Connect with us

Features

Queens and Bandits in Rajasthan, India

Published

on

by Jayantha Perera

The Delhi Office of the World Bank offered me several consultancies in the late 1990s. As a consultant anthropologist, I assisted the State Government of Uttar Pradesh to develop a detailed Action Plan for water-user associations. Then I worked on several short-term assignments in Andra Pradesh and moved to the State of Rajasthan to work on irrigation development.

Rajasthan is one of the most fascinating states in India because of its long history, culture, and diversity. I travelled all over Rajasthan, studying ancient and modern irrigation systems. I formulated an Action Plan for water-user associations and participatory rehabilitation of irrigation systems under the Rajasthan Water Resources Consolidation Project.

Once, I travelled by ‘Frontier Mail’ train to the Jambal Valley in Rajasthan from New Delhi. The British introduced ‘Frontier Mail’ from Peshawar to Bombay. After Independence, the train goes from New Delhi to Bombay. I was in a first-class berth and shared it with an old gentleman. He wore chappals and a pair of blue trousers and a white, short-sleeved shirt. He brought a small suitcase, a tiffin box (food carrier) and several water bottles.

When the train started the journey to Bombay, my berth partner smiled and took his suitcase from under the seat. He asked me if it was OK if he made his bed for the journey. When I nodded, he took a flat pillow, a thin bedsheet, a pair of dhotis (loose trousers), and a loose-fitting salwar kameez from the suitcase. He spread the bed sheet over the seat and checked his tiffin box and hung a plastic water bottle on one of the hooks above his bed/seat. He was well prepared to travel in comfort and in good spirits. He smiled and told me his journey to Bombay would take two nights and three days.

My first impression of him was that he was a Christian priest. I asked him:

“Are you a priest?”

He smiled and said, “My brother is a priest. I was an aviator.”

“Does that mean a pilot?”

“Yes, but a fighter plane pilot that belonged to the Indian Navy,” he explained.

“Why do you travel by train? You could have flown to Bombay from Delhi in two hours. As an ex-aviator, I am sure, you could get concessionry air tickets,” I showed my surprise.

“True. But I like the train journey, especially during the monsoon season,” he answered.

“Why?” I asked.

“You cannot be too sure with Air India or Indian Airlines during the monsoons. During heavy rainy seasons, it is safer to travel by train than by plane. I was an aviator; therefore, I know,” he patiently enlightened me.

I thanked him for the piece of information. He wanted to know where I was going. I told him I was going to the Jambal Valley to do research. He thought for a minute or two and asked me,

“Do you know that the Jambal Valley in Rajasthan is home to many bandits?”

I said, “Yes.”

“It is known for harbouring violent gangs of criminals who find shelter in its many hidden ravines. Have you heard about Phoolan Devi, the notorious woman bandit known as the Queen of Bandits”, He inquired. I told him I had read about her and had seen a documentary film about the atrocities she had committed.

He then advised me, “Be careful while in Jambal area. It is still notorious for dacoits and bandits. The risk is they are one day in remote villages and another in a city centre. You should be careful when you travel with others to remote places because sometimes bandits or informants are looking for information on potential victims.” This cautionary advice from a fellow traveller and former aviator added a layer of complexity to my journey, reminding me of the cultural and historical context of the region.

He opened his tiffin box and took two idlis (savoury rice cakes) and a portion of sambar (thick savoury curry) from his tiffin box and used its lid as his plate. He took about half an hour to eat his breakfast. He drank coffee from his flask. I ordered breakfast from the train cafeteria when a railway employee visited our berth to inquire about breakfast, which was part of the travel package. A few minutes later, a waiter in a white uniform served my breakfast on a tray with two fried eggs, mashed potatoes, jam, butter, and fresh bread with hot coffee and a jug of warm milk. I offered the aviator food from my tray, but he politely refused.

After breakfast, the aviator took a thin pillow from his suitcase. He adjusted the pillow on the seat and lay down for a long nap. He got up about three hours later, immediately ate the remaining food in the tiffin box and drank coffee from the flask. Then he was in a mood to talk to me. He asked me whether I had travelled in North India, especially in Rajasthan. I told him I had spent five years in Sindh, which is across the northern border of Rajasthan.

