FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF BENTOTA
Towards the end of my first night at Bentota there had been singing sounding in the night sky. Just as everything softened to that blue-grey hue that coats the visible world once twilight arrives, there had been singing – chanting – sounding from somewhere. It was being amplified through a speaker, or a tannoy, carrying it through the air. Spoken words, prayers, devotion all dissolving into darkness.
A waitress at the restaurant where I’d eaten had told me there was a festival happening at a nearby Buddhist temple (it was due to the full moon). She told me it was within walking distance and that ‘You are welcome to visit.’ I tried to find the temple that night but never did.
Occasional drops of rain still hit the earth in scattered crashes – afterthoughts from a long, heavy downpour that had begun around dusk. Floor tiles and walkways were still wet, still slippery – almost glossy – with moisture and humidity. Low, sodden clouds dragged their bloated bodies across the unlit heavens, insulating all the sounds below. And there were so many sounds giving vibrancy to the night: birds sung their slow songs of gratitude for the day, insects chirped, frogs croaked. The rain fell. The day had ended. And in the midst of these things, the sound of singing carried on chanting into the fading light of Sri Lanka’s south.
Had I known the way to the temple then I’m sure it may have been within walking distance. But out in the unfamiliar settings it didn’t take long to become disorientated and lose heart in the adventure. Everything had looked so different in the dark. The gardens between my room and the restaurant had become a concussion of towering shapes and labyrinthine shadows. Small yellow lamps, set low in a wall scattered a burr of soft lights – casting circles of silent halos along a stone footpath and its flat-leafed plants. Trees rose up overhead in great sprawls – mostly palm trees fanning their outlines against the night sky. Three giant coconut tree reached up high – so high – mediating the worlds of darkness and downpour. Beyond that, the parameters of the unknown stretched out in all directions.
And then, rain returned, heavier than before. A million diamonds of raindrops fell from the sky. An evening train thundered past with its white headlight embellishing the downpour; the railway track ran cleavered Bentota in half, the train moved through the darkness down towards Galle. The sound of the singing could still be heard. A tuk-tuk took me back to my room. I tried to explain to my driver, what I had been looking for and about the sounds I had heard. He took me to a small, illuminated shrine near the side of the road, close to the railway track, but no one else was there and there was no singing.
That night I fell asleep listening to the sound of the chanting. It echoed in the air, blending with the falling rain and the sounds of the Indian Ocean. I remember waking once in the small hours and saw the light of the full moon shining on the tiles of my room but by then the singing had stopped.
IMPRESSIONS OF KANDY
I thought no more of that temple until my penultimate day in Sri Lanka. Over a week had now passed and I had seen so much – yet barely scratched the surface. This island required a more significant investment of time to fully immerse, explore and to fall deeply in love with it. My desire to see more of Sri Lanka led me to book a full day excursion to the ancient Sinhalese kingdom of Kandy, driving through the Hill Country in the Province of Sabaragumuwa. It was to be a long day’s drive. I knew that (and on reflection, perhaps, should have just stayed local for that last day – to watch one last sunset on the beach or something – but when you’re aware of the brevity of time, occasionally, you overstretch yourself). On reflection, my day to Kandy was one which was rushed, yet there are no regrets.
My driver had collected me just after breakfast. That morning, like most mornings there, I had eaten a large breakfast: yellow coconut rice, some dhal curry, a coconut relish with roasted chillies; there had been an egg hopper, too, some brinjal pickle and kottu rotis. It was delicious food – and I had found that eating this had kept me sustained for most of the day. The trip was scheduled to arrive at Kandy around midday (which we did) and return to Bentota late afternoon. But as we drove back to our point of origin, the vibrancy of the blue sky became lethargic, and the advent of dusk brought hues of colour to the horizon; it became apparent we were still at least several hours away from returning to the south. Headlights began to blink into life on the road in front of us. Soon, the motorway would be in darkness.
In that fading of light I decided to try and write down my impressions of the day. I wrote quickly as the recollections presented themselves to me in a snatched grab at the disorganised chronology of the day.
BENTOTA TO KANDY: passing small villages (some busy, some quiet); houses with small, window balconies overflowing with plants bearing flowers (colours of pink, white, purple, red); roads running through them like threaded beads on a necklace; roadside stalls selling brightly coloured rugs, fruits; there had been a tall, green mosque standing between two houses; a passing bus had ‘welcome’ written above its passenger door.
