My father Dharmasiri Gamage

"Chuti duwa, Chuti duwa, Do you hear me? Why are you crying every night? I can hear you are weeping so much? Do you think I have gone without telling you? Can you remember the last time we met? I promised you I would return home in three days. It is true; I couldn't keep my promise this time.

This was the only broken promise my beloved father ever made to me.

I will never forget the date, September 19, 2004.

I was planning to go to Dambulla with some of my friends on September 17 and the day before the trip I went to see him in the evening to our Maligawatte house to inform him about our trip. He was quick enough to arrange a boat trip to us to enjoy at "Sathutu Dupatha" on our way to Dambulla.

"Chuti duwa, I am also planning to go to Pollonnaruwa to see "Somawathi" Cetiya on this coming Sunday with some of my friends who have come from abroad. I will be back home in three days. As you are returning to Colombo on Sunday, sometimes we may meet each other at Dambulla". These were the last words he spoke to me and the last meeting I had with my loving father.

I never thought that I had to carry my father's body along with me back to Colombo. The joyful trip which began with laughter ended up in tears to me.

It was like "An unforgettable trip", not full of sweet memories, but with bitter experience and a sad note forever.

However it was a coincidence as he pre-indicated, that we met each other while on our way back from Dambulla. But he was not alive. He had gone forever, leaving me alone.

Still I remember on that fateful day, we were at Kandalama Hotel, when Channa received a sudden message from my father's sister saying that Thaththa had been rushed to the Dambulla Hospital with a sudden illness.

While we were heading to the hospital another call came, to notify he had passed away. All my friends including Channa wanted to hide the information from me and they only informed me that thaththa was a little bit sick and we have to go to the hospital. At the doctor's office, I felt that doctor was trying to console me about what had happened. I couldn't understand, what was the doctor trying to tell me indirectly. Therefore I asked, " Would you please tell me what had happened"? Then only the doctor broke the news of his death.

The whole world shattered before me. It was just like the '9\11' attack to me. I was clueless, helpless and only knew the other part of my heart, which, I was holding after my mother left me two years ago, had gone too leaving me alone. "Would you like to see your father's dead body"? The doctor asked me. I just nodded my head.

The hospital staff took me to the mortuary where my father's body was lying.

The mortuary was situated in the centre of a rubber estate, a little distance away from the hospital.

I was walking on a narrow footpath, towards a tiny room, which had a cement floor with an asbestos roof. It can only accommodate two bodies on the marbled top of the two sides of the room and was getting the fresh air unlike 'coolers' in Colombo. The entire outside area was full of dried rubber leaves and one can only hear the sound of crushing dried leaves while walking. I couldn't believe my eyes. Some words uttered by my father came to my mind. "I would like to have my last breath in a quiet surrounding, a nature full of trees and leaves. How wonderful if such thing could happen to me, while I'm travelling".

The wish you made sometime ago became true, I thought.

I know how much you loved the environment. You used to treat the nature as your own mother. I still remember, an incident at one of your book-launchings. Days before the event there were heavy rains. At the book-launching day, in the morning, you went near the Wathsudda tree planted by me outside our home and touched a leaf of the tree and whispered some words to it. By observing this from inside home I asked you, "Thaththa what are you doing there?. "I am seeking the blessings of the mother nature. It's going to be my day-today. I want her blessings throughout the day without heavy rains", you told me.

It was a wonderful day, she has listened to my words", you assured me later, after the ceremony was over without any problem.

I know, you always like to share the beautiful, unique places that you have seen with others. As a travel journalist it was hard to find a place where you have not been to.

To you, it was a wonderful experience to see the moonlight in the mid-night on the top of the Sigiriya Rock, to see Horton plains as a lovers' paradise, miracle of Madu Ganga with 64 islets, and "Namal Uyana" - the Asia's largest pink quartz land, which you loved so much. Those were only a few places in your long list of exciting areas that you visited. You made most of these unforgettable visits not alone. You invited Maestro W.D. Amaradeva, Prof. Sunil Ariyaratne, Nanda Malini, Victor Ratnayake, Kularatne Ariyawansa, Bandara Eheliyagoda, Geethanath Kudaligama, Sarathchandra Wanniachchi and many other fellow artistes and friends to join hands with you in these marvellous trips.

I remember you were saying that each trip ended with fabulous stories, fun and jokes which one would remember forever!

The outcome of the field trips was the unique pieces you had written to "Rasanduna" every weekend, which many were waiting to read. It is a matter to pride that through "Rasanduna" tabloid you introduced many exciting places for the first time. However I know, how much you were depressed when you came to know these environmentally valuable places and beautiful sights exposed by your pen were destroyed by some vandals.

As a result many public appeals made by you were highlighted in your subsequent articles.

It is true, that many students were glad to improve their feature writing skills under you and they are still re-calling past memories of how you advised them to use the 'third eye' in feature writing. "He was the one who taught us to look at in a different way, think in a different way. It is the way to have unique peace and path to develop your own writing style", a student has written in your remembrance book.

Many are still recalling the way both of you treated the young generation who visited you seeking assistance for their various needs. For me, it was not a new experience as from my small age I have seen so many brothers and sisters hangout at our home, especially after the "Pahan Weta" - one of the first youth forums formed by you to upgrade their literary skills. As most of these youth were from remote areas, the rented houses we were living later became a shelter to them as well. As the three children of Dharmasiri Gamage, my two elder brothers and myself were taught to share whatever we have with us. Our loving mother Sita was kind to all of them and did not mind cooking rice for these young girls and boys who would have to come to Colombo with empty stomach. Both of them treated them as their own children and later we all looked like 'one big family'.

The most important lesson I learned from you is to look at life in a manner of toleration. Whatever happened in your life, good or bad you had enough courage to take them easy. You proved to me the meaning of real married life. "Marriage is not merely two people living together. You have to look after each other when needed," you advised us. You proved it to all by looking after your beloved wife and our loving mother, Sita who was paralyzed and bed-ridden for eight years!

I know how much you cried silently on my wedding day. My being apart was unbearable to you. I remember how often you were saying to me, keeping me on your lap. "I don't like you to grow. I want you to be my small girl forever. The bond between father and daughter became stronger after we both became helpless and lonely due to our mother's illness. During that difficult period you performed your duty well not only as the father but as a mother too! By presenting your "Namal Uyana Saha Rosa Thiruwana Kadu Pela" book to me

you were glad to praise me for the service I rendered as a daughter. Still I'm protecting the first copy with your signature carrying the lines "Mawatath, Matath Mawak Vu Diyaniyata" (To a daughter who had been a mother to me and her own mother). But I often feel, how unlucky I'm as both of you could not see your grandchildren - that is my son and daughter. Both of you were gone at the time I needed you most.

Today I am, miles and miles away from all my loved ones. The loneliness is at its height most of the time. Whatever the memories are rolling up and down in my mind, yet I am not strong enough to bear the pain of loss of my dear father who I loved most. And I strongly believe that he will be with me forever until I am gone.

(In memory of veteran journalist Dharmasiri Gamage whose fifth death anniversary falls on September 19.)