Dear Sir Amaradeva,
Your name literary translates as Immortal God in Sinhala, and quite rightly, you were the Almighty of Sri Lankan music, and will be called thus in the years to come, though you left the world on November 3, leaving an irreplaceable space in the Lankan cultural sphere. You went beyond the world…
to join others who are immortal.
There will be many who would write tribute to you, those who are more qualified, and better acquainted with you. But in this space, which I stared at blankly for full half hour after the news of your demise, is mine to tell the impact you had on us, the younger generation who saw you as the mighty musician you are.
You are the legendary musician of our time, the voice of lullaby we grew up listening to, the voice of romance we hummed through teens well into our adult life, and the voice of reason and peace. You knew our heartbeat. You were our heartbeat. And you are no more. Even though you sang it hundreds of thousands of times, 
, your death left us dazed, blank.
I do not intend to spend time counting how many years you devoted to music, from the 88 years you spent on Earth. The records I checked say that you were born in Moratuwa, but the entire country claimed you as theirs. I remember travelling around Jaffna with a Tamil driver who preferred to listen to your songs. I also remember friends who preferred Western music, who started appreciating local tunes after being introduced to your versatile self in songs. I remember at an interview you said, “before becoming international, one must thrive to be national.” You transformed people, you brought them to their roots, to understand their culture through your voice, your songs. You are a maestro, but you are also much more than that. That’s why being called 
was never enough.
It’s your humility that defined you, even though you are the all time undisputed maestro of classical music in Sri Lanka. You loved to recite the university versions of your song 
(Pera dinayaka ma pem kala yuvathi) at your shows, to have a hearty laugh with the audience. You had a smile ready on your face wherever you were, to greet your fans, even if it’s three over-excited young girls at Bangalore airport, where I first met you. It’s beyond belief for me when you, the most veteran musician of our time, the Deshamanya, the Kala Keerthi Pandith Amaradeva, greeted us, and posed for photographs and had a ‘little chat’ about what songs we enjoyed the most. You were just happy to hear that we like your songs, and that meant the world to us. You are the ambassador we saw for your humility.
Lake House archives has an overflowing set of folders dedicated to you, and they tell me a lengthy story of one man who changed the course of Sri Lankan music, a vocalist, a violinist and a composer whose house is decorated by the many awards he had won, he who influenced many singers such as Edward Jayakody, Sunil Edirisinghe, Victor Ratnayake and Neela Wickremasinghe. This made me realize that with you, a part of our history passed away. A chapter was closed; a huge and mighty chapter.
You never went out of style, never outdated. That’s why my grandmother, my mother and I could enjoy your music the same way. People enjoyed your songs with Nanda Malini and they enjoyed your song with Umariya Sinhawansa. You adapted with the new trends, but maintained the classical touch as well. Whether it was Bathiya and Santhush or Umariya, you never sidestepped from giving them a helping hand, performing with them and being a part of the younger generations.
Not even three hours have passed when I’m typing this, and I already know that even after three decades, I will be wondering if Pandith Amaradeva had died, for you are immortal. You will be missed, dear sir, and for me, for the nation at the face of your loss, I have only one hope.
Aggrieved,
Isuri Yasasmin Kaviratne