By Admiral Ravindra C Wijegunaratne
WV, RWP and Bar, RSP, VSV, USP, NI (M) (Pakistan), ndc, psn, Bsc
(Hons) (War Studies) (Karachi) MPhil (Madras)
Former Navy Commander and Former Chief of Defence Staff
Former Chairman, Trincomalee Petroleum Terminals Ltd
Former Managing Director Ceylon Petroleum Corporation
Former High Commissioner to Pakistan

The Digampathana suicide truck attack on 16th October 2006 remains the deadliest single strike in Sri Lanka Navy history, leaving scars that time cannot erase.

It was a seemingly ordinary Monday morning on 16 October 2006, but the calm of that day would soon be shattered in a way none of us could have imagined. As the Commandant of the Naval and Maritime Academy and Flag Officer Commanding Naval Fleet at Trincomalee, I was aware that a number of my cadets were travelling that morning, part of a convoy of fifteen buses carrying naval personnel from Trincomalee, Colombo, and other bases, heading toward Dambulla to rendezvous with another group. The convoy also included trucks and escort vehicles, a routine movement planned and coordinated with the army to ensure the roads were clear. The morning started quietly. Some personnel greeted friends, handed over their weapons, or strolled to a nearby tea shop. It all seemed so ordinary—too ordinary for what would come next.

Sri Lanka Navy sunk LTTE Ships carrying arms, ammunition and warlike materials thousand miles away from Sri Lanka in Indian Ocean in September and October 2007.

By late morning, both convoys had reached the small ground at Digampathana, near the Sigiriya junction, and personnel mingled briefly, unaware that a carefully orchestrated act of terror was waiting. Then, suddenly, an empty half-truck veered directly into the convoy. It exploded with a ferocity I can still recall as if it were yesterday. Nuts, bolts, and high explosives tore through the air. Pandemonium erupted instantly. I later learned that 107 of our naval personnel were killed on the spot and another 153 critically injured. The scene was indescribable—bodies scattered, vehicles mangled, personal effects strewn across the ground. I remember later hearing that the head of the suicide bomber was recovered more than 100 meters away from the blast, a grim testament to the sheer force of the explosion.

I was in my office at the Naval and Maritime Academy when my mobile phone rang. A young midshipman from the 21st intake called, his voice trembling: “Sir, there was a huge explosion at the convoy point! Many are dead … my batch mate Wijesundara is among them.” I immediately jumped into my jeep with my escort Chief Petty Officer and driver and rushed to Digampathana, relying on every ounce of my driving skill to reach the scene. The journey, which usually took little more than an hour, felt endless that day, each passing mile weighed down by dread.

When I arrived, I was confronted with a sight that no training can prepare you for. The injured were being rushed to Dambulla Hospital, where doctors and nurses worked tirelessly, improvising in ways that saved lives despite the overwhelming chaos. I went back to the site after visiting the hospital. The remains of our naval personnel were scattered across the ground, and someone had begun collecting weapons and protective gear. I immediately contacted Surgeon Rear Admiral Nico Jayasekara and received his instructions: collect all body parts in separate bags and transport them to the Trincomalee Naval Hospital mortuary. This gruesome work had to be done with care and dignity, and it filled the icebox in my vehicle. Through DNA testing initiated by Rear Admiral Nico, we were able to identify every naval personnel lost that day, bringing some closure to grieving families.

The Navy Commander at the time, Vice Admiral Wasantha Karannagoda, was devastated. I had worked closely with him and knew how deeply he cared for his men. He ensured that the fallen were honoured with full ceremonial naval funerals at Welisara Naval Base, attended by families and comrades. Sixty-seven funerals were conducted in a single day—a number that still haunts me.

The Digampathana attack remains the largest single loss of naval life in our history. It was a day of sorrow, but also a day that reinforced our resolve. The tragedy galvanized the Navy to target the LTTE Sea Tiger wing with renewed determination and reshaped our maritime operations forever. Every time I think of that day, I remember not just the lives lost, but the courage, professionalism, and dedication of those who survived, those who treated the injured, and those who ensured the fallen were honored properly. May the souls of our naval hero’s rest in peace, their sacrifice guiding us and inspiring generations of naval personnel to come.

Tales of Mystery and Suspense – 24

I was intrigued by the title of a book I found in a book drop at the condominium of a friend, Murder at Whitby Abbey, and I brought it home with me though I will not be able to return it in the near future. It was described on the cover page as ‘a standout in the crowded medieval mystery field’, though I fear I do not know of other books in this field, apart from the Cadfael series, which I have dealt with earlier.

The book, by Cassandra Clark, is set during the reign of Richard II and has as a backdrop his precarious position, which led to his being replaced, and murdered, by his cousin Henry, who reigned as Henry IV. It is a gloomy book, the action taking place in the twelve days of Christmas leading up to the Epiphany. And the gloom is pervasive, even though this is supposed to be a time of festivity, with mummers performing, and many of those in the guest house where the heroine stays going to town to enjoy themselves, with much drinking and much music, which also fills the guesthouse.

