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Marriage and some amazingly accurate astrological forecasts

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Excerpted from the Memoirs of a Cabinet Secretary by BP Peiris

(Continued from last week)

On my return from England as a fledgling barrister, I found that my kind father and mother had selected a bride for me, a close relative of mine. After about two months, he informed me of the fact, but I was reluctant to agree to marriage at so early an age because I was not earning enough at the Bar, not even enough to support myself.

Francis de Zoysa’s average of four guineas a month might, theoretically, have been a good yardstick, but for all practical purposes, my father had to give me money for my food and traveling which, for an advocate in those days meant first class travel by train.

In the meantime, every foreign mail was bringing me about six or seven letters from the girls amongst whom I had lived at Sutton and Ealing in England. They had all returned to their homes and the envelopes carried the stamps of their respective countries. They were harmless letters reminding me of old times, but parents probably feared that I might be under a promise of marriage to one of the letter-writers.

My mother was worried and her blood-pressure was rising. My father, to whom I had never lied since the caning I received from him for smoking in school and lying about it, asked me whether I had given a promise of marriage to any girl and said that, if I had done so, he would pull me out of the mess. I said I had given no such promise. Father then asked me why I was persistently refusing any offer of marriage and told me that my horoscope, which was a very difficult one to match, had been compared with the girl’s and had ‘agreed’ almost one-hundred per cent. I gave my consent. At the time of revising this (1976), I have been very happily married for 42 years.

My wife-to-be, Adeline, was related to me, but this relationship was extremely complicated. Her father, a simple and honest businessman, K. C. J. de Silva of Galle, was a highly respected man in the Southern province. The initials ‘K. C. J.’ were well known all the way from the Bentota Bridge down to Tissamaharama and the other way beyond Deniyaya.

I had an 18-month engagement. My father-in-law died three months after my marriage. He used to tell me stories about his rise to ‘power’, of his wealth and of the hard work which he had put in to earn that wealth. Of his integrity there was no doubt. This quality must have been ingrained in him; he expected it of others and he never forgave an ingrate. He held no university degree. But it could have been said of him that he had graduated in our local School of Business.

In the middle of my engagement, came one of the Supreme Court vacations. My normal visits to my fiancee was on Sunday by train. I had no car at the time, which was inconvenient as the train got to Galle at about 10 a.m. and I had to take the train back at 5 p.m. When the Supreme Court adjourned for the August vacation, I asked my father whether he could spare his car for me to go to Galle, and he agreed. I had arranged with my fiancee to come and spend the vacation at her house if her parents approved; but I had not asked her parents’ prior approval. The family had been brought up in a strict and conservative way.

On the morning following the commencement of the vacation, I had packed my suitcase for a two weeks stay at Galle. The suitcase was standing in the front verandah and the car was in the porch. I was about to leave when my father came out and asked me what the suitcase was for. I replied that it was the Supreme Court vacation. My father asked what the vacation had to do with the suitcase and I tactfully explained to him that the weekly Sunday train trips to Galle were wearing me out and that I proposed to spend my vacation with my fiancee.

He asked me whether I had obtained the permission of her parents, reminded me that I was not in England but going to the Southern province among very conservative people. I told him that I would take the bag, and that if I was not invited to stay at the house I would stay at the Hikkaduwa Resthouse. I reached the house at Galle at about 10 a.m. and my bag was taken out of the car and into a room. I asked the driver to take the car back to Panadura.

The home people knew that my only way of returning was by the 5 O’clock train. I was watching the clock – 4.30, 4.45 – not a hint from my mother-in-law-to-be, a kind woman, that I should get ready for the train. Five o’ clock. The train whistled and with it went my means of return. Seven-thirty, and I was asked to wash and be ready for dinner. And lo! I parked there for the next two weeks. The old couple were extremely hospitable. I received the impression that both of them liked me. They bought a piano specially for me; my fiancee did not know how to play.

And finally, came the wedding, June 8, 1934, with all the elaborate arrangements usually expected of weddings in the Southern province, in keeping with the status of the parties concerned. My father had reserved the hostel at the Manning Race Course at Boosa for the bridegroom’s party. We arrived there, changed and proceeded at the auspicious time to the bride’s house for the poruwa ceremony.

