Features
My clash with Philip Gunawardene in the parliament restaurant
(Excerpted from Falling Leaves, an anthology of memoirs
by LC Aulpragasam)
A Personal Note
In early 1958, I was appointed Deputy Commissioner of the Agrarian Services Department, in charge of implementing the Paddy Lands Act of 1958, under the general direction of the Commissioner. As an officer of the CCS I already had some training and experience in law and administration as well as experience in wet and dry zone agriculture and irrigation.
In setting out to draft the Administrative Regulations under the Act, I came across a number of structural, legal and operational considerations, which probably had not been foreseen by its authors – probably because this was the first time it was being looked at by an administrator with field experience.
The deeper I delved, the more the legal challenges that I foresaw, and the greater the problems from an implementation point of view. First from the conceptual side, the concept and design of the Act did not fit, for example, the agrarian conditions in the Batticaloa district, which raised some problems of implementation. Secondly, because of the Act’s highly contentious nature, its legal provisions were likely to be challenged and its implementation obstructed.
This made it necessary to examine its provisions from an adversarial point of view – which revealed many legal and administrative vulnerabilities. Thirdly, there were new problems of implementation. For example, new records of land ownership, tenancy, etc. would have to be created from scratch (since no such records ever existed) before implementation could even begin. In comparison, the land records in India, Pakistan and Bangladesh had been built up over a period of 200-300 years by the British colonial power. How could such records be created within the six months before the Act would become operational in six districts of the country? And so on.
The Commissioner of Agrarian Services happened to be abroad for three weeks. Thus, not only was I the Acting Head of a Class I, Grade 1 Department at the age of 28 years, but I also needed policy-level help, because this was hitherto uncharted territory in the country. So I asked for an appointment with the Minister of Agriculture, Mr. Phillip Gunawardene, the author of the Act.
I had never met or seen him before. The Minister was charming, affable and even fatherly, over a cup of tea and cakes in Parliament. Getting down to business, I brought to his notice the number of legal difficulties and some of the administrative problems that needed his guidance. I was so intent on my presentation that I failed to notice that he had tossed his spectacles on the table, which was a sign (I was told later) that he was losing his patience – and his temper. I was only halfway through my list when he suddenly banged his fist on the table with a loud noise, stopping me abruptly. “Young man” he exclaimed: “Have you come across these difficulties in the field – or are they in your head?”
When I pointed feebly to my head, “Go and work”, he thundered! “And when you come across these problems, then you come to me!” In complete disarray, I scooped up my files and scooted from Parliament, leaving a trail of paper in my wake! This was the first and last time that I saw Mr. Phillip Gunawardene. He was isolated and pushed out of the Cabinet, to be succeeded as Minister of Agriculture by Mr. C.P. de Silva.
Although upset by my encounter with Mr. Phillip Gunawardene, I came later to recognize that I had been looking at it only from my own administrative and legal point of view, not appreciating his political difficulties in going back to Parliament for amendments, before implementation had even begun! Although I never met Mr. Gunawardene thereafter, he must have appreciated my work: for he later paid me a handsome compliment in Parliament, as recorded in the Hansard. However, within one year of implementation, the Act proved to be unimplementable: for I had proved to be correct on all the legal and administrative points I had brought up with him.
The above resulted in two difficulties that I had to face. Within one year, every one of the legal and administrative problems that I had raised with the Minister (Mr. Philip Gunawardene) had actually come to pass. But secondly, when I needed ministerial help, there was a new Minister, Mr. C.P de Silva, who was actually opposed to the Act and who decided to let it stew in its own legal difficulties, so as to discredit it countrywide. In fact, I had to battle with the new Minister as late as 1960 to get the same loopholes plugged that I had pointed out to the former Minister in 1958.
Innovations of the Cultivation Committees
Starting from the premise that the state machinery, especially at lower levels, was subject to the semi-feudal influence of the landlords, the Paddy Lands Act created a new Department of Agrarian Services at the national level, devoted to its implementation. Moreover, in order to bypass the lower level of administration at field level (which was thought to be under landlord influence), it created Cultivation Committees with assured majorities for the actual cultivators.
