This story is based on King Kirti Sri Rajasinha’s embassy of 1750–1751, supported by the Dutch, to seek Siamese monks who could restore upasampadā, or higher ordination, in Lanka. Wilbagedara was among its five officials. The dialogue, supporting characters and personal incidents below are imagined.
When the king asked whether any of us feared the sea, nobody answered.
Five officers stood before him, their hands folded, their eyes respectfully lowered. Behind us, somewhere beyond the palace roofs, a crow was making a great deal of noise.
I remember envying that crow. It could express an opinion without being appointed to an embassy.
King Kirti Sri Rajasinha studied our faces.
“Wilbagedara has travelled to Siam before,” he said. “You will have his experience to guide you.”
Wilbagedara Rala bowed.
Unfortunately, I had already heard some of his experiences.
There had been illness, delays, foreign officials who could not be hurried, and ships whose departures depended upon winds that took no notice of royal commands. Earlier attempts to bring properly ordained monks to Lanka had ended in disappointment.
Now we were to try again.
Beside the king sat the venerable Weliwita Saranankara, thin and composed, with eyes that seemed to notice everything.
For years he had laboured to revive learning and discipline among those who wore the yellow robe. Yet, without a sufficient community of duly ordained monks, higher ordination could not be properly restored.
Books could preserve the rules. They could not, by themselves, perform the ceremony.
We had to bring back a living monk who could preside over the ceremony.
“You carry a request from our kingdom,” the king said. “You must conduct yourselves accordingly.”
I bowed so deeply that the ceremonial sword at my waist struck my ankle.
The crow continued its observations.
---
My wife received the news in silence.
Then she asked, “How far is Siam?”
“Beyond the sea.”
“That is where I understood foreign countries generally to be. How far?”
I spread my hands.
She looked at them.
“So you have accepted a royal appointment without discovering where you are going?”
“One does not question His Majesty about distances.”
“No. One leaves that to one’s wife.”
My eldest son wanted to know whether there were elephants in Siam. My youngest asked whether I could bring him a foreign knife. My mother insisted that I take dried ginger, pepper and a packet of medicine prepared by a physician who had never, to my knowledge, travelled farther than Matale.
My wife packed the medicine anyway.
On our last evening she folded an extra cloth into my bundle.
“For when the others are wet.”
“How will all my clothes become wet?”
She gave me the patient look she used when explaining simple matters to the children.
“You are going on the sea.”
---
Before our departure, Saranankara summoned several of us.
There were palm-leaf manuscripts beside him, their edges darkened by handling. A young pupil sat nearby, patiently repairing a cord.
Wilbagedara discussed the letters, the gifts and the precautions necessary to protect them from dampness.
I listened, troubled by a question I had been ashamed to ask.
At last the venerable teacher turned towards me.
“You have something to say?”
“Venerable sir, there are temples throughout the kingdom. There are robes, sermons and offerings. Will the Siamese king understand why we must come so far?”
He regarded me without displeasure.
“A village may possess a plough,” he said, “and still have nobody who knows how to cultivate its fields.”
The pupil stopped working.
“We have preserved much,” Saranankara continued. “But preservation requires knowledge and discipline. Those must be taught by people qualified to teach them.”
He rested his hand upon the manuscripts.
“Tell them we wish to learn.”
Until then I had thought chiefly of ships, provisions and my own uncertain stomach.
For the first time, I began to understand what we were carrying.
---
We left the hill country with servants, bearers, guards, supplies and the king’s gifts.
There were enough people to give the impression that we intended to establish a small village wherever we stopped.
The royal letters received more attention than any of us. They were wrapped, enclosed and inspected with such care that I began to suspect they would reach Siam in better condition than their bearers.
Wilbagedara examined the fastenings himself.
“Water,” he said, “has no respect for seals.”
Nor, as we discovered, did ants.
At one resting place a servant raised the alarm after finding them approaching a provision basket. Three men rushed forward, and an officer demanded to know whether the royal gifts were threatened.
“Only the jaggery, Ralahamy.”
“Then why are you shouting as though the kingdom has fallen?”
The servant looked wounded.
“There is very little jaggery left.”
We continued through rain-darkened forests and villages where people came out to watch us pass.
Some knew our purpose.
An elderly woman placed a handful of flowers beside the road and bowed as the guarded chests went by.