We were received with the customary honours and conducted inside by the parents of the bride to the place where the ceremony was to be held. Jayamangala gathas were sung by half a dozen girls while the bride’s step-brother was tying our thumbs with gold thread and pouring water on them. The ceremony over, I was a married man according to the customary law of Ceylon.

After the ceremony, our party returned to the Boosa Hostel for lunch. The wedding was in the afternoon. I had done only two things – booked the Police Band and booked the photographer. To the Bandmaster, I gave the programme to be played. I had no control over the speeches and, unfortunately for me, Mr G. K. W. Perera, who was asked to propose the toast of the young couple preferred to speak in Sinhala, a speech which I understood but could not reply to in that language. I thanked him in English in one sentence.

And then for our 10-day honeymoon on a quiet rubber estate which Mr Alfred Dias of Panadura placed at our disposal. The bungalow was beautiful and one of the most modem type. An excellent cook had produced an excellent dinner. We had a lovely, quiet holiday there, at the end of which we paid a visit to my wife’s parents. After two days at Galle, my wife and I returned to my father’s house at Panadura where we were to live for the next two years.

On our return, my parents were “At Home” to about 1,000 friends. During a traffic block on the narrow road in front of the house, Joseph Light, Assistant Government Agent, directed the drivers in such classical Sinhala that the drivers were unable to understand him. In the course of the evening, Francis de Zoysa made a speech and presented me with a purse from my colleagues in the Law Library.

Though my parents were of the view that, after marriage, a child should live in his or her own house away from the ancestral home, still, as I had no house of my own at the time, they readily agreed to park the two of us. There was never any unpleasantness during the two years we spent with them. My brother-in-law, Dick Dias, was building a house in Panadura. When I saw the plan, I felt the house would suit me and said I would take it when the building was completed. It was a neat, comfortable and compact house into which we moved.

Soon after my marriage, my wife and I went to consult Proctor Clifford Pereira who had given up his practice as a proctor and taken to astrology on the Occidental system. He worked from four-figure logarithm tables and charged his fees by the guinea as a lawyer. Our first visit to Clifford lasted several hours. He was a meticulous man and had a good astrological library. I had taken with me my horoscope written on an ola leaf.

He asked me several questions for over one hour – when I entered school, when I passed each of my examinations here and abroad, when I returned to Ceylon, when I was called to the Bar, when I married, etc. He worked for long with his log tables, my wife and I sitting silently before him. He then said, “The time on your ola leaf, tested with the information you have just given me, is wrong by nine minutes. I will cast your horoscope on the corrected time. Come and see me again in three weeks.”

I called again on the due date and he gave me an amazingly correct written forecast from 1934 to 1952. First, he asked me whether my wife was expecting a baby. When I said “Yes”, he said that the child would be born on April 23 following, and he was correct, where the doctor in charge of the case from the very beginning, my uncle George Wickramasuriya, F.R.C.S., F.R.C.P., F.R.C.O.G., was wrong.

Clifford then told me that I would get a Crown appointment in the Middle of August 1936, and inquired whether I had applied for anything. I said I had sent the usual application which every advocate sends for the post of Crown Counsel. He said I would never be appointed a Crown Counsel, that I would definitely get a Crown appointment but would not be in the public eye; I would be by myself, with books and papers and with no contact at all with the public. Reading further, he said “In the year … you will have a promotion, in… your second promotion, and in 1947 you will move into a political appointment.

All these forecasts were correct. But of them, I must speak in my later Chapters. Dr George Wickramasuriya, who brought my daughter into the world, was a much respected man. As I said before, he was in charge of my wife’s case from the very start. It was his last case before he went on two weeks’ leave to Nuwara Eliya. He had fixed April 10 as the date and applied for his leave accordingly. He had sent his family up in advance and was alone in Colombo, waiting for a summons in his last case, a telephone call from me; the confinement was to be at my father’s house at Panadura.

April 10 passed and we came to the 22nd. On that day, at about 3 p.m., I saw his car turning in at my father’s gates, and drums, gloves, sterilizers, and various other instruments were taken out. My wife was not in pain at the time and I asked him what all this meant. He said it was time she got “going”, that he had only three days more left of his leave and that he proposed to give her an injection, which he did, and left the house promising to return by 7 p.m. when, he thought, things ought to be going well.