He hesitantly told me that he was a member of a squadron that bombed lower Sindh during the 1965 Indo-Pakistan war. He shared his experiences and the challenges they faced during the war. I told him my Sindhi friends had talked about the bombing of the Kotri Barrage (dam) on the Indus River and how the pilots missed it by several hundred yards. The Aviator smiled and said, “We did not want to destroy a key barrage.

Booking my lunch on the train was a complicated process, but it gave a unique perspective on travel in India. A railway inspector respectfully asked me what I would like for lunch. Then his assistant read the menu. I selected a non-veg meal of rice with mutton curry. Curious, I asked the inspector how he would get lunch for me and others on the train. He said he would telex the lunch order from the next major railway station to the railway food contractor, asking him to deliver the food for pick up to another railway station and giving the train’s arrival time. He laughed and said, “If you order ice cream, you have to be careful because if the train arrives late, the ice cream will melt, but you still pay for it!” I told him I would order mishti doi (fermented sweetened milk) in a clay cup, a local delicacy that I was eager to try.

The food tray ordered arrived on schedule. A uniformed waiter brought a small teapoy (table) to the berth and covered it with a clean white cloth. Then he set my lunch on it. Each item was wrapped separately in aluminium foil. Mutton and lentils were in small plastic pouches. Hot chapatis supplemented with fragrantly cooked rice. He brought two water bottles and a coffee flask with a ceramic cup and a saucer. He promised to collect the tray after an hour.

Around 3 pm, the train stopped at a small railway station. I heard a great commotion from the platform. A large crowd was shouting various slogans behind a young man wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He approached my berth and asked whether he could occupy the upper bed briefly. The aviator was in a deep sleep. I welcomed the young man. After completing his MBA, he was in his early thirties and returning from the University of Columbia, USA.

He would visit his great-grandmother – the queen of the old Kingdom of Jodhpur. He told me a large portion of the palace had been converted to luxury hotels. His great-grandmother lived in the main palace. I showed him my hotel booking particulars, and he confirmed that I would stay at that palace hotel. He laughed and told me we should meet in the garden in the evening for a drink.

When the train arrived at the railway station, about 200 men were waiting to receive him on the railway platform. The mob ran into the berth, literally grabbed him and his suitcase, and carried him, chanting slogans. I, too, got off the train and followed the crowd.

My room at the hotel was spooky and musty. The bed was 100 years old and surrounded by old and weathered furniture. The old mosquito net kept a battalion of mosquitos at bay. There were no other guests that night at the hotel, and the hotel cook prepared a special meal for me. After dinner at the large dining hall, I returned to my bedroom past the stuffed heads of lions, tigers, and elephants mounted on narrow corridor walls.

In the morning, I woke to the noise of hundreds of peacocks. They cried in shrilled voices. After breakfast, I hired a hotel car and travelled to the office of the Chief Engineer of the Irrigation Department. He was a thin man with large blue spectacles. His shirt looked three or four sizes bigger than what he should wear. I wondered how he held his trousers on such a thin frame without suspenders.

He greeted me and sat behind a large table covered with a thick glass plate. He smiled and directed me to sit down. He went through a file and told me that he understood my role would be to assist him in irrigation matters. I gave him a copy of my terms of reference (TOR), which he ignored. He said he was happy to share his knowledge and experience with me. I appreciated his kindness but pointed out that my understanding differed from his understanding of my TOR. According to the TOR, my role was to help him identify and resolve social issues in irrigation management. I just listened to him because he was pleasant, and I believed in what he said. He worried about my food and security and offered me his car so I could go to the city whenever I wanted.

A few days later, I told him I wanted to see irrigation projects and listen to grievances farmers had with local irrigation officers. He dismissed the idea. He gave me the impression that he could not believe I should talk to engineers and farmers without his permission and presence. He told me sternly, “If you want to learn, you have to follow my advice and timetable.” I told him the World Bank appointed me to advise him and the other staff on irrigation water management. He showed his sadness by sulking for about five minutes. Then he asked me:

“How old are you?”

