Sitha Atharaman Wela Lyrics by Indika Prasad

My mind is stranded in a cruel, scorching summer
Not a single rain cloud anywhere in sight
Even though my heart was shaken by what I saw that day in a dream
I have no sorrow, O Chandakinnara (mythical bird-maiden)

The threshing floor where the harvest was heaped has dried up
I have no heart to carry it home, it has gone to waste lying there
Without even singing, the song drifts to me on the gentle breeze
The little birds have come calling, the small ones have arrived

It is not that I am measuring my steps, my feet just rise along the path
Life has gone flat, as if the world has come to a stop
There is nothing left for me to think about, O birds, nothing in my heart
You too, fly away to the sky, do not stay, take off and go

A man stands in the middle of a parched, burnt-out landscape, and so does his heart. The opening lines say it plainly: his mind is stranded in a harsh, dry summer with no rain cloud anywhere in sight. In Sinhala song the dry season and the absent rain cloud are the standing image for a soul that has gone empty, no relief coming, nothing to soften the heat of grief. He even says that although something he saw in a dream that day shook him, he feels no sorrow now. That is not peace. It is the numbness that comes after a person has been worn past the point of feeling.

The second verse turns to the village and the harvest, the surest picture of plenty a Sri Lankan listener knows. The threshing floor where the grain was once piled high has dried out, and he has no heart even to bring it home, so it just lies there going to waste. A full harvest should be the happiest sight in the world, and here he cannot make himself care about it. That is how completely the life has drained out of him. Then the little birds come, the ones that would usually flock to a threshing floor to feed, and a song drifts to him on the breeze without anyone singing it. He addresses a Chandakinnara, the kinnara of old Sinhala myth, a half-bird, half-human being known for its sweet song, almost as if calling out to beauty itself from inside his emptiness.

The last verse is the quiet, heavy heart of the song. He says he is not even choosing where to walk anymore, his feet simply move along the path on their own. The world feels like it has stopped, and life has gone flat and tasteless. There is nothing left in his mind to hold on to. So he turns to the birds and tells them to fly away, up into the sky, not to stay here, to take off and go. It is a gentle, devastating line. The threshing floor is bare, the man has nothing to offer, and he cannot bear for the birds to wait around for something he can no longer give. Sending them off is the closest thing he has left to a kindness, and it is also the sound of a person letting go of everything.

What stays with you is that resignation, told without a single raised voice. The dried harvest, the rainless sky, the birds waved away to the open air, all of it says the same thing in the soft language of village life: the heart has been emptied out, and all that is left to do is release what little remains.