Before You See It, You Hear It: What the Esala Perahera  Means to Me

Before you see the Esala Perahera, you hear it.

The drums roll through Kandy. Whips crack against the road. Bells ring. Firelight moves through the streets. The noise seems to bounce off the hills, growing louder as the procession draws closer.

By the final nights, the whole city reaches fever pitch.

People wait for hours along the route. Families gather. Children sit on shoulders. The streets are filled with smoke, colour, music and anticipation.

Growing up in Kandy, the Perahera was not simply an event that happened once a year. You felt it coming. The city changed around it.

I grew up Christian, so I do not want to write as if this was my own religious ceremony. But it was part of the rhythm of the place I called home.

The Perahera belonged to Kandy, and Kandy belonged to all of us.

What is the Esala Perahera?

The Kandy Esala Perahera is one of Sri Lanka’s most important religious and cultural festivals.

It is centred on the 'Dalada Maligawa', known in English to us as the Temple of the Tooth. The temple stands beside the Kandy Lake and houses a tooth believed to be a sacred relic of the Lord Buddha. The Perahera honours the Sacred Tooth Relic and asks for blessings for the people and the country. Its history is also connected to prayers for timely rain, a good harvest and prosperity. (sridaladamaligawa.lk)

The Tooth Relic itself remains safely inside the temple. A ceremonial casket associated with the Relic is carried through the streets as the spiritual centre of the procession on the back of a beautifully adorned elephant. (lankalibrary.com)

What are we celebrating?

It is difficult to explain the Perahera by listing its individual parts.

Yes, there are dancers.

There are drummers, fire performers, musicians, flag bearers and generations of families who have preserved these traditions.

But the Perahera is not simply a performance.

For Buddhist devotees, it is an act of worship and an offering. It honours the Buddha through the Sacred Tooth Relic. It asks for protection and blessing. It connects the present city to its royal and spiritual past.

It is also a celebration of Kandyan culture.

The dancing is not there merely to entertain a crowd. The drumming is not background noise. The music, movement and costume carry knowledge that has been passed down over generations.

When the procession comes through the streets, the city feels enormous and intimate at the same time.

You are one person in a vast crowd, but you are also standing inside a living part of Sri Lankan history.

The fever pitch of Kandy

My strongest memory of the Perahera is the sheer intensity of it.

The sound is physical.

The drums enter your chest. The crack of the whips makes you jump, even when you know it is coming. The heat from the fire feels sharper against the night air.

There is incense. There is smoke. There are lights everywhere.

People lean forward as the procession approaches. Every gap in the crowd closes. Conversations become shouts because nobody can hear anything properly.

Then, for a moment, the excitement changes into reverence.

Hands come together. Heads bow. The sacred casket passes.

That contrast is part of what makes the Perahera so powerful. It moves between spectacle and stillness, noise and devotion, celebration and prayer.

It is Kandy at its loudest.

The part I can no longer celebrate

There is also a part of the Perahera that I find increasingly difficult to accept.

The elephants.

Elephants have occupied a significant place in Sri Lankan royal, religious and cultural life for centuries. Temple ownership of elephants is not seen as unusual in Sri Lanka. It is an established part of the system surrounding religious processions.

Elephants are treated as symbols of dignity, strength, wisdom and sacred importance. Playing a vital role in most ceremonial occasions.

But reverence does not automatically create good welfare.

I find it hard to look at an elephant covered in lights and heavy ceremonial clothing, walking through crowds, noise, fire and heat, and see only beauty.

I love what the Perahera represents. I love the dancers, the drummers, the craft, the devotion and the way the city comes alive.

But I do not believe elephants should have to carry the weight of our tradition.

Loving a tradition enough to change it

Culture has never been completely still. Traditions survive because people continue to interpret them, protect them and, when necessary, change them.

I want the elephants to be replaced.

Not the dancing. Not the drumming. Not the sacred casket. Not the devotion.

The elephants.

What replaces them should be created thoughtfully by Sri Lankan people, including temple communities, artists, craftspeople and those who understand the sacred meaning of the procession.

It could be an illuminated ceremonial platform carried by people. It could draw on Sri Lanka’s traditions of lantern-making, sculpture, textiles, light and movement. It could become another expression of our extraordinary craftsmanship.

The answer should come from within the culture. 

Change may be uncomfortable. That does not make it disrespectful.

Sometimes change is how respect grows.

A different responsibility towards captive elephants

We also have to acknowledge that removing elephants from processions would not immediately solve the question of elephants already living in captivity.

They still require food, land, specialist medical care and experienced people to look after them.

This is why organisations such as the Millennium Elephant Foundation, near Kegalle, are important to the conversation.

The foundation works with captive Asian elephants, including elephants previously kept by private owners and temples. Its model includes covering food, medical care and mahout salaries when elephants are relocated to its sanctuary. As of 2026, it cares for six elephants with a team of 10 mahouts on a 15-acre estate. (millenniumelephantfoundation.com)

It is not the same as returning a wild elephant to the wild. That is not always possible for an animal that has spent its life in captivity.

But it places rescue, rehabilitation, education and long-term care at the centre.

For elephants already in captivity, our responsibility should be to give them the best life possible. It should not be to find another way for them to perform.

Where food enters the story

A celebration in Sri Lanka is never only about what happens in the street.

It continues around the table.

While the Perahera filled Kandy with noise, light and movement, food brought everyone back together.

There was always tea. There were things to nibble while waiting. There were meals prepared before the roads became crowded and families returned home late.

Food carries memory in a quieter way.

A drumbeat disappears into the night. A procession moves on. But the smell of spices roasting in a kitchen can take you back to a place years later.

Sri Lankan food is a rich culinary tapestry woven from Malay, Indian and Dutch influences, characterised by roasted, blended spices, coconut and bold flavours.

But it is also shaped by the island’s regions, religions, seasons and communities.

Kandy has its own rhythm. The hills, the rain, the markets, the temple, the lake and the people all form part of it.

This is why our work at Little Big Flavour Kits is about more than putting spices into a box.

I want people to understand the place behind the food.

I want them to know why Sri Lankan spices are roasted and blended in particular ways. I want them to understand that our food is tied to history, migration, faith, family and landscape.

Most of all, I want to share Sri Lanka honestly.

That means celebrating what is beautiful without pretending that every tradition is beyond question.

Aliza x