Sambula

Love became a habit given up,
another mistake in this life,
kissing the heart, a sigh soothes it,
without ever asking, right or wrong

On the day the moon-spot became a blemish,
this new-moon night is nothing strange,
we simply went dark, but we never once put the lamp out ourselves,
not even a single time,
my lord, I am Sambula…

Even if a kiss, or a spoken word,
or a gift, was never given,
let us stay, then, on the two sides of the bed,
without it being a fault in the eyes of the world,
my lord, I am Sambula….

A quietly heartbreaking song of a long-suffering, devoted wife, who names herself after Sambula, the faithful queen of the Sambula Jataka, an emblem of wifely loyalty through hardship. Love, she says, has become a habit given up, another of life’s mistakes, and yet she soothes her own heart with a sigh and a kiss, never even asking whether it is right or wrong. She endures without complaint.

The imagery turns on the moon. When the moon-spot became a blemish, when the beauty of the marriage was marred, she shrugs that this new-moon darkness is nothing new to her; and, in the song’s tenderest line, we simply went dark, but we never once chose to put out the lamp ourselves, they drifted into coldness, but she never willingly extinguished the love. My lord, I am Sambula, she says, I remain faithful.

The close accepts a loveless marriage with heartbreaking grace. Even if he never gave her a kiss, a kind word, or a gift, then let us at least stay, she says, on the two sides of the same bed, keeping up the marriage without it being a fault in the eyes of the world, for duty, for appearances. My lord, I am Sambula. Sung by Natasha Gunathilake, composed by Tharindu Damsara to words by Deepika Perera, it is a moving song about a wife’s silent, dignified endurance of a marriage emptied of tenderness, holding on out of loyalty alone.