Features
St. Anthony Stole Fire from Hell: A Festival at a Sardinian Village
by Jayantha Perera
Shyamala (my wife) and I arrived at Cagliari Airport in Sardinia with several friends from Rome to participate in a writers’ workshop in Galteli, a remote Sardinian village. It was mid-January, and It was a sunny and warm afternoon. The sky was blue, and sun rays penetrated the airport’s thick, tall glass panes, warming us. The distant craggy mountains displayed their naked limestone spikes, occasionally releasing a glint. The dusty horizon looked distant, blurring the contours between the dry, flat land and disappearing grey mountains. Large concrete structures dominated the immediate landscape of the airport. They were engulfed in a mess of tentacles of the ring road. Still, a disciplined traffic movement emerged from the chaos. The landscape of Sardinia, with its rugged mountains, flat lands, and distant horizons, was a sight to behold.
Someone announced we should go to the green bus about 200 meters from the Arrivals building. An Italian who spoke English volunteered to fetch the driver. We applauded when the bus driver returned. He was a podgy man with very little hair on his head. His clothes were too tight and crumpled. He looked like a man who already had a few pints of beer. He packed our bags into the bus belly in five minutes and asked us to get in.
The bus left the airport at 3.45 pm. It was a glorious afternoon with the golden sun just setting after warming all of us. The dry, flat, distant landscape suddenly took a new look, bathed in warm golden sun rays. The journey was smooth, and there were hardly any other vehicles on the winding road. The immediate flat land with distant hills and mountain ranges on the horizon started to display their land use patterns. By the road was a grazing land with hundreds of sheep and cows, and at another place was a large village with well-maintained gardens and orchards. There was open land dotted with ancient Roman ruins, dry riverbeds, and medieval churches with beautiful domes in a few places. The rapidly setting winter sun added charm to the landscape through the lengthening shadows of houses, trees, and churches, especially their spires. The journey looked never-ending with the rapid sunset.
The bus arrived at Galtelli village after sunset. A young woman in a skirt and tee shirt got onto the bus, read 10 names, and waited until 10 people showed their raised hands. She already looked harassed. She advised the ten men to get down and collect their luggage from the bus belly. It was already dark, so it was challenging to identify the luggage. The second bus stop was on the main road. As if they had learned from the first group, another 10 exited the bus soon after the roll call, collected their baggage, and vanished into the darkness with an assistant. The third and final group arrived at an empty bus stop at Sa. Cantina. When we got down from the bus, darkness and cold engulfed us. Andrea, the manager of Antico Borgo Hotel, was at the bus stop. Some confusion arose from the name list, as some writers who had planned to stay together during the workshop were separated by that time. After a 10-minute discussion, local organisers’ plans prevailed. The dejected ones picked up their baggage and followed Andrea.
Andrea was in a hurry. After walking uphill for about five minutes, several writers complained they could no longer carry their bags. Andrea ignored them and continued uphill. The climb was steep on cobbled streets. It was tough to pull suitcases and walk uphill. Shyamala and I found it challenging to keep pace with Andrea, especially after one of my bags lost two wheels on the rough, cobbled streets. I told Andrea several guests needed help to carry their bags to the hotel. He said, “First things first”, and moved on.
The final climb was from a church piazza (public square) to the Antico Borgo Hotel at #7 of Via Sassari. There was a great gasp of relief when we saw the large gate of the Antico Borgo Hotel. The hotel, a charming establishment with a rich history, was a welcome sight after the long journey. Andrea opened the visitors’ gate, led us into the courtyard, and disappeared. Some collapsed into the wicker chairs in the hotel’s foyer and demanded a stiff drink to recover. We were freezing in the foyer, waiting for Andrea. He returned after 30 minutes, ready to assist us with our check-in.
Shyamala and I got a room on the ground floor. The room was a part of the original building, dating back to the 16th century. The roof had wild tree trunks as rafters, and the uneven ceiling was covered with lime and clay. The room was dark, damp, and smelly. It had no windows. There were six steel-framed beds, although we had requested a room with one double bed. One bed, however, had fresh bed sheets, pillows, folded blankets, two large towels, and several hand towels.
