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Eastern Stories and Legends
I recollect riding late one night alongthe high-road from Galle to Colombo. Theroad skirts the shore. On the left hand thelong breakers of the Indian Ocean broke inripples on the rocks in the many little bays.On the right an endless vista of tall cocoanutpalms waved their top-knots over a park-likeexpanse of grass, and the huts of the peasantrywere visible here and there beneath the trees.In the distance a crowd had gathered on thesward, either seated on the grass or leaningagainst the palms. I turned aside—no roadwas wanted—to see what brought them therethat moonlight night.
The villagers had put an oval platformunder the trees. On it were seated yellowrobed monks with palm-leaf books on theirlaps. One was standing and addressing thefolk, who were listening to Bana, that is“The Word”—discourses, dialogues, legends,or stories from the Pali Canon. The storieswere the well-known Birth-stories, that is theancient fables and fairy-tales common to theAryan race which had been consecrated, asit were, by the hero in each, whether man oranimal, being identified with the Buddha ina former birth. To these wonderful storiesthe simple peasantry, men, women and children,clad in their best and brightest, listenthe livelong night with unaffected delight,chatting pleasantly now and again with theirneighbors; rising quietly and leaving for atime, and returning at their will, and indulgingall the while in the mild narcotic of the betel-leaf,their stores of which afford a constantoccasion for acts of polite good-fellowship.Neither preachers nor hearers may have thatdeep sense of evil in the world and in themselves,nor that high resolve to battle with andovercome it, which animated some of the firstdisciples. They all think they are earning“merit” by their easy service. But there is atleast, at these full-moon festivals, a genuinefeeling of human ki