Aayu-bowan. Meet Upul, a twenty-six-year-old man from Sigiriya in the heart of Sri Lanka’s hill country. Surrounded by a legacy of immense wealth - disproportionately distributed - it is contradictory to see the state in which people exist. Although proud of his beloved Sri Lanka, its rich cultural legacy and the resolve of its people to overcome apparently insurmountable odds in the face of war and adversity, the daily struggle to survive appears to be overwhelming. Despite overt challenges, he is content and maintains a firm, unwavering resilience that fortifies his spirit and strengthens his resolve to move forward. He is Sri Lankan, and the soil upon which he stands belongs to the Sri Lanka that he’ll eternally hold in high esteem.
Sigiriya's Ancient Fortifications
I’d arrived in the ancient city of Sigiriya on a balmy Monday morning. Looking up, I was greeted with skies a resplendent shade of blue otherwise visible only in the turquoise lustre of the Mediterranean. Dominating the landscape was a giant rock: reflecting the brilliance of the heavens by virtue of its placid tones, its sheer magnitude segmented the panorama.
History, or rather Sri Lankan folklore, says the palace that once stood atop the eyesore was constructed by King Kassapa following an alleged conquest of his father’s rule in the fifth century CE. I strolled through the remains - after having scaled a stairway leading halfway to heaven - and made discoveries: remnants of extensive gardens, intricate frescoes and crumbling stones painted a historical picture of a noblesse. The luminous presence of the palace and its ostentatious design likely dominated the bourgeois and poor who lived below under its mighty shadow. Standing so close to the heavens, I spun slowly, assembling a luscious-emerald three-hundred-and-sixty-degree picture: it was Sigiriya unobstructed - the heart of the motherland.
An Initial Local Encounter
Shortly thereafter, I heard the melodious tones of a feeble yet somewhat distinguished “Where do you come from?” float across the warm midday breeze from behind.
Inching my head in the direction of the voice, I caught my first glimpse of Upul: crowned by a bouquet of cherub-like and sporadic chocolate curls, his robust face - gleaming with a tenor of integrity - was beautifully framed. The almond shaped brown eyes - outlined distinctively by dark eyebrows - sat in perfect symmetry; they were refreshingly perceptive. His demeanour immediately disarmed my internal weapons of flight and began to erode the barriers I’d erected against developing acquaintanceships with locals while abroad. My honest and open-hearted disposition had often caused me to narrowly evade the troubled waters of ‘foreigner exploitation and prevarication’. Things were different with Upul; I perceptively knew against all naïve presentiments that he was a person in whom I could trust. His slender mouth uttered further words that were embodied by a sense of gentle sentiment: I yielded, packed away my miscellany of internal walls and inclined an empathic ear.
A Tale of Poverty and Despair
As we sat side by side, sharing the garlic waidi he'd transported from home - a reward for conquering his fear of heights - the pages of Upul’s story began unfolding. The rectitude in his words sang a self-effacing song of triumph over adversity and benign indignation at the cursed demons that befall us all. Upul’s return to Sigiriya from the southern coast - where he had been working as an Ayurvedic masseuse - was one borne of necessity. An acquaintance had sung tales of a better life in Dubai; he'd conned Upul out of his meager $2500 life savings. Upul's plan to work in Dubai to support his family in Sri Lanka had been shattered.
Several weeks later, terror struck the shores of Unawatuna beach: an enormous tsunami tore its way through the beachside town, tearing apart lives and destroying the town’s economy. The hotel in which Upul had worked was destroyed.
He'd had no choice but to take his few possessions and start anew in his home village. “I’m just happy to be alive,” remarks Upul, as he stares pensively into the distance toward his village.
“Things could always be worse.” His eyes tell a different story.
After a year of unemployment, sharing a two-room shack - unworthy of the title house - with his parents and younger siblings, he found a job; it paid only a quarter of his previous salary. Despite the substantial backward step, he kept firm hold of his dignity, and was never swayed by the savage winds of pride and humility. The beach life from which he had been dispossessed only nourished his desire to propagate the seeds of survival that would eventually blossom: a sense of contentment and success awaited.
Visiting Upul's Humble Sri Lankan Home
Visiting Upul’s family home was an eye-opening experience. After working for two years, he was able to obtain a loan worth $7000. The money was used to build a humble besser block dwelling in which to house his family. Stepping inside felt like entering a mansion, in comparison to their former home characterised by a shack held together by clay and stone. Divided into six rooms by rendered brick walls - covered by a thin sheet of iron, it was clear to see why Upul’s thin lips had spread across his face in an expression demonstrative of a pride: he had achieved greatness for his family. They welcomed me with open arms and, although clearly impoverished, set before me a feast of sweet Asmi and locally grown Sri Lankan tea. Upul had been speaking about a secret waterfall since we met. Apparently, only a handful of village people knew it existed.
Night Swimming and Driving in Sigiriya
Precariously wedged between Upul in front and his friend behind - all three atop a twenty-year-old motorcycle clearly ravaged by the winds of time - we drove along several pothole-littered dirt roads, until we arrived somewhere near a jungle. The roar of cascading water beckoned. Arriving at the waterfall's edge, the mental imagery I'd conjured reflected that which swirled before me. Upul's friend commenced stripping as I was informed it was time to bathe. Confined by the demons that comprise the unwritten laws regarding appropriate levels of modesty, I awkwardly stripped to my white underpants - a poor choice for the occasion - and surreptitiously submerged myself, standing beneath the droplets coursing over the rocks above. The few shreds of self-conscious discomfort that remained dissipated into the cool night air. The local, daily routine of washing commenced as I was handed a cake of soap.
Few naturalist sensations are comparable to droplets of unsullied mountain water flowing over the human body, washing away the impurities of the day. As darkness enveloped the sky, Upul declared that the headlight on his motorbike had stopped working some time ago. To my dismay, we drove home precariously - as though in a play impersonating the three stooges - me lighting the way by means of a one-watt torch held over his right shoulder.
Personal Enlightenment
As we sat on the kitchen floor preparing dinner, I was overcome with gratitude for the hospitality demonstrated by the family. Sitting among them, I questioned why I had been invited into their humble home, a westerner, with an inconceivably different life. It was then that I made a promise to support the family however I could.
Although we cannot give materially to every person we meet, shifting the ethereal line of poverty for some can remove a chip from the domino chain, stifling the propagation of hopelessness. Although $7000 may not be much, to someone like Upul earning and saving it can be an insurmountable obstacle higher than the reach of Sigiriya.
At the end of the day, in a world filled with pain and hatred, sharing love, kindness and a little compassion can go a long way. I hope it will for Upul.