“Forty-six,” I answered.

“Where did you study?”

“Sussex University in the UK, where I got my MA and PhD”

“What did you study?”

“Anthropology and Development”

“Why are you here, then?”

“Because the World Bank recruited me to work with you and your staff on irrigation water management.”

“But you are not an engineer. Do you know anything about engineering?”

“I am not an engineer, so I want to work with you on irrigation matters.”

“Then you should not work with me. I will provide a junior engineer who can go with you to the field.”

He phoned someone at the Ministry of Irrigation. After the telephone call, he told me he had misunderstood my status and role. Yes, he would like to work with me. He ordered his peon to arrange a workstation for me in his large office room. He said that he would bring lunch for me from home. I treated him as my senior and showed respect in my speech.

The chief engineer helped me to plan an irrigation strategy for Rajasthan. I learned a lot from him and from visits to very remote places where law and order were at risk. At one village, he told me that the people were so isolated and impoverished that they might not know that the British had left India 50 years ago! Arguably, the 14 days I spent with him were one of the happiest times in my career. I learned so much from him and was impressed with his patience, new ideas, and compassion for the farmers. Before I left, he took me to a famous saree shop where he told me to buy at least ten Kota cotton sarees, which were world-famous. At the end of my stay, he jokingly told me that he initially thought I was an Indian boy from Goa who did not speak Hindi.



Continue Reading
Advertisement
Click to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Features

Revolt in the Temple: Poverty as Structural Control

Published

on

The underlying issue in Anuradhapura is a struggle between a few families who, for years, have waged a quiet cold war over control of the Udamaluwa. Similar situations exist in Mihintale as well. These places, among others, are treated as treasures of Buddhism but, in practice, function as tightly controlled economic centres. The same pattern repeats in Kandy around the Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic and in Kataragama at the shrine of God Kataragama. Variations of it exist across religious spaces of Islam, Catholicism, and Hinduism too, where institutional authority becomes indistinguishable from localised power networks. What is presented as sacred order often operates as inherited control.

It is indeed devastating to see situations where parents have no alternative but to expose their children to predators in robes for survival. This has nothing to do with religion itself, but with human pathology in the context of survival. These are the questions that demand answers, not superficial responses that treat symptoms while ignoring the conditions that produce them. What is more shocking and disturbing is not the tragedy itself, but the reactions to it. Social media has overwhelmed us, not towards understanding, but towards a fragmented cognitive state with no exit route.

A friend of mine in Nairobi used to keep all his electronic devices at home and go into the forest once a month, spending days there before returning. He called it “detoxification”, but in reality it was an escape from a system that no longer allows uninterrupted thought. Daily life is now saturated with unnecessary content, and attention itself has become a commodity extracted, processed, and sold back to us. This is where we have become unable to understand what really drives certain tragedies we endlessly react to, while remaining blind to the systems that quietly manufacture them.

Multi-dimensional poverty

Poverty is structural, poverty is political, and poverty is functional; it is a tool and a manoeuvring force of power. The question is no longer whether poverty exists, but who benefits from its persistence, and who is forced to survive within it. From education to medicine to basic food supply chains, countries like Sri Lanka are not simply mismanaged; they are structurally captured by a small number of actors who remain stable regardless of who is formally in power. Small-scale enterprises and NGO circuits that circulate foreign funding to “solve structural issues” often operate as hollow administrative performances, producing reports rather than transformation.

Poverty is not merely the absence of money. It is the absence of bandwidth, absence of protection, absence of time, and absence of cognitive stability. As Sendhil Mullainathan and Eldar Shafir state, “Scarcity captures the mind. Just as the starving subjects had food on their mind, when we experience scarcity of any kind, we become absorbed by it.” This is a description of how human cognition is structurally reorganized under constraint. Scarcity does not sit outside the person; it occupies them.

They also state, “Scarcity leads us to borrow and pushes us deeper into scarcity.” That is the mechanism that must be confronted without euphemism. Poverty is not only deprivation; it is a self-reinforcing trap in which survival decisions generate the next layer of crisis. Once a society crosses a certain threshold of scarcity, it stops producing long-term reasoning as a default condition. It produces short-term survival logic, often mistaken by outsiders for irrationality.

