A tribute to Nihal de Silva from the Wadiya Group of Writers:

He awakened a sense of idealism

Fiction: Once, not too long ago, and not too far away, there was a man -

A man?! you say - many such have there been!

Ah, but this man was beautiful! He smiled like the sun, laughed like the breeze and thought like the Mahaweli: widely, generously, constantly. He took of what he knew and fed his deeds with it. He loved nature and went to watch it, live in it, learn from it often.

He loved people and wanted to be with them, learn from them, laugh with them, give to them - all the time. he loved to see people do well, so he would help them along their way. When other people looked at someone, they would see a teacher, or a cripple, or an old woman, but this man saw only a person, someone worthy of dignity.

Can there ever have been such a paragon of virtue, you ask,

Oh, yes. This man, this Nihal de Silva, we all loved to be where he was. The song asks, “Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near?” That was how we felt about him. We wanted to be where he was, hearing his kindness, his charm, his wit, his unassuming goodwill. He trailed well being wherever he went.

We knew him to be kind, generous, courteous and, truly, long suffering. Where many of us could not suffer fools gladly, he would sum up the difficult ones by their strengths and cultivate what was good in them. He knew what was right; he knew what was good, he knew when something or someone was somewhat less than that. But this words were always positive, always in search of the constructive.

A compassionate man, you say? How can I tell you!

When he saw that there was something he could do for someone, he did it quietly, without fanfare or demand for acclaim. Did he help a new acquaintance find a job? Did he help a blind man find a job? Did he help an older writer sort out a simple problem on her computer, doing the (not brief) task himself? Did he help the family of an old friend who was helpless with the commitment of a blood relative? All these he did, all these he did.

He would provide for people whether he had known them long or short. And what a judge of character he was! He would meet someone, and be able to tell very quickly what they could do, how well they could do it and how to support or channel them. When a man like that said something like, “There’s something you might be interested in.” to you, you listened because his appraisal of you was always such a compliment.

Yes, as you say, he did make people feel at ease.

It was easy to trust him because he gave you the certainty that he would not abuse your trust. He never tried to be decent; he never had to work at his integrity: he was decent and a man of integrity. It was something he was born with. And he was gentle and gracious withal.

And you know, much as we enjoyed him, much as he made us relax and feel at ease, he was a man of few words. What gift of the human spirit is it that enables a man to be so kind that a few words here or a few words there have such power to ease the way for his fellows!

Can you ask such a question! Have you, then, never known one who did not put on airs, who was simply himself?

Ah! What you have missed! This man, Nihal, he was a businessman with his own company, but he was never full of it. He wrote books and won awards but he was never full of them. He knew the wild but he was never full of his excursions. Many there are of such meagre accomplishments, but how full they are of themselves! But this man, he was much larger than that.

Much larger and much more vigorous than that: he would not pause at this achievements to consume the glory that came from them. No, he moved on. He went from one success to another like a marathon runner goes from one milestone to another.

Most certainly, as you say, he was always just himself.

But what a self to be! So mild mannered that if you didn’t know him you would dismiss his quiet presence. And when he wasn’t quiet, he was concerned, invigorating, encouraging - a very pleasant person. He could be the life of the party, but his jokes were always clean.

He could retell old jokes in new ways, giving them life. None of this was ever to attract glory to himself. He never pushed himself forward. He never foregrounded himself.

How did we get to know him?

Oh, we got to know him as a writer first. And how simple his methods, and how practical. He would try to write every day. He said he tried to write a little, but he meant four hours every day. Such a simple discipline, but such a discipline.

He said he didn’t feel whole if he hadn’t written something for the day. Do the rest of us who write accept such a discipline?! Then, if he saw something that interested him in the papers, he would cut it out and keep it in case he might be able to use it at some future date. Another simple, practical discipline. You see? He was an example to us, an inspiration, an encouragement and a role model.

Well, yes - a role model.

You know how normally a role model is someone of your own gender? Women look to women and men look to men? Not Nihal - he was a role model for the ladies amongst us as well. So gracious, so self effacing, so practical, so able to speak an apt word at a point of need. Oh, yes - he was a role model for all of us. And will continue to be so, as well.

Ah, yes - he did that - he went where others feared to go in his writing.

But think what was the root of his books? He wrote about he full palette of human nature - the good, the pure, the vicious, the immoral - and the amoral. He presented the full range of people - the wide angle perspective of ourselves. He knew what was good and what was evil, what was fair and what was unfair, what was true and pure and what was base and ignoble. (Only a good man could know this, because one who is base cannot recognise what is good.)

He never pretended that life was pure or lovely or wholesome. He knew it was as wholesome as we could make it and drew his characters making of their lives the kind of pictures we make of our own. He held up a mirror for us to loon into.

Oh, all good writers do that they connect with their audience at some point deeper than the shallow consciousness of every day. They awaken a sense of ideals or idealism, they stir up a forgotten wisp of goodness, a dustcaked, age-spotted memory of something we once believed in and they challenge us to reinstall that ideal, that dream, to live it out. That’s what he did.

How?

You know, if you look at his novels, they’re all about reconciliation; about accepting each other, warts and all; about extending ourselves for each other out of sheer humanity. This was the essence and the grace of his life. This is why he was such a beautiful man.

Oh, you have no idea how many people have asked that - had he ever written before?

No - at least, not to publish. He went from businessman to writer with his first novel, The Road from Elephant Pass. But again - method and discipline. He researched his books. He talked to people to discover how they had experienced life.

People have asked about some of the things he wrote about - but he knew the reality because he had done his homework. Horrible as some things were that we read in his books, they were authentic, and he didn’t put in the worst things that he had learned about.

Was it a surprise that he took to writing?

No - no, it wasn’t. He as always a sensitive man. If he hadn’t been, could he have been so kind and caring to so many? Could he have written such moving passages in his books? No, he was sensitive enough that he could project the dilemma of the vulnerable with brief strokes of his pen.

What do I mean by “such moving passages?”

Well-some of us helped him present his novels at the Book Buzz in Colombo in September. He developed a script excerpted from his three books. One of us had been involved in 30 full length productions by then, but one small role he played in the half hour skit was the most emotional one he had ever played.

Yes, he told Nihal that.

Nihal just gave him a vague smile.

..... and so, in the 65th year of this beautiful life, Nihal went to his beloved Wilpattu. There, the man who wrote about reconciliation was blown up by those who plant and breed hate. But you know what?

All they’ve done is enlarge the ideals of and idealist who lived his values. They have created a symbol of their wanton destructiveness and his innate wholesomeness. They have validated his major theme: reconciliation. What a fitting epitaph!

The Wadiya Group of Writers is also known as the English Writers Workshop.

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