Part 80 (1/2)

SCIENCES AND SOCIAL ARTS

OF

THE ANCIENT SINGHALESE.

CHAPTER I

POPULATION.--CASTE.--SLAVERY AND RAJA-KARIYA.

POPULATION.--In no single instance do the chronicles of Ceylon mention the precise amount of the population of the island, at any particular period; but there is a sufficiency of evidence, both historical and physical, to show that it must have been prodigious and dense, especially in the reigns of the more prosperous kings. Whatever limits to the increase of man artificial wants may interpose in a civilised state and in ordinary climates are unknown in a tropical region, where clothing is an enc.u.mbrance, the smallest shelter a home, and sustenance supplied by the bounty of the soil in almost spontaneous abundance.

Under such propitious circ.u.mstances, in the midst of a profusion of fruit-bearing-trees, and in a country replenished by a teeming harvest twice, at least, in each year, with the least possible application of labour; it may readily be conceived that the number of the people will be adjusted mainly, if not entirely, by the extent of arable land.

The emotion of the traveller of the present time, as day after day he traverses the northern portions of the island, and penetrates the deep forests of the interior, is one of unceasing astonishment at the inconceivable mult.i.tude of deserted tanks, the hollows of which are still to be traced; and the innumerable embankments, overgrown with timber, which indicate the sites of vast reservoirs that formerly fertilised districts now solitary and barren. Every such tank is the landmark of one village at least, and such are the dimensions of some of them that in proportion to their area, it is probable that hundreds of villages may have been supported by a single one of these great inland lakes.

The labour necessary to construct one of these gigantic works for irrigation is in itself an evidence of local density of population; but their multiplication by successive kings, and the constantly recurring record of district after district brought under cultivation in each successive reign[1], demonstrate the steady increase of inhabitants, and the mult.i.tude of husbandmen whose combined and sustained toil was indispensable to keep these prodigious structures in productive activity.

[Footnote 1: The practice of recording the formation of tanks for irrigation by the sovereign is not confined to the chronicles of Ceylon.

The construction of similar works on the continent of India has been commemorated in the same manner by the native historians. The memoirs of the Rajas of Orissa show the number of tanks made and wells dug in every reign.]

The _Rajavali_ relates that in the year 1301 A.D. King Prakrama III, on the eve of his death, reminded his sons, that having conquered the Malabars, he had united under one rule the three kingdoms of the island, Pihiti with 450,000 villages, Rohuna with 770,000, and Maya with 250,000.[1] A village in Ceylon, it must be observed, resembles a ”town”

in the phraseology of Scotland, where the smallest collection of houses, or even a single farmstead with its buildings is enough to justify the appellation. In the same manner, according to the sacred ordinances which regulate the conduct of the Buddhist priesthood, a ”solitary house, if there be people, must be regarded as a village,”[2] and all beyond it is the forest.

[Footnote 1: _Rajavali_ p. 262. A century later in the reign or Prakrama-Kotta, A.D. 1410, the _Rajaratnacari_ says, there then were 256,000 villages in the province of Matura, 495,000 in that of Jaffna, and 790,000 in Oovah.--P. 112.]

[Footnote 2: Hardy's _Eastern Monachism_, ch. xiii. p. 133.]

Even a.s.suming that the figures employed by the author of the _Rajavali_ partake of the exaggeration common to all oriental narratives, no one who has visited the regions now silent and deserted, once the homes of millions, can hesitate to believe that when the island was in the zenith of its prosperity, the population of Ceylon must of necessity have been at least ten times as great as it is at the present day.

The same train of thought leads to a clearer conception of the means by which this dense population was preserved, through so many centuries, in spite of frequent revolutions and often recurring invasions; as well as of the causes which led to its ultimate disappearance, when intestine decay had wasted the organisation on which the fabric of society rested.

Cultivation, as it existed in the north of Ceylon, was almost entirely dependent on the store of water preserved in each village tank; and it could only be carried on by the combined labour of the whole local community, applied in the first instance to collect and secure the requisite supply for irrigation, and afterwards to distribute it to the rice lands, which were tilled by the united exertions of the inhabitants, amongst whom the crop was divided in due proportions. So indispensable were concord and union in such operations, that injunctions for their maintenance were sometimes engraven on the rocks, as an inperishable exhortation, to forbearance and harmony.[1]

[Footnote 1: See the inscription on the rock of Mihintala, A. D. 262, TURNOUR'S _Epitome_, Appendix, p. 90; and a similar one on a rock at Pollanarrua, ibid., p, 92.]