It is precisely here that public discourse becomes intellectually dishonest. Everything is translated into moral language because moral language is easier than structural analysis. But morality without structure becomes theatre. It produces outrage, not understanding, and repetition, not reform.

It is indeed brutal when an individual wearing religious insignia—whether robe, symbol, or institutional identity—is accused of acts that fundamentally contradict the moral authority attached to that position. It is equally brutal when institutions that depend entirely on trust begin to function as shields rather than safeguards. But the deeper question is not shock. The deeper question is what kind of social condition produces families who see placement within such institutions not only as devotion, but as a survival strategy under constraint.

Ethical decision-making

That is where the argument collapses into its most uncomfortable form. Poverty does not produce ethical decision-making environments. It produces constrained optimization under pressure. When food insecurity, debt, and social instability converge, institutional spaces that appear stable become transactional destinations for survival rather than moral choices. To interpret this as purely cultural failure is to deliberately ignore the structural compression of options.

Mullainathan and Shafir describe this clearly: “Instead of saying that scarcity ‘focuses,’ we could just as easily say that scarcity causes us to tunnel: to focus single-mindedly on managing the scarcity at hand.” That tunnelling effect is not abstract. It is visible wherever long-term planning collapses under immediate pressure. Systems then misread this as irresponsibility, when it is in fact cognitive overload produced by structure.

What is rarely acknowledged is how deeply this extends into governance itself. Institutions increasingly operate as if they are managing rational, unconstrained individuals. In reality, they are interacting with populations whose cognitive bandwidth is already structurally taxed. The result is policy failure interpreted as public non-compliance, enforcement interpreted as moral correction, and reform interpreted as communication failure rather than design failure.

Social media has intensified this distortion. It does not merely spread information; it destroys sequencing. Structural problems require temporal depth. Social media removes that depth and replaces it with instantaneous judgment. Every event becomes a surface object, detached from causality. The outcome is a society permanently reacting and never diagnosing.

Poverty, in this environment, becomes invisible in its real form. It is not seen as a continuous structural condition but as episodic failure. A scandal appears, is consumed, and disappears. Another replaces it. Nothing accumulates into understanding because attention itself is exhausted before synthesis can occur.

Modern Condition

The modern condition reflects a reversal of earlier social organization, where human relationships are embedded within abstract systems of finance, law, and administration that often fail to recognize the lived constraints of those they govern. In this disembedded state, institutions increasingly misinterpret human behaviour as their capacity for structural understanding weakens. At the same time, attempts to resolve systemic failures through expanding administrative complexity produce diminishing returns: more regulation, oversight, and reporting generate less coherence. Over time, institutions shift from functional effectiveness to symbolic performance, maintaining the appearance of control rather than achieving it.

This is why public outrage repeatedly fails to translate into structural change. Outrage is not a tool of reconstruction. It is a signal of system fatigue. It circulates, intensifies, and dissipates without altering the underlying architecture. Meanwhile, the conditions that produce repetition remain intact.

The most persistent illusion is that these are separate problems: poverty here, institutional misuse there, media distortion elsewhere. They are not separate. They are expressions of a single condition in which scarcity, complexity, symbolic authority, and fragmented enforcement interact without coordination. The system does not fail in one place; it fails in the gaps between these layers.

Symbolic systems

What makes this condition more severe is that symbolic systems continue to operate at full strength even when structural systems degrade. Religious identity remains powerful. Political rhetoric remains strong. Cultural symbolism remains intact. But enforcement capacity, institutional coherence, and social trust degrade beneath them. That gap is where instability grows. Until that gap is addressed at the level of structure rather than sentiment, repetition remains inevitable. New scandals will emerge, new interpretations will circulate, and new cycles of outrage will follow. Nothing resolves because nothing is being reconstructed beneath the surface of reaction.

