IV. WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN
		The fame is quenched that I foresaw, The head hath missed an earthly wreath, Curse not nature, no, nor death For nothing is that errs from law. We pass, the path that each man trod Is dim, or will be dim, with words; What fame is left for human deeds In endless age? It rests with God. O hollow wraith of dying fame, Fade wholly, while the soul exults, And self-infolds the large results Of force that would have forgot a name --Tennyson
	The death of Chelvanayagam Barr Kumarakulasinghe, at an age when the promises of life usually begin to bud into fulfilment, was the crushing of many hopes. Why it so happened it is not easy to say. It is happening so daily in many another case, and broken hearts are not a few, but for all that the riddle of Providence who can read? Not merely in the passion of grief, when sorrow blinds our reason, making us speak unadvisedly with our lips, but even in the sober calm that comes after the storm of sorrow has swept over our head and left desolate all that our hearts held dear, our cry goes up to heaven in plaintive despair, "Why?". Time may soothe our feelings but not satisfy our reason Only one thing can appease our sorrow-stricken soul -implicit trust in the goodness of God. God lets us see his providences "in part" only, and then we only see them as through a glass, darkly. Why the pleasantest room in our house is turned into a hospital -why that coffin was carried, like a spectre, up our stairway -why the pillow in that little empty crib is unpressed today -why that income on which so many mouths depended is dried up -why this or that staff was broken, our poor, blind, aching hearts cannot understand. God keep his own secrets; all the answer He vouchsafes to us now is, 'All things work together for good to them that love me'." Chelvanayagam Barr Kumarakulasinghe, [or, as he was best known, Chellam], early in life -how brief has the life been ! -gave abundant promise of a brilliant career. In the village school at Tellipalai, Jaffna, where he received his first English education, he showed remarkable signs of what he was capable of achieving. He was purposed unto noble ends. In 1891 he went to Colombo, followed by the good wishes and the great expectations of his Master, Mr. Chellappa. He joined the Royal College and distinguished himself there, earning golden opinions from the Principal and Professors of that College. In 1895, at the age of fifteen, he took honours in the First Division of the First Class in the Cambridge Junior Local, with distinctions in Classics. The keen eye of Mr. Harward detected in young Barr the possibilities of a great future. In Classics and English he rapidly distinguished himself and was counted among the best boys of the College in those subject. His merit was recognised by the award of special prizes for English, Latin and Greek. His taste had become confirmed in his choice of English and the ancient language in which he wished to specialise with the object of competing for the English University Scholarship. Every step he took was a step forward -and upward. He laboured hard, I know personally how hard, to acquire and amass knowledge, and he kept in view with unflagging steadiness a high aim before him. From 1898 he made no secret of the noble end towards which he was vigorously directing his best efforts and which was sanctifying his whole scholastic career. "To live for the good of others and to the glory of God" was his cheerful choice. He believed in giving to God the best he had --gold, myrrh and frankincense of head and of heart. He had his eye on the Civil Service, but he added that 1901 was too early to be definite and final. Latterly, I know his mind was made up, and he dedicated his learning and life to God's service. He joined Merton College, Oxford, and ere the ambitions of life could undo his soul's decision, the great peace of God hushed him to rest on the 29th day of August 1900. What might not have been! He would have been the glory of his house, the pride of his countrymen, and a savour of sweet odour in the service of the Lord. We thirst for fame, men live for fame, men die for fame -what fame would have been his! This is a human regret, that he has not lived to be famous. What might have been? The world looks to what has been, and no record is kept in the archives of fame of what might have been:   The leaf has perished in the green And, while we breathe beneath the sun, The World which credits what is done Is cold to all that might have been. A good life, nobly lived and right nobly ended -this is a great record here on earth for any son of man. It is the foreshadowing of the larger life. "Fame rests with God." In this life he was faithful in small things, he strove and succeeded to the best of his powers, and into the fuller life, brighter, broader, beyond the grave, death led him gently by the hand and shewed him the great things over which he was to have authority. "He that is faithful over a few things is ruler over many things." Not here, but there "God makes life's broken circle whole" -thus we partly understand God, and so comes comfort to us. There is sorrow for the silver cord that is broken, but never despair, it will be made whole there; for the bud that faded ere it bloomed into the full flower, it delights the King there; for the strong man smitten in his strength, he is stronger there; for beauty cut off in its pride, it is beautiful there; for glory palled with sudden darkness, it is more glorious there; for goodness that did not live to bear fruit, it yields a thousandfold there; for virtue cut off in mid career, it sheds a lustre there; for worth untimely withered, it blooms in splendour on a better soil; nor for genius paralysed in its prime, who can gauge its greatness there? The peace of this reflection is reassuring. It lightens the heaviness of our hearts and brings hope to the sorrowful. The wisdom of the In Memoriam occurs to me, my thoughts are in no mean company. At Dehiwela, many a Sabbath evening, Chellam and I were wont to read together the In Memoriam, perched on top of a guava tree, dog Bouncer wistfully looking up from below, and often has Chellam said to me, "I am sure to die before you, you must write my In Memoriam," -words which I never, never thought were to find sad fulfilment so soon, so soon. I have applied to my heart with untiring frequency, the sweet solace of that sublime elegy. I have found it a psalm to the sorrowful, a balm to the broken spirited, a paean of joy to the pacified in soul. The poet's words, his great thoughts occur to me at every turn. Says the poet of his friend, and I believe it of mine: ..........Those we call the dead Are breathers of an ampler day For ever nobler ends. Nor blame I death, because he bare The use of virtue out of earth: I know transplanted human worth Will bloom to profit, elsewhere. His gifts of head and heart are put to high uses there: And doubtless unto thee is given A life that bears immortal fruit In those great offices that suit The full-grown energies of heaven. Why should I not believe, as firmly as any other item of my faith, that in the larger life, in the fuller day, virtue has its due reward, genius its proper recompense, and great deeds are wrought, high praise is won and undying fame? ...............Somewhere out of human view, Whatever their hands are set to do Is wrought with tumult of acclaim. I write these words, this chapter, this book, not to perpetuate the praise of him whose greatness I leave to be guessed, but I write that his singleness of purpose, nobleness of aim, loftiness of aspiration, and goodness of character may commend to others the example of a life consistently lived and courageously closed. O, friend, who camest to thy goal So early, leaving me behind. I would the great world grew like thee, Who grewest, not alone in power And knowledge, but by year and hour In reverence and in charity.