Features
Cartographies of Conflict
Soon after the outbreak of war in Sri Lanka, a borderland wedged between, and connecting the north and east, called Manal Aru by Tamil-speakers and Weli Oya by Sinhala-speakers, became fixed on the mental map of nationalists in both camps.
Except as geographers Urs Geiser and Benedikt Korf of Zurich University point out, these are not the same place on any physical map of that region. Manal Aru is to the north of the Andankulam forest reserve, whereas Weli Oya is to its south.
Why did this “jungle” territory, virtually unknown before 1984 and sparsely populated, become so fiercely contested, at once in the rival narratives of rival ethno-nationalisms, now rivals in war?
This is the puzzle the authors (who count their long-time collaborator, the late Shahul Hasbullah, Professor of Geography at the University of Peradeniya, among them) seek to solve.
The dominant narrative, Geiser and Korf remind us, has been that of ethnically-charged antagonism that provoked and perpetuated violent conflict in the form of war, massacres, and forced migration between 1984 and 2009.
The targeting of Sinhalese civilians by the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) began here. On November 30, 1984, the LTTE attacked the Dollar and Kent farms – where Sinhalese prisoners were in open conditions with their families – killing 62 people, including women and children.
Previously, plantation-origin Tamils had been settled on those farms, after displacement from the hill country during the 1977 anti-Tamil riots. Once war broke out following the July 1983 anti-Tamil pogrom, they were brutalised and evicted again, this time by state security agents.
On December 1, 1984, the LTTE raided fishing camps of migratory Sinhalese near the Kokkilai lagoon, killing 11 people.
Reprisal killings followed. Over those two days, the Special Task Force and the Sri Lanka military massacred dozens of Tamils in the villages of Othiyamalai, Nedunkerni, and Kumalamunai. On December 15, that is in one day alone, several Tamil villages near Manal Aru were targeted, killing 131 civilians including allegedly 21 children.
To the competing ethno-nationalisms, territory is crucial. For Tamil nationalists, control over this piece of land is key to the claim of a traditional homeland contiguous across the coastal north and east. For Sinhalese nationalists, denial of that control buttresses their claim over an undivided island, inclusive of the north-east.
Yet, this “script is only part of the story”, the authors say. What it flattens, when it does not leave out altogether, is “the actually existing, and often complex, practices of politics that took and take place on the ground”. The “ideological projects of ethno-nationalism”, they remind, “never simply roll out as envisaged; they meet resistance, friction, contradictions, evasions, and failures”.
Conjunctural crisis
Applying Stuart Hall’s conceptualisation of a “conjunctural crisis”, where different forces and their relations converge or are condensed in the same moment, Geiser and Korf argue that other forces were also at play.
This monograph discusses three among them, familiar to students of agrarian studies in Sri Lanka – river valley development; dry zone frontier colonisation; and ethno-nationalist territorialisation.
Even before independence from British colonialism, there was interest in the utilisation of river water through its storage and harvesting by dams and catchment areas, for irrigated agriculture and power generation. Ideas around how to develop the country, circled around the development of its river valleys. The best-known scheme is of course the Mahaweli Development Project, accelerated by the J. R. Jayewardene regime after 1978.
Water would be managed through engineering technology, making land arable for food production; meanwhile land would become available for livelihoods, mitigating landlessness and poverty in the densely populated wet zone. Additionally, hydropower would now provide a domestic source of energy for electrification of a country otherwise entirely dependent on the import of fossil fuels, financed by scarce foreign exchange.
The second ‘force’ is that of settlement for peasant farming (known as “colonisation” in Sri Lanka), in this isolated, thinly populated, and arid region. From the late colonial period onwards, these untamed areas were geographically visualised by British administrators and Sinhalese politicians, as frontier land, where wild forest, wild animals, and wild humans, evaded state control. The initial impetus for ‘Dry Zone frontier colonisation’, argue the authors, was tied to “developmental ideas of agrarian development”.
They accept that over time developmental ideas gave way to, or were subsumed by, other ideas such as “re-awakening a past (Sinhalese) hydraulic civilisation”. Therefore, the borderlands between Tamil-majority and Sinhalese-majority areas became imagined as the rightful inheritance of the modern Sinhalese Buddhist nation.
Nevertheless, they caution us to distinguish between “ideological scripts, actual practices and their impact on land use, the landscape and territory”.
