In the cloudy green hills
A darkened cave
Awaits the one pre-destined
To break the spell of silence
Entwined, with vines, across the door
That leads to a timeless valley
Of mist and sun and rain.
And in the valley, the lush green valley
Lies the Demon-King
Waiting, sleeping
For the one who will wake him
And bring him back
In his country’s hour of need.

The sun rose through the mist and glinted off the carriage winding through the Balana Pass. Mandeville leaned out of the window and realized that it was the weather that was making him homesick. The carriage ran over a small bridge spanning a clear mountain and Mandeville caught a glimpse of a herd of deer running away. He saw Adam’s Peak rising up above the plain. A light rain sprang up and Mandeville inhaled the smell, feeling it spread through his body. He looked ahead and saw the brand-new but as yet unfinished Colombo-Kandy road curling round the hillside. 
The carriage stopped at Kandy, and Mandeville got out to stretch his legs. “Mandeville! Fancy meeting you here.  I thought you were permanently in Colombo now?” someone slapped him painfully on the back and laughed jovially.
It was a certain Captain Nicholson, who had led the defence of the Balana Pass in the 1818 Uprising. He was a very hearty man, with a red face, enormous whiskers and a rifle slung across his back.
Mandeville winced. “Haha, yes. As a matter of fact, I had sunstroke and I’m going to this small village near Bandarawela to recover.”
“Very good, very good. I’m headed that way myself. Thought I could get in some shooting while taking in the races. How’s that museum or whatever coming along?”
“Oh, it’s good. I’m actually combining business with pleasure and looking into some things here.” Mandeville smiled.
“Splendid! We can travel together in that case. This your carriage?” He swung aboard. Mandeville looked after him and sighed.  There was a long journey ahead of him.
Mandeville watched the Bandarawela stop drawing up. There were roses and other such flowers growing in gay profusion around the place. It was like England, yet not quite, in a nice way. He suddenly realized that Nicholson was still talking. “…and then of course the leopard jumped and the native ran because all natives are cowardly, and I shot him twice-“ “The leopard or the native?” Mandeville asked, uncharitably. “The leopard of course. Anyway, then- we’re here, aren’t we? Let’s get off.”
They stepped out of the carriage. Quite a few people were at the stop. “Ah, the fresh air of Bandar- Bandarala!” Mandeville looked at him. “How long have you been here in Ceylon?” he asked.
“Close on ten years!” Nicholson said proudly. Mandeville wondered what kind of man could live in a country for ten years and not be able to pronounce its place names properly. Meanwhile, Nicholson had not stopped talking. “…and of course I said no, since Maitland put that silly rule that all government servants must speak Sinhalese or Tamil- I mean, fiddlesticks! It’s completely irrelevant!”
What a terrible bore he is, Mandeville thought, when he had finally shaken Nicholson off. He collected his luggage and hired a cart to take him to his destination.
“Could you please take me to Ravana Ella?” he asked the carter.
“Sir, there isn’t a place like that. You must have heard wrong.” The carter said.
“No. Ravana Ella. It’s a waterfall.” Mandeville said.
“I gathered that, sir. It’s a legend though. There isn’t really a place like that. I can take you to see the other waterfalls though, sir.”
“I tell you, it does exist! A man in Colombo said so. Oh, never mind! I’ll find it myself.” Mandeville walked off, and realized with a pang that he had sounded just like Nicholson.
He was sitting in the rest house drinking tea an hour later when the carter reappeared. “Sir, I found out about it! There’s a waterfall two miles from here that’s supposed to be Ravana Ella, no one is too sure about it but I could take you there to see.”
Mandeville felt happy but also embarrassed. He had been rude to the man and he had still taken the trouble to find out about this legendary waterfall. He bought the carter lunch.
They left town and made their way through the hill paths.
“Do you know anything more about the legends?” Mandeville asked.
