Etharaka Thaniwela Lyrics by Kaveesha Kaviraj

Far across the sea, alone now, for the sake of poverty,
in the finest years of my life I am suffering
because, having been born, I cannot simply die,
I go on, filling my heart with a mountain of dreams

So that you may live long and thrive, free of sorrow,
Mother, without you I cannot be king tomorrow
may the thirty-three crore gods protect you
I am coming soon, Mother, to see you

Father, who wore out your body and life, who poured out your sweat,
you are my strength, you who gave me this heart of mine
you have surely suffered enough; what was ever left wanting?
do not grieve over this little while that I am away

When the streams and brooks, the paddy fields and lanes rise before me,
my chest loses its hold and my heart takes flight
the evening sermon heard from the rock-temple on the hill,
I hear it still, Mother, always, within me

Grown used, with the passing of time, to the city
filled with concrete buildings strange to my eyes,
yet, no different from the land where I was born,
I love, a crore times over, the country I live in today

You must feel a loneliness like mine, over there,
I long to take a kiss from you, my gem
because I must secure my little one’s tomorrow,
be patient, my darling, until I come home to the village

This is a migrant worker’s song, and it speaks for the countless Sri Lankans who leave home to labour abroad so their families can live. The singer is “far across the sea, alone, for the sake of poverty,” spending “the finest years of my life” in suffering. The most piercing line is his reason for carrying on: “because, having been born, I cannot simply die,” so instead he keeps going by “filling my heart with a mountain of dreams.”

The song is built as a series of tender messages home. To his mother he wishes long life free of sorrow, admits “without you I cannot be king tomorrow,” calls on “the thirty-three crore gods” to protect her, and promises, “I am coming soon to see you.” To his father, who “wore out your body and poured out your sweat,” he offers gratitude and comfort: you have suffered enough, do not grieve for the little while I am gone. And to his beloved waiting in the village, “my gem, my darling,” he sends longing and a plea for patience.

What makes it ache is the homesickness threaded through it. The moment “the streams, paddy fields and village lanes rise before him,” his heart “takes flight,” and he can still hear, always, “the evening sermon from the rock-temple on the hill.” He has grown used to the strange “city of concrete buildings,” and even loves it, yet nothing replaces home. He endures all of it for one reason, “to secure my little one’s tomorrow.” What the listener is left with is the quiet heroism of the worker abroad, sacrificing his own best years, far from mother, father and love, so that his child will have a better one.