Good Morning Lanka—J E L Ratnayake

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At dawn, breaks the sound of the temples— Buddhist chanting in the temple, Hindu prayers in the kovil, Islamic prayers in the mosque and the bells of the church toll. It is habitual for the woman to start the day by lighting the kitchen stove in preparation of the day’s meal. Her man seated on a bench stares into emptiness. Birds and squirrels take part in an unending chatter.

Beyond the high trees a glimmer of hope, pink in colour promises the Sun. The woman now adds to the sounds thereof the doldrums of the iron pounder meeting the ebony pestle. She is mixing spices. With the dullness of the thumping her man awakens. There is synchronicity between her thumping and the church bells and the chanting and the prayers and the chatter and her man.

A raucous hawk is heard in the distance and a dog barks. The cockerel confused by day has gone to sleep. The day gets busier with life as a vulgar horn prompts that the bread man is near. The man clears his throat and spit out the stagnant odour. He is waiting for that cup of tea. The hawk by now has found its prey. The frogs that lay on the grass by night are now its colour. The white lotus responds to light in the clear waters of the blue pond.

A motorcar is heard and a tuc-tuc disturbs the peace. Children walk to school wearing blue and white and men wait for a bus. The man is a farmer; he will now go to sleep. The elephants had failed to appear and his crops are safe. The hope of the morning Sun will soon be baking the earth making the dust to appear. And with this morning rousing do my senses awaken to the smells of Sri Lanka.

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