My mother, whose cousin he was, had a room hastily prepared for him. He returned at the promised time, dressed as he always was, in a satin drill coat, waistcoat and trousers. As I stated, he came at 3 p.m. on April 22. The child was born at 7 p.m. on April 23 (Clifford Pereira’s first forecast). During all this period, throughout the night he refused to change into a sarong saying he was on professional duty and visited my wife’s room every half hour. A most conscientious doctor.

About half an hour after I had heard the cries of the baby, he came out of the room and asked whether he might have a bath. He then changed into an open shirt, his professional duties being over, and, being a most abstemious man, asked for a small whisky and soda. He must have been so very tired. After the first whisky, he took a second one, a most unusual thing with him, had an early dinner, after which he curled himself on the back seat of his large car and told the driver to drive to Nuwara Eliya. He had only two days leave available to him.

I had the greatest difficulty in getting him to send his bill. After about my fifth reminder, he said “Well, if you insist on a payment to me, give me…” which I thought was an extraordinarily low fee for such an eminent man. But he was one of those rare surgeons who had never a thought for a fee; with him service came first.

When I had a house of my own at Panadura, he used to come now and then to spend what he called a restful weekend. His medical bag was always in the car. It was an area of the houses of the wealthy, but right opposite my house lived a poor carpenter. The carpenter’s daughter was confined and the local general practitioner was having a difficult time with an instrument case when he noticed Dr Wickramasuriya’s car turning into my gate.

Before my guest’s bags could be taken out of the car, the carpenter was on his knees on my front doorstep imploring the doctor to come as the other doctor requested his presence. He returned after two hours having brought another child safely into the world. When I asked him what his fee would be in such a case, he said “I can’t charge that poor man a fee”.

He was human, he was sincere, and he was polite. There was always that smile on his face. Avaricious and selfish he definitely was not. He enjoyed helping, within his means, those who were in need, and his politeness went to the extent of raising his hat in a tram-car and giving up his seat to a basket-woman. The man, who could have had anything at all for afternoon tea preferred to have two slices of bread with a tasty fish or meat curry and I often enjoyed such a meal with him.

But there was also a streak of mischief in him. On On his estate at Pannipitiya, while he was playing tennis, he invited me to have some “barley water” which was in a large jug on a teapoy. I liked it so much that I asked whether I might have some more. Soon afterwards, I felt peculiar rumblings in my ‘innards’ and told him I was feeling ill. He smiled and said, “Not to worry, mister, you have only had a little too much sweet, iced toddy from the trees on my land.”

He died an early death and was mourned by his colleagues in the profession and more particularly by a grateful public. He had been the winner of the coveted Katherine Bishop Harman Prize by showing how many lives are lost through ankylostoma and hookworm in pregnant women. He received his prize in person at Oxford.

In the middle of August 1936, while spending a holiday with my wife at her house at Galle, I received a letter from father through a special messenger. To that, was attached the following letter ad dressed to me by the Legal Draftsman, which my father had opened:

Legal Draftsman’s Chambers,
Colombo.
15th August 1936

Dear Mr Peiris,

Will you be so good as to come and see me in my Chambers on Monday morning, about 10 a.m. I wish to offer you an acting appointment in this Department as an Assistant Legal Draftsman on a commencing salary of Rs 545/-.

Yours truly,

Mervyn Fonseka
I duly reported, was appointed and assumed duties on 18th August 1936 – Clifford Pereira’s second correct forecast. I served the Department for 11 years.

(To be continued)



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Quandary of Dengue: Some roving perspectives

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Sri Lanka is currently well and truly trapped in the strangling grip of a devastating and severely enhanced dengue outbreak. The numbers alone are staggering; over 44,000 cases have been recorded across the island so far this year, with the highest concentration systematically suffocating the Western, Southern, and Central provinces. Hospitals and healthcare providers are under extreme pressure, but the cold metrics of morbidity do not capture the true implications and dismay of this current wave. What has profoundly shaken the public consciousness and even sent a shudder through the medical community is a grim shift in the implications for the populace.

