Reminiscence
The Plea of a Pilgrim
I stand on the top of you.
Thinking and pondering,
Trying to catch what’s beyond the usual.
The blurrier my eyes get,
the clearer my sight becomes.
I see a monarch who lived in exile.
A patricide who tried to flee from his destiny.
An artist who hid his guilt and fear behind the aesthetics.
A few hundred concubines who took a leap down the rock in the name of a fallen king.
The sands of the hourglass start going downward.
The chants I hear set my mind at ease.
I see the figures in saffron robes in trance.
Mighty men trying to win everything by winning themselves.
How the fragrance of spirituality cleanses the burdened past for the moment.
Suddenly, the landscape changes.
And I feel like I’m somewhere, I’m not supposed to be.
This time, it’s upward the sands are running.
To the unchartered, that’s hidden away from the shores of history.
When the shadows hover over me
unknowingly, I look up.
I’m before the grandeur of a sun-blocking Vimāna that’s slowly descending.
Without making the slightest noise.
Just like an enlightened being who conquered space and time!
I look around to see that I’m being watched.
Tall men and women in charming dresses.
While their jewelry outglows their dark, golden skin.
I wonder what Leonidas felt when Persians surrounded him.
Except I’m no warrior, and they don’t seem to be wrathful.
Yet I feel their eyes penetrating my being to the core.
Some are observant; some are curious, yet some convey nothing but pity and sympathy.
But what do they really think of me?
Just one of the few lucky ones who got to catch a glimpse?
A vision of the glory concealed behind the countless veils of time!
Or just one more fool who is full of himself?
To dare to connect the dots with the bare minimum on his hand.
I triumphantly stand before you.
Not as someone who conquered his fear to get to the top of you.
But as a believer whom you blessed with “eyes” to see the best of you.
To steal glances at what’s forgotten.
To sail across the murky waters of skepticism.
I calmly watch the other travelers around me.
Some move towards you, and some walk away from you.
Some are silent, and they carry the same awe I possess.
Some are loud, capturing your essence with their shiny objects.
People with forgotten roots who try to reduce you to their borrowed arguments!
Instead of sorrow, it’s a smile that shapes my face.
I raise my head to set my eyes upon you.
The time has come for my departure.
But for one last time, I need to dwell on this sentiment while it lasts.
To pay my homage to the ancestors who gave birth to you.
To say a few more words to admire your splendor.
Above all, to mutter a silent prayer that truly reaches your ear.
“There will be pilgrims; there will be roamers; and there will be experts.
Until the end of time, the questions will remain and never stop mystifying.
They will poke you; they will stab you; they will dig you and throw stuff at you.
All in the name of curiosity, for the “greater good” of today and the days yet to come.
When the thoughtless humans come your way, touching and violating,
being the ice queen you are, stay composed and show them your stony side.
Yet, only for the devotees who are ready to make their ego a doormat before you,
unveil and show yourself in all your glory, making their effort fruitful.”
Copyright © 2023 Salitha Nirmana Meththasinghe. All Rights Reserved.
Note:
This poem was inspired by Sigiriya (aka Lion’s Rock), which is an incredible rock formation that was used as a rock fortress by ancient Sri Lankan king Kashyapa I of Anuradhapura, who reigned from 473 AD to 495 AD. After his death, the capital and the royal palace were abandoned, and later, it was used as a Buddhist monastery until the 14th century. However, there’s clear evidence that the area around Sigiriya has been inhabited since prehistoric times. Many rock shelters and caves in the vicinity have been occupied by Buddhist monks and ascetics from as early as the 3rd century BC. Also, folklore, legends, and some not-so-mainstream sources link this place to the age of King Ravana, who was a very polarizing figure in the Indian subcontinent. Today, Sigiriya is a UNESCO-listed World Heritage Site and is often referred to as the 8th Wonder of the Ancient World due to its historical and archaeological significance. The site is one of the best examples of ancient urban planning and is famous for its frescoes, the mirror wall, water gardens, boulder gardens, and terraced gardens.
Years ago, I read the book “A Search in Secret Egypt” by Paul Brunton, a British author of spiritual books. In its first chapter, titled “A Night with Sphinx,” he describes a scene where he gets to sit alone before Sphinx and the pyramids after the last tourist and tour guide left the site for the day. While spending time watching the night hover over the mysterious place, he begins to contemplate the past events that have happened around the statue for ages. His way of story-telling effortlessly ignites intrigue and awe in the passionate readers making them feel like they are living the events through his words.
Years after reading the book, I wanted to do the same with Sigiriya but eventually got to know that the rules and regulations prevent people from spending the night there. As I’ve heard, exceptions are made only for things like conducting research. Therefore, even though I’ve visited the place three times, I was never lucky enough to do what Paul Brunton did. Plus, the aesthetics of the place began to overwhelm me years after my last visit. So, in a way, this poem is semi-fiction. I really don’t think I was as successful as Paul Brunton when it came to conveying the awe in verses, but I hope you would find it worthy of your time. Nonetheless, If you made it this far, I want to say thank you, and if you ever visited my country, make sure to visit this place and let the atmosphere there astonish you.