This attempt to bias the administration in favour of the weaker sections of the agrarian society represented a change from the view prevailing from colonial times, namely, that the administration would be neutral in its dealings with all sections of the public. It is relevant to note here that most of the agrarian reform programs in Latin America starting from the same premise, opted for separate, dedicated agencies for the implementation of their land reforms. The experiences of Japan, South Korea and Taiwan were quite different because their land reforms were carried out under martial law, or with active military backing; hence they did not need separate, devoted ministries/agencies.
The Act was also innovatory in that it represented the first time in any country in South and Southeast Asia that legal powers in the implementation of tenurial reforms and the management of irrigation and cultivation at field levels were given to an elected body. The idea that an elected body of semi-educated farmers could take over functions from the government bureaucracy was clearly revolutionary at that time. For example, since the rent payable on a particular field was fixed as one-fourth share of the harvest, how could a distant court know how much the gross harvest of a particular field was?
The Act recognized that such factual questions at field level could only be answered at field level. The failure to recognize this and to provide for beneficiary participation in implementing such reforms has been one of the greatest weaknesses of similar programs in other countries of the region at that time.
The first role of the Cultivation Committees was to help in the implementation of the tenancy provisions of the Act (Sections 8-19). The Committees were also authorized to act as intermediaries between landlord and tenant in the collection of rents, etc., thus reducing the personal hold of landlords over their tenants. The Cultivation Committees were thus expected to play an important socio-psychological role in bolstering the confidence of the tenant-cultivators to actively claim their rights under the law.
Secondly, the Cultivation Committees were given important development functions, with powers for the advancement of paddy cultivation in their areas. They were given access to technical advice in the form of Agricultural Extension Officers and Village Cultivation Officers, who were made ex-officio members of the Committees; but with a right only to speak but not to vote at their meetings. It was hoped that with such technical advice emanating from within, and adopted by the Committees, would enable both paddy production and water-management to be greatly improved by the farmers, acting on their own volition.
A third major innovatory function of the Cultivation Committees was in respect of (irrigation) water management, with the Committees taking over the functions of the Irrigation Headmen (Vel Vidanes) at field level. These functions, among others, included enforcement of rules relating to cultivation dates, clearing of channels, fencing, etc, as well as improving water management.
This was in a context where bureaucratic and technical means of water management at field level had already failed. The Paddy Lands Act of 1958 thus predated international recognition of the need for farmer participation in water-management by at least 20 years! This was in the law: in practice, however, the Cultivation Committees under the Act of 1958 never made any progress in this field because they were legally invalidated soon after their formation.
A fourth innovation was in the field of agricultural extension. It was evident then, and more evident now, that agricultural extension systems based on the western models of one extension worker dealing face-to-face with each individual farmer were completely unrealistic in most developing countries with a multitude of small farmers. For example, in Nepal, an extension agent would have to walk one whole day to even reach 20 farmers in remote villages! No developing country in the world could afford such a system in the context of multiple small farmers, which would require a quadrupling or more of extension workers.
Ironically, this has been the recommendation of FAO and the World Bank for decades since the Paddy Lands Act of 1958! It is therefore obvious that a two-stage system or a group system of extension had to be devised, either with the extension agent working through farmer leaders, or through a system of group-extension, as envisaged by the Paddy Lands Act. Thus, the Act’s introduction of such a group extension system with farmer education and participation in the planning and implementation of such self-decided programs of agricultural development was at least 40 years ahead of its time.
Lastly, the tenurial provisions of the Paddy Lands Act needed to be supported by a broader package of institutional support for smallholder agriculture, in order for the Act itself to be effective. Such a package was provided by the establishment of the multipurpose cooperatives, agricultural credit for smallholders, a fertilizer subsidy, a guaranteed price for paddy and a pilot crop insurance scheme. It is important to recognize that the green revolution could not have taken off in Sri Lanka if the institutional support structure for small-scale paddy farming had not been laid in the late 1950s, along with the Paddy Lands Act.
While the Act provided for an active role by farmers’ organizations (the Cultivation Committees), it is clear that the latter were not neutral farmer organizations. It was known, for example, that the village cooperatives in most countries of South Asia were under the control of the big landlords. The Paddy Lands Act, therefore, went to great lengths to neutralize the overweening power of the landlords by weighting these Committees heavily in favour of the actual cultivators.