Dengue has always been quite a threat, looming over our Motherland from time to time. Yet for all that, historically, child deaths due to the virus were relatively rare in Sri Lanka, thanks to scrupulously adhering to robust clinical guidelines, as well as exceptional paediatric monitoring and management. This year, that safety net seems to be straining quite a bit at the edges and among the reported fatalities are a tragic number of children. The virus is moving faster, hitting harder, and exposing a terrifying reality, even stressing that our existing defence mechanisms are perhaps no longer totally sufficient to deal with the problem.

In response, public health authorities have deployed their traditional arsenal. Teams are busy with intensive surveillance, conducting house-to-house inspections, enforcing strict penalties for standing and stagnant water, and sending fogging machinery through the streets to blanket neighbourhoods in chemical mists. Yet, as case counts climb by nearly 50% week over week, an uncomfortable question must be asked: Are these traditional measures sufficient, or are they bordering on an exercise in futility?

The Illusion of the Fog: Why Our Current Strategy May Be Failing?

To understand why Sri Lanka might be in a tight corner, one must look closely at the enemy. Dengue is transmitted primarily by the Aedes aegypti mosquito, a highly adapted, urbanised insect. While Aedes aegypti is widely considered the primary culprit, Aedes albopictus (commonly known as the Asian tiger mosquito) plays a massive, highly dangerous role in Sri Lanka’s dengue transmission as well. In fact, the interplay between these two species is one of the biggest reasons why controlling dengue on the island is so incredibly difficult. These two vectors behave differently, breed in different places, and require distinct strategies to combat their well-recognised roles in the propagation of the disease that is dengue. Understanding how these two mosquito species split the territory could explain why a single controlling method might not always work across the board.

Aedes aegypti mosquitoes are strictly urban and indoor creatures. They live alongside humans inside houses, apartments, and in heavily built-up commercial areas. They rest on dark clothes in closets, under furniture, and behind curtains. They breed in artificial containers, clear, stagnant water in flower vases, plastic cups, concrete sumps, and overhead tanks. They prefer human blood almost exclusively and bite multiple people to get one full meal, thereby spreading the dengue virus rapidly within even a single household.

In contrast, Aedes albopictus is semi-urban and rural, thrives in vegetations, gardens, rubber plantations, and peri-urban areas where green spaces meet houses. The creature rests in shaded bushes, high grass, and low canopy foliage, as well as holes in trees, leaf axils, coconut shells, discarded tyres and trash. The biting behaviour of these mosquitoes is opportunistic. They bite humans but also feed on birds and domestic mammals, indicating that they can survive easily even when human density is low.

The traditional responses we rely on, most notably thermal fogging, are largely cosmetic public relations exercises rather than a totally effective vector control mechanism. Such fogging misses indoor resting sites, drives resistance, and stagnant water elimination fails against cryptic, microscopic breeding sites.

Fogging utilises “adulticides“, chemical sprays meant to kill flying mosquitoes. However, Aedes aegypti is a domestic creature; it rests indoors, hidden in the dark recesses of closets, under beds, and behind curtains. A fogging process achieves very little penetration into these indoor sanctuaries. Furthermore, over-reliance on these pyrethroid-based chemical sprays has accelerated insecticide resistance, effectively rendering the chemicals useless over time.

Similarly, while the National Dengue Control Unit (NDCU), to their eternal credit, aggressively pursues the elimination of visible standing water, the sheer adaptability of the mosquito outpaces manual human labour in trying to eliminate the breeding places of the vectors. Aedes eggs can remain dormant in dry containers for months, hatching the moment a drop of water touches them. In dense, urbanised areas like Colombo and Gampaha, microscopic breeding sites, from the rim of a discarded plastic bottle cap to the base of an indoor potted plant, are impossible to completely police.

If we continue to rely solely on manual cleaning and chemical fogging, we are fighting a twenty-first-century climate-driven crisis with mid-twentieth-century tools. We must look beyond our borders to see how global science is shifting the paradigm of mosquito control.

The Biological Frontier: Insects fighting Mosquitoes

When searching for international alternatives, many look towards the United States, where vector control districts manage complex mosquito populations across diverse ecosystems. A common point of curiosity is the historical use of “mosquito-eating insects.”

