She looked lovely that night as she smiled when receiving an
award. She is seldom without a smile,
and her friends know this. An
‘award-smile’ one expects to be slightly more radiant. That slightly-more was there. One might put it down to pride. Not put-off pride but genuine gladness at the
recognition; the kind that no one would grudge. All natural, one might add. If there was a touch of sorrow, she didn’t
show it. Again, few in the audience if
at all would have found such a trace to be out of place.
She looked lovely or let’s say lovelier for reasons that had
nothing to do with appearance. It had
everything to do with circumstances, conditions that contained her, were
relevant to everyone who knew those circumstances and indeed everyone in the audience
because it was, well, an award. An award
for excellence in journalism. In this instance, the Best Photojournalist of
the Year. She was not the recipient. She
was ‘proxy’ and that’s the worst word one could use to describe this lady.
Shamila Abeywansha received the award on behalf of her
husband Rukshan, a photojournalist at ‘The Nation’. She had to walk up to the stage and accept
the award because Rukshan could not. His
story is no longer news, but his everyday inabilities (‘not news’ though they
are to his wife and loved ones) make their everyday lead story. It does not grow stale.
Rukshan, to almost everyone who knows him, is the heartbeat of this country. Rukshan suffered terrible injuries in an accident. That was more than two months ago. He has courage, this boy. He is conscious of his condition and he is
determined to get on his feet one day.
The prognosis is not exactly hopeful.
Impact on lungs has rendered him vulnerable to respiratory
ailments. He’s already suffered bouts of
Pneumonia. He fights all that with the
assistance of numerous machines. There
are costs for every little thing. They
all add up to amounts that render everyone helpless. There is paralysis all round.
And yet, that night, Shamila Abeywansha walked up as though
it was her husband Rukshan who was going to receive the award. Happy.
Full of smiles. Just like any
other award recipient. And that’s why
she looked lovelier than at any other time.
She was, after all, receiving an award that has no meaning to her or Rukshan
or their children, given the circumstances.
She smiled. She showed much grace
that night.
The following morning, she woke to the same headline she had
woken to for more than a month. Today,
more than a month later, it’s same lead story with the same headline.
‘Rukshan lives on the other side of a mountain’.
That’s the Rukshan we know, love and want among us
again. There’s no way around it, Shamila
needs to climb to the other side to see him.
Every step costs. She cannot stop
– not to rest, not to breathe. And she
has to do all this while carrying a 3 year old boy and a little girl just 10
months old. And attending awards
ceremonies which offer rewards that mean little to her.
And so, that night, that award, the applause and every other
news story, photo-essay and brilliant interview or column have all ceased to
matter. What matters is that there’s a
beautiful man waiting for all of us but especially for his family on the other
side of a mountain.
On that side of the mountain there are no awards
ceremonies. On that side there are no
recurrent lead stories. On that other
side there’s a beautiful woman. She
wears a smile none of us have ever seen.
That’s beauty worth going a long way to see. If
there’s one thing and only one thing left to say, I would say it in the softest
tone possible, with utmost respect and sincerity: ‘let’s take Shamila and her two children to
that other side for she cannot do it on her own.’
Rukshan underwent life-saving
surgery on his spine. He recovered enough to be moved from Central
Hospital to the Colombo National Hospital. However, subsequent
complications due to weak lungs forced the family to take him back. He’s currently in the Intensive Care Unit,
Central Hospital. His friends and
family, along with very generous support from the President’s Fund, paid off
the hospital bill of over 3.7 million rupees the time he was at the Central
Hospital. Currently, there’s Rs 900,000 to
be paid (and counting!). He is doing
better, but requires further treatment before he can be moved to a
rehabilitation facility. Every rupee counts.
Please donate whatever you can to: N.N. Abeywansha, Bank of Ceylon, Borella Branch, Acct No 71934217. Email me if you have any questions:msenevira@gmail.com.
For SWIFT Code for overseas tranfers: BCEYLKLX.
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