The landlords, however, retaliated by getting the Cultivation Committees declared legally invalid. This had the effect of cutting off the implementation structure at the knees, with no feet on the ground, making field level implementation impossible. Thus one of the main laudatory features of the Act, namely, its provision for beneficiary participation, proved also to be its Achilles heel, leading ultimately to its collapse. Although such local farmers’ associations weighted in favour of the actual tillers succeeded in Japan, Taiwan and South Korea, they were supported by martial law or military force.
In contrast, our Cultivation Committees were subject to a judicial system under the rule of law in a democracy. In fact, it even allowed a President of a Village Tribunal to famously declare from the bench: “Pillippua Parippua-ge kumburu panatha apita epa” (We do not want lousy Phillip’s Paddy Lands Act!)
The Department of Agrarian Services organized rounds of field-level meetings, trying to encourage the Cultivation Committees to hold fast, promising that legal amendments would soon be forthcoming to remedy their legal incapacity. But in fact, these amendments came too late. They were passed only after the landlords had already evicted their tenants, and only after the Cultivation Committees had been seen to have failed in their cultivation and irrigation duties, thus losing the confidence of the farmers themselves.
It is also necessary to consider the socio-political climate in the villages at that time. There was euphoria among the tenant-cultivators and agricultural workers when the Act was passed. This was heightened by their participation in the election of the Cultivation Committees. This enthusiasm was reflected in other aspects of cultivation too. Fertilizer consumption doubled in the first year of the formation of the Cultivation Committees, but collapsed in the year following their legal invalidation.
This collapse caused great demoralization among the cultivators, since they had gained great psychological support from the Committees in standing up for their rights. With their collapse, many tenants surrendered their rights, accepting their plight as “hidden tenants” with no rights under the law. There was chaos in the paddy fields too, since there was no agency left to ensure that the fields were fenced, or the irrigation water issued.
Hence, by the time the Cultivation Committees were re-legalized by the Paddy Lands (Amendment) Acts of 1961 and 1964, the latter served only to close the stable door after the horse had bolted. The Committees never regained the vigour and vibrancy that accompanied the first flush of their formation under the Act of 1958.
Unfortunately, the subsequent amendments to the Act (i.e. the amendments of 1961, 1964, 1972 and 1979) increased the heavy hand of the bureaucracy within the Cultivation Committees and Agricultural Productivity Committees that took their place. As in other cases, such bureaucratization has been accompanied by politicization of the institutions and processes dealing with paddy cultivation, making a mockery of the elected and participatory nature of the Cultivation Committees under the Paddy Lands Act of 1958.
Features
The silent crisis: A humanitarian plea for Sri Lankan healthcare
As a clinician whose journey in medicine began from the lecture halls of the Colombo Medical Faculty, in 1965, and then matured through securing the coveted MBBS(Ceylon) degree in 1970, followed by a further kaleidoscopic journey down the specialist corridors, from 1978 onwards, I have witnessed the remarkable evolution of healthcare in Sri Lanka. I have seen the admirable resolve of a nation that managed to offer free healthcare, at the point of delivery, to all its citizens, and I have seen many a battle being fought to bring state-of-the-art treatments for the benefit of sick patients, even despite some of the initial scepticism on the part of some.
However, as we now try to navigate the turbulent waters of 2026, I find myself compelled to speak even impulsively. This is not a mission of fault-finding, or a manifestation of a desire to “ruffle feathers,” for the sake of fanning a fire. Rather, it is a reflection offered in good faith, born from the “Spirit of an Enthusiast” who has seen both the brickbats as well as the accolades bestowed on our profession. My goal is relatively simple: which is to bring to light the silent, sometimes extremely difficult, situations faced by patients, doctors, and relatives, and to urge for a compassionate and collective solution to a crisis that threatens the very foundation of the care we provide.
The Generic Gamble: The Lament of the Ward
The cornerstone of our health service has always been the provision of free medicine to all who come to our state medical facilities. For decades, the “generic-only” policy served as a vital safety net. But, today, that net is fraying, not just at the edges but virtually as a whole. In our hospital wards, the clinician’s heart sinks when a patient fails to respond to a standard course of treatment.