“My grandfather believes it to be true.” The carter replied, obviously only too pleased to converse. “He said Ravana hid there with Sita while Hanuman ravaged the city looking for them. Ravana’s treasures are supposed to be hidden there.”
“Hmmm….”said Mandeville. “The cave is supposed to be behind the waterfall?”
“Yes. It’s a good thing you came now, sir, because it hasn’t rained for some time so the waterfalls are small.”
They reached the waterfall and stood, silently contemplating it. “I’ve got to get down there, next to those rocks.” Mandeville said, pointing near the base of the falls.
The carter looked worried. “Sir, it may be dangerous.”
Mandeville paused for effect before answering. “I like danger,” he lied.
They made their way down the rocks to the pool at the bottom of the falls.
It was bigger up close and Mandeville began having misgivings about this episode. The waterfall seemed to have the opposite effect on the carter, however. “Sir! Look here! I think we could crawl in from this side.”
The place indicated by the carter seemed to be the best place to get in. A rock protruded from the side of the falls, creating a sort of shelter from the water. One would still get drenched, but the chances of being forced under by the water pressure were much less.
Mandeville pulled off his outer clothes and stuffed them in an oilskin raincoat. The carter was wearing fewer clothes so he just jumped in straightaway. They waded out to the middle of the pool and swam a bit towards the waterfall.
“There’s a shelf here, come to this side.’ Mandeville shouted above the splash of the waterfall. He stood on the rocky ledge just in front of the falls. The water came up to his waist. He could see inside now, through the break in the waterfall. The cave was pitch black.
He ducked under the sheet of water and then the world seemed strangely muffled. He could not hear the carter anymore. The light entering the cave was greeny and shimmery. The cave extended into the blackness.
In a moment the carter had joined him. Mandeville found his matches in his oilskin bundle and after putting his clothes on again, struck one. He had bought them in Colombo from a Chinese merchant who had sworn by them. He lit a candle.
“There is a cave! Maybe…” the carter’s voice trailed away.
Mandeville noticed something near the entrance and took the candle over to see it. The whole vertical side of the entrance was carved like a pillar with intricate designs. The outer edge was worn away because of the water, but the inside was as sharp as if it had been carved yesterday. “The entrance…” Mandeville breathed. The patterns were old, older than the recently- found Anuradhapura carvings. The carter gave an exclamation. “Sir! A sandakadapahana!”
Mandeville turned. There, at the edge of the floor of the cave, just above the water, was a moonstone. It was made in the traditional half-circle shape but the animals featured on it were fantastic. There was a tall horse-like creature, an ugly-looking monkey and something that was unmistakably a lion.
Mandeville’s heart jumped in a pleasant way, and he turned to face the darkness. “Come on,” he said to the carter. “Let’s go find Ravana.”
They had been walking for around one hour when they came across some steps leading upwards. Before that there had been no sign of human work. Mandeville ascended the stairs, the carter following. At the top was an enormous door. It was carved and painted with beautiful colours. A big handle made of some yellow metal turned easily and let them in. Just to the right of the door was a tiny stone staircase leading to a sort of trapdoor in the ceiling. The tunnel went on. Mandeville began climbing the stairs. The carter noticed a huge wheel made of stone set in the wall. “Sir, shall I turn this?” he asked. “No,” Mandeville grunted, trying to lift the trapdoor. “No telling what might happen if you do.” He succeeded, and was hit by a gust of fresh air. Light poured in. “Where are we, sir?” the carter asked. “I think it’s the river that becomes the waterfall… Wait, I’m going up.” He climbed out, wedged a rock on the trapdoor so it wouldn’t shut, and began exploring.
The stream ran unobstructed to the edge of the cliff where the waterfall started. Mandeville returned to the trapdoor. “Try turning the wheel,” he advised the carter. A loud creaking noise came from the river, and Mandeville ran to its bank to in time to see two big blocks of stone emerging slowly from opposite ends of the bank like two enormous sea monsters. They stopped moving when both were about a foot out of the banks. “I can’t turn it anymore, sir!” the carter shouted. Mandeville jumped down the stairs. “Go on up and see it! They must have used them to dam up the river so that Ravana could pass without inconvenience! I’ll close it again, you watch.”