The heroine Hildegarde is a nun, sent to try to acquire a relic being sold by Whitby Abbey, though this was also a penance set by the Abbot of the monastery that governed her abbess because she had had sex with a man. Soon after she and her companions reach the Abbey set high on a cliff, she finds that there are other bidders, and soon suspects that the hierarchy, not perhaps the Abbot who seems a weakling, but his rapacious bursar, is determined to make money, and not above creating false relics to sell to several aspirants.

After Hildegarde and her Cistercian companions – Whitby is a Benedictine Foundation – two monks, Gregory and Egbert, and a young priest Mark, reach the abbey, they find that Aelwyn, a monk they had met on their way to the guesthouse had died. This was in the apple store, and they realize, when they find the surplices of novices stuffed into the air vents, that he had been left to suffocate in the overwhelming scent of apples.

Clark

The Cistercians are asked to look into the death, perhaps because they are likely to get no cooperation from the Abbey folk, but perhaps because those in charge are keen to know what happened. And the infirmarer, an old monk, suggests Hildegarde talk to a man called Edred who worked for the bursar, and had been a friend of Aelwyn’s. But Edred too is killed, before he can keep an appointment he had made with Hildegarde, drowned in a pool near the farmhouse of the Abbey.

Meanwhile tensions arise between the fisherfolk and the abbey for the bursar wants to charge them for using the beach that technically belongs to the abbey to dry their fish and their nets. This leads to physical battles, when the guards used by the abbey, under the command it seems of the bursar whose determination to make money is not resisted by the abbot and the prior, try to storm the area where the fishermen live.

Hildegard finds out more about what had happened through two youngsters, one of whom Torold is the son of Aelwyn by a woman who worked as a prostitute for a cartel, and with whom Mark fell in love. The other works on the farm and had seen Edred meet someone near the pool, after which that someone left the place by himself. And the boy had also found in the pool a sort of dagger with the seal of the abbey.

He and his dog, and Torold who follows her, rescue Hildegarde from a man at arms who has waylaid her and tries to rape her earlier. Escaping into the abbey she was nearly been raped then by the bursar, but she managed to escape, in the process setting fire to him and the muniments room, which led, when he was rescued, to the discovery of a box with the money he said had been stolen, blame being cast on both Aelwyn and Edred.

Matters come to a head when the fisherfolk try to storm the abbey, being resisted by the men at arms stationed on the towers. But then Hildegarde realizes that behind the murders was the bursar’s clerk, whom she pursued to the cathedral. There is great drama then as she escapes from him when he tries to kill her, and then from the man at arms who had tried to both rape and kill her, but they both fall from the scaffolding she had climbed, the latter coming from a tower where he had been stationed.

Both of them think they run the rapacity of the abbey, the latter claiming to work for the nobles opposed to Richard, who is presented throughout the book as devoted to his subjects, not to power or money. But though the villains die, the bursar continues, having got over the hysteria the fire had caused and his acknowledgment then of guilt – and though the abbot and the prior seem less vicious, whether they will be able to assert themselves is questionable.

Before the climax, when the others in the guesthouse were leaving, Hildegarde found that two of them were in possession of the relic, for which they seem to have paid well. Hildegarde herself had made a derisory offer, but before she leaves the abbot gives her the relic, perhaps in gratitude for what she and her fellow Cistercians had discovered, the abbey having made as much money as it needed and more from the gullible other buyers.

Mark’s inamorata is saved from the stews because she moves in with Edred’s widow whom the bursar had thrown out of the rooms he occupied when her husband was found dead. Hildegarde had paid for lodgings, in a house run by the man who ran the brothels, but he had a kindly side and was going to finance them to make nets for the fishermen.

So, the Cistercians set off for their home as swiftly as they can to get there on the day of the Epiphany, having stopped en route to pray for King Richard whose birthday it was.

Black July: The Need to Tell the Whole Truth

Dear Mr. Sajith Premadasa,

We welcome your recent expression of regret and apology in Parliament concerning Black July. Such acknowledgment of historical wrongdoing is a constructive step towards reconciliation and democratic accountability.

However, an honest reckoning with history cannot begin and end with Black July. The violence of July 1983 was part of a much wider sequence of political developments, ethnic discrimination, state repression and the erosion of democratic institutions. To understand that history fully, we must examine what preceded Black July, what happened during it, and what followed.

We therefore urge you to extend your acknowledgment of historical responsibility beyond Black July and address the wider pattern of undemocratic and repressive actions under the United National Party (UNP) government led by President J. R. Jayewardene.

1. The erosion of democracy before Black July

The contraction of democratic space after the UNP came to power in 1977 must form part of this discussion. It would be historically incomplete to focus only on the violence against Tamil people in the North and East, Black July, or the proscription of the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP) in 1983, while overlooking other actions that weakened democratic rights and political pluralism.