We are increasingly haunted by the fancy terminology, “Quality Failure”, as alerts on medicinal drugs. When an anti-infective medicine lacks the potency to clear an infection, or when a poor-quality generic drug fails to stabilise the circulation of a little gasping child who is fighting for his life, the treating doctor is left in a state of agonising clinical despair. It is a profound lament to realise that while the medicine is “available” on the shelf, its efficacy remains as a question mark. The “free health service” becomes tragically and obstinately expensive when it leads to prolonged hospital stays, complications, or, in the worst cases, even the loss of a life that could have been saved with a more reliable formulation of an essential medicine. We must acknowledge that a cheap drug that does not work is the most expensive drug of all. For the doctor, this turns every prescription into a calculated risk, a far cry from the “best possible care” we were trained to deliver. These situations are certainly not the whims of fancy of a wandering mind, but real-time occurrences in our health service.
The Vanishing Innovators and the Small Market Reality
In the private sector, the situation is equally dire, though the causes are different. We must face a hard truth: Sri Lanka is a comparatively small market in the global pharmaceutical landscape. For the world’s leading manufacturers of proven, branded medicines and vaccines, our island is often a small, rather peripheral, consideration.
When the National Medicines Regulatory Authority (NMRA) fixes prices at levels that do not even cover the “Cost, Insurance, and Freight” (CIF) value, let alone the massive research and development costs of these innovator drugs, these companies inevitably reach a breaking point. They do not “bail out” through a lack of compassion, but do so even reluctantly sometimes, because they simply cannot sustain their operations at a loss.
Over the last few years, we have watched in silence as reputable international companies have closed their shops and departed our shores. With them have gone some of the vaccines that provided a lifetime of immunity, and the so-called branded drugs that offered predictable, life-saving results. When these “Gold Standards” vanish, the void is often filled by products from regions with lower regulatory oversight, leaving the patient with no choice but to settle for what is available or just what is left.
The Shadow Economy of “Baggage Medicines”
Perhaps the most heartbreaking symptom of this broken system is the rise of the “baggage medicine” market. Walk into any major private hospital today, and you will hear the whispered conversations of relatives trying to source drugs from abroad, in a clandestine manner.
Reputed branded drugs are being brought into the country in the suitcases of international travellers. While these relatives are acting out of pure, desperate love, the medical risks are astronomical. These medicines sometimes bypass the essential “Cold Chain” requirements for temperature-sensitive products like insulin or specialised vaccines. There is no way to verify if the drug in the suitcase is genuinely effective, or if it has been rendered inert by the heat of a cargo hold of an aircraft.
As a physician, it is an agonising dilemma: do I administer a drug brought in a suitcase to save a life, knowing very well that I cannot certify its safety? We are forcing our citizens into a shadow economy of survival, stripped of the protections a modern regulatory body should provide.
The Unavoidable Storm: Geopolitical Shocks
Adding to this internal struggle is the current unrest in the Middle East. As of March 2026, the escalation of conflict has sent shockwaves through global supply chains. With major maritime routes, like the Strait of Hormuz effectively halted and air cargo capacity from Middle Eastern hubs, like Dubai, slashed by over 50%, the cost of transporting medicine has become a moving target.
* Skyrocketing Logistics: Freight surcharges and war-risk insurance premiums have added “unavoidable costs” that simply cannot be absorbed by local importers under a rigid price cap.
* Delayed Transport is delayed healing:
Shipments rerouted around the Cape of Good Hope add weeks to delivery times, leading to stockouts of even the most basic medical consumables.
These are global forces beyond our control, but our regulatory response must be agile enough to recognise them. If we ignore these external costs, we are not just controlling prices; we are ensuring that the medicine never arrives at all.
The Rights of Patients Seeking Private Healthcare
Whatever the reason for patients seeking private healthcare, all of us have an abiding duty to respect their wishes. It is their unquestionable right to have access to drugs and vaccines of proven high quality, if they decide to go into Private Fee-levying Healthcare. This is particularly relevant to the immunisation of children. Sometimes the child receives the first dose of a given vaccine in a Private Hospital, but when he or she is taken for the second dose, that particular vaccine is not available, and they are not able to tell the parents when it would be available as well.
