Features

The Bandarawela experience

Published

3 years ago

2023/04/23

Thilina Walpola

(The war years)

Excerpted from Chosen Ground: The Clara Motwani Saga by Goolbai Gunasekara

When war broke out in 1939 its reverberations were worldwide, of course. Not for nothing was it referred to as World War II. Yet the widening ripples of the dreadful conflict barely reached our shores in Sri Lanka. The British Empire had weathered World War I from 1914-18, and so there seemed to be no good reason as to why we should not expect it to do likewise in 1939. Our confidence in the invincibility of the British Empire was such that even the declaration of war. seemed a far away affair which the British would handle with their customary elan, ensuring that the colonies and dominions were protected at all times.

Wiser local brains saw through the facade of invincibility. They realized quite early in the day that if this island were to be the focus of an enemy attack there was no possible way Sri Lanka (then Ceylon) could be defended. The British knew it and local leaders of the political community knew it — but the population at large did not know it, and thus worry was at a minimum.

It was not OUR war after all. The British ruled us, and the people of Ceylon felt that our rulers were well served by having total access to all our resources — especially our rubber, at prices set in Britain. Had the owners of the island’s rubber estates been allowed to sell their produce in the open market at the time, Sri Lanka might not be in the economic doldrums of today. Similarly, all the island’s assets were regarded as Britain’s by right of conquest, and so Ceylonese felt they had done more than their bit as far as the war was concerned. They settled down to see it through.

The question of ‘evacuation’ trembled in the air. Until such time as schools could be transferred up to the hills, schoolchildren in the coastal areas were taught air raid drill. This provided an exciting little interlude in our daily life. It worked thus. A siren would sound that would be heard all over Colombo. At that signal, school kids dived under their desks, or lay flat in the corridors until the all-clear sounded. Sand bags were piled up on roadsides, and even in schools, giving us a thoroughly deceptive feeling of security. As far as school girls were concerned, it made for a welcome break in the monotony of school life.

Eventually, of course, the Principals of the big Colombo schools began making preparations for an exodus up-country. Schools were soon divided to form an ‘Up-country Branch’ and a ‘Colombo Branch’.

The Royal College buildings in Colombo were taken over by the British Government and so the school transferred to a new location at “Glendale” in Bandarawela. St.Thomas’ College, which already had a branch at Gurutalawa, also went to Getambe. Bishopians trotted off to Kandy, and sited themselves at “Fernhill”. Further up was Ladies’ College in “Uplands”, while the students of Bishop’s College and Ladies’ College who were left behind in Colombo, joined up as the “Lake School” – probably the only time these two rival schools have ever been so close.

Somewhere along the way however, our complacency received a little jolt. Singapore fell and the Japanese were too close for comfort. Schools that could afford a quicker evacuation began moving up to the hills. Visakha soon began this process itself. Under the Principals of these schools (mostly foreigners) work and studies went on without missing a beat. A holiday atmosphere may have been noticeable but it did not penetrate into the classroom agendas. My own mother, as Principal of Visakha, had to divide her time between the Colombo branch and the Bandarawela branch. I presume that all the Principals shuttled up and down in a similar manner. Certainly the train journeys up and down were comfortable beyond belief. Snowy white sheets and fluffy pillows were laid on berths in the First Class carriages, which made the journey totally delightful.

Mother eventually used a personal friendship with Mr. D.G.K. Jayakody who had a large home, “Chandragiri” in the hills of Bandarawela. It was rented by Visakha for the new branch school. Temporary classrooms were built while the main house was used for the boarding. One of Mr. Jayakodys granddaughters, Ramya, remains my close friend to this day and her granddaughter, Saveeta, is one of my pupils at the Asian International School at the moment. Another instance of the circle of life!

Classes began. Mrs. Susan George Pulimood (subsequently Principal of Visakha), and Mrs. Chandra Godakumbure, wife of the later Archaeological Commissioner, were among the numerous excellent teachers who went up to Bandarawela. Mother ran both schools in Colombo and Bandarawela on a shuttle system which seemed to work well enough. She had a great time, enjoying the slightly unorthodox atmosphere. Small classes gave her time to get to know every girl intimately — whether the girls enjoyed such close personal attention was another matter. Mother concerned herself with neat cupboards, clean clothes, hairstyles, diet, personal hygiene, exercise and everything else, not really a Principal’s usual business.

It would be correct to say that these mountain schools, so small in number and in size, functioned as happy families. There were compulsory religious activities, of course. The Bandarawela temples and churches never had so many adherents as they did during the war years.

For excitement and entertainment there were the movies. Whatever Britain was doing on the various war fronts, her colonies received regular inputs from the film studios. Two changes a week was the order of the day. Mother would graciously allow her Visakhians to walk into town to see the latest Greer Garson or Ingrid Bergman offerings (among others) on the silver screen. We thrilled to ‘Dangerous Moonlight’, `Mrs. Miniver’, and other movies of high romance. Films that starred Shirley Temple and Margaret O’Brien were considered suitable for us juniors. To this day I remember the hair of Dr.Thelma Gunawardena (now retired Director of National Museums), done in Shirley Temple ringlets.

