A reverent hush falls over the already tranquil stupas as the sky turns turquoise, orange, then deep pink – the silence amplified somehow by the herringbone clouds stretching off over dusky mountains. Orange-robed monks pad quietly to and fro while sticks of incense smoulder in huge pots, wafting scented clouds upwards and turning the warm air above the Mahamevnawa Buddhist Monastery sweet. An entrancing mantra starts up over the PA and everyone freezes to appreciate this deeply spiritual moment, in this mountain monastery in the middle of the Sri Lankan jungle.
This, perhaps, is the single most serene and magical experience of my life … until the precise moment our five-year-old decides he wants his shoes back (we have left them at the entrance, as required when entering such a holy place) and has a meltdown. I swiftly whisk him out to the car park to allow my wife – and everyone else – a further few precious minutes of inner peace and calm.
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