Ethno-nationalist territorialism
This leads us to their third theme of “ethno-nationalist territorialism”. Three hundred odd kilometres south of Weli Oya, is the Gal Oya colonisation scheme. From 1949 onwards, Sinhalese settlers from the land-hungry central and south-western districts were settled in the Eastern Province. Local Tamils and Muslims alleged that these peasant colonists were favoured by Sinhalese administrators in the allocation of land, headwater access, infrastructural support, and extension services.
Later in 1961, what was southern Batticaloa, where the Gal Oya new villages are located, was partitioned as the new district of Ampara – the only one in the north and east where Sinhalese predominate in number over Tamils. This only confirmed Tamil anxieties of state-sponsored demographic change to undermine their local majority.
Invoking research in Weli Oya by Thiruni Kelegama, whose Central Margins: Sri Lanka’s Violent Frontier is forthcoming, Geiser and Korf argue that marginal lands, inhabited by marginal peoples, on the margins of the state, can nevertheless become central in state formation projects. In this instance, that of Sri Lanka drenched in Sinhala-Buddhist nationalism; and a proto-state of Tamil Eelam suffused with Tamil nationalism.
Frontier Frictions
In Stuart Hall’s concept of the ‘conjuncture’, even a process in motion (such as river valley development or frontier colonisation or ethno-nationalist territorialisation), cannot be assumed to result in the desired outcome of what is intended at its origin.
Through the operation of what he names ‘contingency’ – premised on the notion that no social process is pre-determined – Hall contends that “the future is not already wrapped up in its past. There is no closure yet written into it”.
Geiser and Korf seize on this rejection of the future as the irresistible inheritance of the past, to propose what they call “frontier struggles” or “frontier frictions” as generative of ‘contingency’; potentially unsettling what has been scripted.
Their examples are colonisation schemes impeded by conflicts within the state bureaucracy (that is between central and local authorities, and between Sinhalese, Tamil, and Muslim officials within those institutions); and how ethnic territorialisation was disrupted by outbreak of war, scuppering for example, the mass migration of Sinhalese to the Maduru Oya area of Mahaweli system ‘B’ in Batticaloa district; some of whom were later settled in Weli Oya.
Yet, ‘contingency’ notwithstanding, the authors admit, there is scant evidence that these “frontier frictions” have yielded positive outcomes for Tamil, Muslim and Sinhalese, poor farmers, fishers, wage-labourers, and others, in this borderland. They hopefully suggest that post-war, there is greater space for struggles of these groups in defence of their socio-economic interests; and provide some examples too, of overt and covert resistance by the communities and sections of the local state.
However, for this reader, it is difficult not to be pessimistic that Sinhalese ethno-nationalism – manifested in this borderland in the triad of the Mahaweli Authority, the military, and the Buddhist monkhood – has loosened its grip over the lives of ethnicity-marked marginal peoples significantly.
While politically drawn to Hall’s ‘optimism of the will’; it seems to me that state racism, and the common sense of Sinhalese Buddhist supremacy, feeding off and into the other, have generated their own grim path-dependence. Thus, after 2009 settlers originally from Hambantota (Kelegama and Korf 2023) describe this corner of Mullaitivu as “Sinhala”, and their duty to “take back the land from Tamils”.
The future is not “closed”, as joyously witnessed in the 2022 Aragalaya, but it does seem wrapped up in the past; with no likely good prospects for oppressed ethnicities and exploited classes.
Significance
In summary, there are three aspects of methodological significance in this work.
First, it does not begin its story from when Weli Oya/Manal Aru impressed itself on the consciousness of wider society in 1984. Rather, the narrative is historicised from the mid-1950s onward, well before the eruption of the war, beginning with the Padaviya irrigation and settlement scheme.
Second, it does not limit itself to the experiences of only one community, but extends to consider those of Sinhalese, Tamils, and Muslims (generally made invisible by Sinhalese and Tamil ethno-nationalisms).
Third, is its careful, and therefore critical, attention to maps. The boundary between a northern and an eastern province, was first drawn at the river we know as the Periya Aru/Ma Oya, in a map prepared for the Colebrook-Cameron report of 1832. Map-making produces its own “cartographic violence” (Korf 2009).
Future directions
Finally, building on this study, there are at least two directions to take future research on the borderlands.
First, beyond the margins as a geographical location, and the skewed relations of power and authority between the core and the periphery, to the investigation of those on the margins of the margins: women; discriminated castes; the landless, and so on. And in seeing them not only as pawns and victims.
Suppose as Anna Tsing (1994) recommends, we think of the margins as an “analytic” site, from which to see the “instability” of categories? Among them could be ‘agrarian development’, ‘peasant settlement’, ‘water and irrigation’, ‘land and territory’, ‘community, nation and state’, etc.?
