The emotional final lap of a 15-year journey

Test match days in Sri Lanka are relaxed - gates are usually wide open, the guards cast a sideways cursory check at the accreditation dangling around the neck and there is a general hand-waving in which direction to go. Of course, there are a handsome number of policemen around; this is Asia and cricket, the constabulary always turns up in large numbers.

But Monday morning at the P Sara Oval suddenly felt serious. Very serious. The main gates at the stadium were sealed shut, a single-file entrance, bags opened, scanners passed over computers and other equipment. With, it can safely be said, such a thorough, highly personal frisking by security guards that were it any more thorough, it would have become a civil rights violation.

This had happened because the President and the Prime Minister of Sri Lanka were arriving because Sanga was leaving.

It was Kumar Sangakkara's final day as a Sri Lanka cricketer and the country's two most powerful people had come to say goodbye. There was a Test match to be concluded and it took about 111 minutes for the Indians to take the last eight Sri Lanka wickets and level the series. Once the game ended, the occasion that its end contained took over. Only a small heart or a narrow mind or both would not understand or absorb what that occasion stood for.

The first sight of Sangakkara on his final day of Test cricket was of him walking out dressed in his Sri Lanka blue to shake the hands of the India team, who walked towards the home dressing room entrance after leveling the series. Sangakkara was hugged by every India player, then the umpires, other officials on the ground, the team's official fans and even some groundstaff who felt emboldened; for a man, who always knew how to keep himself together in victory or defeat, Sangakkara didn't hold back from letting everyone who wanted a piece of him get close.

The farewell ceremony took a while to get organised but the crowd waited patiently, not merely in the most posh stands, where Tamil Union members and officials occupied seats covered by spotless white cloth, but in the public stands, on the grass bank near the old ivy-covered scoreboard.

There were ten dignitaries including his President and Prime Minister waiting to present him with "special mementoes" and Sri Lanka's head of state Maithripala Sirisena produced the most presidential of them all - an open invitation to Sangakkara to take over as the Sri Lankan ambassador to the United Kingdom.

The crowd heard the other shorter speeches, clapping approvingly at the many good words and gestures but they wanted to hear the man speak himself. Sangakkara's was a short eight-minute address, his voice wobbling only when he thanked his parents. He got the formal opening to his speech absolutely right - "Your excellency, the President of Sri Lanka, the honourable Prime Minister, Members of Parliament, all the well wishers and the invitees, fans, all my friends, my family - who are all here, which is a rare occasion that all of us are together - Virat Kohli and the Indian team, Angelo and my team, I have got so many people to thank here." Working his way through that long list, he forgot, he was to tell reporters later, to mention his wife and children by name. He smiled, "I'm quite a chaotic person. I'm only organised in my batting."

When Sangakkara's speech was over, the cheers and applause from the T. Murugaser and Tryphon Mirando stands from where the President and the Prime minister had watched the game, were loud, rousing. He moved into the knot of the Sri Lanka players; like fast bowler Dhammika Prasad had strenuously promised on Sunday afternoon and had done with both Muttiah Muralitharan and Mahela Jayawardene, he was going to take charge of Sangakkara being carried by his teammates around the ground.

Prasad and young quick Vishwa Fernando hoisted him onto their shoulders and the gathering moved away from the members stands into where the general public waited. In what are only referred to as the "tennis court" stands only because they adjoin the club's tennis courts, where men squeeze through gaps in the wall to dodge the gatemen, boys clamber onto any scaffolding to get a better view and from where the papare band plays.

When they saw Sangakkara come towards them lifted above the heads of everyone around him, the noise from the tennis court stands became a sonic embrace, an aural welcome. Louder than any other crowd in the ground had managed, coming from somewhere inside their core, their gut, gathered up in one voice up from the soles of their feet almost.

For Sangakkara had spoken to them in his speech, like he was talking personally to every man and woman there or watching on television all across his country. Six-odd minutes into his speech, he said, "thank you to the Sri Lankan fans, it has been an immense pleasure and privilege to represent all of you."