Some of the abiding problems, associated with immunisation of children and adults in the Private Sector, were graphically outlined at the Annual General Meeting of the Vaccines and Infectious Diseases Forum of Sri Lanka, held on the 10th of March, 2026. This needs to be attended to as a significant proportion of vaccines are administered to patients, both children and adults, in the Private Sector.
In other cases, the drug or drugs of proven quality is or are not available in the Private Sector as the company, or importing authority, has wound up the operations in our country due to their inability to sustain the operations, resulting from factors entirely beyond their control. Let us face it, the current pharmaceutical industry is significantly profit-oriented, and they will continue to operate only in countries where their profit margins are quite lucrative.
A Humane Call to All Stakeholders
The current scenario is a shared burden, and it requires a shared, compassionate solution. We must look at this, not through the lens of policy or profit, but through the eyes of the patient waiting in the clinic or in the ward.
* To the Ministry of Health and the NMRA:
We recognise the extremely difficult task of balancing affordability with quality. However, we urge a “Middle Path.” We need a dynamic pricing mechanism that reflects the reality of global trade logistics and the unique challenges of a relatively smaller market. Let us prioritise the restoration of “Quality Assurance” as the primary mandate, ensuring that every generic drug in the state sector is as reliable as the branded ones we have lost. To be able to provide such an abiding certificate of good quality, we need a fully-equipped state-of-the-art laboratory.
* To the Private Sector and Importers:
We ask you to remain committed to the people of Sri Lanka. Your role is not just commercial; it is a vital part of the national health infrastructure. A transparent dialogue with the regulator is essential to prevent more companies from leaving.
* To our Patients and their Families:
We hear your lamentations. We see the struggle in your eyes when a drug is unavailable or when you are forced to seek alternatives from abroad. We respect your right to seek the best possible treatment, and we are advocating for a system that honours that choice legally and safely.
Finally, the Spirit of Care
In the twilight of my career, I look back at my work and the thousands of patients I have treated. The “Spirit of an Enthusiast” is certainly not one of resignation, but of persistent hope. We have the clinical talent and the commitment of our healthcare professionals, we have the history of a strong health service, and we have a populace that deserves the best. For us, in this beautiful land, hope springs eternal.
Let us stop the “baggage medicine” culture. Let us invite the innovators back to our shores by treating them as partners in health, not just as vendors. Let us also ensure that our state-sector generics are beyond reproach.
This is a mission to find a way forward. For the sake of the child in the ward, the elderly patient in the clinic, and the integrity of the medical profession. We desperately need to act now, together, hand in hand, and with a pulsating heart of concern, for the entire humanity we are committed to serve.
by Dr B. J. C. Perera
MBBS(Cey), DCH(Cey), DCH(Eng), MD(Paediatrics), MRCP(UK), FRCP(Edin),
FRCP(Lond), FRCPCH(UK), FSLCPaed, FCCP, Hony. FRCPCH(UK), Hony. FCGP(SL)
Specialist Consultant Paediatrician and Honorary Senior Fellow,
Postgraduate Institute of Medicine, University of Colombo, Sri Lanka.
Features
Social and political aspects of Buddhism in a colonial context
I was recently given several books dealing with religion, and, instead of looking at questions of church union in current times, I turned first to Buddhism in the 19th century. Called Locations of Buddhism: Colonialism and Modernity in Sri Lanka, the book is a study by an American scholar, Anne M Blackburn, about developments in Buddhism during colonial rule. It focuses on the contribution of Ven. Hikkaduwe Sri Sumangala who was perhaps the most venerated monk in the latter part of the 19th century.
Hikkaduwe, as she calls Ven. Sumangala through the book, is best known as the founder of the Vidyodaya Pirivena, which was elevated to university statues in the fifties of this century, and renamed the University of Sri Jayewardenepura in the seventies. My work in the few years I was there was in the Sumangala Building, though I knew little about the learned monk who gave it its name.
