Anna Balan Sanda Ran Thetiyen Lyrics by Noorthi Gee

Look there, behold the moon through the golden branches
The white, cool river flowing
Soothing the sorrow burning in the heart

Sandalwood shoots, the koel’s singing music spreading //

Within this lovely forest is our bedchamber //
Speaking words of love..
the two of us bathing in the moonlight

With watery hands the loving trees lean and lean together in tenderness
The creepers and vines come rustling close

Flowers bloom, nectar flows, carried on the drifting wind

In this canopied hall where I dance softly //

You sit gently, half resting…
my ever loving lord

This is a tender, old-fashioned love song set deep in a moonlit forest, sung by a woman to the man she loves, the one she calls “maa saamine,” my lord. There is nothing modern or restless about it. It moves slowly, like a quiet night, and every image she reaches for comes straight out of classical Sinhala poetry, where nature itself becomes the language of love.

She opens by pointing: look there, see the moon coming through the golden branches. In Sinhala song the moon is the steady image of calm, cooling beauty, light that soothes the dark rather than dazzles, so right away the mood she is setting is gentle and peaceful, not feverish. The river she describes is white and cool, and as it flows it quietly washes away the sorrow that had been burning in the heart. Water here is comfort. The night, the moon and the stream together cool a heart that had been aching.

Then she fills the forest with sound and scent, and this is the heart of the song. Sandalwood shoots, the koel calling out its music, flowering trees that “lean and lean together” as though they too were lovers reaching for one another, creepers and vines rustling close, blossoms opening and their nectar drifting on the breeze. None of this is just scenery. In the old poetic style she is making the whole forest mirror the two of them, the leaning trees, the entwined creepers and the spreading fragrance are nature falling in love alongside the couple, and the forest becomes their private bedchamber, their “yahana gaba.” It is an intimate scene drawn entirely in flowers, moonlight and birdsong, which is how classical Sinhala lyric speaks of closeness without ever being coarse.

By the end she places the two of them inside a “mandapaye,” a canopied hall or pavilion, where she dances softly while he sits resting and watching, gentle and content. The picture she leaves you with is of devotion and ease, a woman who has found peace beside the man she loves, the burning sorrow of the first lines now cooled, the whole forest blooming around them in answer to their love.