Adam’s Peak

It was so big and green. It made quite a scene.

I jumped off the tuk-tuk, and swung on my backpack. It was brisk and cool, exactly my kind morning.  I started running into the gateway, no, the archway of this small, abandoned ghostlike Potemkin village with the sun gradually peeking through the overhanging banana trees, and I crossed a bridge (a tirtha) and started climbing, with this small white dog leading me—it reminded me of someone—Sandy—I started climbing the steps, one of thousands of them, that would take thew hole morning…I entered the jungle, and stepped to the side in the forest, to take a rest.

I was surrounded by leeches…but this time they didn’t bite. Or, maybe, I just didn’t mind it. I continued my climb, and by the end the morning, I had reached a new height—here I was, in this small, isolated, alpine village (although I was of course in the remnants of the Western Ghats), and here, on this island, was a couple of old pilgrims’ houses, with scattered blue paints, and white boards, and tin roofs, and abandoned cots in slats within the building; I met someone, though I cannot be sure, who had come up the Ratnapura side from another side a long time ago—but anyway, it was ebbing into the early afternoon. The sun as growing more strong .I ducked back inside the trees, continuing my climb, and for the first time on my hike I whipped around a corner and saw the actual dome of Adam’s Peak right in front of me—it was still so tall. There was a  little house, all white , on top, just like the pictures. I took a deep breath.

Here I was, about to start my final ascent. I slipped back on my flip-flops (‘slippers”) and started my mighty climb. My back was aching. Stepping up the many-thousand steps, I had to step to the side—to soak up the treelike, the end f it, but also because I was flat-out exhausted, for lack of a better breath, but also because I was sensed for lack of abetter word that Iw as not alone— though I was alone, I sensed the breath of a billion pilgrims rising with me, carrying me. I looked to the left, and there I saw, smiling at me, carrying my piece of luggage, Dharmasiri—”just a little bit further,” he said, and I looked up ahead again, and there, just had at, last, was the peak.

There was a solitary figure on the steps, just like T.J. said. Sweeping. “Where do you come from?” he asked. “From the Ratnapura side.” “You’er the only who I’ve seen all morning. The whole day, actually.” It was 4 o’clock in the afternoon. “Can I show you something?”

He must have noticed me twirling my foot.

“Well,” I paused, “I was hoping to see the effort.”

“The foot?”

“You know, some say it’s Buddha’s, some say it’s Shiva’s…”

“Oh, yes, THE foot. You can come up here. It’s just in there.” He pointed me up the steps to a shrine.

“Umm…” I said. “Is there any way you can open it up a little?”

“We only open it in December. You’ll have to come back next time.”

My heart dropped a little.

We went our separate ways. He gave me a little key (well, actually a bulky key) to open up the place of my lodging. It had a little drawing of the pilgrim’s key and said Adam’s Peak. I opened my door into the monk’s lodgings, but couldn’t fall asleep…when the next few hours, my comrades from the other side would be joining me…we would chatter incessantly about our climb, in our clattering teeth and clothes, on the hard green floor, staying up, sleeping deep through the deep night, and in the morning, I would wake up, and watch the light stream through the shadows, with a growing horde of travelers, who can come up for the sunrise, to the swirling peak, and they would ask me why I came here, and I would walk to the bell, alone, and strike it, and say, “I may not have saved the world yet, but I still have hope.