A small boy asked whether Siam lay beyond the mountains.
“Several mountains,” I told him.
Wilbagedara glanced at me.
“Do not begin your diplomatic career by misleading children.”
---
The Dutch assistance had been arranged through their government in Colombo.
For men accustomed to the Kandyan court, dealing with the Company required adjustments.
A royal instruction might descend from the palace with the force of thunder. A Dutch clerk received an instruction, entered it in a book, consulted another book, and asked who would pay for the paper.
There were questions about our numbers, our baggage, our provisions and our passage.
An interpreter carried our words between us and a Company officer whose pale face appeared permanently dissatisfied with the climate.
The officer asked whether every chest was necessary.
“Yes,” our senior envoy replied.
He asked whether every attendant was necessary.
“Yes.”
He asked whether some baggage could be reduced.
Our senior envoy considered this.
“The attendants might eat less.”
The interpreter hesitated before translating.
Wilbagedara intervened.
Thereafter the discussions proceeded more smoothly.
I watched the Company men with curiosity. They were Christians, merchants and rulers of the coast, yet they were helping us seek Buddhist monks.
When I mentioned this to Wilbagedara, he smiled.
“A man may open a gate because he wishes you well, or because he expects your payment later. Either way, you must still walk through it.”
---
Our party eventually reached Trincomalee, where the ship waited.
I had seen the sea before, but never with the understanding that I must shortly entrust myself to it.
The vessel lay beyond the boats near the shore, her masts rising above the water like trees stripped of their leaves.
Sailors moved along her yards with an ease that seemed indecent.
One of our attendants stood beside me, staring.
“Well?” I asked.
“She looks very strong, Ralahamy.”
“Yes.”
“Will we be inside?”
“Where else?”
He considered the height of the masts.
“I thought perhaps there might be seats above.”
A boat carried us out through the harbour.
Climbing aboard required more effort than entering the palace, although considerably less dignity.
A sailor reached down to help me. I caught his hand, placed one foot incorrectly, and arrived on deck with my upper body before the rest of me.
Wilbagedara was already there.
“Welcome,” he said.
I adjusted my clothing.
“Does everyone board in this manner?”
“Only ambassadors from a particular district of the Kandyan kingdom.”
---
The captain received us with formal courtesy.
He was broad across the shoulders and had a weathered face that suggested long disagreement with the sun. Through an interpreter, he explained where we might sleep, where our goods would be stowed and which parts of the ship we must avoid.
There appeared to be many of the last.
We were not to approach certain ropes, stand beneath moving tackle, obstruct the sailors, or use an open flame without permission.
One officer asked whether our rank would be made known to the crew.
The captain listened to the translation.
Then he replied.
The interpreter looked uncomfortable.
“What did he say?” our officer demanded.
“He says that when the sails are being handled, everyone must move.”
Wilbagedara nodded approvingly.
“A sensible regulation.”
The officer did not agree.
---
For the first few hours after departure, I found the voyage agreeable.
The land withdrew slowly. The wind filled the sails. Water whispered along the hull.
I stood beside the rail, enjoying the unusual sensation of travelling without walking, riding or being shaken in a palanquin.
Then the harbour’s shelter fell behind us.
The deck rose.
My stomach remained where it had been.
A little later the deck fell, and my stomach attempted to follow by another route.
By sunset I had abandoned all interest in foreign kingdoms.
A servant approached with food.
“Take it away.”
“Only a little rice, Ralahamy.”
“Take the rice away.”
“The physician says you should eat.”
“Bring me the physician.”
When the physician arrived, he was holding a basin.
We looked at one another with sudden understanding.
He withdrew.
---
Seasickness made remarkable changes to our company.
A man who insisted upon precedence ashore became willing to share a corner with anybody who possessed a dry mat.
Another, who had spoken confidently about the courage required for the mission, spent a morning requesting that the captain stop.
“Stop where?” Wilbagedara asked.
“Anywhere.”
Wilbagedara himself continued to eat.
I found this difficult to forgive.
By the fourth day I could sit upright. By the sixth I began to believe that survival might be possible.
The physician gave me ginger.
“My mother packed the same.”
“Your mother is a wise woman.”
“Her physician has never been to sea.”
“Neither had I,” he admitted.
---
Once my stomach settled, I began to observe the ship.