D H Lawrence’s description of winter in Sardinia in his ‘Sea and Sardinia’ aptly described our plight at the guest house. “The room – in fact, the whole Sardinia – was stone cold, stone, stone cold. Outside, the earth is freezing. Inside, there was no thought of any sort of warmth: dungeon stone floors, dungeon stone walls, and a dead corpse-like atmosphere, too heavy and icy to move.”
There was a wooden closet at the back of the room. The bookshelf by the toilet was covered with dust, and the few books and pamphlets on its bottom were wet and soggy. The coffee machine was on a rickety table by our bed. There was a small fridge, and a 12″ TV was on it.
The bathroom was wet and freezing cold despite running hot water. The shower stall needed to be wider for a person to stand.
Within minutes, Shyamala found breathing difficult, as the room was stale, wet, and musty. She caught Andrea in the courtyard and asked for an extra heater to warm the room and a dehumidifier to clear the air. We were glad to spend a few minutes under the two blankets to recover before dinner at a restaurant about 600 meters from Borgo. Hot soup and a steak revived our mood. When we returned, the room had two dehumidifiers and two extra heaters, and we felt cosy and warm.
We got up early the following day; the room was warm, and the air was much cleaner than the previous evening. The coffee machine worked perfectly. We dressed, crossed the courtyard, and climbed a few steps to the open restaurant with a large heater that kept the area warm. The breakfast spread was impressive – many types of cured fish and meat with olives and cheeses. The heater broke down within minutes, and we had breakfast as we shivered in the cold. Andrea arranged a few electric heaters to keep at least our feet warm and provided an unlimited number of hot cappuccinos to keep us warm.
After breakfast, we walked around the cobblestone streets, absorbing the breathtaking view. The sun shone, and roads were dry after the previous night’s rain. Galtelli village was on a low hill ledge of the mighty Tuttuvista Mountain that rose steeply behind it. The village spread downwards along winding, silent, and narrow cobblestone streets to the national S 129 highway. The limestone mountain, its environs, well-kept whitewashed houses, and beautiful medieval churches with their belfries wiped out our complaints. We learned that Grazia Deledda, the Nobel Prize winner for literature in the 1930s and who wrote ‘Reeds in the Wind,’ had lived in Galtelli for several short spells in the 1920s and 1930s.
Lunch was served around 1 pm in the hotel’s courtyard. It consisted of salads, cold cuts, canned fish, wild rice, bread, olives, and pickles. The sun and warmth in the courtyard encouraged discussions and debates among guests. Small groups spread over the courtyard, steps, and balconies as they enjoyed the food, the sun, wine, and coffee. There were no other tasks other than a siesta in the afternoon.
Andrea studied hotel management in the US and developed a peculiar English accent. He was also the manager of two other small hotels. He arranged transport and guided tours for guests. A popular trip was to climb Tuttavista to see Statua Bronzea del Christo (a bronze statue of Christ) and Sa Pedra Istampada (St Peter’s viewing point). He sometimes acted as a middleman when guests had merchandise to sell.
Once, when Andrea was alone in his office, I asked him for the best time to visit Sardinia. That question baffled him; he said, “Sardinia is special in any season.” He did not like my suggestion that Sardinian culture is a sub-Italian culture. He said, “Sardinia is a part of Italy, but not Italy.” Then he told me, “When God created paradise, he actually created Sardinia.”
In mid-January, the village celebrates the Fiesta di Sant’Antonio Abate (the Feast of Saint Anthony, the Abbot). St. Anthony is also known as Saint Anthony the Great, Saint Anthony of Padua, the Egyptian Saint, and the patron saint of butchers, domestic animals, basket makers, and gravediggers. He also protects people against skin diseases, especially shingles, known as Fuoco di Sant’Antonio (Fire of St. Anthony).
St. Anthony, the hermit, renounced worldly possessions, followed the word of Jesus, performed miracles, and helped ordinary folks. He was the first hermit to live a genuinely monastic lifestyle. The devil repeatedly tempted him to break his vows, but he persevered through sincere prayers and meditation. St. Anthony is often portrayed in images with the devil at his feet. A legend claims he went to hell to steal the devil’s fire. While he distracted the devil, his pet piglet ran in and brought a piece of burning coal from the fireplace.
The Galtelli people eagerly await the feast of Sant’Antonio stealing fire from hell. The centre of the celebration is a majestic bonfire to warm up the cold evening. This ancient ritual brings the entire village community together.
