A traveler captures a photo of the 140-foot golden statue of Lord Murugan, which stands guard before a 400-million-year-old limestone massif and the steep, 272-step staircase leading up to Batu Caves.
The scorching midday heat felt almost unbearable—my eyes watered and my skin fried the moment I stepped out of the shade. While groups of people went straight for the rainbow-colored stairs, my feet stood firmly planted on the ground, debating whether to make the climb or not. Devout locals and restless travelers were constantly moving across the courtyard—dodging me as I stood frozen in front of the enormous, 140-foot golden statue of Lord Murugan—eager to summit the grand Hindu sanctuary before me. Why would anyone choose to face the wrath of Malaysia’s blistering sun and defy the heavy pull of gravity to visit this temple?
I needed to find out.
Before any more doubts could resurface, I took the first of the 272 steps up Batu Caves.
The iconic staircase of Batu Caves adorned with ornate Hindu statues and intricate motifs.
For over a century, this massive 400-million-year-old limestone massif has served as a sacred Hindu sanctuary and pilgrimage site for Malaysia’s Tamil community. During the full moon in the Tamil month of Thai, dedicated pilgrims alongside visitors from all over the world gather to honor Lord Murugan, the Hindu deity of war, wisdom, and victory. The electric and pain-defying rituals of the Thaipusam festival call for devotees—many of whose prayers had been granted—to walk barefoot for several kilometers and summit the Temple Cave, often carrying various kinds of offerings to honor their vows. On any given day, however, it acts as the colorful heart of Tamil Hinduism in Malaysia, where devotees pray and present their tokens of devotion to the revered deity.
The climb was a test of endurance. A few people glided up like it was nothing, while others—like me—gasped for air as bullets of sweat dripped and soaked through our clothes. Along the way, a few local residents of the temple made their presence known with sharp hisses and fluid movements across the concrete banisters, awaiting their next victims. Fortunately for me (and unfortunately for them), by the time I passed by, the aggressive long-tailed macaques had already targeted people to harass, snatching hats, scarves, and other small items they could easily drag. Trying my best to ignore the chaos, I was met by a surprising and slightly intriguing sight: devotees climbing barefoot. It was nowhere near the Thaipusam festival and the sun had turned the concrete steps into a frying pan left on high—every step probably like walking on fire—yet, they pressed on.
The main cavern, where the Sri Velayuthar Temple sits beneath the limestone ceiling.
Trudging upward alongside them, I eventually reached the top, where my throat was as dry as a desert and my sunburnt skin begged for some relief. Fortunately, a drift of cool air welcomed me the moment I stepped into the cavern. I found a space in a damp, leaky corner, where I took a break and quenched my thirst, observing the constant ebb and flow of people. When I continued forward and readied myself to explore, I was instantly defeated by the sight in front of me: more stairs. A flight going down to the main hall and another climbing up to a higher shrine.
For the second time that day, I found myself frozen in my tracks and going through the stages of grief.
“What is this?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I think it’s fine I stop here. I’m inside. I can already say I’ve been here.”
Then again—“I’ll probably regret it if I don’t see this through.”
“You know what? I’m already sweaty, exhausted, and a little dazed from the heat—what are a few more stairs?”
A glimpse of the glowing interior of Sri Velayuthar Temple beside the staircase leading up to the Lord Murugan Temple.
The main cavern, also called the Temple Cave or Cathedral Cave, was cool, damp, and vast, smelling faintly of burning incense mixed with that characteristic earthy scent unique to deep caves. Multiple light fixtures illuminated the damp limestone walls, casting a glow just bright enough to not overwhelm the hushed reverence that settled over this Hindu sanctuary. In the heart of the cavern sat the stunning Sri Velayuthar Temple, which mirrors the ornate and intricate designs of the stairs outside—its façade adorned with colorful Hindu statues and patterns. Around the hall, quieter rituals were also unfolding. A man, surrounded by people wearing an all white ensemble, sat on a red carpet, where others bowed before him, presenting offerings.
The colorful details and lighting fixtures of Sri Velayuthar Temple.
The final set of stairs, where the cave opened up to the sky and wild greenery spilled over the jagged limestone edges, led to the Lord Murugan Temple. As the main cavern continued to fill with devotees and visitors alike, this upper cavern offered not only a dramatic shift in lighting but also a distinct change in energy—a solemn and somewhat holy escape from the chaos below. Monkeys roamed this area as well, but unlike their aggressive brothers and sisters outside, the ones here seemed docile. Still, I kept my distance.
The staircase leading to the upper cavern, where Lord Murugan Temple stands.A long-tailed macaque distracted by something in the limestone cave walls.
After a few quiet moments, I finally made my way down. The sun was as fierce as it was earlier, but it didn’t take long before I reached the courtyard.
I never actually planned on going here—not today, and honestly, not anytime during my trip. I woke up that morning intent on spending my day drinking a warm cup of dirty matcha with oat milk in a cozy café somewhere, away from Southeast Asia’s blistering heat. But while lazing around my room, something inside forced me to get up and call a ride to this majestic limestone cave on the outskirts of Kuala Lumpur. I now understand why people brave the tyranny of the sun to visit this temple—you just have to be there to know why.