In Diyatalawa, three or four miles from Bandarawela, there were two theatres which catered to the servicemen and the general public. If the teachers at Visakha felt particularly adventurous, they would walk the distance and back just to see a film that had been highly publicized. Older girls were allowed to accompany them, and there were some touching incidents.

One of the movies had taken an unusually long time to end, and it was dusk when the Visakha contingent finally emerged from the cinema to begin the long walk home. It was a time when violence was minimal. The whole island was safe, safe, safe. Whatever fear the group might have felt was mainly because of animals that may have unexpectedly run across the road. Buses did not run so late and in any case there was petrol rationing.

Cautiously, the Visakhians decided to set off. Sri Lankan voices are not necessarily soft, and a group of British officers soon caught on that this was a bunch of jittery natives. One of the senior officers approached the group. “I can have you escorted back to Bandarawela,” he said, and proceeded to send two cadets along with the nervous ladies . Naturally they got chatting on the way, and the two young soldiers told the Visakhian group that they were the first Ceylonese who had talked to them, apart from the servants they employed.

Seeing the Visakhians hiking up the Visakha hill with two young British soldiers as escorts almost gave Mother a heart attack. She had visions of angry, tradition-oriented parents getting to hear that their offspring had actually arranged to meet those dastardly British soldiers, whose intentions just had to be questionable, if not downright dangerous. She eventually recovered enough to send their C.O. a nice note of thanks, but it was a long, long time before Visakhians undertook that walk to Diyatalawa to see a film, however marvelous it might be.

Then there were the paper chases, otherwise known as the ‘Hares and Hounds’. These were dear to Mother’s heart. Not only were her girls learning the art of simple tracking, but they were also breathing in all that marvelous mountain air for which Bandarawela was justly famous. Writing about the ‘Bandarawela Experience’, author Manel Ratnatunga has this to say:

“But it was only the evacuation of the school to Bandarawela during the war years that brought me close to Mrs. Clara Motwani, our Principal. To all of us in those makeshift classrooms on the hills of Bandarawela, fragrant with eucalyptus and pine, she made us realize that a school could maintain high standards of learning and discipline even in makeshift buildings.

“In the dwindled school the communication gap between ‘the awesome American Principal’ and staff and students was bridged in a manner that would not have been possible in the large and impersonal Colombo buildings. With wisdom and good leadership, Mrs. Motwani altered her style to fit the countryside and keep her homesick brood well and happy.

“So there we were accompanying her on three-mile walks which had us running to keep up with her strong, long strides; visiting the rickety old cinema house atop some garage (she sometimes included the domestics, who looked askance each time there was a kiss on the screen); hitching train rides on excursions to neighbouring townships; trekking cross country over hill and dale. She was always with us, the least exhausted, and perhaps because of that day and age we never crossed the ‘Maginot line’ of respect for the Principal or our teachers. Memories of euphoria.

“For religious instruction, with no Narada Thero of Vajiraramaya Temple on call, Mrs. Motwani’s Visakhians turned to the Czechoslovakian monk, Rev. Nyanasatta, from a lonely hermitage, as he spoke English, rather than to the local monks who sometimes didn’t.”

But alas! My happy days of Dr. Ratnavale’s advised freedom were coming to an end. I was transferred to the Froebel School, also in Bandarawela, which catered mostly to foreign children. Many of the students in this school had fathers in the army and so regular bulletins were reaching us eight-year-olds from other authoritative eight-year-olds. The boys’ favourite game at Froebel was called “Bombers and Blackouts”. We girls were nurses and other unexciting helpers. My friend Suriya (Doreen Wickremasinghe’s daughter) went up to Froebel before I got there but her unusually high IQ placed her in a class or two above me.

Many wealthy Colombo citizens maintained lovely holiday homes in the hill country. The British began commandeering the best unoccupied ones on a year-round basis, for the use of their Army Officers. There was a large Army Cantonment in Diyatalawa, just three. miles from Bandarawela. Wishing to keep the British officers from taking over her upcountry bungalow, Mrs. C.V. Dias, who knew

Mother, asked if she would like to occupy “Suramya’, her beautifully appointed house, which stood on the hill the same as “Chandragiri”.

Mother was delighted and so were Su and I, for “Suramya” was delightfully luxurious. Just below “Suramya” was the holiday home of S.J.E Dias Bandaranaike and his wife Esther. They had three daughters, all of whom now entered Visakha for the duration of the war, as their old school, Bishop’s, was too far away.

