A Mother's Sacrifice and a Father's Love

From the book of memories..... The beginning

1985, when the Rajamawatha was being built. It was June 6th to be exact. One Thursday morning, at around 5 am, a mother in a hilly village about 8 kilometers from Kandy city was having difficulty finding her child.

The young woman set out on foot to Kandy with her mother and father. In order to find a vehicle on the way...

In the light rain, the mother was walking in the rain and she was leaving... The father was also worried...

He was shocked to see his daughter in labor pains... The first day he saw his daughter moaning in pain.

When he reached the muddy road, he came across a cart. The pregnant mother manages to get into the cart and reach the Thannekumbure bridge.

Her mother and father follow her at the same speed as the cart in the rain and mud…

A lorry driver coming from the Teldeniya side sees this pregnant mother and her parents.

The unknown man tells them to go behind the wheel and takes the three of them into the lorry and takes them to the Kandy hospital…

The peak of the pain that came at four in the morning is felt by her at nine in the morning. Yes, she is giving birth to a son…

That is how my mother went to give birth to me… How many times has my mother told that story…? She remembered it every day with joy… with respect for her parents…

I was born like that, a very good-looking Yakkha son.. I would often cry out when I was hungry… But,

I have been drinking milk from my mother for three or four months… My mother says that I stopped drinking her milk because of a previous karma…

From that day on, my mother started giving me formula milk… I remember drinking milk from a bottle when.

I was four years old until I went to preschool… When she poured milk into a brown square glass bottle and gave it to me, I would lean on a chair and drink it in one gulp…

My mother would look at it with interest… Even today, my mother looks at me with the same look when she distributes rice…

My father is a laborer.. His daily salary is equal to my milk packet… My mother says that a milk packet lasts for three days…

Every three days, my father spent his entire salary on me, which is like four years…

My eldest…, that is, the first grandson that my father saw I... that's why he loved me so much...

He always brought something for me and gave it to my mother... He made coconut palm processing his profession and now I think he must have allocated most of the meager income he received to me, his grandson...

How generous are those simple people...?