Hello Friends and Fellow Explorers!
Today’s tale takes us deep into the Sri Lankan jungle, where wild elephants roam, meditation huts hide among the trees, and unexpected encounters offer both awe and reflection …
Here Be Elephants!
Seeking Solitude Among Giants.
Leaving Comfort Behind.
It's another sweltering day as I reluctantly step out from the cool sanctuary of my Sri Lankan guesthouse, embarking on a journey to the mysterious depths of the jungle. Thomasha will pick me up at 8:30, giving me half an hour to enjoy a spot of breakfast. As I walk, ravens and street dogs sift through the scattered remnants of last night's trash. The dogs are mostly friendly, but the ravens are unsettling – there are so many of them, and some take pleasure in swooping at me, veering away at the last moment, their calls rasping like laughter.
Just as I finish my fruit and yoghurt breakfast, Thomasha arrives in his beat-up blue-and-white tuk-tuk, sporting his usual ear-to-ear grin.
"Ready?" he beams. "Jungle trip today right?"
"Yep, jungle trip," I repeat, as I settle into the back seat.
Today promises to be an intriguing adventure indeed. I've managed to contact the elusive head monk of a remote jungle monastery who has agreed to let me visit. You won't find this temple on any tourist map; it's a rare opportunity that only locals in the know get to experience.
The Call of the Jungle.
Into the jungle we drive, sometimes navigating trickling streams that have breached the road. As the jungle thickens, the roads deteriorate into perilous, bumpy trails. Thomasha's gutsy tuk-tuk takes them in stride, all the while dodging wild peacocks darting across our path.
Arriving at the modest monastery gates, I tumble out of the tuk-tuk.
"No shoes inside temple grounds," Thomasha says.
I kick off my flip-flops, and gingerly hobble across the sharp gravel toward an impressive, brilliant white stupa.
A Sacred Welcome.
As we approach, Gnanasiri, the head monk, quickly greets us. Thomasha immediately drops to his knees and prostrates himself at Gnanasiri’s feet. I always feel a bit awkward in these moments, unsure if I'm expected to do the same. Instead, I press my hands together in prayer, bow slightly, and offer a broad smile, which he returns, with extra teeth.
Gnanasiri is a slight man with a freshly shaved head; his ears distinctively perked up as if tuning in to all frequencies. He has a lot to say, but I struggle to understand his excited bursts of broken English. Nonetheless, I manage to discern several fascinating tales:
Mystical Encounters.
For starters, inside the pristine white Stupa are housed several relics of the Buddha himself, possibly including one of his teeth!
Gnanasiri vividly recounts a miraculous event: on the day the Stupa was painted, rain drenched the surrounding area, yet not a single drop of rain touched the freshly painted Stupa.
He also tells of wild elephants that roam the nearby jungle. These gentle giants occasionally wander onto the monastery grounds, seemingly drawn by the allure of the daily chanting, yet they never cause any disruption.
It is not the allure of daily chanting that has drawn me to this particular monastery, but rather tales of the jungle ‘kutis’ – isolated meditation huts deep within the jungle, where monks, and occasional rare visitors like myself, can retreat in solitude. The prospect of a solo retreat among the wild elephants fills me with both excitement and trepidation.
The Jungle Retreat.
It would not be appropriate to ask to stay in a kuti, so I am hoping for an invitation. I subtly suggest that Gnanasiri might like to give us a tour of the area, which he eagerly agrees to.
"My feet are ready for the jungle," he says, "but yours are not, you should get your shoes."
Thomasha and I retrieve our flip-flops, and as we take our first steps onto a well worn jungle path, Gnanasiri sets the scene:
"The jungle surrounds us for many miles," he begins, gesturing to the dense forest encircling us. "We are cut off from the world, relying on the generosity of the surrounding villages to sustain our practice. In return, we offer them spiritual guidance. Come, I will take you to the river."
The Journey Begins.
As we navigate the dense foliage, Gnanasiri inquires about my spiritual progress. I tell him about my practice, and a few of my longer retreats. His eyes light up at this, and he mentions the jungle kutis – secluded huts where monks go for deeper contemplation. He then extends an invitation to join the monks on a retreat. It is precisely the invitation I had been hoping for.
Nature's Gifts.
The rushing sound of water grows slowly louder as we continue our journey. Gnanasiri occasionally stops to show and explain various items that the jungle provides. First, he plucks a cluster of what appear to be little green berries from a flourishing vine.
"These are peppercorns," Gnanasiri explains. "When they turn red we collect them and dry them in the sun until they go black. Then we grind them for pepper."
He then offers me a tiny bean-like object, black and shiny.
"Eat it!" he smiles.
Despite its tiny size, it tastes as delicious as a fig! He hands me another small pod-like object, and I am about to pop it in my mouth, but he stops me.
"No, this one we use for sealing envelopes. It is glue!"
Grateful not to have glued my mouth shut, I ask Gnanasiri about the local elephant population.
Here Be Elephants.
"Yes wild elephants are here," he tells me. "But we don’t have problems with them."