He is also renowned for having participated in the Panadura debates against Christians, and having contributed to the comparative success of the Buddhist cause. It is said that Colonel Olcott came to Sri Lanka after having read a report of one of the debates, and, over the years, Ven. Sumangala collaborated with him, in particular with regard to the development of secondary schools. At the same time, he was wary of Olcott’s gung ho approach, as later he was wary of the Anagarika Dharmapala, who had no fear of rousing controversy, his own approach being moderate and conciliatory.
While he understood the need for a modern education for Buddhist youngsters, which Olcott promoted, free of possible influences to convert which the Christian schools exercised, he was also deeply concerned with preserving traditional learning. Thus, he ensured that in the pirivena subjects such as astrology and medicine were studied with a focus on established indigenous systems. Blackburn’s account of how he leveraged government funding given the prevailing desire to promote oriental studies while emphatically preserving local values and culture is masterly study of a diplomat dedicated to his patriotic concerns.
He was, indeed, a consummately skilled diplomat in that Blackburn shows very clearly how he satisfied the inclinations of the laymen who were able to fund his various initiatives. He managed to work with both laymen and monks of different castes, despite the caste rivalry that could become intense at times. At the same time, he made no bones about his own commitment to the primacy of the Goigama caste, and the exclusiveness of the Malwatte and Asgiriya Chapters.
What I knew nothing at all about was his deep commitment to internationalism, and his efforts to promote collaboration between Ceylon Lanka and the Theravada countries of South East Asia. One reason for this was that he felt the need for an authoritative leader, which Ceylon had lost when its monarchy was abolished by the British. Someone who could moderate disputes amongst monks, as to both doctrine and practice, seemed to him essential in a context in which there were multiple dispute in Ceylon.
Given that Britain got rid of the Burmese monarchy and France emasculated the Cambodian one, with both of which he also maintained contacts, it was Thailand to which he turned, and there are records of close links with both the Thai priesthood and the monarchy. But in the end the Thai King felt there was no point in taking on the British, so that effort did not succeed.
That the Thai King, the famous Chulalongkorn, did not respond positively to the pleas from Ceylon may well have been because of his desire not to tread on British toes, at a time when Thailand preserved its independence, the only country in Asia to do so without overwhelming British interventions, as happened for instance in Nepal and Afghanistan, which also preserved their own monarchies. But it could also have been connected with the snub he was subject to when he visited the Temple of the Tooth, and was not permitted to touch the Tooth Relic, which he knew had been permitted to others.
The casket was taken away when he leaned towards it by the nobleman in charge, a Panabokke, who was not the Diyawadana Nilame of the day. He may have been entrusted with dealing with the King, as a tough customer. Blackburn suggests it is possible the snub was carefully thought out, since the Kandyan nobility had no fondness for the low country intercourse with foreign royalty, which seemed designed to take away from their own primacy with regard to Buddhism. The fact that they continued subservient to the British was of no consequence to them, since they had a façade of authority.
The detailed account of this disappointment should not, however, take away from Ven. Sumangala’s achievement, and his primacy in the country following his being chosen as the Chief Priest for Adam’s Peak, at the age of 37, which placed him in every sense at the pinnacle of Buddhism in Ceylon. Blackburn makes very clear the enormous respect in which he was held, partly arising from his efforts to order ancient documents pertaining to the rules for the Sangha, and ensure they were followed, and makes clear his dominant position for several decades, and that it was well deserved.
by Prof. Rajiva Wijesinha
Features
Achievements of the Hunduwa!
Attempting to bask in the glory of the past serves no purpose, some may argue supporting the contention of modern educationists who are advocating against the compulsory teaching of history to our youth. Even the history they want to teach, apparently, is more to do with the formation of the earth than the achievements of our ancestors! Ruminating over the thought-provoking editorial “From ‘Granary of the East’ to a mere hunduwa” (The Island, 5th March), I wished I was taught more of our history in my schooldays. In fact, I have been spending most of my spare time watching, on YouTube, the excellent series “Unlimited History”, conducted by Nuwan Jude Liyanage, wherein Prof. Raj Somadeva challenges some of the long-held beliefs, based on archaeological findings, whilst emphasising on the great achievements of the past.