Aunty Esther was an Indian, and was not only lovely to look at but also had a formidable brain … something all her three daughters inherited. The eldest, Gwen, became Principal of Bishop’s College. Sonia, who went to Cambridge for her medical degree, practices medicine in Suffolk, while Yasmine, the youngest, is Emeritus Professor of English Literature at Macquarie University in New South Wales, and has been awarded the Order of Australia for services to literature and education.

Aunty Esther had known Mother earlier, but that Bandarawela neighbourliness cemented a strong friendship. Her youngest daughter, Yasmine, became my friend and still is. Yasmine, her sisters, and I would all play Monopoly on the huge Bandaranaike antique beds which served as divans, or comfortably read books together during my holidays from Froebel. These are the memories I have of Bandarawela. These and many others.

The ‘in’ shop at Bandarawela during the war (in fact the only well-stocked one) was a branch of Colombo’s `Millers’. It pretty much catered to everyone’s needs. Our hair was cut by an elderly barber at the Bandarawela Hotel, whose clientele ranged from age three to 83. Hair styles were unheard of. We read of rationing in England, but in Ceylon no one was actually losing weight because of any constraints. In short, food was available. A locally made chocolate, ‘Barbers’, was substituted for Cadbury’s and Nestle’s – but we managed.

On one never-to-be-forgotten day, a bomb (or bombs) fell in Colombo. The girls at Visakha were in a tizzy. No work was done at all. Visakhians tried frantically to call their homes but as each call was a trunk call (which took about two hours to connect) there was little communication between them and their parents. As I remember it, I don’t think anyone was actually killed by those few bombs … but I am open to correction. Certainly, Ceylon had it good during the war.

Colombo, meanwhile, was rapidly becoming a ghost town. On the gates of half the residences of the city there were signs reading “To Let”. A house could be leased for Rs. 100/- a month, and even that was considered a luxury rental.

Back in India my father, nervous about the vulnerability of the island, soon carted his family back to the Nilgiri Hills. The story of how this came about is related later. My sister and I finished the War as pupils at the convent in Ootacamund in India, where we managed, again, to ignore the European conflict as both Father and the Indian newspapers were far more concerned with the doings of Mahatma Gandhi, Nehru and the Indian Congress.

The unorthodox schooling arranged for the Bandarawela Viskhians during the war years has resulted in many tales being told. Dr. Geeta Jayalath remembers Mother tucking her into bed. She was just 10-years old. Incidentally, Geeta was one of the first Visakhians to qualify as a doctor after Mrs. Pulimood introduced the Science stream into Visakha when she succeeded Mother as Principal. Her sister Ishwari Corea, whose name is synonymous with the Public Library, remembers that Visakha-in-the-hills had no boundary walls. Students knew they should not stray out of the general periphery of the school.

One Sunday, Ishwari and a few like-minded dare-devils were merrily coasting up and down the school hill when to their dismay they ran smack into Mother, who, running true to form, was checking up on het boarders when they least expected it. Reversing themselves they sheepishly followed her up the hill. Her ‘punishment’, if it could be called that, was typical. She always explained WHY she was handing out a punishment. She did so now.

“Ishwari,” she said, “I am quite aware you were in no danger, but let us just suppose that your parents had decided to visit you, and that I was unable to find you. What could I have possibly said to them?”

A highly popular `correction’ was being asked to wait over at mealtimes for everyone else to finish. Verona Ranasinghe, one of the stricter Prefects, was constantly on the alert for little miscreants. She reported them to Mother, who tried to make the punishment fit the crime.

What Mother did not know about this particular crime-deterrent was, that the late diners got far more than those who had gone before. There was always plenty of food left over, and the extra banana, the extra slice of pineapple, even any extra caramel pudding was theirs for the asking. Mother had no idea that waiting 15 minutes for dinner was no great hardship, and she always handed out her corrective measures reluctantly. Secretly jubilant, Ishwari and her partners in crime looked so upset that Mother, who hated any disciplinary action connected with food, revoked her order.

“Never mind,” she told the little hypocrites, “I’m sure that my talk with you will of itself be enough to halt any unscheduled walks in future.”

“Oh, thank you Mrs. Motwani,” they chorused, as all that extra food evaporated before their very eyes.

Mother frequently mentioned the livelier (and therefore better remembered) girls in the boarding. Yasoma Rupasinghe was one of these, and Vinitha de Silva (now Dr. de Silva) was another.

“Her eyes literally sparkled,” Mother would say. Then there was pretty Indra de Silva, mother of the famous cricketing Wettamunis, who closely resembled the film star, Deanna Durbin. She was at that time a highly popular actress, and, was reputably Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s (president of the USA) favourite screen idol.

The Hewavitharna girls, Manel, Rani, Sita, Manthri, Kaushalya and Indira were day scholars, but they joined in most of the hostel programs. Manel was Mother’s star pupil in English. It was a talent that flowered, for Manel has become a well-known writer and is the author of many books, one of which was short listed for the Gratiaen Award.