Second, the authors rightly warn us not to see the state as “singular” or monolithic. Earlier work by Hasbullah and Geiser (2019), on the dynamics of local official actors and institutions of central power in and around Akkaraipattu and the right bank of the Gal Oya scheme in Ampara district, analysed what they called the “heterogeneity”, “contradictions” and “ambiguity” of the local state.
Hansen (in Fuller and Bénéï eds. 2001) differentiates between two dimensions of the state: the ‘sublime’: which is the idea of the state as “a site of sovereignty, a symbolic centre of political will and power above partial interests”; and the ‘profane’: “the incoherence, brutality, partiality and banality of the technical sides of governance, and the rough and tumble of negotiation, compromise and naked self-interest displayed in local politics”.
Policy-based studies on what the legal-rational state ought to be in Sri Lanka are in abundance. There is also some human rights documentation on the state’s illegitimate use of violence; which is of little concern to policymakers and practitioners. What is lacking are ethnographies of what the ‘everyday state’ in its profanities means to marginal people; and the implications for relations between and within ‘forces’ in society.
In retrieving and reconstructing the biography of Manal Aru/Weli Oya over more than 50 years, Geiser and Korf remind us how agrarian political economy usefully contributes towards better understanding the past, present, and future in Sri Lanka.
(B. Skanthakumar of the Social Scientists’ Association was a discussant at the book launch in Colombo on May 26.)
BY B. Skanthakumar,
Social Scientists’ Association
Manal Aru/Weli Oya: The Violent History of River Valley Development,
Frontier Colonisation and Ethnic Territorialisation. Urs Geiser and Benedikt Korf (In Honour of Shahul H. Hasbullah).
Colombo: Social Scientists’ Association. 2026. x + 129p. Rs1200.
Features
Quandary of Dengue: Some roving perspectives
Sri Lanka is currently well and truly trapped in the strangling grip of a devastating and severely enhanced dengue outbreak. The numbers alone are staggering; over 44,000 cases have been recorded across the island so far this year, with the highest concentration systematically suffocating the Western, Southern, and Central provinces. Hospitals and healthcare providers are under extreme pressure, but the cold metrics of morbidity do not capture the true implications and dismay of this current wave. What has profoundly shaken the public consciousness and even sent a shudder through the medical community is a grim shift in the implications for the populace.
Dengue has always been quite a threat, looming over our Motherland from time to time. Yet for all that, historically, child deaths due to the virus were relatively rare in Sri Lanka, thanks to scrupulously adhering to robust clinical guidelines, as well as exceptional paediatric monitoring and management. This year, that safety net seems to be straining quite a bit at the edges and among the reported fatalities are a tragic number of children. The virus is moving faster, hitting harder, and exposing a terrifying reality, even stressing that our existing defence mechanisms are perhaps no longer totally sufficient to deal with the problem.
In response, public health authorities have deployed their traditional arsenal. Teams are busy with intensive surveillance, conducting house-to-house inspections, enforcing strict penalties for standing and stagnant water, and sending fogging machinery through the streets to blanket neighbourhoods in chemical mists. Yet, as case counts climb by nearly 50% week over week, an uncomfortable question must be asked: Are these traditional measures sufficient, or are they bordering on an exercise in futility?
The Illusion of the Fog: Why Our Current Strategy May Be Failing?
To understand why Sri Lanka might be in a tight corner, one must look closely at the enemy. Dengue is transmitted primarily by the Aedes aegypti mosquito, a highly adapted, urbanised insect. While Aedes aegypti is widely considered the primary culprit, Aedes albopictus (commonly known as the Asian tiger mosquito) plays a massive, highly dangerous role in Sri Lanka’s dengue transmission as well. In fact, the interplay between these two species is one of the biggest reasons why controlling dengue on the island is so incredibly difficult. These two vectors behave differently, breed in different places, and require distinct strategies to combat their well-recognised roles in the propagation of the disease that is dengue. Understanding how these two mosquito species split the territory could explain why a single controlling method might not always work across the board.
Aedes aegypti mosquitoes are strictly urban and indoor creatures. They live alongside humans inside houses, apartments, and in heavily built-up commercial areas. They rest on dark clothes in closets, under furniture, and behind curtains. They breed in artificial containers, clear, stagnant water in flower vases, plastic cups, concrete sumps, and overhead tanks. They prefer human blood almost exclusively and bite multiple people to get one full meal, thereby spreading the dengue virus rapidly within even a single household.
