Mother Lanka

by Judith Ramitha Gunaratne (Italy)

A leap into the unknown Sri Lanka

It was year 2016 and we were running, with hearts throbbing quickly and rucksacks burdening on our backs. I saw Roma’s footprints being impressed on the ground with increasing strength and his stride getting faster and faster. I could barely keep up with him, inhaling the dust that rose up while my tee shirt had turned into a wet rag. His lean figure stepped across the threshold of the station just before we heard the train whistle. “Hurry up Ramì! For the next one we should wait at least two more hours!” We squeezed in as best as we could and the doors closed behind us declaring the beginning of our journey. Despite being descents of this island, we spent most of our lives in Europe. It wasn’t the first time in Sri Lanka for me and neither it was for Roma who spent here his early youth, but this time I felt it was different… The childish sense of superiority that had characterized me during the previous stays had made room for an ascending curiosity towards this land that –unknown- was now calling me back with the same restless nostalgia of a parent who never had the chance to look into his son’s eyes. When –one week after my arrival- I came to know that also Roma was here, I wrote him immediately. I leafed through a worn guide from my uncle’s bookshelf and began the list of the most intriguing sites of this unexplored land. Charming Buddhist temples, stunning archeological ruins, breathtaking panoramas and more. It wasn't an easy choice, but eventually it fell on the heart of the ancient culture of this island: the cultural triangle, situated in the north central plains. Our travel itinerary was planned to begin from the monumental rock fortress called Sigiriya; proceeded through Dambulla’s cave temple complex and the ancient capitals of Polonnaruwa and Anuradhapura. Our last stage should have been the sacred city of Kandy, where Gautama Buddha’s left canine tooth was housed. After taking a look at the train schedules, I called Roma and we agreed to meet in Colombo Fort station the next day. As was to be expected from two Italians, we were obviously late; luckily, we managed to take the train. I certainly can’t look back at Colombo-Habarana railway line as the most comfortable one I had taken. People were jammed in our railcar, but short eats hawkers passed every ten minutes making their way towards the next train wagon. If it wasn’t for the fans refreshing the air from the upper corners, the heat would have been hellish. But what remained imprinted in my mind was the sour smell of bethel being chewed by the stocky old man who stood beside me. Nevertheless, this chaotic beginning was one of the best moments for me and I’m sure it was the same for Roma. Arrived in Habarana, we followed the advice of a local and we took a tuk-tuk to reach Pidurangala Rock’s bottom, setting the hike of the Lion’s rock aside for the next morning. Steps carved in the stone formed the first part of the climb before some bouldering that made the second part a bit more challenging. Nevertheless, we were not tired at all. On the contrary, the higher we were getting, the more excited we felt: we were discovering not only Sri Lanka, but part of ourselves that had been veiled until then. When we reached the top, half an hour had passed since our first step. The sun was descending its daily path from its maximum elevation and few gentle clouds were shadowing us. No one else was there, but the silence. The Sigiriya was majestically standing out the unlimited greenish womb in front of us. We were in awe. Roma took a cigarette and lit it up; I could see him misty-eyed through his black sunglasses. We stayed a while gawping before one of us spoke. “Can you see her, Roma? Sublime. Our mother Lanka”