This is no longer repairable through adjustment or rhetoric. It is a form of decay that persists until it exhausts itself, because the mechanisms meant to correct it are now part of the same failure. It continues until rupture, not reform. At that point, instability ceases to be episodic and becomes structural. Pressure will accumulate into breakdown, and what follows will not be managed transition but forced reversal. The responsibility lies with those who govern these institutions to prevent that trajectory, not through language, but through change. The drama is ending; farce is over; what we are witnessing is tragedy unfolding with unprecedented consequences.

by Nilantha Ilangamuwa

Continue Reading

Features

Are threats to Buddha Sasana external or from within?

Published

on

As Sri Lanka celebrates the birth, Enlightenment and the Parinibbana of the Buddha, almost a month after the rest of the Buddhist-world did so, there is widespread discussion about threats to Buddha Sasana provoked by some recent incidents. Regarding the views expressed about postponing Vesak celebrations in my article ‘May Day and postponement Vesak 2026’ (The Island, 25 May), my very good friend Dr Upali Abeysiri has sent me the following comments: “The Mahanayakas have a good reason to postpone Vesak. The dawning of the full moon has to be on the same constellation (nekatha) as when the Buddha was born and attained enlightenment. Although Adhi Poya is reckoned as the second full moon arising in the same calendar month, this is supposed to be an odd exception.” Though it would have been ideal if a consensus could have been reached prior to the split of celebrations, perhaps, it does not matter very much as celebrations occur on a symbolic rather than an actual date, there being no historical or archaeological evidence confirming exact dates.

Whilst there are no direct threats to Buddha Dhamma, as the expanding horizons of science continue to confirm the fundamentals of Buddha Dhamma, there is no doubt whatsoever that there are threats to Buddha Sasana. However, these threats become important as the Buddha Sasana performs the pivotal role in protecting and propagating the Dhamma and, hence, become an indirect threat to Dhamma itself. Therefore, it should be the concern of all Buddhists and it is in this spirit I am making some comments which some may interpret as disrespectful to the Maha Sangha. I can reassure that my intentions are entirely directed towards the preservation of the Buddha Dhamma and Sasana. Though the Buddha proclaimed that the Sasana consists of Bhikkhu, Bhikkhuni, Upasaka and Upasika, for all practical purposes Sasana had been led by Bhikkhus, often at the expense of others.

There is hardly any doubt that there are external forces at play in Sri Lanka and even some Buddhists seem to object to Sri Lanka being called a Buddhist country. Interestingly, no one seems to object to countries like the UK and the USA being called Christian counties. I

There is no registration or baptism in Buddhism and there are no rewards for Buddhists for conversions. As I pointed out in a previous article, ‘How does the Buddha differ’ (The Island, 1 May) unlike most other religions, Buddhism is not a ‘high-demand’ religion, nor ‘law-based’ religion and is not exclusivist. Perhaps, it is this liberalism, pacifism and gentleness, which are the real strengths, that are being exploited as weaknesses by others.

There will always be external threats and the Buddha too faced many during his lifetime. Before addressing those, is it not more important to address the threats within? One of the most important problems seems to be the breakdown of discipline. Bhikkhus are bound by Vinaya rules, laid down by the Buddha and some recent incidents highlight total deviations. Though there were many previous incidents like unsubstantiated claims of Arahanthood, Bhikkhus attacking each other on YouTube and Bhikkhus conducting YouTube channels, not for the propagation of the Dhamma but for the accumulation of rupees, attention was focused after the detection of 22 young monks carrying narcotic drugs.

Though many commentators were quick to condemn the Sangha on this account, we need to go deeper. Narcotic menace has become a huge problem in Sri Lanka and it looks as if the drug lords would resort to anything to achieve their objectives. Though it looks as if some gullible young monks had been duped by drug lords, we need to question why it was possible. Is it due to the lack of supervision of these novices by their seniors that allowed them to accept a request in a WhatsApp group? Should there be checks and balances on foreign travel by Bhikkhus?