Surely, this little drop in the Indian ocean performed well beyond its size to have gained international recognition way back in history. Pliny the Elder, the first-century Roman historian, therefore, represented Ceylon larger than it is, in his map of the world. Clicking on (https://awmc.unc.edu/2025/02/10/interactive-map-the-geography-of-pliny-the-elder/) “Interactive Map: The Geography of Pliny the Elder” in the website of the Ancient World Mapping Centre at the University of North Carolina at Chappel Hill, this is the reference to Anuradhapura, our first capital:
“The ancient capital of Sri Lanka from the fourth century BCE to the 11th century CE. It was recorded under the name Anourogrammon by Ptolemy, who notes its primary political status (Basileion). It has sometimes been argued that a “Palaesimundum” mentioned by Pliny in retelling the story of a Sri Lankan Embassy to the emperor Claudius is also to be identified with Anourogrammon. A large number of numismatic finds from many periods have been reported in the vicinity.”
Ptolemy, referred to above, is the mathematician and astronomer of Greek descent born in Alexandria, Egypt, around 100 CE, who was well known for his geocentric model of the universe, till it was disproved 15 centuries later, by Copernicus with his heliocentric model.
It is no surprise that Anuradhapura deservedly got early international recognition as Ruwanwelisaya, built by King Dutugemunu in 140 BCE, was the seventh tallest building in the ancient world, perhaps, being second only to the Great Pyramids of Giza, at the time of construction. It was overtaken by Jetawanaramaya, built by King Mahasena around 301 CE, which became the third tallest building in the ancient world and still holds the record for the largest Stupa ever built, rising to a height of 400 feet and made using 93.3 million baked mud bricks. Justin Calderon, writing for CNN travel under the heading “The massive megastructure built for eternity and still standing 1,700 years later” (https://edition.cnn.com/travel/jetavanaramaya-sri-lanka-megastructure-anuradhapura) concludes his very informative piece as follows:
“Jetavanaramaya stands today as evidence of an ancient society capable of organising labour, materials and engineering knowledge on a scale that rivalled any civilisation of its time.
That it remains relatively unknown beyond Sri Lanka may be one of history’s great oversights — a reminder that some of the ancient world’s most extraordinary achievements were not carved in stone, but shaped from earth, devotion and human ingenuity.”
Extraordinary achievements of our ancestors are not limited to Stupas alone. As mentioned in the said editorial, our country was once the Granary of the East though our present leader equated it to the smallest measure of rice! Our canal systems with the gradient of an inch over a mile stand testimony to engineering ingenuity of our ancestors. When modern engineers designed the sluice gate of Maduru Oya, they were pleasantly surprised to find the ancient sluice gates designed by our ancestors, without all their technical knowhow, in the identical spot.
Coming to modern times, though we vilify J. R. Jayewardene for some of his misdeeds later in his political career, he should be credited with changing world history with his famous speech advocating non-violence and forgiveness, quoting the words of the Buddha, at the San Francisco Conference in 1945. Japan is eternally grateful for the part JR played in readmitting Japan to the international community, gifting Rupavahini and Sri Jayewardenepura Hospital. Although we have forgotten the good JR did, there is a red marble monument in the gardens of the Great Buddha (Daibutsu) in Kamakura, Japan with Buddha’s words and JR’s signature.
It cannot be forgotten that we are the only country in the world that was able to comprehensively defeat a terrorist group, which many experts opined were invincible. Services rendered by the Rajapaksa brothers, Mahinda and Gotabaya, should be honoured though they are much reviled now, for their subsequent political misdeeds. Though Gen-Z and the following obviously have no recollections, it is still fresh in the minds of the older generation the trauma we went through.
It is to the credit of the democratic process we uphold, that the other terrorist group that heaped so much of misery on the populace and did immense damage to the infrastructure, is today in government.
As mentioned in the editorial, it is because Lee Kuan Yew did not have a ‘hundu’ mentality that Singapore is what it is today. He once famously said that he wanted to make a Ceylon out of Singapore!
Let our children learn the glories of our past and be proud to be Sri Lankan. Then only they can become productive citizens who work towards a better future. Resilience is in our genes and let us facilitate our youth to be confident, so that they may prove our politicians wrong; ours may be a small country but we are not ‘hundu’!
By Dr Upul Wijayawardhana
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