Hence, in the recurring convulsions which overthrew successive dynasties, and transferred the crown to usurpers, with a facile rapidity, otherwise almost unintelligible, it is easy to comprehend that the ma.s.s of the people had the strongest possible motives for pa.s.sive submission, and were constrained to acquiescence by an instinctive dread of the fatal effects of prolonged commotion.

If interrupted in their industry, by the dread of such events, they retired till the storm had blown over, and returned, after each temporary dispersion, to resume possession of the lands and their village tank.

The desolation which now reigns over the plains which the Singhalese formerly tilled, was precipitated by the reckless domination of the Malabars, in the fourteenth and following centuries. The destruction of reservoirs and tanks has been ascribed to defective construction, and to the absence of spill-waters, and other facilities for discharging the surplus-water, during the prevalence of excessive rains; but independently of the fact that vast numbers of these tanks, though utterly deserted, remain, in this respect, almost uninjured to the present day, we have the evidence of their own native historians, that for upwards of fifteen centuries, the reservoirs, when duly attended to, successfully defied all the dangers to be apprehended from inundation.

Their destruction and abandonment are ascribable, not so much to any engineering defect, as to the disruption of the village communities, by whom they were so long maintained. The ruin of a reservoir, when neglected and permitted to fall into decay, was speedy and inevitable; and as the destruction of the village tank involved the flight of all dependent upon it, the water, once permitted to escape, carried pestilence and miasma over the plains they had previously covered with plenty. After such a calamity any partial return of the villagers, even where it was not prevented by the dread of malaria, would have been impracticable; for the obvious reason, that where the whole combined labour of the community was not more than sufficient to carry on the work of conservancy and cultivation, the diminished force of a few would have been utterly unavailing, either to effect the reparation of the watercourses, or to restore the system on which the culture of rice depends. Thus the process of decay, instead of a gradual decline as in other countries, became sudden and utter desolation in Ceylon.

From such traces as are perceptible in the story of the earliest immigrants, it is obvious that in their domestic habits and civil life they brought with them and perpetuated in Ceylon the same pursuits and traits which characterised the Aryan races that had colonised the valley of the Ganges. The Singhalese Chronicles abound, like the ancient Vedas, with allusions to agriculture and herds, to the breeding of cattle and the culture of grain. They speak of village communities and of their social organisation, as purely patriarchal. Women were treated with respect and deference; and as priestesses and queens they acquired a prominent place in the national esteem. Rich furniture was used in dwellings and costly textures for dress; but these were obtained from other nations, whose s.h.i.+ps resorted to the island, whilst its inhabitants, averse to intercourse with foreigners, and ignorant of navigation, held the pursuits of the merchant in no esteem.

_Caste_.--Amongst the aboriginal inhabitants _caste_ appears to have been unknown, although after the arrival of Wijayo and his followers the system in all its minute subdivisions, and slavery, both domestic and praedial, prevailed throughout the island. The Buddhists, as dissenters, who revolted against the arrogant pretensions of the Brahmans, embodied in their doctrines a protest against caste under any modification. But even after the conversion of the Singhalese to Buddhism, and their acceptance of the faith at the hands of Mahindo, caste as a national inst.i.tution was found too obstinately established to be overthrown by the Buddhist priesthood; and reinforced, as its supporters were, by subsequent intercourse with the Malabars, it has been perpetuated to the present time, as a conventional and social, though no longer as a sacred inst.i.tution. Practically, the Singhalese ignore three of the great cla.s.ses, theoretically maintained by the Hindus; among them there are neither Brahmans, Vaisyas, nor Kshastryas; and at the head of the cla.s.s which they retain, they place the _Goi-wanse_ or _Vellalas_, nominally ”tillers of the soil.” In earlier times the inst.i.tution seems to have been recognised in its entirety, and in the glowing description given in the _Mahawanso_ of the planting of the great Bo-tree, ”the sovereign the lord of chariots directed that it should be lifted by the four high caste tribes and by eight persons of each of the other castes.”[1] In later times the higher ranks are seldom spoken of in the historical books but by specific t.i.tles, but frequent allusion is made to the Chandalas, the lowest of all, who were degraded to the office of scavengers and carriers of corpses.[2]