The removal of the civic rights of former Prime Minister Sirimavo Bandaranaike in 1980, which deprived her of the right to vote or stand for election for seven years, was a major example. The detention of Vijaya Kumaratunga and others in 1982 in connection with an alleged Naxalite conspiracy was another deeply troubling episode.

The violence associated with the 1981 Jaffna District Development Council election, including the burning of the Jaffna Public Library, and other abuses against Tamil civilians and young people also form part of this history. These events reflected a wider political climate in which the use of state power raised serious questions about political freedom, the rule of law and the rights of opposition parties.

2. The proscription of the JVP in 1983

The proscription of the JVP in July 1983 was another serious blow to democratic politics. At the time, the JVP was an established political party participating in electoral politics, including the 1982 presidential election. It had also taken legal action challenging the government’s decision to extend the life of Parliament through the 1982 referendum.

In the aftermath of Black July, the government proscribed the JVP and two other left-wing parties, the Nava Sama Samaja Party and the Communist Party of Sri Lanka, alleging their involvement in the communal violence. The validity of those allegations and the justification for the proscription deserve careful historical and legal scrutiny. The central issue is not whether any political organisation should be exempt from accountability, but whether the allegations were supported by credible evidence and whether the state acted in accordance with democratic principles and due process.

A government cannot legitimately suppress political opposition merely by making allegations that have not been established through a fair process. The proscription deprived the JVP of its lawful political space and had serious consequences for its members and supporters.

3. Our personal experience of repression

This is not simply a historical account based on documents or second-hand narratives; it is also a history that we experienced personally. Following the proscription, JVP members, activists and professionals, including Lionel Bopage, then the party’s General Secretary, faced arrest, detention and interrogation.

Between August and December 1983, some of us were detained and questioned on the Fourth Floor of the Criminal Investigation Department in Colombo. Those affected included doctors, engineers and other professionals. Other than the two signatories to this letter, those detained in connection with these events included Somaratna Kaluarachchi, Dr Nihal Abeysinghe, Dr Palitha Yapa, Dr Jinendra Pathinayake, Lalith Chandrasiri, Viraj Fernando, Sathyapala Wannigama and Vijitha Ranaweera. We recall these experiences so that the treatment of those affected and the evidence used to justify the proscription may be examined honestly and fairly.

4. The legal challenge to the proscription

Efforts were made to challenge the proscription through legal channels. The proceedings were brought in the name of Piyasoma Mallikarachchi, then a member of the Colombo District Development Council. Mr Mallikarachchi is no longer alive to recount the matter, but Professor Athula Sumathipala was personally involved in coordinating aspects of the legal effort.

According to the published Supreme Court judgment, the case was Mallikarachchi v. Shiva Pasupati, Attorney-General (1985) 1 Sri LR 74, Supreme Court Application No. 107/84, heard on 19–20 November 1984. Nimal Senanayake, President’s Counsel, appeared for the petitioner, together with Sanath Jayatilleke, Mrs A. B. Dissanayaka and R. Jagindran, instructed by Saliya Mathew.

Political efforts were also made to have the proscription lifted. Lionel Bopage, as the party’s General Secretary at the time, held discussions with President J. R. Jayewardene with a view to restoring the party’s lawful political status. These legal and political efforts concerned the right of a political party to exist, organise and participate in democratic life without unjustified state interference.

5. The responsibility to acknowledge the full history

Our purpose in raising these matters is not to revive old political hostilities or to assign historical blame selectively. It is to insist that the lessons of history must be learned in their entirety.

The violence against Tamil people, Black July, the proscription of the JVP, the removal of Sirimavo Bandaranaike’s civic rights and the detention of Vijaya Kumaratunga were distinct events. Yet each raises important questions about the use of state power, the protection of democratic freedoms and the treatment of political opponents. Acknowledging one injustice while remaining silent about others risks presenting an incomplete account of our past.

We therefore reiterate our call for you to extend your acknowledgment beyond Black July. This should include an honest acknowledgment of the injustices suffered by Tamil citizens, the circumstances surrounding the proscription of the JVP, and the wider curtailment of democratic rights under the UNP government after 1977.

We also believe that surviving witnesses to these events should be heard. Their testimony is an important part of Sri Lanka’s historical record and should contribute to a broader, evidence-based national conversation about accountability and democratic renewal.

An apology is meaningful only when accompanied by an honest acknowledgment of the truth, an acceptance of responsibility and a commitment to prevent similar abuses in the future. We respectfully call upon you to acknowledge the full history and to offer a sincere expression of regret and apology for the wider injustices committed during that period.

We write jointly, drawing on our experiences of that period and our conviction that Sri Lanka cannot build a genuinely democratic future by selectively remembering its past. Our aim is to help build a more just and democratic society that safeguards human dignity.

Lionel Bopage

General Secretary of the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna during the period concerned

Professor Athula Sumathipala
Frontline activist who held responsibilities within the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna during the period concerned