Sing of hoary Sri Pada

Donald Nugawela

With the dawn of Unduwap Poya on December 10, the long climb to the Holy Peak would commence. Thousands of devotees will begin their trek streaming in from all corners of the land. Also known as Samanala Kanda (the Butterfly mountain), Adams Peak to many and to millions of Sri Lankans,as Sri Pada and Sri Pada it would remain till the end of time.

I climbed Sri Pada over half a century ago and was accompanied by my friend M K Vythialingam when we both shared quarters at the Tea Research Institute, Talawakelle. We were joined by an English Planter Derek Forster, planting at Lindula and his charming wife Jenny and houseboy Duraisamy, a tough as nails and dark as ebony individual.

The roads were all macadamized relics and the road leading to Nallathanni was rough under the tyres and needed careful driving. We reached Nallathanni a little past seven in the evening and parking turned out to be a bit of a bother as the confined space available was taken up by haphazardly parked derelict looking buses and trucks. A lone policeman armed with a baton cleared space for us and we rewarded him with a new tin of players. He looked bemused for a while and with a shy thank you stored it away in his trouser pocket.

We were dressed in warm woolen clothing, polo-necked jerseys, woolen scarves and feet shod in thick crepe soled shoes. The houseboy carried a backpack of two large flasks of coffee, thoughtfully provided by Jenny. The wooden bridge across the Seetha Gangula was strong and durable as we crossed its dimly lit passageway following scores of other pilgrims chanting Sadu, Sadu and Karunawai in their simple quest for solace.

Being a kind of agnostic during my youth I was more keen to face the challenging climb and see for myself the much raved about sunrise from the peak rather than to seek spiritual blessings. But the fervour of those village folk, men, women and children, eyes full of hope and faces lit with joy touched me deeply. It left me with a better understanding of what those folks showed in their pilgrimage that it was not to see the sunrise but to place a flower at the footprint of the Holy One in sublime devotion. The memory of that vision of men, women, youths, maids and children prostrate in prayer is treasured by me because it taught me that spiritual blessings were far more superior and lasting than atheism.

The steps were roughly hewn and the path though tough was lit by thousands of electric bulbs, the glow a comfort amidst the eerie darkness around. For strong young limbs the climbs was not tiring though rough and untidy with each one helping one another at a stumble or slip. We matched the speed of many of those young village lads. We finally reached the hallowed peak just a little past midnight and we found a comfortable spot to settle in looking on all the time at the pilgrims worshiping and crowding around one another. The air was bitingly cold and a stiff breeze wasn't helpful either, despite our warm clothing. Sipping hot mugs of coffee we were offered food by a host of pilgrims all of which we accepted gracefully for the houseboy to store it away in the backpack.

The Eastern sky slowly assumed a dark pink and then softly turned to blush pink as the first rays of the sun pierced the cloud formation, its rays beaming down like searchlights seeking not to destroy but to give life and warmth to the birds, beasts and insects. The jungle below awoke to a new day and we humans welcomed the warmth on our backs. The effect of the sun was magical and the gorgeous landscape spread far below and a silver ribbon of a stream winding its course to perhaps meet the waters of the mighty Mahaweli was breath-taking.

And the swarms of butterflies of all colours and size simply swamped the morning sky around us. They came in their thousands, coming out from no where and fluttering into no where to enhance the beauty of the morning and confirm why the holy peak is also known as Samanala Kanda.

Seated on a sun-dappled step at the foot of the mountain that eventful morning, senses sated and sipping a final cup of coffee I thought I heard a voice whisper - Sing of Hoary Sri Pada. It was just one little line from the poem, the Call of Lanka by Rev W S Senior written over a century ago. Rev Senior was a former principal of Trinity College, Kandy and was a great lover of Lanka. The poem in its entirely is inspirational and its vibrantly throbbing lines, each one of them was a call for our people to awaken from their deep slumber and indolence and take their rightful place in a free nation. The Call of Lanka holds good even in this millennium and we need to stretch our limbs further in our efforts to go that extra mile if it were to restore the resplendency of our beautiful island home.