From his perfectly grooved English, Sangakkara switched to Sinhala. These were his words to his people: "It's been one of the most special privileges of my life to play in front of the Sri Lankan people and Sri Lankan fans. I'm especially thankful to your love and support." He went on to tell them that "my innings has ended. I won't play international cricket again." He then made a promise. "But I'll come with you to Khettarama, to Galle, to Tamil Union, and to SSC to watch the young Sri Lanka players."

It was why when he went past them in his lap of honour, their goodbye carried an echo into the future.

There emerged from Sangakkara's speech and later, through his 20 minutes of media interaction, the cricketer and the competitor. He said to the Indians "thank you for the toughness, for giving no quarter" referring to both to this series and his many previous contests with his country's closest neighbours - large, loud but still kindred on a cricket field.

When someone questioned how he went from being a "just a good" Trinity College cricketer to an international "legend" he smiled widely and said, "For me it was a case of working, changing, working, changing and trying to find a formula. More often than not, I was fortunate that what I tried worked. I wish there was a secret like I knew exactly what's working. At time you just don't know what is working and you keep doing it. You don't count the teeth of a gift horse when it's running. You change it only when you hit a stumbling block and try something new."

What he had learnt about himself from the game, Sangakkara said, was to rediscover and tap into its fundamental joy. "You need to play it with an almost childish wonder, where you just play and you enjoy. If it doesn't work, you give up with disappointment, come back and try and enjoy the game. If you have that attitude and that kind of perception of the game, and I think that's kind of changed in me. I have been able to let it go and come back with a bit of balance. I don't know how that happened." But it had happened and the latter half of his 15-year career turned out hugely successful and prolific - for himself and his team.

Sangakkara appeared weary when he turned up for a short media interaction, but retained both generosity and humour. Whether he was asked what he liked to cook or whether the offer by the President was intended to be a step from cricket to diplomacy to politics.Or some comparison to Bradman. Or the future of the game. And Sri Lanka cricket. Outside there were people waiting, reporters and cameramen were asking him to sign their accreditation cards, match tickets, notebooks. It took a while before the questions could actually begin and it took a while for him to leave the room after it ended.

Amid this tumult, a young schoolboy, reed thin, wearing a green t-shirt and white trousers streaked with mud and grass stains. "From practice." Cricket nets at the famous Royal College. Where Cheran was an allrounder, not a wicketkeeping allrounder though. He'd come to put his hands together and doff his hat at Sanga. Who's side was he on in Sri Lankan cricket's subterranean Big Match? Cheran leans forward and says, in a low voice, "Mahela."

You think both men would guffaw and the sniping between Maheliacs and the Sangaphiles would continue forever more. Sangakkara's words to his team rose above the argument: he spoke to captain Angelo Matthews, or as he is endearingly called, "Angie", and told him that he had an "amazing team, you've got an amazing future" and asked them to enjoy the sport.

"This sport we only play for a short time, it comes and goes … take pride in what you do, don't be afraid to lose when you are searching for a win, and keep Sri Lanka and the flag flying high."

Sangakkara left the ground after almost everyone he knew very closely had. After his teammates, who got into their team bus and headed back to their hotel.After his entire clutch of friends who had filled into a "Sangakkara Box" on a Monday morning. After his parents and his siblings and his wife. He got into his car with his six-year-old twins, a son and a daughter, in the back seat and did what dads do, sweeping out of a cricket ground to take them home.

The P Sara Oval had been emptied of its dignitaries, cricketers, celebrities, people and their colour, noise and feeling and then it rained a little. Not a torrential, tropical downpour, but a brief, slight late afternoon drizzle, with a dipping sun slanting in from over a shoulder of the stands. Kumar Sangakkara had played his last match for Sri Lanka; even the elements allowed themselves a bit of emotion.