St Anthony’s Cathedral in Galtelli celebrated the festival with gusto. Young men and women decorated the church, its approach path, and the main road. A few days before the festival, villagers combed nearby mountains and valleys to gather wet grass and tree branches. Some brought small loads of wood and ferns from the nearby riverbed; others drove their pickups to transport lumber from the slopes of the Tuttavista mountain.
Those who brought grass, timber, and tree branches piled them into a pyramid in the middle of the village playground and left the heap to settle and dry. A few days before the festival, women baked cocconeddos and pistiddu, thick biscuits with dough filled with cooked wine. The festival committee planned a convivial dinner for church leaders and music groups. Mr Antonio, the Galtelli’s brewer and wine seller, promised to deliver countless gallons of wine to serve devotees.
The church service began at 3.30 p.m. A local group sang in ancient Sard (the local dialect), adding an aura to the service. They were all men. One was a very old man and could hardly stand. A young man replaced him occasionally, and the old man was happy to be a part of the choir. All young girls and boys in the village attended the service, and their murmurings were loud enough to mask what the priest said. People were happy because the day was sunny and bright.
A sharing moment between the sacred and the profane arose after the church service. We all walked in silence to the playground, where the pyramid awaited. On the way, women distributed coconeddos and pistiddu to devotees. The priest who celebrated the service arrived first at the playground. He blessed the pyramid and waited until the entire community and visitors gathered around it. Two young men walked around the monument three times with torches, keeping their left shoulder towards the pyramid while the priest chanted prayers. Then, the priest sprinkled holy water on the pyramid. The two men set fire to the bonfire’s core, and in a few seconds, the mighty blaze was sending hot flames in all directions. Visitors inhaled the pleasant smell of burning myrtle branches and eucalyptus leaves. The lengthening shadow of Mount Tuttavista slowly engulfed all of us. The sunset threw a glorious hue over the burning bonfire.
Young men distributed new wine in plastic cups. Refills came very fast, and refusing new wine was considered a sin. The wine god, Bacchus, stood beside the bonfire and brought boozy blessings to all. Cauldrons filled with boiling pig lard with broad beans were brought in. People fell in line to get food as a few middle-aged women controlled the crowd. Some devotees pensively watched and counted the images drawn by the bonfire in the heavy smoke. They tried to tally them with premonitions, prophecies and wishes for the New Year.
Shyamala and I had enough fresh wine for the day and wanted to return to our guesthouse. It was difficult to leave the ground as everyone wanted to talk to us. Shyamala talked to some of them in Italian, and they were thrilled to discuss our thoughts on the festival. Shyamala, meanwhile, told me the priest had flirty eye contact with her; I thought he was tipsy. The priest spoke a little English and smoked cigars non-stop. His potbelly hinted that he drank a lot of wine. The priest was a short and fat fellow with no hair on his head and wore a tight pair of blue jeans and a short-sleeved checked shirt. He sported his cell phone in his back jeans pocket and regularly checked it for messages.
Two days later, someone suggested that Antonio bring 40 bottles of new wine to the guesthouse to sell to the guests. Antonio arrived at the guesthouse later that night with his German girlfriend in his double cab van. Nobody showed any interest in Antonio’s wine. Antonio did not know what had gone wrong with his wine the previous day – the wine tasted like vinegar. Still, one consolation was that St. Vincent Saragossa was the patron saint of wine brewers and vinegar producers. If St. Vincent felt belittled by St. Anthony after the bonfire, Antonio could brew another batch of fresh wines in the name of St. Vincent. After all, in Galtelli, there is ample time and space for new traditions to emerge and new friendships to forge.
We left Galtelli after staying eight days at Andrea’s guesthouse. After helping him load bags, Shyamala and I joined him in going to Sa. Cantina to catch the airport bus. He drove like a maniac at breakneck speed. He negotiated elbow corners at high speed on narrow and slippery cobbled streets. He smiled and reassured us that he knew Galtelli roads well and that his guardian angel would protect him. I wanted to ask him who would protect us. When we reached Sa. Cantina, he quickly unloaded suitcases, ignored the heavy rain, and drove back to bring more guests after waving at us and sending a flying kiss.
Features
Revolt in the Temple: Poverty as Structural Control
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
Features
Are threats to Buddha Sasana external or from within?
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
Features
Vijaya Kumar: Academic, Activist & Genial Fellow-Traveller
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
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