Her world was governed by watches, bells and commands. Men climbed, hauled, scrubbed and repaired. The captain studied the sky as our farmers studied the sky when expected rain clouds failed to appear.
There were sailors of different origins aboard, speaking languages I could not distinguish.
We learned to communicate through gestures.
One cheerful sailor taught one of our attendants several words, which the fellow repeated proudly until the interpreter heard him and ordered him to stop.
“What do they mean?” I asked.
The interpreter shook his head.
“Nothing suitable for presentation to the King of Siam.”
Thereafter we treated the sailor’s lessons with caution.
At night I sometimes remained on deck.
Beyond the ship’s lights, the sea disappeared into darkness. Stars crowded the sky. I thought of my wife closing our door, my children sleeping, and the familiar sounds of insects outside our house.
Here there was only the wind, the creaking timber and water moving endlessly past.
---
During one spell of rough weather, rain drove across the deck so fiercely that the nearest mast became indistinct.
The sailors shortened sail.
Orders passed above us.
Below, our company sat among secured bundles while the ship rolled heavily.
A chest shifted.
Two attendants seized it, and a third began reciting verses.
I joined him.
There was no shame in remembering the teachings more readily when several lengths of timber stood between oneself and the bottom of the ocean.
Wilbagedara came to inspect the royal letters.
His hair and clothes were soaked.
“Are they safe?” I asked.
He checked the coverings before answering.
“Yes.”
“And the ship?”
He paused.
“The captain is still giving orders.”
I found this a better reassurance than anything the physician offered.
---
Our passage involved waiting as well as sailing.
At Batavia, the Company’s great eastern settlement, ships and warehouses seemed to occupy an entire world of their own.
There were canals, crowded markets, carts, soldiers, merchants and labourers carrying burdens beneath the heat.
I heard more languages in a morning than I had heard in all my life.
One attendant bought fruit he did not recognise, ate it, and then became frightened that it might be poisonous.
“Why did you eat it first?” the physician asked.
“The seller looked trustworthy.”
The physician examined the remains.
“Well?”
“I suggest you ask him its name.”
The delay wore upon us.
We asked when we would continue.
Soon, we were told.
After several such assurances, our senior envoy demanded a precise explanation.
Wilbagedara answered before the interpreter could speak.
“Here, ‘soon’ means that they have not forgotten us.”
---
As the voyage continued, Wilbagedara spoke more often of Siam.
He described a broad river, boats crowded with goods, monasteries and a royal city where waterways carried people as roads did in our own country.
“Are their monks like ours?” I asked.
“You will recognise the robes.”
“And their speech?”
“You may recognise very little.”
This troubled me.
“How shall we explain everything?”
“We have interpreters. We have letters.”
He looked towards the chest.
“And there is Pali.”
I thought of chief priest Saranankara’s pupils bending over their manuscripts in Kandy.
Words learned patiently beneath a tiled roof might travel farther than any of us.
---
One morning the water changed colour.
The deep blue had given way to a clouded brown, and floating vegetation passed the ship.
Birds appeared.
A sailor pointed towards a low line on the horizon.
For some time I could distinguish nothing.
Then the coast emerged.
No steep hills rose behind it. The land lay almost level with the water, green and unfamiliar beneath the morning haze.
“Siam,” Wilbagedara said.
Nobody made a speech.
One attendant laughed, another folded his hands, and the physician sat down abruptly upon a coil of rope.
I found myself gripping the rail.
After months of preparation, discomfort, delay and fear, the country had become something we could see.
Boats approached as we neared the river mouth.
The men aboard them called our sailors. Their words meant nothing to me, but their gestures were wonderfully ordinary: a pointing hand, a request to wait, a warning about distance.
A pilot came aboard.
Beyond him lay the river that would carry us towards Ayutthaya and the court of King Borommakot.
Wilbagedara ordered our formal clothes brought out.
I opened my bundle and found the extra cloth my wife had packed.
It was dry.
For a moment I held it without unfolding it.
Then a small boat passed close beneath the ship.
Among its passengers sat a monk in a yellow robe, his alms bowl resting beside him.
He looked up.
Wilbagedara joined his palms.
The monk returned the greeting.
There had been no interpreter, no royal letter, no clerk reaching for another book.
I bowed too.
We had arrived in Siam.
---
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