Perahera

The Esala Perahera is a 10 day sequence of parades at night during which the tooth relic and representations of the protective deities of Kandy are removed from their temples and shrines and carried around the city with much fanfare. The tooth relic is a four inch tooth said to be snatched from the funeral pyre of Gautama Buddha. The Buddha was, apparently, quite large. “We’ll go on the second to last night, things will be getting big but good seats’ll be affordable,” Dan explained. Our tickets were purchased through Malik, who told Dan that the seats would be in front of Hattan Bank. “That’s right at the turn of the main road, those are great seats,” Dan told me as Siam pointed them out on a day trip in the three-wheeler through town. On the second to the last night of the Perahera Siam drove us into Kandy town in the three-wheeler. He parked in the modern parking deck built for a shopping mall that has yet to materialize. Kandy may be the only third-world city with an overabundance of convenient, affordable parking. Siam then led us to the security check where our camera bags were thoroughly investigated and we each had a full penitentiary-style pat-down before entering the parade area.

We began threading our way though and at times over the crowd. Every inch of curb was staked out and aggressively defended by whole families camped on cardboard slabs. The streets were patrolled by squadrons of mounted police. As I was struggling to keep up with Siam I heard a male British voice say “someone has their hand somewhere very strange.” I turned to my left to see a tall man attempting to move in the other direction, there was a school aged local child behind him with his hand in the man’s crotch from behind. Before I could pull on the child’s arm the crowd swept me up the street toward the bank.

With great relief I saw the Hatton Bank side. Siam showed our tickets to the local man guarding the risers in front. I could not tell if the seat-keeper was shaking his head “no,” or doing the affirmative side to side head waggle so ubiquitous in Asia. When he raised his voice to Siam and pointed back down the seat, I knew that we had been re-assigned. We headed back down the street. There were bodies pressed into every angle of my flesh. With each step away from the bank and down around the corner I could feel Dan started to fume more and more. When we arrived at the risers Siam indicated Dan lit into this seat-keeper angrily in Singhala. Siam put his hand on Dan’s shoulder to calm him down, indicating that there was nothing to be done. “Let’s just sit the hell down and out of this damn crowd,” I pleaded, and we took our seats.

I was relieved to be above the fray. As I looked out across the street I saw a familiar sight: an Anglican church with the windows painted over and a crooked neon cross at the top. “We are at Piava’s,” Dan stated bluntly. “We are on the goddamn risers that they were building the other night with the table saw.”
“Wow,” I said, awestruck by the irony. “You just can’t make this shit up. You know that someone screwed Malik, he would never do this to us.”
“I know, I know,” Dan replied, dejected. “This is toward the end, the dancers are tired and some of the torches and things have gone out,” he finished.

Soon after we sat down three confused older British couples took the row in front of us. I watched in disbelief as they asked the seat-keeper when their 5 course meal would begin. “No meal.” He told them.
“But you see, we were told that there was to be a 5 course meal, starting when we sat down,” one of the gentlemen tried to patiently explain.
“No meal,” the seat-keeper repeated and walked away.
“I just can’t believe it,” one of the women exclaimed, “this was meant to be our special meal!”
“yes, and weren’t we supposed to be at the Hatton Bank?” Another woman enquired of her husband.
“Yes, yes, quite right,” he mused.

I returned my attention to the street. I noticed pairs of teenage girls in retro-nursing smocks walking down the street itself, on the other side of the crowd-control barrier. They were the only people allowed on the street besides the police. One girl carried a shopping bag with the “Panadol” logo on the side and the other carried a jug of water that resembled a plastic gas-can. Panadol is the local term for Tylenol. One girl would reach into the bag as the other would pour a little paper cup of water. I watched in fascination as they delivered Panadol up and down the street until the parade itself began.

Once the Perahera began it did not disappoint. Hundreds of dancers, flag bearers, men carrying torches, self-muliators with hooks in their backs, men walking on stilts, and men wielding cartwheels of fire paraded past interspersed between 50 costumed elephants. About half of the elephants’ costumes were covered in Christmas lights powered by a battery behind the elephants head just in front of the mahout.

The perahera lasted two hours. When it was over the barriers were cracked and pedestrians flooded the street. No buses, no cars, no three-wheeler drivers shouting and honking. There was plenty of space for everyone on the street, Dan and I walked side by side, hand in hand, a rare treat for us walking in public. “That was pretty amazing,” I commented, “you don’t see that everyday.”
“I’m glad you liked it. I guess there was till plenty and fire and dancing from our seats,” Dan replied as we walked together up the middle of the main road toward the lake.