In contrast, Aedes albopictus is semi-urban and rural, thrives in vegetations, gardens, rubber plantations, and peri-urban areas where green spaces meet houses. The creature rests in shaded bushes, high grass, and low canopy foliage, as well as holes in trees, leaf axils, coconut shells, discarded tyres and trash. The biting behaviour of these mosquitoes is opportunistic. They bite humans but also feed on birds and domestic mammals, indicating that they can survive easily even when human density is low.
The traditional responses we rely on, most notably thermal fogging, are largely cosmetic public relations exercises rather than a totally effective vector control mechanism. Such fogging misses indoor resting sites, drives resistance, and stagnant water elimination fails against cryptic, microscopic breeding sites.
Fogging utilises “adulticides“, chemical sprays meant to kill flying mosquitoes. However, Aedes aegypti is a domestic creature; it rests indoors, hidden in the dark recesses of closets, under beds, and behind curtains. A fogging process achieves very little penetration into these indoor sanctuaries. Furthermore, over-reliance on these pyrethroid-based chemical sprays has accelerated insecticide resistance, effectively rendering the chemicals useless over time.
Similarly, while the National Dengue Control Unit (NDCU), to their eternal credit, aggressively pursues the elimination of visible standing water, the sheer adaptability of the mosquito outpaces manual human labour in trying to eliminate the breeding places of the vectors. Aedes eggs can remain dormant in dry containers for months, hatching the moment a drop of water touches them. In dense, urbanised areas like Colombo and Gampaha, microscopic breeding sites, from the rim of a discarded plastic bottle cap to the base of an indoor potted plant, are impossible to completely police.
If we continue to rely solely on manual cleaning and chemical fogging, we are fighting a twenty-first-century climate-driven crisis with mid-twentieth-century tools. We must look beyond our borders to see how global science is shifting the paradigm of mosquito control.
The Biological Frontier: Insects fighting Mosquitoes
When searching for international alternatives, many look towards the United States, where vector control districts manage complex mosquito populations across diverse ecosystems. A common point of curiosity is the historical use of “mosquito-eating insects.”
In the US, biological control has long featured predatory species. While some point to insects like dragonfly nymphs or giant non-biting mosquito larvae (Toxorhynchites, which actively prey on other mosquito larvae), the most widely used traditional biological agent in American municipal water systems is actually the Gambusia affinis, commonly known as the “mosquitofish.” A single one of these surface-feeding fish can devour hundreds of mosquito larvae a day.
However, American vector management has largely evolved past simply dumping predatory fish into ponds. The true modern frontier in global mosquito control relies on advanced biological and genetic interventions that turn the mosquitoes against themselves.
1. The Wolbachia Revolution
Perhaps the most successful international intervention against dengue is the introduction of Wolbachia-infected mosquitoes. Wolbachia is a naturally occurring bacterium found in up to sixty per cent of all insect species, but crucially, not naturally present in Aedes aegypti.
When scientists introduce Wolbachia into Aedes mosquitoes in a laboratory and release them into the wild, two extraordinary things happen: –
· Viral Suppression: The bacterium competes with viruses like dengue, Zika, and chikungunya inside the mosquito’s body, making it incredibly difficult for the virus to replicate. If the virus cannot replicate, the mosquito cannot transmit it to a human.
· Population Replacement:
Through a mechanism called cytoplasmic incompatibility, when a Wolbachia-carrying male mates with a wild female that does not carry the bacteria, her eggs do not hatch. If a Wolbachia female mates with a wild male, her offspring will carry the bacteria. Over time, the local mosquito population is entirely replaced by harmless, non-transmission-capable mosquitoes.
In comprehensive global trials, such as those conducted by the World Mosquito Programme in Yogyakarta, Indonesia, the introduction of Wolbachia mosquitoes led to a staggering 77% reduction in dengue incidence and an 86% reduction in dengue-related hospitalisations.
2. Sterile Insect Technique (SIT) and Genetic Modifications
Other countries, including parts of the US (such as the Florida Keys) and Brazil, have turned to genetic engineering. Using the Sterile Insect Technique (SIT) or advanced genetic variants (like those developed by Oxitec), millions of bio-engineered male mosquitoes are released into the wild. Because male mosquitoes do not bite humans, and they feed exclusively on nectar, thereby posing zero risk to the public. These males mate with wild females, but pass on a self-limiting gene that causes the female offspring to die in the larval stage before they can ever mature, bite, or transmit disease. This results in a drastic collapse of the localised vector population without the use of even a single drop of toxic chemical pesticide.