Dhameswari Karunaratne’s parents also lived on the Visakha hill and this little academic genius went on to become the Vice Principal of Visakha after a brilliant scholastic career. She would get a near 100% in every subject, which was terribly discouraging to her classmates who, try as they might, could not retch such perfection.

There were even two boys amidst all these girls and they certainly lent colour, if not spice, to this all-girl establishment. There was no doubt in anyone’s minds that this early exposure to all female company gave these boys a head start in life, for they have both been highly successful in their chosen fields. Channa Gunasekara went on to become Sri Lanka’s Captain of cricket while Singha Basnayake ended a brilliant scholastic career working for the UNO. Lest Visakha takes all the credit I must add that both young men returned to Royal College from whence they had sprung.

There was a personal outcome of the Bandarawela days which concerned Mrs. Pulimood and myself Mrs Pulimood was the only Christian in Visakha at that time. If I happened to be home on vacation from Froebel, Mother sent me along with Mrs. Pulimood to keep her company on the walk to Church and also to fulfil Mother’s belief that all religions are worthy of being studied. As a Syrian Christian, Mrs Pulimood would explain to me that hers was the oldest organized Christian Church, dating back as it did from the arrival of St Thomas (the doubting Thomas of the Gospels) in India. I wonder if she ever realized that my subsequent deeper involvement with Christianity was the result of those first seeds sown by a brilliant teacher.

Father came to Bandarawela only once. We still went to India for holidays but for the greater part of the War, Father was on tour. He stayed put long enough to lecture for two years at the Tata Institute of Social Sciences in Bombay, but he kept telling Mother that she should join him in India as Ceylon’s defences were minimal. Mother would never leave Visakha until Father forced her hand as related elsewhere.

For the present, Mother continued her life as a commuting Principal. Whenever she was down in Colombo she either stayed with Dr. and Mrs. E.M. Wijerama, her close friends, or else with Dr. and Mrs. Blok whose daughter Winifred had been a pupil at Visakha. Winifred was a talented pianist. As a pianist herself, Mother loved listening to Winifred’s playing. It heightened the enjoyment of these rare social evenings of warm hospitality spent in the company of gracious friends.

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Features

Power crept into the Sangha and is now tearing it apart

Published

1 day ago

2026/06/5

Thilina Walpola

A file photo of Buddhist monks engaged in a protest

For more than a century, Sri Lankan society has lived with a quiet contradiction at the heart of its religious life. On the one hand, the Buddhist monk is revered as the embodiment of moral discipline, selfrestraint, and renunciation. On the other, the modern monk has become a public figure, political actor, administrator, media personality, and in some cases power broker whose influence extends far beyond the temple. This contradiction has been tolerated, even celebrated, for decades. But recent events, most notably a widely publicised case involving a senior monk accused of grave moral misconduct, have forced the country to confront a painful truth: the institutional conditions that make such scandals possible are not new. They are the predictable outcome of a long historical process that H. L. Seneviratne described with remarkable clarity in The Work of Kings. The moral deterioration visible today is not an aberration. It is the culmination of a centurylong transformation in the identity, function, and authority of the Sangha.

To understand how we arrived at this moment, it is necessary to revisit the argument Seneviratne made nearly three decades ago. His thesis was simple but profound: the modern Sri Lankan monkhood has taken on the ‘work of kings.’ By this he meant that monks, instead of confining themselves to the renunciant life prescribed by the Vinaya, have assumed the secular responsibilities once associated with precolonial kingship, such as protecting the religion, organising society, guiding the nation, and enforcing moral order. This shift, he argued, was not a natural evolution of Buddhist tradition but a modern invention shaped by colonialism, nationalism, and the anxieties of a society struggling to redefine itself in the face of foreign domination. The monk became a symbol of national identity, a guardian of cultural authenticity, and a leader in the struggle for political autonomy. In the process, the boundaries that once separated the monastic from the worldly began to dissolve.

Transformation

The consequences of this transformation were not immediately visible. For decades, the activist monk was celebrated as a patriot, a reformer, and a moral guide. His involvement in education, social welfare, and nationalist mobilisation was seen as a necessary response to colonial pressures and missionary competition. But beneath the surface, the foundations of monastic discipline were slowly eroding. The Vinaya, which had served for centuries as a rigorous framework for regulating monastic life, was increasingly overshadowed by the demands of public engagement. The communal structures that once ensured accountability, senior supervision, collective confession, and the daily rhythms of monastic routine, were weakened by the pressures of modernity. Monks who travelled constantly, managed institutions, or lived independently in urban temples found themselves outside the traditional systems of oversight that had long protected the integrity of the Sangha.