What shocked Buddhists was what followed next; the arrest of the Nayaka of Atamasthana for allegedly having sex with a minor. Anuradhapura was our first capital and Sri Maha Bodhi is the longest surviving authenticated tree in the world. Ruwanweliseya and Jetawanaramaya were among the ten tallest man-made structures in the ancient world, Jetawanaramaya still holding the Guiness record for the largest stupa in the world. Cyberspace is full of theories. Whilst some have condemned the Nayaka Thero even before the conclusion of inquiries whilst others claim that this was a coup by another Nayaka Thera in an attempt of succession.

I was intrigued, reading in a Sri Lankan newspaper about the 80th birthday celebrations of a Nayaka priest, who was convicted in London in 2012 of historical child sex abuse and sentenced to seven years in prison. I remember the case very well as he was the head of the Vihara, we had our first contact on relocating to the UK. I also remember his devotees, who believed that he was wrongly accused, collecting over £50,000 for an appeal. In spite of being represented by one of the top Barristers in the UK, the conviction was upheld but the jail-term was reduced by a year. His name is still on the sex-offenders register in the UK and he is permanently prevented from association with children. One can argue that as he has served the sentence and not reoffended, this should not be held against him but what baffled me is that he is still being referred to as the Chief Sangha Nayaka. Should a person on the sex-offenders register be the Chief Sangha Nayaka?

It is high time we put our own house in order before fighting the external enemies. It is reported that the former president CBK has written to the Mahanayakas requesting urgent reform and we should be obliged to her for taking the lead.

There are many aspects that need urgent reform, the first being removal of caste barriers practiced by some Nikayas, which is the greatest insult to the Buddha who promoted equality. The second is the active encouragement of Bhikkhuni Sasana which has not happened in spite of the landmark ruling by the supreme court. The third is the establishment of proper disciplinary processes under a single Adhikarana Sangha Nayaka with powers and support than allowing the government to take over the control of even non-criminal Vinaya matters.

There are many other issues that need settlement like the controversy of the land of Buddha’s birth which seems to linger on. An expert committee should hear all evidence and settle this issue once and for all.

As I have pointed out on many occasions in these columns, it is high time a Dhamma Sangayana was held, as the last one was 70 years ago. Ideally, it should be different with active participation of lay experts as well. It is the duty of us Buddhists to ensure that the words of wisdom of the Buddha continue to enlighten generations to come.

By Dr Upul Wijayawardhana

Continue Reading

Features

Vijaya Kumar: Academic, Activist & Genial Fellow-Traveller

Published

on

Professor Vijaya Kumar

The University of Ceylon, Peradeniya, was in our time, a less-crowded residential university, where everybody knew everybody else or at least knew of everybody else.

I knew of Emeritus Professor Vijaya Kumar of the Department of Chemistry at Peradeniya, or Kumar, as we referred to him fondly, before I got to know him. His dear wife Savitri, also a member of the academic staff of the Department of Chemistry, was nicknamed Kumee, by some of their students (of which vintage is unknown to me) and the duo were thereafter referred to affectionately as Kumar and Kumee.

The Faculty of Science became a regular haunt of mine as I would go there in the company of my batchmates to attend lectures on Basic Mathematics given by Professor Maheswaran, as it was a requirement for our General Arts Qualifying Examinations. I would also go there to listen to some excellent talks under a programme that was held in the auditorium of the Science Faculty referred to as “Popular Science Gossip”. The “gossip” at these talks were not confined solely to science but were broad enough to include Literature, History and other branches of knowledge as well. I would often spot Kumar in the audience at these talks or bump into him in the corridors of the Science Faculty. But I got to know him personally only after he became the Warden of Arunachalam, my hall of residence, during my undergraduate years initially, and later, as a member of the academic staff of the Department of English.

Our Science Faculty undergraduate contemporaries, especially those at Arunachalam Hall and its immediate neighbour, Jayatilaka Hall, both within a stone’s throw away from the Science Faculty, shared many an anecdote about Kumar and their other lecturers. One of these anecdotes, had to do with a spectacular (motor car) driving feat of Kumar’s. Legend has it that he drove from his university bungalow-home to the Faculty of Science deploying only the reverse gear of his car! Kumar, on hearing of this, had told certain of his student friends, including some who became his colleagues later on, that this story is one of the biggest yarns he had heard in his life!