When the carter came back, suitably impressed, they set off once more, now using the third candle.
Soon they came to another door, this one smaller and undecorated. It appeared to be locked, but its wood was flimsy and they soon broke it down. The candle spread its rays on a sight that left both men speechless. Rich tapestries covered the walls, their colours still glowing, and golden statuettes were positioned in niches in walls. A low, cushioned couch and several tables stood around. Mandeville realized that the first heavy door kept out damp and thus might have contributed to the remarkable state of preservation all the objects in the room seemed to enjoy. They wandered around the room, avoiding contact with the furniture. One tapestry depicted a war between the Yakshayas and the Nagas. Another showed a festival in a city.
Mandeville saw another heavy door at the end of the room. Motioning the carter towards it, he stepped through and saw a stretch of tunnel, opening onto daylight.
As they approached the end of the tunnel, a green valley became distinguishable. ‘What is this valley?” Mandeville asked. The carter shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. I’ve never seen it or heard of one like it.”
They stood at the mouth of the tunnel, looking down. A flight of stone steps, now crumbling, led down the mountain into the valley. Other mountains towered round it. An enormous hawk flew past them and wheeled away. Far below them a flock of parakeets burst screaming from the treetops. A sparkling river ran through the valley, and at the far end, Mandeville caught sight of something that looked like a building. It was white and spires rose up into the blue sky. “What is that?” he asked, pointing and turning to the carter. What he saw over the carter’s shoulder, however, killed all further speech. He stared.
From where they were standing, the whole valley could be seen. It was obvious that only a mountain goat could get down to the valley without using the stairs, since the mountainside was almost vertical at that point.
However, Mandeville was staring because he could distinctly make out little, humanoid figures climbing towards them. They appeared not to have seen the men, and Mandeville pointed them out to the carter without making too much noise. “Who are they?” he breathed softly. The carter turned as pale as he could. “Nittaewo,” he said, at last. “The tiny, supposedly extinct, early specimens of primitive human?” Mandeville asked. 
“With poison darts,” the carter replied. “Great!” said Mandeville. “I love a challenge. Would we stand a chance if we went down into the valley?”
“No,” said the carter. “They could climb down far faster. They’re supposed to be averse to water, though, so our best chance is to return along the tunnel.”
Mandeville scowled. “I want to see the palace or whatever!” he said, irritated. “We can come back later, sir. I don’t fancy our chances against such a horde of them.” The carter said. The Nittaewo were very close now, and would soon see or smell them. “Let’s go!” the carter said, urgently. He went into the tunnel. Mandeville stubbornly stayed outside, and was taking a last long look at the shining white palace far away when angry screams alerted him to his danger. The Nittaewo had seen him! Their screams brought out hordes more from the trees below, and all began converging on the tunnel’s mouth with frightening speed. Mandeville turned and ran.
As he passed the first door it slammed behind him and he saw the carter shoving the couch against it. He helped him pile the other furniture against the door, and then, stopping only to grab a golden statuette, continued their headlong rush. They leapt through the remnants of the broken door. They passed the mechanism to dam the river, leapt down the stairs and slammed the last door behind them. They eventually reached the waterfall. The sounds of pursuit had died down, or maybe were drowned out by the sound of the water. 
They lost no time in ducking out of the waterfall, swimming and wading out of the pool, and gaining the comparative safety of the cart. The carter sent his bullock lumbering at its fastest speed away from Ravana Ella. Mandeville sent up a silent prayer of thanks and resolved to return with a gun. But when he tried to, he couldn’t find even the waterfall.
If you find the Demon-King’s valley
But left ere he awoke
Then turn away, traveler,
And seek him no more
For it is not for you
That the spell will break.