OUTSKIRTS OF KANDY: the greenery; the palm trees; openings of forest and fields; singing greens and floating clouds; narrow bridges over long, flat rivers flanked with banks of dark, green leaves and vine; we passed pilgrims walking towards a large statue of the Buddha (traffic stopped on the wet tarmac to let them pass).
KANDY: cool air, clouds numerous; drops of rain falling from cushioned mist, landing in large, flat puddles – patterns of circles expanding out across the water’s surface. Beautiful Kandy. A large lake in Kandy; flat, calm waters, deep bottle green; buildings and mountains surround; clouds seemed lower.
INSIDE THE TEMPLE: A guide met us and took us inside the Temple: lots of people outside the temple; shoes off; walked inside – lots more people; colour, carvings, beauty; buildings within buildings; mantras on moonstone; saw the relic of the Buddha (locked in a casket); monks, robes, shrines; garlands of flowers, every colour imaginable, golden buddhas (eyes lowered in meditation). After the tour, we were ushered back into our vehicle for the drive back. Wanted to see more of Kandy. We had to drive back.
Then the daylight gave up entirely and it become impossible to see the words that were being written down. So I stopped. Staring out into the darkness of the landscape and motorway as they merged into one, my final impression of Kandy remained in my mind’s eye, unable to be committed to paper. After leaving the temple I had paused before stepping into our vehicle back to Bentota. My eyes had followed a road running away, downhill, from where I stood. It was a street full of people, colour and life. In that moment, something within me wanted to stay just a little longer – just to wander there and to be a part of it. But there had been no time. Everything had been hurried. Maybe one day I could return there, for a longer stay, and maybe travel by train from Colombo to Kandy to savour the journey and see more of the island. One day.
THE BLUE BUDDHA
The journey back to Bentota was punctured with a stop at a roadside service station. We were here for about 30minutes. My driver, Dharme, and I shared a table. My body was tired. His phone rang several times. We ordered biryani and bottles of water. We sat and ate as we spoke about our lives. He told me about his family, his children and his hopes for their futures. As we finished our meal he rang his wife and told her that we would be returning in around an hour. The red LED clock in the car told the time of 7:33pm. Then once again we drove into the darkness. As always, whenever we passed a Buddhist temple or shrine on the final leg of the journey, Dharme continued to clasp his hands together in prayerful reverence (like a Namaste or wai gesture) and spoke something. We reached the outskirts of Bentota a little under an hour later, and as we approached familiar surroundings he asked me if I would like to visit the temple where he and his family prayed. It was late, and I agreed.
We approached the temple in darkness. A road led upwards towards a large, empty carpark. A giant statue of the Buddha, dimly lit, sat gazing out into the darkness behind us. Petals of the lotus flower surrounded the sculpture. And there I saw moonlight and palm trees moving in shadows. And then I was led inside the temple and saw colours and flowers, painted walls, painted images and symbols, rooms within rooms, doorways leading inwards and along, seated Buddhas, reclining Buddhas, I saw Sinhalese script etched onto painted walls aged and fading in patches, I saw patterned tiles, I saw serenity and beauty abide in this place, I saw a young man alone kneeling in a room without lights holding incense as he prayed, I saw the silhouette of a dharma wheel illuminated by candles against a red silk drape hanging against a wall. I saw an old man at a desk writing in a book and behind him a large wooden panel cut into the wall, with one door ajar and a blue Buddha statue facing outwards.
Back outside, in the grounds of the temple, there was a pervading sense of peace and stillness in the quiet night. Clouds of incense curled and perfumed the night air, sticks stuck in a broad vat full of sand burnt near several rows of small, lit tealight candles each with a flame dancing in silence. The more you looked, the more candles and flames you saw. There in the silence I tried to take a photo to capture all this, knowing it would never hold the moment I was witnessing. A seated dog watched me use my camera. It sat between the candles and the incense, the flames reflected in his eyes. And I saw that the dog was not alone, there were other dogs and even cats beside him, seated, sleeping, resting together. And time just dissolved and collapsed in on itself the way that it can do when depth becomes a part of its nature for a brief moment.
I asked my driver, as we left the temple, if there had been chanting here the previous week. He wasn’t sure. It began to rain as we finally arrived at Bentota.
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siesta del somewhere 