"That's reassuring," I say, though I wonder how I might react should I suddenly come face to face with one.
Gnanasiri shares a story from one of his own encounters. Walking through the jungle, he found himself unexpectedly confronted by a bull elephant, its posture tense, ready to charge. Heart racing, he did the only thing he could think of – he began to chant. To his astonishment, the elephant slowly relaxed. In Gnanasiri’s words, it became "humble" and calmly returned to the jungle.
"Certain chants promote harmony between humans and nature," he explains. "This practice is out of respect for all living beings."
As Gnanasiri speaks, I catch a rustling sound ahead, and Gnanasiri notices the surprised look on my face.
"This is not elephant," he explains. "More likely a monitor lizard, monkey, or peacock. These creatures are not only our neighbours, but integral parts of the jungle’s spiritual community."
At the River’s Edge.
Our path gradually brings us closer to the growing roar of water as we near the river's edge. An ancient stone aqueduct, built by the monks, channels water toward the monastery. We follow the aqueduct's slippery path until we emerge into a clearing. Here, mini waterfalls cascade into view, their splashing waters charging the air with ozone and misting my skin with a cool, invigorating spray.
Gnanasiri and Thomasha converse in Sinhala, the more commonly spoken native language, while I stand in awe of my surroundings. Immersed in the sound of rushing water, the possibility of encountering nearby elephants, and the thrilling invitation to spend nights alone in the jungle are all swirling in my head. As I watch the water traveling along the aqueduct at my feet, I suddenly spot a snake – small, smooth, striped, and streamlined – leisurely swimming with the flow. I point it out to Gnanasiri, but he is unfazed. It seems the monks are used to surprises in their water tank.
After a moment, we begin our walk back.
"I will bring you to one of the kutis," Gnanasiri says, indicating that we must leave the beaten path. I figure if he can manage it barefoot, then surely I can handle it in flip-flops.
"You know about leeches?" he adds.
"Er, yeah."
"OK," he says as we continue.
Great, snakes and now leeches. My flip-flops seem woefully inadequate.
Encounters in the Jungle.
Gnanasiri stops for a moment, watching something on the ground near his feet. As I approach, he bends down and calmly frees a small frog from the grip of a thin, green snake. The snake, possibly annoyed at having its lunch snatched away, slithers off into the foliage. It is so green and so thin that it is barely distinguishable from a long blade of grass. Gnanasiri then sends the tiny frog on its way in the opposite direction.
"This snake is not poisonous," he assures me, "but some here can be."
I hope my karma is as good as that little frog's, I think to myself.
We arrive at the kuti – a large concrete cube, elevated on cement pillars about four feet off the ground. A set of seven steps leads up to the entrance. Inside, the simplicity is striking: a single bed, a wooden table, a shelf, and a plastic chair. The tiny bathroom includes a sink, a squat toilet, and a shower nozzle. Despite its modest appearance, the hut is equipped with running water and electricity. Windows on two of the walls offer views of the dense jungle surrounding us.
My first thought is about mosquitoes.
"Yes, but they are not dangerous here – no dengue, no malaria," Gnanasiri assures me.
"Even so," I reply, eyeing the wide open gaps around the windows.
"You are welcome to stay in this kuti if you wish," Gnanasiri offers. "It would be a blessing for us if you come and do a retreat here."
A Moment of Decision.
This invitation was exactly what I'd hoped for, yet as I stand here, the isolation of the jungle hut feels more daunting than I'd imagined. The kuti is a long way from the monastery, buried in a jungle teeming with bloodsuckers, snakes, leeches, spiders. I’d be completely alone, exposed to whatever crawls, slithers, or prowls in the night. And what if an elephant, massive and unpredictable, decides to come too close?
Right on cue, as we step away from the kuti, heavy rustling sounds come from the nearby foliage.
"Elephants are near," Gnanasiri says calmly.
Funny how those three simple words can instantly electrify the atmosphere.
The air thickens with the palpable presence of unseen giants. Everything feels suddenly sharper – the birdsong, the steady hum of life all around us. I can almost feel them, just out of sight, their presence exciting yet unpredictable.
As the rusting sounds fade, we make our way back toward the monastery. The weight of what I’m facing settles in, making this a tougher decision than I’d imagined. To stay or not to stay – the choice is mine, though it feels as if the jungle itself is waiting to weigh in.
What Say You?
As we arrive back at the monastery, the jungle seems to hold its breath, waiting for my choice. Should I embrace the critters, discomfort ,and solitude, or retreat to the safety of my guesthouse?
What would you do?
Let me know in the comments section below!
Until next time …
✌️❤️
Grant.
If You Want to Know What Happens Next …
Be sure to click the heart button below. If this story receives over twenty likes, I'll publish Part Two next week! Otherwise, the jungle’s secrets will remain a mystery.
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yes lets go for part 2, my guess is you chose the kuti
Ha! My guess is that weaved within that tapestry of creature concerns, it would be the threat of a mosquito buzz disturbing your sleep most likely to kibosh the retreat.
Good stuff.