A Pilgrimage to Sri Lanka’s Sacred Peak
Submitted by Kyle Hammons
As the train pulled away from the station and slowly crept its way into the hill country of Sri Lanka, I felt the tinge of delight that can only come from destinations unknown. The old engine rambled past outlying homes, snack shops and schools where children waved excitedly through open windows. Gentle, smiling faces looked on as the train passed mothers cradling curious-faced children and farmers who briefly stopped their work to wave friendly hellos. Popcorn peddlers and peanut pushers walked by repeatedly and became familiar faces as I watched the world pass by with lazy eyes, occasionally snoozing then waking to find us passing postcard-perfect views.The train slowly meandered its way along the upper slopes of a broad valley where jade green tea plantations covered sloping hillsides and the waterfalls trickled their way down rocky creek beds. Local villages appeared amongst the vast terraces of tea plantations and a river snaked it way across the valley floor, colorful clothes drying upon its rocky banks. On both sides of the valley, from the utmost ridges on both sides to the cool rushing river below, were endless rows of glowing green tea plants, sculpted in winding rows for as far as the eye could see.
The train dropped me at Hatton where I got a seat on the local bus and began the trip towards Dalhousie and Adams Peak, locally known as Sri Pada. Rising to a height of 7360 feet, Sri Pada is a mountain with many tales and many names. Famous explorers such as Marco Polo carried the legends of Sri Pada to the furthermost corners of the world and today the mountain is regarded as sacred by all four major religions. On the summit is a mysterious indentation resembling a human footprint. Since the 1st Century BC, Buddhists have considered it the footprint of Buddha, but other faiths have also lay claim to the footprint atop Sri Pada. Hindus believe it to be of the god Shiva while Christians say it belongs to Adam, St Thomas, or even the eunuch of Candace. Muslims also believe that the footprint is that of Adam, touching the highest point on earth as he was expelled from Paradise.
No other mountain in the world has been revered by so many people, from such a variety of religions, and for so long as Sri Pada. Each year thousands of people from all walks of life make the pilgrimage to the summit of Sri Pada. Pilgrimage season starts on the full moon of December and ends on the full moon of April. Most make the climb at night so they can arrive in time for sunrise. Traditionally, pilgrims were required to ford streams while carrying their own illumination. Today, the path consists of rough cement stairs lit by electric lights. It is an arduous climb requiring an average of four hours, plenty of drinking water, and proper clothing to endure the potential rains and very cold temperatures at the summit.
The small village of Dalhousie, the starting point for the trip, was quite calm upon my midday arrival. I ventured from the main road lined with stalls and trinket-sellers, keen to get a glimpse of local village life. A kind man who spoke no English indulged my curiosity, unlocking a small Hindu temple and beckoning me inside. He showed me statues of Hindu deities while he lit incense, poured oils and performed ritualistic prayers and offerings, smearing my forehead with streaks of white powder and the familiar red dot. Three teenage worshippers soon joined us and one who spoke English explained that when one statue was brought here over 100 years ago, it was very small, but had grown to the size I saw before me. Though I feel a certain skepticism in these situations, I have learned to accept that the importance of such religious beliefs lies not in the truth of the matter, but in the faith which followers hold dear.
After visiting the Hindu temple, I returned to my guesthouse for dinner. It was a delightful place with two verandas surrounded by gardens overlooking the village of Dalhousie and the green-carpeted hills around town. I was the only guest so I was delighted when I saw a feast laid out for the entire family. I sat in front of a heaping place of fried rice and waited for them to join me. Then I noticed there was just one plate at the table! Apparently, they intended on me eating a meal that could easily feed four people. Even after devouring twice what my belly could hold, mounds of food lie in front of me. I thanked her for a delicious meal and she assured me the food would not go to waste, so I resigned myself to bed, as I would need every bit of rest possible.
Five hours later, at 2:30am, my alarm alerted me that it was time to start hiking. I had some tea and cookies that had been laid out for me, shouldered my pack and began the ascent up Sri Pada. The 7km climb is said to contain over 5200 concrete steps and a 2:30am start would ensure I reached the summit well before dawn. The path through town was quiet with most of the stalls closed and the first half hour was a gradual incline. Streetlights illuminate the path during pilgrimage season and I could see the fluorescent bulbs snaking their way over the hills and then climbing all the way to the summit.
