Thank you for your letter and enclosures (just arrived). I am on my way to Colombo to be treated for what seems to be filariasis -- I have been swelling up in various places. Shall perhaps call in on the Hermitage. I am not anxious to make this journey, but there seems to be no alternative.
[EL. 168] 11.i.1960
I am now in Durdans[1] undergoing various tests and taking various treatments. I have 1. Possibly filariasis, though first blood test negative; 2. The sound of white ants in my ears; 3. A great deal of wind in my belly. Though, on account of 1. and 3., I am swollen and am in the maternity ward, I am not expected to bring forth. I have been X-rayed and punctured (both to put in and to withdraw fluid), and have had to swallow pills, and have been listened to, and have had to listen to, and have had vast accumulations of wax taken from the years, and have much more of this (as well as some inhalations) yet to come before I leave here. As soon as I can I shall return to Bundala, but when that will be I can't say.
Now, Mr. P. is anxious to invite you to stay in the empty kuti while I am away, and I myself shall be only too glad if you like to do it (I say this, not just because you would perform the useful service of keeping the elephants at bay, but also because you might like the change). If, however, I am to return in a week or ten days you may, perhaps, not think it worthwhile. If, on the other hand, I am to be awayfor three weeks or a month, the idea might appeal to you. (Of course, if you really want to stay there for a longer period to take advantage of the silence and solitude, I press you to do so with all the pressure I am capable of. This is not just polite -- I mean it.)
Unfortunately, as you may have gathered, the present situation is untidy and uncertain, and may continue to be so for some days longer, and I can't say how long the kuti will be empty for. But if you like to go off immediately to Bundala (without waiting for Mr. P.'s invitation -- which is not necessary, first because the kuti belongs to the Sangha and not to him and secondly because he is itching to have you anyway) you will get a week there at least, and possibly more....
Vajiráráma is fearfully depressing -- the same old things (some older, if possible) go on in the same old way, and I am really happier in this rather pleasant room in the hospital. It is an end room, and opens on to an old grass tennis court where I walk about at night. It is an unhappy sign of the present state of affairs that although everybody in Vajiráráma knows quite well that all I do (indeed, all that there is to do) at Bundala is bhávaná only one person (the ageing Ven. C.) asked me how it was proceeding (and even he dropped the subject immediately). Nobody has any interest in the matter of bhávaná at all. Sad.
The wretched D. appeared while I was there and questioned me on the subject of amoebiasis, which he apparently has got. I told him directly not to hope to get cured in this lifetime, but that if he takes care of his diet he may expect some improvement in a few years' time. He was apparently thinking (as I used to) in terms of a cure in a month or six weeks. I think he was duly depressed by what I told him, but if he will accept it he will avoid much mental distress and futile seekings for remedies in the time ahead. I also told him that it is not an insuperable obstacle in the way of progress in the Dhamma (which it is not), but he is probably not inclined to believe that at present....
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Footnote:
[168.1] A private hospital in Colombo. [Back to text]