Diwa Ra Gewenawa Lyrics by Athma Liyanage

Day and night go by
on the great road, my friend
amid the rough clatter
of clashing ox hooves

To see a little light
on this sorrowful road of life
to fill the bellies
of my wife and children
Pull on, Wairo
don’t grow lazy
just a little farther to go
toward Seilama

It is because merit is scarce
that we drive the bullock train
dreaming the dreams
of a life we have never seen
Wairo, in the midst
of your steady courage
the sweat that I pour out
turns into rupees

This is a working man’s song, sung by a tavalam-karaya, a bullock-cart carter, one of the humblest livelihoods in old Sri Lanka, hauling goods along the great roads. He addresses the road itself as “my friend” and lets us hear his whole world in a sound, “the rough clatter of clashing ox hooves.” Day and night simply pass, one road blurring into the next.

What lifts the song is the tenderness between the man and his ox, whom he calls by name, Wairo. He coaxes the tired animal on, “pull on, Wairo, don’t grow lazy, just a little farther,” the way a person speaks to a companion who is suffering alongside him. And the reason for all this endless travel is deeply human: to see “a little light” on a hard road, and above all to “fill the bellies of my wife and children.” He drives through the night so his family can eat.

The last verse carries a quiet, Buddhist-tinged acceptance of poverty, “it is because merit is scarce that we drive the bullock train,” as if this hard lot is simply his karma. Yet he still dreams “the dreams of a life he has never seen,” a better life just out of reach. The closing image gives the whole song its dignity: mixed with Wairo’s “steady courage,” the sweat he pours out “turns into rupees.” What the listener is left with is a moving portrait of labour and love, a poor man, his faithful ox, and the sweat that becomes bread for his children.