In the US, biological control has long featured predatory species. While some point to insects like dragonfly nymphs or giant non-biting mosquito larvae (Toxorhynchites, which actively prey on other mosquito larvae), the most widely used traditional biological agent in American municipal water systems is actually the Gambusia affinis, commonly known as the “mosquitofish.” A single one of these surface-feeding fish can devour hundreds of mosquito larvae a day.

However, American vector management has largely evolved past simply dumping predatory fish into ponds. The true modern frontier in global mosquito control relies on advanced biological and genetic interventions that turn the mosquitoes against themselves.

1. The Wolbachia Revolution

Perhaps the most successful international intervention against dengue is the introduction of Wolbachia-infected mosquitoes. Wolbachia is a naturally occurring bacterium found in up to sixty per cent of all insect species, but crucially, not naturally present in Aedes aegypti.

When scientists introduce Wolbachia into Aedes mosquitoes in a laboratory and release them into the wild, two extraordinary things happen: –

· Viral Suppression: The bacterium competes with viruses like dengue, Zika, and chikungunya inside the mosquito’s body, making it incredibly difficult for the virus to replicate. If the virus cannot replicate, the mosquito cannot transmit it to a human.

· Population Replacement:

Through a mechanism called cytoplasmic incompatibility, when a Wolbachia-carrying male mates with a wild female that does not carry the bacteria, her eggs do not hatch. If a Wolbachia female mates with a wild male, her offspring will carry the bacteria. Over time, the local mosquito population is entirely replaced by harmless, non-transmission-capable mosquitoes.

In comprehensive global trials, such as those conducted by the World Mosquito Programme in Yogyakarta, Indonesia, the introduction of Wolbachia mosquitoes led to a staggering 77% reduction in dengue incidence and an 86% reduction in dengue-related hospitalisations.

2. Sterile Insect Technique (SIT) and Genetic Modifications

Other countries, including parts of the US (such as the Florida Keys) and Brazil, have turned to genetic engineering. Using the Sterile Insect Technique (SIT) or advanced genetic variants (like those developed by Oxitec), millions of bio-engineered male mosquitoes are released into the wild. Because male mosquitoes do not bite humans, and they feed exclusively on nectar, thereby posing zero risk to the public. These males mate with wild females, but pass on a self-limiting gene that causes the female offspring to die in the larval stage before they can ever mature, bite, or transmit disease. This results in a drastic collapse of the localised vector population without the use of even a single drop of toxic chemical pesticide.

Moving beyond the Status Quo: A Blueprint for Sri Lanka

The current dilemma in Sri Lanka is a classical gridlock: we are deploying immense physical effort and economic capital into vector control measures that yield diminishing returns, while our clinical wards fill with critically ill patients. If we are to break this cycle, our public health policy must undergo a rapid structural evolution

We cannot instantly replicate the multimillion-dollar genetic laboratories of the West, but we can modernise our strategy immediately by adopting a highly targeted, multi-tiered approach.

Comprehensive Vector Management Strategy

The following are some thoughts that need to be carefully evaluated in a venture towards getting things under control.

· Shift from Adulticides to Target Microbial Larvicides Immediate Phase

Cease the reliance on sweeping chemical thermal fogging. Instead, deploy specialised microbial larvicides such as Bacillus thuringiensis israelensis (Bti). Bti is a naturally occurring soil bacterium that, when ingested by mosquito larvae, destroys their digestive tracts. It is completely non-toxic to humans, pets, and other aquatic life, and can be distributed via localised backpack sprayers or drones into inaccessible urban sumps.

· Scale Up Localised Wolbachia Trials Intermediate Phase

Sri Lanka has previously initiated small-scale, localised pilot releases of Wolbachia mosquitoes in select urban pockets. Given the severity of the 2026 outbreak, these programmes must be aggressively scaled up into an industrial-level national initiative. Public-private partnerships must be leveraged to establish sustainable, high-capacity mosquito-rearing facilities locally.

· Implement Digital Ovitrap Surveillance Continuous Integration

Replace manual, retroactive searching with predictive digital mapping. Deploy networks of smart “ovitraps” (oviposition traps) across high-burden provinces. These traps monitor egg-laying rates in real-time, allowing automated data systems to predict a spike in the adult mosquito population weeks before an actual clinical outbreak occurs, enabling preventative targeting.