Scandal

It is within this historical context that the recent scandal must be understood. The case shocked the nation not only because of the severity of the allegations but because it shattered the public’s assumption that the monkhood remains a bastion of moral purity. Yet the shock itself reveals a collective denial. For years, Sri Lankan society has been aware, sometimes quietly, sometimes openly—of the growing gap between the ideal of the monk and the realities of modern monastic life. Stories of misconduct, financial irregularities, political manipulation, and abuse of authority have circulated with increasing frequency. But each incident has been treated as an isolated failure, a personal weakness, or an unfortunate exception. What has been missing is recognition that these incidents are symptoms of a deeper structural problem.

Seneviratne’s analysis helps illuminate this problem. When monks take on the work of kings, they inevitably enter domains of power that expose them to temptations the Vinaya was designed to avoid. Handling money, managing institutions, cultivating political patrons, and exercising authority over laypeople create opportunities for ego, ambition, and moral compromise. The monk who becomes a public figure is no longer shielded by the anonymity and humility of the renunciant life. Instead, he becomes a celebrity, a leader, and in some cases an object of uncritical devotion. This elevation brings with it a dangerous form of immunity. Laypeople who revere a monk for his public achievements may hesitate to question his behaviour. Politicians who rely on monastic support may protect him from scrutiny. The media, which often treats monks as moral authorities, may be reluctant to investigate allegations that challenge the sanctity of the robe.

The recent scandal illustrates how these dynamics can converge. The monk at the centre of the case was not an obscure figure. He was a respected preacher, charismatic leader, and head of a prominent institution. His public image was built on years of service, teaching, and community engagement. Yet it was precisely this public stature that allowed him to operate without meaningful oversight. The institutional structures around him, administrators, lay supporters, and junior monks, were either unwilling or unable to challenge his authority. The very qualities that made him a respected figure in the eyes of the public also made him untouchable within his own institution. When allegations finally emerged, they revealed not only personal wrongdoing but a systemic failure of accountability.

Failure that is not unique

This failure is not unique to one temple or one monk. It reflects a broader pattern within the modern Sangha. As monastic institutions have grown in size, wealth, and influence, their internal governance has struggled to keep pace. Many temples operate as semiautonomous entities controlled by a single monk or a small group of monks. Financial transparency is limited, administrative oversight is weak, and the mechanisms for addressing misconduct are often informal or ineffective. The traditional structures of monastic discipline, such as the Sangharama procedures for adjudicating offences, are rarely used in modern contexts, partly because they require collective participation and partly because they are illsuited to the complexities of contemporary institutional life. In practice, this means that monks who wield significant authority can act with little fear of internal sanction.

The politicisation of the Sangha has further complicated matters. Since the midtwentieth century, monks have played an increasingly prominent role in electoral politics, nationalist movements, and public policy debates. This involvement has given them access to political networks that can be mobilised to protect their interests. It has also created a culture in which monks are valued not for their adherence to the Vinaya but for their ability to influence public opinion, mobilise voters, or lend moral legitimacy to political causes. In such an environment, the monk who is politically useful may be shielded from criticism, while the monk who adheres strictly to the renunciant ideal may find himself marginalised or ignored.

The result is a profound distortion of monastic identity. The monk who once sought liberation from worldly attachments is now encouraged to cultivate influence, authority, and public recognition. The monk who once lived under the strict supervision of senior elders now operates in a world where independence is celebrated and oversight is minimal. The monk who once relied on laypeople for basic sustenance now controls vast resources, manages institutions, and commands the loyalty of thousands of followers. This inversion of traditional roles has created a fertile ground for moral deterioration.

Yet it would be a mistake to interpret this deterioration as evidence that the Sangha as a whole is corrupt. Many monks continue to live lives of remarkable discipline, humility, and spiritual dedication. In remote forest monasteries, small village temples, and meditation centres across the country, monks quietly uphold the ancient ideals of the renunciant life. They are not the ones who appear on television, lead political rallies, or manage large institutions. Their work is invisible, their influence subtle, and their commitment unwavering. The crisis facing the Sangha today is not a crisis of individual morality but a crisis of institutional identity. It is the product of a centurylong transformation that has blurred the boundaries between the monastic and the secular, the spiritual and the political, the renunciant and the worldly.

If Sri Lanka is to address this crisis, it must begin by acknowledging the structural nature of the problem. The temptation to treat each scandal as an isolated incident must be resisted. Instead, the country must confront the uncomfortable reality that the modern configuration of monastic life is fundamentally at odds with the principles of the Vinaya. The Sangha cannot simultaneously function as a political force, a social service provider, a media institution, and a spiritual community without compromising its integrity. The more monks are drawn into the world, the more vulnerable they become to the moral dangers that the Buddha warned against.

Reform, therefore, must focus not only on punishing individual offenders but on rethinking the institutional structures that enable misconduct. This includes strengthening internal governance, enhancing financial transparency, restoring the authority of senior elders, and reestablishing the communal practices that once ensured accountability. It also requires a broader cultural shift in how laypeople relate to monks. Blind devotion must give way to informed respect. Reverence must be balanced with responsibility. The robe must be honoured, but it must not be used as a shield against scrutiny.