Adams Peak is no mere hill. Among a mountainous countryside, it stands alone, impossible to go unnoticed, like a razor sharp tooth protruding from a line of molars. Even from a distance, it is an imposing sight with thick green foliage clinging to sides so steep that even I questioned my ability to reach its summit. Aerial photos show a mountain that stands alone, no surrounding peak even comparable in size, with a staircase so steep that I couldn’t fathom so many people (from children to grandparents) reaching the white temple that sits like an impenetrable fortress on top. Nevertheless, as I reached the first of hundreds of flights of stairs and begin to climb, I was passed by mothers carrying their babies and barefoot pilgrims of 70 years or more as they descended from the summit in the dark.
Step after step I trudged up the mountain, my legs moving at a slow but steady pace and my heart pounding in my chest. To attempt the climb in the heat of the day would be tortuous, for even in the cool hill country climate, my shirt was quickly soaked in sweat. I could hardly imagine how a staircase of concrete steps was constructed on such a long, steep incline so long ago; even today such a feat would be a massive undertaking. The last couple of kilometers were so steep that I clutched the railway for safety, at 26-years old feeling wobbly on my feet while 80-year old women hobbled barefoot on their way down with half of a grueling pilgrimage completed.
When alas I reached the summit temple, I marveled at the scene around me. A hundred or more pilgrims ranging from swaddling babies to wrinkled elders huddled in doorways and against temple walls, wrapped in blankets, extra clothes and each others arms, shivering against the frigid wind that whipped across the exposed summit. The temperature at such elevation was brutally cold for a country like Sri Lanka and nearly all of these pilgrims had started their climb at sunset and endured the harsh cold of the night. To make matters worse, being a temple, all were required to remove their shoes and as I walked around the concrete landing I could feel the heat being sucked from my body. Fortunately, I had brought a sleeping bag so when I found a space among the huddled, shivering pilgrims, I climbed inside and attempted to sleep through the last hours of the night.
Around 5:30 am I joined the many gathered against a nearby railing where in the distance they watched as the first hint of light danced on the eastern horizon. For the next hour colors began to skim the far-away mountaintops, the sky changing from star-studded darkness to a gentle blue background. The colors of fire began to streak the eastern sky, pinks mingling with purples as yellow clashed with red. The vast landscape that had been invisible on the ascent was now showing under a faint light. I marveled at the stone-faced mountainsides and deep green plateaus, all of which seemed so small from such a height. Over the loudspeaker came the familiar drumbeats and chants of Buddhist monks, urging the sun up with their prayers. When the sun finally did appear over the mountains, it was almost impossible to tell behind the pastel painting. Suddenly, the sky was bright, the pinks and purples had faded, and a great big ball of yellow fire consumed it all.
I walked around the temple and observed the countless pilgrims who kneeled before the temple with backs arched towards the ground and hands clasped in prayer as the priests made the morning offering. Their chants rang in my ears as I circled the temple, eyes peeled for the shadow of Sri Pada. When alas it did appear, the sight was so marvelous that I wanted to pull the worshippers from the ground and drag them to see. The sun beamed down on the peak casting a shadow so perfect on the misty mountainsides, it was difficult to believe that the steep-sided pyramid was in fact a shadow, and not just a smaller version of Sri Pada.
Once the shadow had faded and the sun burnt away any hint of cold, I rapidly descended Sri Pada, eager to beat the crowds. The views on the way down were stunning, a misty mountain fog wrapped around the mountains as if the ocean had risen and engulfed the hill country. Golden rays of light bounced off the soft cloud pillows and sparkled in the sky. The brilliance of morning carried me down the steep staircase as if I were floating. A 14-year old boy from Colombo completed his pilgrimage with me, racing down the countless stairs together. Near the end of our journey we were met by two Buddhist monks who blessed our journey and tied ceremonial bracelets to our wrists.
I bid my young friend farewell and returned to my guesthouse where tea and plates of food awaited me. My legs ached and my shirt dripped with sweat but all I felt was the sense of satisfaction, having completed my own pilgrimage to Sri Pada, one of the world’s most sacred peaks.