The Cost of Inaction

Maintaining our current trajectory is not a neutral choice; it is an endorsement of escalating mortality. The 2026 outbreak has proven that the ecological dynamics of dengue have changed, fuelled by changing weather patterns and urban density. Our public health response must change with it.

The heart-breaking loss of young lives in this current surge must serve as a stark wake-up call. We must look at the international landscape, embrace the biological innovations that have saved lives across the globe, and transition from a policy of panic-driven reaction to one of scientific eradication. It is no longer just a matter of cleaning our drains; it is a matter of upgrading our science.

Why Aedes albopictus Makes the Sri Lankan Crisis Harder

In Sri Lanka, the geographic landscape transitions quickly from dense concrete cities to lush, tropical vegetation. This creates the perfect environment for both species to thrive simultaneously.

· The Surveillance Blindspot: When health authorities focus heavily on checking indoor water storage and concrete drains in cities, they can completely miss the massive Aedes albopictus populations breeding in the surrounding vegetation, suburban gardens, and rural homesteads of the Southern and Central provinces.

· The Failure of Indoor Fogging:

While indoor residual spraying or targeted indoor fogging might hit Aedes aegypti, it has virtually no effect on Aedes albopictus, which spends its life cycle outdoors in the bushes.

· Climate Resilience:

Aedes albopictus eggs are remarkably tolerant of colder temperatures and varied environments. This allows the vector to push higher into the mountainous terrains of the Central Province, bringing dengue to areas that historically saw very few cases.

To truly bring down the case numbers in a severely enhanced outbreak, public health interventions must be dual-targeted: addressing the indoor, urban threat of Aedes aegypti while simultaneously tackling the outdoor, ecological stronghold of Aedes albopictus. We cannot sit back on our laurels of the past. We need to move forward resolutely.

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ANURADHAPURA ANTHEM c.1893

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Anuradhapura. Image courtesy Central Cultural Fund

R. W. Ievers, who wrote this poem, was the Government Agent of the North Central Province during 1884, 1886, and 1890. He is the author of the Manual of the North Central Province (1899) and a half dozen published reports on the life and practices in the Province. Before his death, he shared it with his good friend H.C.P. Bell, the Archaeological Commissioner of Ceylon at the time. In 1917, Bell had it published in the Times of Ceylon – Christmas Number. Since then, it remained unknown for 109 years, until Ievers’s great-grandson, Turtle Bunbury, historian and author of Living in Sri Lanka (2006) with James Fennell, tipped me off about its source – H.C.P. Bell: Archaeologist of Ceylon and the Maldives (1993), written by Bell’s granddaughters Bethia N. Bell and Heather M. Bell.

THE ANTHEM

Anuradhapura! City grand and vast,

Lanka’s famous Capital, in ages of the past:

In the Mahawansa the story has been told

Of thy palaces, and temples, and pinnacles of gold.

Hail! then hail! to the worth of a bygone day,

Hail! all hail! to the relics of kingly sway

Hail to thee, Fair City, glorious in decay,

Hail! thrice hail! Forever and for aye!

Si monumentum quaeris

– cast your gaze around

Ruined fanes and dagobas everywhere abound

Alas! for glory faded, for erstwhile beauty sped

For hierarchs and heroes, long numbered with the dead

Hail! then hail!…

Great Ruwanaveli Seya, once fairest of the fair,

The splendour of thy palmy days has melted into air;

And like Imperial Caesar now ‘dead and turned into clay’,

Thy sacred bricks ‘may stop a hole to keep the wind away.’

Note by Tillakaratne:

Since 1873, Bhikku Naranvita Sumanasara has been doing conservation work on this stupa. In 1876, Governor William Gregory, after visiting the work site, wrote that its conservation was not just a religious work but a great National Monument.

See ‘Bayagiri’ massive – ‘Fearless Mount’ forsooth – Centre once of schism rank, from ‘Great Vihara’ truth.

Patched up by prison labour, anew it flaunts on high

A ‘hideous excrescence’ athwart a tranquil sky.

