Sirasa Bima Vatuna

Bowing, bowing again to the whipping cane that struck him,
showing loving-kindness with his whole heart,
there once was a Bodhisattva…
that Bodhisattva died…
and the cane broke too…

Bowing and falling before the chain that bound his feet,
a painter who painted the very shackle on his own feet,
there once was such a painter…
that painter died…
and the shackle broke…

Upon a heap of clay that called itself “the head,”
an everlasting crown was set,
studded with gold and gems.
that crown too broke…
and the head fell to the ground…

This is a spare, powerful allegory about impermanence and power, written by the celebrated lyricist Ratna Sri Wijesinghe. It is built as three parallel parables, each ending the same way. In the first, a Bodhisattva, an enlightened being of boundless compassion, bows humbly even to the whipping cane that beats him, meeting cruelty with loving-kindness. And then, flatly: that Bodhisattva died, and the cane broke too. Virtue and the instrument of its torment both pass away.

The second parable gives us an artist. Falling before the chain that binds his feet, a painter paints the very shackle that holds him, turning his imprisonment into art. And the same ending falls: the painter died, and the shackle broke. Again the sufferer and the thing that bound him vanish alike; neither the oppressed nor the oppression endures.

The third is the sharpest. Upon a heap of clay that called itself the head, a mere lump of mortal flesh puffed up with self-importance, an everlasting crown is set, encrusted with gold and jewels, the very emblem of power and permanence. And then: that crown too broke, and the head fell to the ground, giving the song its title, sirasa bima watuna. Sung by Sanjeew Lonlies, it is a stark, unsparing meditation: saint, artist and king alike, and every symbol of virtue, art and power, are all levelled by time; the crown shatters and the proud head falls, like everything else.