Mohini

As darkness falls, loneliness pours in
a girl with no one even to dress her
I never looked at your earrings
You are Mohini, I am Mahasona

By the wild scrubland you stood like fire
lovely woman, my life
Beyond the Bentara river no charm works, boys
every one of the women is a demon

In thick black darkness, girl, your flower withers
blood wet on the cheek, it shook the heart

My god, we walked the riverbank, wild
we watched those stars in the moonlight
when both cheeks flushed red, that too was wild
you won’t find a rough girl like you again

The infant..
at midnight..

It was I who gave the white saree
I who tied the wedding necklace
Don’t you remember me, Mohini?
I who changed the diapers
I who rocked the child to sleep
I am the good one, aren’t I, Mohini

This is a bitter, haunted song that reaches for Sri Lankan demon folklore to say something very human: I gave you everything and you forgot me. The man singing casts the woman as Mohini, the beautiful female spirit of Sinhala folklore who lures men to their ruin, and himself as Mahasona, the great graveyard demon. Calling them those names sets the whole song in a cursed, supernatural key.

The middle verses stay in that dark world. He remembers her standing by the wild scrubland like fire, calls her his life, then mutters the old folk line that beyond the Bentara river no charm works and every woman is a yakku, a demon. It is the language of a man who feels bewitched and betrayed, dressing his heartbreak up as a ghost story.

Then the last verse drops the folklore and the real grief shows through. It was I who gave the white saree, he says, I who tied the ran maale, the wedding necklace, I who changed the diapers and rocked the child to sleep. Don’t you remember me, Mohini? Underneath the demons is an ordinary, devastating complaint: a husband and father who did all the quiet, unglamorous work of love, now standing forgotten. The Mohini imagery is how he carries a hurt too big to say plainly.