Seneviratne’s work offers a valuable starting point for this rethinking. His analysis reminds us that the crisis facing the Sangha is not the result of moral decline alone but of historical forces that reshaped the identity of the monkhood. By tracing the evolution of the activist monk, he shows how the Sangha became entangled in the political and social structures of the modern nationstate. This entanglement has brought both benefits and dangers. It has allowed monks to play important roles in education, social welfare, and national development. But it has also exposed them to the corrupting influences of power, wealth, and public acclaim.

The challenge now is to disentangle the Sangha from these influences without undermining its ability to serve society. This will not be easy. The activist monk has become deeply embedded in the cultural and political fabric of the country. Many laypeople expect monks to be leaders, reformers, and guardians of national identity. Politicians rely on monastic support to legitimise their agendas. Media institutions depend on monks for content, commentary, and moral authority. Reversing this trend will require a collective effort from monks, laypeople, and political leaders alike.

Ultimately, the future of the Sangha depends on its ability to reclaim the renunciant ideal that lies at the heart of Buddhist monasticism. This does not mean withdrawing from society entirely, but it does mean reestablishing the boundaries that protect the monk from the dangers of worldly involvement. It means recognising that the true strength of the Sangha lies not in its political influence or institutional power but in its moral authority, its spiritual discipline, and its commitment to the path of liberation. The recent scandal, painful as it is, may serve as a catalyst for this reevaluation. It has exposed the vulnerabilities of the modern monastic system and forced the country to confront the consequences of a centurylong transformation.

To understand how the Vihara Devalegam Act relates to the perceived moral deformation of the clergy, it is necessary to examine how property management, state law, and monastic discipline intersect in the modern era. Historically stemming from the Buddhist Temporalities Ordinance No. 19 of 1931, this act serves as the primary legal framework governing the ‘temporalities’—meaning the secular wealth, extensive landholdings, and material donations belonging to Buddhist temples and shrines. While ancient kings granted these vast tracts of land to support the monkhood’s spiritual pursuits, the modern codification of this law has inadvertently fostered a system where property rights frequently supersede spiritual accountability.

The core of the crisis lies in the commercialisation of the monastic order that this legal framework enables. By treating temple lands as economic assets and vesting absolute administrative power in individual chief monks or lay trustees, the act has contributed to the rise of what critics term a monastic middle class. Access to vast, unregulated financial resources, rent from lands, and corporate donations has fundamentally shifted the focus of certain segments of the clergy away from the traditional path of worldly renunciation and spiritual guidance. Instead, it has driven a preoccupation with business investments, the accumulation of private capital, and luxury lifestyles, which deeply alienates a public looking to the Sangha for moral leadership.

The institutional flaws embedded in the Vihara Devalegam Act find a stark, real-world manifestation in the recent criminal case involving Venerable Pallegama Hemarathana Thero. As the chief priest of Anuradhapura and the custodian of the Atamasthana—the eight highly venerated Buddhist shrines, including the sacred Jaya Sri Maha Bodhi—Hemarathana Thero occupied one of the most powerful and wealthy positions within the Sri Lankan Sangha. His arrest on charges of sexual abuse of a minor girl perfectly illustrates how the structural defects of the Act facilitate not only moral decay but also the systemic obstruction of justice.

The core of this intersection lies in the vast, unaccountable wealth generated by the temporalities of the Anuradhapura shrines. Under the Vihara Devalegam Act, the chief custodian exercises immense, virtually unchecked control over temple revenues, state-backed land management, and millions of rupees in daily donations from millions of global pilgrims. It is precisely this immense financial liquidity that enabled the alleged deployment of vast sums of money to the victim’s family.

Furthermore, the situation underscores the profound policy failures cited regarding the helplessness of the monastic hierarchy and state enforcement. When child protection authorities initially attempted to act, the National Child Protection Authority noted severe delays and institutional resistance, stating they practically had to force the police to execute the arrest. The monk’s immediate retreat to a private hospital in Colombo upon the advancement of the criminal probe, followed by his release on bail, mirrors the exact loop described where wealthy monastics deploy high-priced legal defence teams funded directly or indirectly by their institutional positions. Because the Vihara Devalegam Act does not provide a mechanism for the immediate, unconditional forfeiture of temporal administrative rights upon a criminal indictment, the accused retains his structural power throughout the legal process. The Pallegama Thero scandal stands as definitive proof that without a fundamental overhaul of how temple wealth is legally governed and disciplined, the material benefits guaranteed by ancient temporalities will continue to shield the worst elements of moral deformation from the rule of law.

