Marambari Lyrics by Edward Jayakody

Proud one,
that playful smile you let slip from your lips
sets my heart spinning, drives me out of my mind.
You who shaped me, my blessed one, forever,
proud one.

In my heart a swarm of bees rises up in a rage over the pollen,
seeking the wine of desire from your flower of a mouth.
In my heart a swarm of bees rises up…
Ah….. ah….. ah……
In my heart a swarm of bees rises up in a rage over the pollen,
seeking the wine of desire from your flower of a mouth.
Quench that thirst…

Proud one,
that playful smile you let slip from your lips
sets my heart spinning, drives me out of my mind.
You who shaped me, my blessed one, forever,
proud one.

Casting golden rays of light, turning your eyes my way,
put out, my girl, this endless torment of the heart.
Pa ni sa ri
Pa ni sa ga
Ni sa ga pa ni sa ni pa ga sa ni
Pa ni ri sa sa ga
Pa ni ni sa ga ri ri ri ga ri pa ma ga ri sa ni
Ma ga sa ni
Casting golden rays of light, turning your eyes my way,
put out, my girl, this endless torment of the heart.
Giving light like the moon…

Proud one,
that playful smile you let slip from your lips
sets my heart spinning, drives me out of my mind.
You who shaped me, my blessed one, forever,
proud one.

A young man is caught up in a woman who knows exactly how lovely she is and carries herself with a certain pride. He calls her marambari, which means a proud or haughty beauty, and there is no resentment in the word, only helpless admiration. One small, teasing smile from her is all it takes to throw his whole mind off balance, and the song is him standing there undone by it, half worshipping her and half begging her to take pity.

The lyric reaches for old, ornate imagery, the kind classical Sinhala songwriting loves. The strongest picture is the swarm of bees inside his heart. In Sinhala poetry the bee, drawn helplessly to a flower for its nectar, is the standard image of a lover drawn to a beautiful woman. Here he turns it up a notch: the bees are not just buzzing, they rise in a rage over the pollen, restless and frantic, and what they want is the wine of desire from her mouth, which he describes as a flower. So the buzzing in his chest is really his own craving, and only she can settle it. When he sings quench that thirst, he is asking her to end the longing she herself stirred up.

The second movement leans on the moon. He pleads with her to turn her eyes toward him and cast their golden light his way, and then says outright that her eyes give light like the moon. In Sinhala song the moon is the image of a calm, cooling beauty, light that soothes the dark rather than burns. So when he asks her to put out this endless torment of the heart, he means her glance itself is the cure, one soft look from her could quiet everything churning inside him.

In the middle of all this the singer breaks into pure sargam, the sa-ni-pa-ga solfège syllables of the melody sung as music rather than words. It is a flourish of voice, the song showing off and savouring its own tune, the way classical and semi-classical Sinhala pieces often do. What the listener is left with is that ache of wanting someone who holds all the power, a proud, lovely woman whose smallest smile can unmake a man, and his quiet hope that she will finally look his way and end the spell she cast.