Malaysia’s Batu Caves are home to temples, tourists and monkeys.
Statue of Lord Murugan
The Batu Caves are a place of big numbers. At their entrance is a 42m statue of Lord Murugan, a slightly paunchy, spear-welding deity – gleaming thanks to 300 litres of gold paint. The caves are thought to be 400 million years old and getting to them means climbing 272 steps. But surely the most impressive statistic belongs to the monkeys. My estimate is that there are a thousand of the buggers. Fine-boned and deceptively cute macaques, they are everywhere.
Home to Hindu temples, the caves are just north of Kuala Lumpur. Every year they become a focal point for Thaipusam in Malaysia, a festival that creates more big numbers – 1.3 million people made their way to the temples for celebrations in 2007. Thaipusam commemorates Lord Murugan receiving his spear. But in the West, the festival is best known for news footage of elaborately skewered devotees, pierced as a way of imploring Murugan for help. Pots of milk are attached to bodies by metal barbs. Some trudge up to the caves in shoes with soles of nails while others bear the kavadi, elaborate canopies that bristle with spikes.
Malaysia’s hothouse climate means those steps are onerous enough without self-inflicted injury, and an extra challenge is already presented by the monkeys. They pad about, baring their teeth at anyone who comes too close. While my partner was taking a photo, I dithered unsure of what to do when one crept up and placed a pink hand on either side of her bag, gently squeezing as he tried to work out what was inside.
“Umm, don’t worry, but …” I said, scared that a shout or a quick movement would antagonise the animal.
“What?” She stepped towards me, taking the bag out of the monkey’s reach. He wandered off disappointed that he hadn’t detected anything edible.
The main cave was immense and dim but for a shaft of daylight, its high stalactited ceiling rivalling any human architectural achievements.
Indian families bought incense and charms from a stall. Others worshipped at shrines built onto the rocks. One family – mum, dad, a boy and a little girl licking an ice cream – wandered past us on their way out, unaware a macaque was slyly padding behind. When they stopped to admire the view from the entrance, the monkey picked up speed. He jumped for the girl’s back, stretching a wiry arm toward her ice cream. She screamed. The monkey ran, chased by the girl’s brother, who sprinted after him, shouting.
A weary glance was the only reaction this got from a nearby stall owner, the man obviously unfazed by what must be a regular occurrence.
Above the main chamber is a second, smaller cave with steep walls leading to the sky. Grottos house even more shrines and at its centre is another brightly painted temple.
This area is also full of monkeys, and in our short time there we witnessed an attempted uprising. A dozen macaques came down from the walls and slowly advanced on the temple. They were close when a man came running out, swinging a long stick and striking it on the ground. He managed to deter a couple, but the rest pushed on, the group splitting in a classic pincer formation. The man fled back to the temple and re-emerged waving a flaming newspaper. It was only then that the monkeys retreated back to the walls, biding their time until the next attack. The man stood at the temple entrance, a fresh roll of newspaper at the ready.
Beneath the temple cave is another, the 2km-long Dark Cave. There is no religious significance to this cave. It is instead a naturalist’s paradise, home to a range of subterranean creatures: bats, insects and pale snakes.
But for us all this would have to be left to the imagination. Visits to the Dark Cave need to be prearranged to protect its fragile ecology. Without such an arrangement we had to content ourselves with observing the interactions of three other diverse species: the tourist, the devotee and the macaque.