguru deela miris gaththa vagei’. which means ‘an injudicious exchange; that is about ditching one invader for another. According to Tennekoon a usage or proverb (bevahara) differs from a simile (upama) as the former derives its origin from a previous event or incident. The idiom referred to above is a well-known saying in the Sinhala language, the origin of which is King Rajasinghe II, in 1656, seeking help of the Dutch to get rid of the Portuguese from the coastal areas. It’s an important revelation as a majority of the students and teachers wouldn’t know this difference, and they put everything in one basket.
Logicality and Rationality of Idioms
A deep study of both these categories of idioms would reveal that although the origins of a majority of them are shrouded in mystery, they are, nevertheless, extremely logical and rational. They stand to reason, giving the indication that whosoever had originated these sayings they could, for certain, be men of standing in society. Take for instance the old Arab proverb ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’. There’s a similar saying in Sinhala which says ‘Hathurage hathura mithurayi’. Look at this Tamil idiom ‘Aadu nanayuthendru Onai Aluthathu’ which says ‘Wolf crying that sheep are getting wet’. A marvelous gesture from a good-mannered and sympathetic wolf, out of all the other animals! Sheep are said to be eternal prey of wolves. See how rational it is to advise someone to ‘Put on your thinking cap’. If you tell someone to put their thinking cap on, you ask him/her to find an idea or solve a problem by thinking about it. It is certain that Edward de Bono’s concepts of Six Thinking Hats, had its origin in this idiom. Instead of one thinking cap de Bono has twisted it to say Six Thinking Hats. De Bono introduced the concept of using six different coloured hats, so participants can use it for thinking logically as well as creatively to generate and assess innovative and different ideas.
Idioms Build Bridges Across Communities
A comparative study of idioms also unearth several hidden facts, which indicate that amidst the differences that exist among communities there’s a common chord that binds humanity across all the man-made barriers. It is, therefore, heartening to expose such similarities as they, more often, reveal that humans are a single species, although socio-cultural and political factors have kept them apart. The following tabulation clearly shows that irrespective of the differences in the communities they either use almost the same or different expressions to convey similar sentiments/ideas.
Sinhala, Tamil, English
Kimbul kandulu helanava (shedding crocodile tears) Mudalai kanneer (shedding crocodile tears) shed crocodile tears (To display hypocritical sadness) Linde inna mediya vage (like a frog in the well)
(in Sanskrit) Kinatruth thvalai (frog in the well) A frog in the well (an individual who cannot or refuses to see the big picture) Betalu hama poravagath wrukaya veni (an insincere pretender) Aadu nanayuthendru onai aluthathu (wolf crying that sheep are getting wet) A wolf in sheep’s clothing
(those playing a role contrary to their real character Poth gulla (book mite/weevil) Puthagam puzhu (Book worm) Book worm (a person reading/ studying more than usual) Have nose in a book (people who always seem to be reading) Gal hithak (stony heart/mind) Kurangu pidy (Monkey grip / stubbornness) Stubborn as a mule (intractable/ refractory) Hulangata desana karannakmen (like preaching to the wind/ a futile act) Eeyotudal (chasing flies away* no occupation) A futile act Pouring water off a duck’s back (a futile act as water doesn’t retain on a duck’s back)
Humour in Idioms
Irrespective of what the language is, a close study of idioms would reveal they have been coined by master-craftsmen, who are both witty and humourous. In this background it becomes pretty obvious that quite a number of idioms are bent on sarcasm as well. As most idioms are products of communities who had enough time to enjoy life idioms reflect that most of their sayings were either witty, humourous, sarcastic or punchy.
If you look closely at the literal meanings of most idioms, you will realize that they are often downright hilarious. Here is a compilation of some such humerous idioms found in Sinhala and English.
Labba degawwayi labu wela gawwayi
– while the pumpkin-creeper is only a gavva away, the pumpkin is two gavvas away. A ‘gavva’ is said to be a league in Sinhala which is taken as a distance of three and a quarter miles.
This idiom is similar to ‘a bridge too far’ in English – a goal or plan which is too far.
Do a Devon Loch –
is an idiom which says a person giving up half way when everybody expects him to succeed. Devon Loch was a racehorse that collapsed just short of the winning line of the 1956 Grand National race in the United Kingdom.
‘Theetam tinunne pattiku ariyamo oochinde mannam’ is a Malayali idiom which says ‘the dog that eats shit cannot smell a fart’. How similar is the Sinhala idiom which says ‘urulevata uge ganda therenne ne’. It means a civet-cat cannot smell its own smell (odour).
Idioms – A Veritable Palimpsest of a Community
While planning to conclude this short essay with a punchy note, it stuck me that I had come across a very rarely used phrase, ‘a veritable palimpsest’; a phrase which could be used only in very special circumstances related to subjects like geology, topography, architecture or inscriptions where evidence is found of superimpositions on effaced earlier features. They, in fact, still bear the evidence of original surfaces. Based on this premise I strongly think that idioms are ‘veritable palimpsests’, that still show so many facets of a community out of which these had emerged. They either reflect beliefs, virtues, and even habits, behaviours and human relationships built on moral, principles and respect of a community. Moral is related to the standards of what is right or just in behaviour. Or as rightly exposed by Raphael Tennekoon, erudite scholar, many idiom are off-shoots of historical incidents/events. So a ‘veritable palimpsest’ itself is an idiom that could be used on very special occasions as spelt out above.
‘Puhul hora Karin denai’, –
The pumpkin-thief is seen by his shoulder’
‘Raigamayata Gampolaya ekvuna veniyi’,
– Similar to meeting of Raigamaya with Gampolaya.
‘Kana kiri pata keeva se’
– like the blind person told the colour of milk’
‘Straight from the horse’s mouth’
which means getting information from the most reliable source, is said to come from the 1900s, when buyers could determine a horse’s age by examining its teeth.
Why We Need to Study Idioms in a Language
Every developed language is rich in idioms. Although it is possible to converse correctly in non-idiomatic language, anyone with only a superficial knowledge of that particular language will find himself/herself at a serious disadvantage in his/her reading, and even more so, when he/she takes part in discussions and other means of communication.
Although cultural variables would make differences in the settings or use of words, all idioms help stress particular points. Therefore, cultivating familiarity with and using them often, even a foreigner would sound more like a native, and can also boost his comprehension skills. By now you would have been sufficiently convinced that idioms are a fun subject that will, for certain, help making one’s communication descriptive, colourful, creative, lively, interesting, exciting and at times concise/precise as well. Idioms have, thus, enriched every language. The more one uses idioms in his/her communication, the more he/she becomes closer to a native speaker.
Idioms are Distilled Wisdom of a Community
An idiom is an everyday figure of speech or metaphorical expression whose meaning cannot be taken literary. They often go against the logical “rules of language and grammar” despite being commonly used by the language’s native speakers.
Sir Winston Churchill, former Prime Minister of the United Kingdom (1940-1945) who had not stepped into a university in pursuit of higher education, once said that eighty percent of his education had been through the study of idioms. In fact, he referred to idioms as “Distilled Wisdom” of a community.
The writer can be reached on firstname.lastname@example.org
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