Note by H. C. P. Bell

: T. N. Christie, Planting Member at the time protested in the Legislative Council against the abortive “restoration” by prison labour of the Abhayagiri Dagaba, dubbing its truncated pinnacle, half restored, a “hideous excrescence”.

Jetawanarama, Great Sena’s priestly boon

Comely shape and giddy height will crumble all too soon;

Where forest trees and chequered shade a peaceful picture lend,

From cruel axe and ruthless spade, may gracious Heaven defend.

Note by H. C. P. Bell:

Two decades after these poems were written, the surrounding area of the Jetawanarama was still covered in forest, and the Atamasthana Committee conditionally allowed a monk to clear a limited number of trees. But not a tree remained unfelled, contrary to what the monk was authorized to do.

Thuparama graceful, in outline clear and bold,

Begirt with column chaste and slim, a gem in the ring of gold

To thee pertains high honour a pious people gave – The tomb of Sanghamitta, and Prince Mahinda’s grave.

Note by

H. C. P. Bell: The ruins are pointed out, wrongly, as the tradional tombs of Arahat Mahinda and Sanghamitta Theranee.

With bricks and mortar bolstered up, behold the Sacred Bo;

To some – misguided mortals – ‘tis but a ‘bo-gas’ show.

Where humble Mirisveti a monarch’s fad recalls,

Lo! Royal Siam’s silver now builds its futile walls.

Note by H. C. P. Bell:

According to Mahawansa, Mirisavetiya was so named after King Dutugemunu’s compunction at forgetting chillies (miris) in his alms giving to monks on one occasion. The restoration work on the Mirisavetiya began under the Ceylon Government, with funds provided by the King of Siam. When the money flow began to cease, work also ceased, and bats began to frequent the holed structure.

What need to tell of sculptures, of ‘pokunas’ galore,

Of balustrades and Yogi stones and half a hundred more,

Of Brazen Palace spacious, with gilt-roofed storeys dight –

A modern race more ‘brazen’ would desecrate each site.

For midst these sacred ruins of shrines and cloistered hall,

A reckless generation disports with little balls,

Whilst ‘Parliamentary language’ and imprecations deep

Disturb the peaceful solitude where saintly Rahats sleep.

Note by H. C. P. Bell:

After European residents, old city Anuradhapura in the late 19th century, the area still being cleared between Ruwanveli Seya and Thuparama, was used a ‘golf links’. Ievers did not like the area used as a playground:

Iconoclasts and vandals have had their little day;

No more shall ancient pillars to culverts find their way.

No more a watchful Government such sacrilege condones –

One may not meddle with the gods, nor tamper with the stones.

Anuradhapura! Thy glory shall revive;

Yhu [sic] sons shall swarm within thee like bees about a hive.

The effort of the present for past neglect atones;

New breath of life resuscitates this vale of driest bones.

Composed by R. W. Ievers
(1850-1905)
Introduced by Lokubanda Tillakaratne

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Meththa Rehabilitation Foundation: Restoring Mobility, Dignity and Hope Across Sri Lanka

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Mahawa Factory

For thousands of Sri Lankans living with limb loss and physical disabilities, access to quality rehabilitation services remains a significant challenge. Yet, for more than three decades, our organisation has quietly transformed lives through innovation, compassion and community-based care. The Meththa Rehabilitation Foundation Guarantee Limited (MRFGL), supported by the Meththa Foundation-UK and in partnership with the Manitha Neyam Trust, the LEBARA Foundation and the Oblates of Mary Immaculate in Jaffna, emerged as one of Sri Lanka’s most effective voluntary rehabilitation service providers, restoring mobility, independence and dignity to some of the country’s most vulnerable citizens.

The Foundation’s roots stretch back to 1994, when a group of expatriate Sri Lankan professionals in the United Kingdom recognised the severe shortage of rehabilitation services available to disabled persons in Sri Lanka. Drawing upon their expertise in rehabilitation medicine and allied healthcare professions, they established the Meththa Foundation-UK with a simple but powerful vision: to provide affordable, high-quality prosthetic and rehabilitation services to those who needed them most.

Below knee artificial limb Designed and made at Mahawa

What began as an effort to recycle and repurpose high-quality prosthetic components donated by the UK’s National Health Service has evolved into a comprehensive rehabilitation network serving communities across the island.

