A gift from the heart
I had gone to my favourite haunt – the Bambarabotuwa valley – in the Rathnapura district, Sri Lanka. I had taken my wife Ramya and a younger sister’s daughter Mercy in her mid 20s, to show her the sights. My sister Mary had immigrated to West Germany in the 1970s during the troubles in the North and East of the Island, with her husband Nicholas. Mercy was born in Germany and was resident there. She was now in the University and was proficient in German, English, French and Tamil. On the drive to Wewalwaththe from Rathnapura, the beautiful hills, valleys, streams and waterfalls shrouded in mist here and there, held her spell bound. Her home in Germany was two hours drive from the Swiss border. She had visited Switzerland very often, visiting relatives. I asked Mercy how Switzerland’s famed beauty, compared with scenes that we were passing through. She said that Sri Lanka won easily. We went visiting a villager who’s wife, suffering from an advanced demyelinating disorder, was being looked after by her family.
On returning to Rathnapura we went to have a late lunch at a restaurant. We had ordered fried rice and devilled fish. Mercy said that the meal was exquisite. While we were there, a couple with a 14 year old daughter came to the restaurant and ordered tea. A few minutes later the waiter who served us came to me and inquired whether I was from Avissawella. On my replying in the affirmative he said that the gentleman having tea said that he knew me. The said person walked up to me and said that I had operated on him nearly 15 years ago at the GH Colombo. He introduced his charming wife who was an art teacher and his daughter. He went back to his table finished his tea, and bade a cheerful farewell to us and walked away.
I went up to the counter to buy some sweets for my grand children left behind in Avissawella, as there would be tiny hands exploring my trouser pockets for ‘lollies’, on my return from the trip. I paid for the sweets. Then the cashier told me that the gentleman I spoke to, had paid for our fried rice and devilled chicken before he went away. He had told them that I had helped him 15 years earlier. I could only accept the state of affairs as the cashier refused to accept money for what had been already paid. Mercy was highly amused by the incident and I am sure told it to her German friends when she returned there after her holiday in Sri Lanka.
