Siripade Samanala Kanda Pene Lyrics (සීරී පාදේ සමනල කන්ද පෙනේ) by Vincent De Paul Peiris

From Sri Pada, Samanala mountain comes into view,
the light of Saman’s city.
With my heart laid bare I look out over the great forest,
where white silver peaks meet the eye…//

In that great courtyard, the lotus blooms of the Sacred Footprint,
people come worshipping, calling out “Sadhu.”//
A sound is heard from that lonely wilderness,
on this holy full-moon day..
on this holy full-moon day..//
Grace be upon us, O Lord of the gods…
this Saman, king among deities..//
A sound is heard from that lonely wilderness,
on this holy full-moon day…
on this holy full-moon day..

From Sri Pada, Samanala mountain comes into view…///

This is a devotional song about Sri Pada, the sacred mountain in central Sri Lanka that Buddhists revere as the site of the Sacred Footprint (Sri Pada means “sacred foot”). The peak is also called Samanala Kanda, the mountain of butterflies, and it sits under the protection of god Saman, one of the island’s guardian deities. The song stands at the foot of the mountain and takes in the sight of it, the way a pilgrim does after a long climb through the dark.

The opening sets the scene at dawn. The singer looks out and sees Samanala mountain rise into view, lit by what the lyric calls “the light of Saman’s city,” the glow over the deity’s holy ground. With his heart open, he gazes across the vast forest below, where the white silver peaks catch the first light. Anyone who has climbed Sri Pada through the night to reach the summit by sunrise knows this exact moment, the whole country spread out beneath you in pale silver.

The heart of the song is the worship itself. In the great courtyard at the summit, pilgrims gather at the Sacred Footprint, which the lyric calls “lotus blooms,” the footprint imagined as a flower, the way sacred things are often pictured as lotuses in Sinhala devotion. The pilgrims bow and call out “Sadhu,” the word of blessing and reverence raised together at holy moments. All of this happens on a poya, the full-moon day, the most sacred time for such worship, and the line repeats it because the day itself is what makes the climb holy. Out of that lonely mountain wilderness, what the lyric calls the “gantara,” a sound carries, the murmur of chanting and devotion drifting across the empty heights.

The song closes by turning directly to the deity, asking for grace from Saman, the king among the gods who watches over the mountain. What you are left with is not longing or romance but a quiet, lifted feeling, the peace of having climbed all night to stand at a sacred place at first light, and the sense of belonging to something far older than yourself.