Chanaka Goonewardene… of love’s labour lost

It’s almost a year to date, since we realised something serious was going wrong with our dear friend Chanaka. As the months rolled by, the mantle of darkness seemed to descend faster. Slowly but steadily, we saw him wither away and become a shadow of himself, while we stood helplessly by, watching his health fail in the worst possible way.

I for one, could not bear it any more so I gave up on that journey with him, while other friends stood staunchly by, bravely holding his hand, even though most often he rejected their support. This was the nature of the man; he could not handle the attention he got, and in the end, death came as a friend. The pain and suffering that he endured was finally gone. 

But for us, we have lost our sheepdog; our guide and helper is forever gone. When I say us, I speak for our core group of guys who count around 15, although on the wider scope there are around 50 old Peterites from the early ’80’s vintage who mourn his loss. All of us depended on this bloke to protect and guide us during our wild escapades. 

We knew each other from school and for most of us that’s counting 50 plus years. As for the core group, most of us lived within walking distance to our school. This meant we were not only closely connected to each other, but to each other’s families. 

Chanaka’s was exceptional, especially his father and mother, who gave us so much love from our childhood well into our adult years. Those were the days of simple pleasures – the Sunday swims at Kinross, choir practice on Saturday evenings and once we left school, the 9:30 movies and kottu dinners. 

Chanaka had the true spirit of a Peterite. He was as solid as a rock and was the cornerstone and foundation of the love and friendship that bonded our group into brotherhood. But he is gone now, too soon and in the saddest of ways; and it is in all sincerity I say, that the love he gave us, may in the end have been his undoing.

His time was not his, but ours; not just ours alone, but he gave his love, understanding, attention and time to each of our families, extending to our parents, siblings and even our children. I know for certain that he did the same for a wider circle – from his work pals to many he met during his life! 

I remember Chanaka had more time for my mother than I did, giving her advice on her little investments – in fact it was a standard joke amongst us that he knew more about what she was worth than I ever did. She loved him like her own, and this is one time I can say I am glad she is not with us to see this. 

And it wasn’t just my mother; he did this with all our parents and even as our hearts ache for his mother who has to bury her son, she would not be alone as there would be many parents who would feel they are doing the same.

How did he give so much of himself? Partly because he was single and as much as we urged him to find that partner, for whatever reason it did not happen. All I can say is what a sad loss to that unknown girl, as he would have made a wonderful husband and father. He was Santa Claus to all our children when they were growing up, a loving son, brother, uncle and friend. 

He gave and gave but in the end all that giving dried up the well within him, because he did not find a way or the time to look after himself. We could all sit down and think ‘what could he have done differently?’ but then again, with Chanaka, we know there was no way he would have done anything differently. 

We could all be sheep with him, because he was there for our needs and emergencies. Having said that, there was one thing he did not understand; and that was, how to accept our love for him, in his time of need. 

Chanaka has left us, as we believe among us, to go to a better place. The race is run and as one of his friends says, “we would all be joining him some day.” Yes, who better than Chanaka to be the vanguard, to prepare the place for us, just like he always did.

If Chanaka was our sheepdog, most of us also had a shepherd and that was none other than our dear friend and mentor Fr. Claver Perera, also dearly departed. Now both of them are across the river Jordan, and as I close this ode to our beloved shepherd and sheepdog, I have taken the liberty of slightly altering a verse in our college anthem —

“While in boyhood, there we lingered

Mid a garden’s fragrant flowers,

Who would dare to point a finger

When such joys were ours,

Work enduring, play alluring

Filled our happy hours.

Ills all - curing, health ensuring,

In St. Peter’s bowers!”

Goodbye my friend, till we meet again. 

– Tyron Devotta