In English literature the medieval scribes often asked, “O Death, where is thy sting?” The final destination of mortal life is certainly death. The soul and the afterlife is another day’s deliberation. The prudent poet John Dryden said, “The world’s an inn, and death the journey’s end.” We have all attended many funerals of family and friends. A death is a painful parting and its sorrow cannot be eased by fragrant flowers or radiant candles.
The Borella General Cemetery with a very long history is the final resting place for thousands of Sri Lankans. Visiting a cemetery is not a pleasant task, when you remember a loved one buried there. However, when you choose to visit like I did, there is so much of intricate beauty manifesting in the marble and cement statues. To the nature lover this massive cemetery is full of beautiful trees, not to mention the hundreds of fruit eating bats. The latter is a natural element in this garden of eternal rest and definitely not paranormal.
Where do I start in this vast domain of death? The cemetery covers an area of almost 40 acres. The gravel road leads to thousands of graves. Perhaps this area of land is the only place in the busy city where there is no rush, worry, doubt or envious aspiration. One of the first marble images to stand out was that of a woman, dressed in a long frock, with a cloak on her shoulders like a character from the Elizabethan era. The Colombo Cemetery was commissioned in 1866. There are numbered lanes. Lane number 4 leads to the Commonwealth War graves, where rows of tombstones pay tribute to Allied armed forces who gallantly died in the defence of Ceylon. I could make out the insignia of the Royal Ceylon Navy, Royal Ceylon Air Force and Ceylon Light Infantry. Near the main gate, behind the cemetery office is the first marble gravestone, bearing the names of the Ceylonese who died in the First World War. There is a beautiful Commonwealth War Cemetery in Trincomalee, with similar gravestones, which I have visited.
Moving back to the main gravel path, I saw a small chapel on the right. The chapel has a black platform with a cross painted in white. Even in this green garden of grief the solitary stained glass window ushered in radiant sunlight, in contrast to the solemn atmosphere. It depicts the Blessed Mary mourning the death of her son Jesus Christ, whose lifeless body lay in her caring arms. The artist shows the crown of thorns, fallen on the ground along with the three iron nails that were used in the crucifixion. A clergymen once told me it was love that held Jesus Christ to the cross and not the iron nails. The craftsman is showing us the gospel revelation that the three nails could not restrain Christ, who according to the Bible rose from the dead, wherein he conquered death and mortal sin.
Walking further one can witness crosses depicting various styles crafted in cement and marble. The figures of angels, cherubims and celestial citizens are truly amazing and perhaps comforting to the mourner. One little angel with a gentle smile is the marker on the grave of a child. The angel is holding a rose in his left hand, while the right hand is cut off at the elbow. Whether this hand was broken over the decades or willfully sculptured by the craftsman to reflect a sense of immense incompleteness is a mystery. It accentuates the grief over this dead child. Can you imagine such advanced sculpture in a cemetery?
Another figure rising almost five feet from the ground, mounted on a stone pedestal, is that of the Archangel Michael. The left hand is holding onto a scroll and trumpet while the right hand proudly points up towards heaven. The facial expression is not of one focusing on the present life, as his eyes are closed.
His raised hand could be interpreted as a gesture of pointing the Christian to their eternal home in heaven, and also a divine warning that all earthly things are temporary. The sculptor has the Archangel’s wings crafted more like that of an eagle, maybe to show the majestic status of St. Michael within the echelon of angels. I was reminded of Ophelia’s question to Hamlet (Shakespeare) “We know what we are, but not what we may be?”
Walking amidst the neatly maintained garden another spectacular figure is that of St. Sebastian, the patron saint of soldiers. To the non-Christian, at a first glance, this beautiful statue may look like the statue of a Roman centurion. Saint Sebastian holds a small cross in his right hand, with his helmet placed aside the left foot.
There is no sword; maybe an interpretation of his obedience to God by giving up his sword. Navigating through the myriad of graves a magnificent sight dazzled my eyes amidst the regular graves. There were five figures brought to life in solid marble – the risen Jesus Christ, St. Anthony, the Blessed Virgin Mary holding Jesus the child, Saint Joseph and another marble manifestation of Mary with both palms open in divine adoration. In my opinion, these five images are the centerpiece in the Christian section of the cemetery. The sculptors must have spent weeks toiling hard to bring real life like features. Of the five figures, the statue of Saint Anthony has an unusual element.
Moving onto the Buddhist section, the monuments reflect symbols associated with Buddhism. One grave had a dharmachakra on top of a single stone column. Another very old grave had four miniature towers and a dome, I am uncertain of its symbolism.
There were signboards pointing to the crematoriums and wood pyre section used for the respected last rites of Buddhists, Hindus and Christians.
With a shortage of graves in Colombo, some Christians who traditionally buried their dead have had to adapt to cremation. Owning graves in Colombo is becoming very expensive. A few ravens cawed from a tree, adding that enigmatic feeling one usually encounters in a cemetery.
I spoke to a retired gravedigger Rathnapala who had come for some purpose to the cemetery office. He explained, “There are about 30 staff at the general cemetery. We have to multi task. We dig and prepare graves for burial. Maintaining the gardens and clearing the paths is another duty. I have witnessed many funerals, but the one that stands out is the death of my own son. I had to bury him. Since then, I realized in a deeper sense the grief of others.” We joined some of the cemetery staff during their tea break. One of them said, ‘People associate the graveyards with ghosts and stories of haunting. In my years of service I have never seen such a thing. This is a place of sentiment for the families of the dead, which we must respect. We have worked in the night and have our meals here. We were never disturbed by any spirits.”
According to another gravedigger, the only incident they recall is of witnessing a man in a suit walking towards the mortuary at night. There was a mortuary here decades ago.
The figure had suddenly disappeared on reaching the mortuary door. Today, the cemetery is well lit at night. The area around the cemetery has buildings and vehicular movement. There is no need for fear. The staff is a close knit team. The good work they do is often marred by social stigma. The gravedigger performs an important task when laying a loved one to rest.
On the subject of the paranormal beings, let’s do a detour. We have all heard the legend of Kalu Kumaraya, a black foul prince who preys on young girls at midnight. The truth is that in old Ceylon when young girls reached puberty, their parents wanted to keep them safe at home, from aspiring young men. So our ancestors invented the myth of a marauding black ghost and the girls stayed home after dark.
I walked out of this solemn garden of crypts. Bats slowly began their evening flight, from the massive trees. This cemetery’s hidden beauty can be cherished. It reminds us that our earthly journey is a transition. The desire for excessive material possession is in vain. As the Bhagavad Gita teaches, attachment is not that you don’t own anything, it is that nothing owns you. I conclude with Shakespeare: “For in that sleep of death what dreams may come?”
