to shoulder, from the perimeter wall, 338
in total — one for every foot of the stupa’s
height. It’s an impressive, imposing show
of force.
Just as we pass between them, drums
strike up, sotened by the snake-charming
drawl of a reedy trumpet, and a crocodile
procession of people starts iling towards
and around the stupa. A bowl of burning
incense is borne alot at the front, its
smoke unfurling above the procession. I’m
reminded of a slow-moving steam train.
“We’re lucky — this only happens once a
month, on the full moon,” Chitral tells me,
crouching to take a photo. There are probably
around 200 people involved, young and old,
each of them dressed entirely in white and
holding a seemingly endless strip of orange
cloth. Once the circuit is complete, monks
in orange robes take over and pin the cloth
around the whitewashed stupa, like a ribbon
on a decorated egg.
“These villagers will have saved up
for the right to perform this ceremony.
It’s expensive. They’ll only do it once,”
Chitral says. He explains they do it in the
hope of receiving good favour, of enjoying
good harvests and good health, of having
crops and lives spared from roaming
elephants. They seek protection from
elephants in this temple protected by
elephants, while somewhere out there are
the former protectors, now themselves inneed of protection. How complicated the
relationship has become. Where are the
guardians now?
I look for them the following morning on
sacred Ritigala Mountain, among the ruins
of ancient temples swallowed by jungle
creepers and in lonely caves where monks
withdrew from the world. And in the nearby
village of Rambewa, where a charismatic
master called Ritigala Sumedha keeps alive
an ancient martial art under the spreading
branches of a banyan tree. His disciples wear
colourful sarongs while they leap and kick,
punch and lunge, and spin bamboo stafs
above their heads until the air sings. The
purpose is to develop the soul rather than
to kick butt, I’m told, and aterwards the
master leads a prayer of thanks to the earth
and everything in it. When a leaf falls from
the banyan, it’s removed before it can be
trodden on. “We won’t disrespect something
that’s sheltered us for centuries,” the master
says solemnly.The Doctor’s cure
Spiritual guardians remind those who’ll
listen of our place in the order of things,
but what of the practical guardians,
those with a contemporary solution to a
contemporary problem? Next morning I take
a potholed track westwards for my follow-up
appointment with The Doctor. He’s asked
me to meet him in the region of Galgamuwa,Villagers seek
protection from
elephants in this
temple protected
by elephants, while
somewhere out
there are the former
protectors, now
themselves in
need of protection.
How complicated
the relationship
has becomeWorkers tend to paddy ields,
IMAGE: SHAMINDRA FERNANDOGalgamuwa region
March 2020 99SRI LANKA