If Sri Lanka can learn from this moment and if it can recognise the structural roots of the crisis and commit to meaningful reform, then the Sangha may yet emerge stronger, more disciplined, and more faithful to its ancient ideals. But if the country continues to treat each scandal as an isolated failure and if it continues to ignore the deeper institutional problems that Seneviratne identified, then the moral deterioration we see today will only deepen. The work of kings, when performed by monks, carries a heavy price. It is time to decide whether that price is worth paying.

by Professor Amarasiri de Silva

Features

Kondachchi wind farm and battery storage project to boost energy security, says Power Ministry Secretary

Published

1 day ago

2026/06/5

Thilina Walpola

The Power and Energy Ministry’s drive towards energy security and renewable energy expansion received a major boost yesterday with the signing of a tripartite cooperation agreement for the development of the 150 MW Kondachchi Wind Power Project and an integrated Battery Energy Storage System (BESS) in Mannar.

The agreement was signed at the Ministry of Power auditorium under the patronage of Power Minister Anura Karunatilaka and Deputy Power Minister Arkam Ilyas.

Speaking at the event, Ministry Secretary G. M. R. D. Aponsu described the project as a transformative investment that would strengthen the country’s electricity network while supporting Sri Lanka’s transition towards cleaner energy sources.

“The Kondachchi Wind Power Project represents a significant milestone in Sri Lanka’s renewable energy journey. By combining large-scale wind generation with advanced battery energy storage technology, we are creating a more resilient and reliable power system capable of meeting future energy demands while reducing dependence on imported fossil fuels,” Aponsu said.

The project will be developed at Silavathurai in the Kondachchi area of Mannar on lands owned by the Sri Lanka Cashew Corporation. It is expected to utilise some 31 modern wind turbines with a total installed capacity of at least 150 MW.

Aponsu said the inclusion of an integrated battery storage facility would help address the variability associated with wind power generation and ensure stable electricity supply to the national grid.

“The battery energy storage component is a key feature of this project. It will enable the efficient integration of renewable energy into the grid and enhance overall system stability, which is essential as Sri Lanka increases the share of renewables in its energy mix,” he said.

According to the Ministry, the wind farm is expected to generate nearly 525 gigawatt-hours of electricity annually, significantly reducing the country’s expenditure on imported fuel and strengthening national energy security.

The project is also expected to contribute to Sri Lanka’s climate commitments by reducing carbon dioxide emissions by an estimated 372,750 tonnes annually.

“This investment delivers both economic and environmental benefits. It will reduce greenhouse gas emissions, support sustainable development objectives and help Sri Lanka move closer to achieving its renewable energy and climate targets,” Aponsu noted.

The project will be implemented under a Public-Private Partnership (PPP) arrangement using the Build, Own and Operate (BOO) model. The Asian Development Bank is providing technical and financial advisory support through its Transaction Advisory Services programme.

The signing ceremony was attended by Pradeep Perera, Chairman of the National System Operator (Pvt) Ltd., and Takeyo Koike, Head of Market Development and Public-Private Partnership Division of the ADB, among other distinguished guests.

The Ministry said comprehensive Environmental Impact Assessments and avifaunal studies have been undertaken to ensure minimal impacts on bird populations, nearby communities and agricultural lands. A dedicated 220-kilovolt transmission system will also be constructed to connect the project to the national grid.

“The Kondachchi Wind Farm is a strategic national project that will help secure Sri Lanka’s energy future while accelerating the country’s transition towards sustainable and affordable electricity generation,” Aponsu said.

Energy sector experts view the project as one of the most important renewable energy initiatives currently being pursued in Sri Lanka, combining utility-scale wind generation with modern energy storage technology to enhance grid reliability and long-term energy sustainability.

By Ifham Nizam

Features

Saudi Arabia sets new benchmark in Hajj management as 1.7 million pilgrims complete sacred journey

Published

1 day ago

2026/06/5

Thilina Walpola

Ambassador Al-Kahtani

Interview with Khalid Hamoud Al-Kahtani, Ambassador of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia to Sri Lanka

Saudi Arabia has once again demonstrated its unparalleled capacity to manage one of the world’s largest annual religious gatherings, with this year’s Hajj pilgrimage concluding successfully despite extreme temperatures and the immense logistical challenge of accommodating more than 1.7 million pilgrims from around the world.

In an exclusive interview with The Island, Khalid Hamoud Al-Kahtani, Ambassador of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia to Sri Lanka, described the 2026 Hajj season as a resounding success, crediting the achievement to the visionary leadership of the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques, His Royal Highness the Crown Prince and Prime Minister, and the coordinated efforts of multiple government agencies working around the clock to serve pilgrims.

The Ambassador noted that nearly 3,500 Sri Lankan pilgrims participated in this year’s Hajj under the quota allocated to Sri Lanka, benefiting from enhanced healthcare services, sophisticated crowd-management systems, expanded shaded areas and cutting-edge digital solutions introduced by the Kingdom.

With Saudi Arabia continuing to invest heavily in infrastructure, technology and pilgrim services under Vision 2030, Ambassador Al-Kahtani said the Kingdom remains committed to ensuring that pilgrims from around the world perform their religious duties in safety, comfort and tranquility.

