After a hectic weekend climbing Dolukanda and visiting the haunting forest ruins of Ritigala, the drive back to Colombo needed one final stop. We were somewhat refreshed from the excellent full body massages the evening before, but our legs still carried the ache of two mountains, too little sleep, and far too many hours on rough trails. Yet somehow, instead of heading home, we found ourselves turning once again into thick forest toward Arankele Monastery.

And unexpectedly, this became the place that tied the entire weekend together.

Unlike the dramatic ruins of Ritigala or the exposed summit of Dolukanda, Arankele hides itself quietly beneath dense forest canopy. There are no crowds here. No towering dagobas announcing its significance from miles away. No elaborate shrines drawing pilgrims. Just silence, winding pathways, enormous trees, and ruins slowly dissolving back into the jungle.

For nearly two hours, our guide Upul walked us through the ruins with astonishing knowledge and enthusiasm, slowly transforming what first appeared to be scattered stones into a remarkably sophisticated monastic complex.

Near the entrance lies the remains of a jantaghara, an ancient medicinal hot water bath used by the monks. At first glance it appears unremarkable, just another cluster of stone ruins disappearing into the forest floor, but Upul explains how these baths played an important role in monastic life. Heated herbal water would have been prepared here for therapeutic bathing, helping monks recover from illness, fatigue, and the physical strain of forest living. After an exhausting weekend of climbing mountains ourselves, the idea of weary ascetics soaking in herbal baths deep within this isolated forest suddenly felt surprisingly relatable.

The deeper we walked, the quieter everything became. Creepers twisted around ancient stonework. Sunlight filtered through thick canopy in broken shafts. Birds called somewhere high above us while dry leaves crackled softly underfoot. It felt less like entering an archaeological site and more like stepping into a forgotten world.

But this tranquil landscape was never intended as a place of leisure.

Arankele was once one of Sri Lanka’s most important forest monasteries, believed to date back over 2,000 years to the Anuradhapura period (8th-10th BC). It was associated with the Pansukulika monks, an austere sect of Buddhist ascetics known as the “rag-robe wearers.” These monks rejected comfort entirely, wearing robes stitched from discarded cloth and retreating deep into forests and mountains to devote themselves fully to meditation and discipline.

Suddenly, the connection between Dolukanda, Ritigala, and Arankele became impossible to ignore. All three landscapes formed part of an ancient spiritual wilderness where monks deliberately withdrew from society in search of solitude, hardship, and enlightenment.

The most striking structures are the famous double platforms, found mainly at Arankele and Ritigala. Massive raised stone platforms connected by a central stone bridge, they were constructed with almost obsessive simplicity. No decorative carvings. No elaborate guardstones. No ornamentation whatsoever. Everything reflects the Pansukulika rejection of excess. Surrounding water channels may even have helped regulate temperature, naturally cooling the structures within the forest heat.

Elsewhere, meditation promenades wind silently through the jungle. These pathways were designed specifically for walking meditation, complete with gradual inclines, carefully placed steps, and circular stone-paved turning points so monks could walk in deep concentration without colliding with one another.

Beside the ancient stone ponds of Arankele Monastery, Upul pauses and begins reciting a story in an old verse form, his voice rising and falling rhythmically through the forest. The words seem to belong to the landscape itself, echoing softly beneath the trees and standing there listening, surrounded by still ponds and weathered stone, it feels less like a guided tour and more like the monastery briefly remembering its own past.

Stone-lined ponds still hold water centuries later. Some were used for bathing, others for storing water. Ancient wells within the complex continue functioning even today, still used by monks residing nearby. The engineering throughout the monastery is astonishingly practical, from intricate drainage systems to perfectly cut granite slabs fitted together with startling precision.

And then there are the famous urinal stones.

Oddly, these appear to be among the only decorative features in the entire complex. Carved directly into stone with carefully designed drainage channels, they reveal how advanced the monastery’s sanitation systems were for the time. Scholars believe the subtle ornamentation may even have carried symbolic meaning, quietly mocking the elaborate rituals and architectural excesses embraced by more orthodox monasteries elsewhere. Standing beside this, listening to Upul explain the cleansing rituals and practices associated with these spaces, the entire group becomes completely absorbed. He describes the routines and discipline of monastic life with such passion and detail that the ruins suddenly feel alive again, no longer abandoned stone structures, but part of a functioning monastery from another era.

Perhaps most fascinating is what Arankele does not contain.

There are no giant stupas. No image houses. No elaborate shrines around sacred Bo trees. Everything here reflects restraint, simplicity, and inward focus. This was a monastery designed not for ceremony, but for withdrawal from the world entirely.

Which is why the modern temple now looming within the complex feels so painfully out of place. Bright, imposing, oversized, and garish, it completely disrupts the understated beauty and quiet dignity of Arankele. In a place defined by silence and simplicity, the newer additions feel intrusive and deeply disconnected from the philosophy the monastery once represented.

But thankfully, the forest still wins.

The deeper parts of Arankele remain untouched by noise. The silence returns quickly. And as we finally leave the monastery behind and begin the long drive back to Colombo, the entire weekend suddenly feels connected. Dolukanda, Ritigala, and Arankele are no longer just separate places pinned on a map, but fragments of Sri Lanka’s forgotten monastic wilderness, still hidden quietly beneath forest, stone, and time.

The Arankele Forest Monastery can be reached along the Colombo– Kurunegala– Ibbagamuwa- Moragolla road.