Olu Pipila Wila Lela Denawa Lyrics by Sunil Santha

Water lilies have bloomed and sway across the lake, so white, fair little one
Shall we pick the lilies and string a garland, fair little one
Come, step down into the water with me… give me your hand, lily-girl
Picking lilies… stringing the garland… let’s wear our garlands

Off they go, playing at love along the shallows, the little fish, dear one
The little frogs go leaping up into view, calling out to us, dear one
Here, I’ve picked a flower… and there, that one is yours
Picking lilies… stringing the garland… let’s wear our garlands
Picking lilies… stringing the garland… let’s wear our garlands

I’m wading across to your side, but I feel shy, dear one
Let’s pick them slowly, slowly, why all this rushing, dear one
The white lilies bathe you in their glow, and your beauty only grows, my garland…
Picking lilies… stringing the garland… let’s wear our garlands
Picking lilies… stringing the garland… let’s wear our garlands

We’ve picked and picked, an armful, picked till my arms are full, dear one
Shall we take all this and head up the embankment now, dear one…
Little brother is running this way, come, let’s go quickly, my garland
Picking lilies… stringing the garland… let’s wear our garlands
Picking lilies… stringing the garland… let’s wear our garlands

This is one of Sunil Santha’s bright, pastoral folk songs, the kind that paints a whole village morning in a few simple lines. The scene is a lake covered in water lilies, and a young man is coaxing a girl he is sweet on into wading in with him to pick them and string garlands together. He calls her “nango,” an affectionate way of addressing a younger girl, soft and teasing rather than formal, and the whole song carries that light, playful tone.

The flower at the heart of it is the olu, the water lily that opens white and blue on the still water of a village lake. In Sri Lankan song the lily standing open on the water is an old image of fresh, fair beauty, and here it works on two levels at once. He keeps calling her “suda” and “sudu nango,” fair one, white one, so that as the lilies bloom around her, she and the flowers blur together. When he sings that the white lilies bathe her in their glow and her beauty only grows, he is letting the flower and the girl trade places. Stringing a garland to wear together (palandimu api maala) is the gentle, unspoken way village courting works in these songs, two people making something with their hands while the real conversation happens underneath.

What makes it charming is how little drama there is. He admits he feels shy wading over to her side, he tells her not to rush, and the lake around them is full of small life, little fish darting in the shallows, frogs leaping up as if calling out to the couple. It is love at the pace of a slow morning. Then comes the small, very human ending: “panna malli” is on his way, the little brother running toward them, so they gather their armful of flowers and hurry off up the embankment before they are caught. That last rush is the smile of the whole song.

You are left with something easy and warm, no heartbreak, no longing, just the simple joy of two young people, a lake full of lilies, and a morning that belongs only to them for a little while.