Clinical services commenced in Sri Lanka in 1995 through a mobile outreach programme that initially supported injured soldiers and later expanded to civilians affected by conflict and disability. The majority of them were victims of land mines. In 2010, the Sri Lankan arm of the organisation was formally registered as the Meththa Rehabilitation Foundation Guarantee Limited, strengthening its ability to deliver sustainable services nationwide.

Today, the Foundation operates four modern rehabilitation centres located in Mahawa, Mankulam, Balapitiya and Kilinochchi. These centres provide prosthetic and orthotic services, posture and mobility support, limb repairs, and rehabilitation assistance to patients from diverse social and economic backgrounds.

Recognising that many disabled individuals live in remote areas with limited access to healthcare, Meththa Foundation also established a mobile outreach service in 2011. Through a successful “Hub and Spoke” model, rehabilitation teams travel regularly to underserved communities, ensuring that patients are not denied care simply because of distance or financial hardship.

The scale of the Foundation’s work is impressive. During 2025 alone, the organisation recorded approximately 2,000 patient contacts, including the provision of 350 new artificial limbs, 850 limb repairs and around 800 other rehabilitation devices. For many beneficiaries, these interventions represent far more than medical treatment; they offer a pathway back to employment, education and social participation.

Innovation has become a hallmark of the Foundation’s approach. Through an active research and development programme, MRFGL has developed affordable prosthetic technologies specifically suited to Sri Lankan conditions. Among its achievements is the development of a modular below-knee artificial limb system manufactured largely from locally sourced materials. The Foundation has also designed low-cost prosthetic knee components that significantly reduce the financial burden on patients while maintaining quality and functionality. These developments are funded by generous International Grants facilitated by affluent members of the Meththa Foundation-UK. Service users are encouraged to donate whatever they can but for those who cannot, which is a majority the services are entirely free.

These innovations not only make rehabilitation more affordable but also strengthen local manufacturing capabilities and reduce dependence on imported components.

Equally important is the Foundation’s commitment for building local expertise. Recognising the shortage of trained rehabilitation professionals in Sri Lanka, Meththa Foundation

established an apprentice-based vocational training programme that recruits and trains young people as prosthetists, orthotists and rehabilitation technicians. Several locally trained staff members are now employed across the Foundation’s centres, helping to create a sustainable workforce for the future.

The organisation’s work has attracted growing recognition within the healthcare sector. Discussions have already taken place with health authorities regarding the potential use of Meththa-designed prosthetic components within Government hospitals. Such collaboration could significantly expand access to affordable rehabilitation services throughout the country.

Beyond its clinical achievements, the Foundation’s impact is measured in restored confidence and renewed independence. Surveys conducted among beneficiaries indicate that many educated amputees successfully return to productive lives after receiving rehabilitation support. However, the findings also highlight an ongoing challenge among poorer and less educated amputees, many of whom struggle to access follow-up care due to transportation difficulties and financial constraints.

To address this issue, the organisation hopes to -expand its mobile services and community outreach programmes. Additional funding would allow rehabilitation teams to reach isolated communities more frequently, ensuring that vulnerable patients continue to receive the support they need.

Operating on an annual expenditure of approximately Rs. 30 million in Sri Lanka, supplemented by overseas fundraising and donations, the Foundation remains heavily reliant on the partnership of charitable trusts such as the Manitha Neyam Trust and LEBARA Foundation and generosity of individual well-wishers. Every contribution directly supports the provision of artificial limbs, mobility devices, training programmes and outreach services for those who might otherwise be left behind.

As Sri Lanka continues to strengthen its healthcare and social welfare systems, organisations such as the Meththa Foundation demonstrate how innovation, volunteerism and dedication can create lasting social

By helping individuals regain mobility and independence, the Foundation is not merely providing artificial limbs—it is rebuilding lives and restoring hope.

For many “beneficiaries, every step they take is a testament to the life-changing work of the Meththa foundation

www.meththafoundation-sl-uk.org

Chairman’s WhatsApp contact number +94 77 788 6119

Prof S P Lamabadusurira, Chairman and Dr B Panagamuwa, ✍️
First Trustee

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