The Saudi envoy also highlighted the growing partnership between Saudi Arabia and Sri Lanka, emphasising expanding cooperation not only in Hajj affairs but also in trade, investment, education, culture and institutional exchanges.

Following are excerpts of the interview:

Q: How do you assess this year’s Hajj season?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: This year’s Hajj season was a resounding success, thanks to the Almighty Allah and the integrated efforts of the government of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, led by the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques and His Royal Highness the Crown Prince and Prime Minister. This success was reflected in the efficiency of crowd management, the quality of services provided to the Hajj pilgrims and the effective coordination among the various relevant authorities, which enabled pilgrims to perform their rituals in an atmosphere of security, tranquility and ease.

Q: How many Sri Lankan pilgrims performed Hajj this year?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: The number of Hajj pilgrims from the Democratic Socialist Republic of Sri Lanka reached approximately 3,500, within the quota allocated to Sri Lanka for this season.

Q: Are there any discussions regarding increasing Sri Lanka’s quota in the future?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani:Hajj quotas are determined according to approved regulatory mechanisms that take into account a range of considerations. The relevant authorities in the Kingdom continue to study various aspects related to developing Hajj services and accommodating the allocated numbers for all countries, in coordination with the concerned parties.

Q: What were the most prominent special arrangements implemented this year?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: The operational plans for this season focused on enhancing the safety and comfort of the Hajj pilgrims, especially given the climatic conditions and high temperatures. Measures included expanding shaded areas, increasing water distribution points and enhancing health and ambulance services, in addition to developing the transportation system and traffic management within the holy sites.

Q: What are the most prominent digital systems and smart services that were provided?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani:The Kingdom continues to implement its digital transformation objectives for the Hajj and Umrah system. The scope of electronic services offered through the Nusuk platform and application has been expanded, along with the development of digital systems for issuing permits, managing crowds, guidance and health services. This contributes to increasing the efficiency of services and improving the pilgrim’s experience at all stages of their journey.

Q: How were the challenges of overcrowding and heat addressed?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: The relevant authorities adopted an integrated crowd-management system based on modern technologies and real-time data analysis. This was coupled with intensified health-awareness campaigns, expanded organised movement routes and increased deployment of field, medical and emergency teams. These measures support the safety of the Hajj pilgrims and reduce the risks associated with crowd density and climatic conditions.

Q: Were there special services for the elderly and sick?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: Yes. The Kingdom paid special attention to the elderly and people with special health needs by providing specialized medical services, assistive transportation and facilities equipped to meet their needs, in addition to field teams working to provide humanitarian support and necessary healthcare throughout the Hajj period.

Q: How successful was the Kingdom in combating irregular Hajj permits?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: The relevant authorities in the Kingdom continued to rigorously implement the regulations and instructions governing Hajj, utilising modern technologies and advanced monitoring procedures to reduce violations related to irregular Hajj. These efforts contributed to enhancing the safety of pilgrims, improving crowd-management efficiency and maintaining the smooth flow of movement within the holy sites.

Q: How would you describe Saudi-Sri Lankan cooperation in organising Hajj?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: Cooperation between the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and the Republic of Sri Lanka is characterised by continuous and constructive coordination in all matters related to Hajj. The relevant authorities in both countries work jointly to ensure the provision of the best services for Sri Lankan pilgrims and enable them to perform their rituals with ease and peace of mind.

Q: How many Hajj pilgrims were there globally, and what were the main challenges?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: According to official statistics, the number of Hajj pilgrims this year reached 1,707,301 from various countries around the world. The main challenges included managing large crowds, ensuring public safety and providing health, transportation and accommodation services within a specific geographical and temporal scope. These challenges were addressed through advanced and integrated operational plans, which contributed to the smooth and successful completion of the Hajj season.

Q: Are there any future expansion projects?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: The Kingdom continues to implement strategic development projects within the framework of Vision 2030, including developing the infrastructure in Makkah and the Holy Sites, and enhancing transportation networks and smart services. This contributes to raising the quality of services provided to pilgrims and Umrah performers and improving their long-term experience.

Q: How are Saudi-Sri Lankan relations strengthened outside the context of Hajj?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: Relations between the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and the Republic of Sri Lanka are witnessing continuous development in many areas, including political, economic, trade, cultural and educational cooperation, in addition to developing exchanges between institutions and the private sector. This reflects the two countries’ keenness to strengthen the bilateral partnership and achieve common interests.

Q: What message would you like to convey to Sri Lankan Muslims?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: We extend our sincere congratulations to the Hajj pilgrims who have completed their Hajj rituals, and we ask Almighty Allah to accept their pilgrimage. We also assure Muslims in Sri Lanka that the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia places serving the Two Holy Mosques and the guests of Almighty Allah at the forefront of its priorities and continues to develop the Hajj and Umrah system to achieve the highest standards of quality and safety.

By Ifham Nizam