Some of his one-time younger colleagues, now in retirement like Kumar, tell me that Kumar exuded warmth and friendliness in all of his professional and administrative interactions with others in the wider university community. But there was no warmth or mercy for those who indulged in the unsavoury pastime of student ‘ragging’. He was a very strong proponent of the need to ensure to all freshers an environment free of the menace of ‘ragging’. He remained ever-vigilant during the ‘ragging’ season. There are stories of his chasing ‘raggers’ and catching them. Professor Maheswaran, who later became an intimate friend and remains so after more than half a century, was another who was fiercely opposed to ‘ragging’. I was a personal witness to Mahes chasing a ‘ragger’ up and down the stairs of the main library to nab him. Yet another of his students has noted that Kumar’s office room in the Faculty was a total mess at all times. It had tables, piled so high with books and documents that one could not easily spot Kumar at his desk. He, however, had the knack of pulling out from amidst the clutter, any document that he needed at any given time. If anybody were to volunteer to help tidy his desk, Kumar would respond firmly with “Don’t you touch my desk!”.

Kumar, like several of his colleagues in the other faculties as well, had his own eccentricities. According to information received from reliable sources, Kumar who taught Organic Chemistry used to carry his lecture notes in his shirt or trouser pocket with ‘the entire lecture condensed in point form on a half-sheet or half of a half-sheet of paper’. The way he rummaged through his sling bag filled to the brim with stuff to find an item that he needed was another ritual that amused onlookers.

Kumar, interestingly enough is a Royal-cum-Thomian product, in that he had his primary education at S.Thomas’ Prep School, Kollupitiya and the entirety of his secondary education at Royal College, which he entered in 1953. In a note written by Kumar himself, he notes that despite having had excellent teachers at Royal, his was not a notable school career. He goes on to say that “the only achievement I could boast of was my being the joint-winner of the school General Knowledge Prize”. However, he had been active in a Scout Group outside of school (1st Port of Colombo, Sea Scouts) where he “was Queen’s Scout, Patrol leader, and later, Assistant Scout Master”.

Kumar entered the Faculty of Science of the University of Ceylon in 1961 and secured from it an honours degree in Chemistry in 1965. He joined the academic staff of the Department of Chemistry in the Faculty of Science, University of Ceylon, Peradeniya in 1965 and left the following year for Magdalen College at Oxford University, from which institution he obtained his doctorate in Chemistry. His entire teaching career was at Peradeniya, where in the period 2003-2006 he served as the Dean of the Faculty of Science, a position that his late father-in-law had held a few decades earlier.

Among the other highlights of his career are: Chairman of the Industrial Technology Institute (formerly the Ceylon Institute of Scientific and Industrial Research, CISIR); Member (representing Sri Lanka) of the Geneva-based UN Commission on Science and Technology from 1999 to 2007 and its President from 2001-2003; President of the Sri Lanka Estate Workers Union from 1989 onwards; Member of the Politburo of the Lanka Sama Samaja Party from 1988 to 2014 and currently, a member of the Executive Committee of the National People’s Power (NPP).

Vijaya and Savitri Kumar are parents of daughters Shamala and Ramya, who are following in the footsteps of their parents: with the former teaching in the Department of Agricultural Economics in the Faculty of Agriculture, University of Peradeniya and the latter, in the Department of Community Medicine at the University of Jaffna.

(I wish to thank the following who assisted me in the writing of this brief essay: Mr. Bandula Warnakulasuriya, Emeritus Professor Ratnayake Bandara, Professor Mahinda Wickramaratne, Professor Swarna Wimalasiri and Mr. Manik de Silva).

*Editor’s note: Prof. Vijaya Kumar, a member of the NPP’s National Executive Committee and is still active in politics turns 84 today. This article by Tissa Jayatilaka, former Executive Director of the United States – Sri Lanka Fulbright Commission for Mutual Academic Exchange, was written for an upcoming collection of essays on Kumar’s life by his friends.

(Colombo Telegraph)

By Tissa Jayatilaka

Continue Reading

Trending