Moving beyond the Status Quo: A Blueprint for Sri Lanka
The current dilemma in Sri Lanka is a classical gridlock: we are deploying immense physical effort and economic capital into vector control measures that yield diminishing returns, while our clinical wards fill with critically ill patients. If we are to break this cycle, our public health policy must undergo a rapid structural evolution
We cannot instantly replicate the multimillion-dollar genetic laboratories of the West, but we can modernise our strategy immediately by adopting a highly targeted, multi-tiered approach.
Comprehensive Vector Management Strategy
The following are some thoughts that need to be carefully evaluated in a venture towards getting things under control.
· Shift from Adulticides to Target Microbial Larvicides Immediate Phase
Cease the reliance on sweeping chemical thermal fogging. Instead, deploy specialised microbial larvicides such as Bacillus thuringiensis israelensis (Bti). Bti is a naturally occurring soil bacterium that, when ingested by mosquito larvae, destroys their digestive tracts. It is completely non-toxic to humans, pets, and other aquatic life, and can be distributed via localised backpack sprayers or drones into inaccessible urban sumps.
· Scale Up Localised Wolbachia Trials Intermediate Phase
Sri Lanka has previously initiated small-scale, localised pilot releases of Wolbachia mosquitoes in select urban pockets. Given the severity of the 2026 outbreak, these programmes must be aggressively scaled up into an industrial-level national initiative. Public-private partnerships must be leveraged to establish sustainable, high-capacity mosquito-rearing facilities locally.
· Implement Digital Ovitrap Surveillance Continuous Integration
Replace manual, retroactive searching with predictive digital mapping. Deploy networks of smart “ovitraps” (oviposition traps) across high-burden provinces. These traps monitor egg-laying rates in real-time, allowing automated data systems to predict a spike in the adult mosquito population weeks before an actual clinical outbreak occurs, enabling preventative targeting.
The Cost of Inaction
Maintaining our current trajectory is not a neutral choice; it is an endorsement of escalating mortality. The 2026 outbreak has proven that the ecological dynamics of dengue have changed, fuelled by changing weather patterns and urban density. Our public health response must change with it.
The heart-breaking loss of young lives in this current surge must serve as a stark wake-up call. We must look at the international landscape, embrace the biological innovations that have saved lives across the globe, and transition from a policy of panic-driven reaction to one of scientific eradication. It is no longer just a matter of cleaning our drains; it is a matter of upgrading our science.
Why Aedes albopictus Makes the Sri Lankan Crisis Harder
In Sri Lanka, the geographic landscape transitions quickly from dense concrete cities to lush, tropical vegetation. This creates the perfect environment for both species to thrive simultaneously.
· The Surveillance Blindspot: When health authorities focus heavily on checking indoor water storage and concrete drains in cities, they can completely miss the massive Aedes albopictus populations breeding in the surrounding vegetation, suburban gardens, and rural homesteads of the Southern and Central provinces.
· The Failure of Indoor Fogging:
While indoor residual spraying or targeted indoor fogging might hit Aedes aegypti, it has virtually no effect on Aedes albopictus, which spends its life cycle outdoors in the bushes.
· Climate Resilience:
Aedes albopictus eggs are remarkably tolerant of colder temperatures and varied environments. This allows the vector to push higher into the mountainous terrains of the Central Province, bringing dengue to areas that historically saw very few cases.
To truly bring down the case numbers in a severely enhanced outbreak, public health interventions must be dual-targeted: addressing the indoor, urban threat of Aedes aegypti while simultaneously tackling the outdoor, ecological stronghold of Aedes albopictus. We cannot sit back on our laurels of the past. We need to move forward resolutely.
Features
ANURADHAPURA ANTHEM c.1893
R. W. Ievers, who wrote this poem, was the Government Agent of the North Central Province during 1884, 1886, and 1890. He is the author of the Manual of the North Central Province (1899) and a half dozen published reports on the life and practices in the Province. Before his death, he shared it with his good friend H.C.P. Bell, the Archaeological Commissioner of Ceylon at the time. In 1917, Bell had it published in the Times of Ceylon – Christmas Number. Since then, it remained unknown for 109 years, until Ievers’s great-grandson, Turtle Bunbury, historian and author of Living in Sri Lanka (2006) with James Fennell, tipped me off about its source – H.C.P. Bell: Archaeologist of Ceylon and the Maldives (1993), written by Bell’s granddaughters Bethia N. Bell and Heather M. Bell.
THE ANTHEM
Anuradhapura! City grand and vast,
Lanka’s famous Capital, in ages of the past:
In the Mahawansa the story has been told
Of thy palaces, and temples, and pinnacles of gold.
Hail! then hail! to the worth of a bygone day,
Hail! all hail! to the relics of kingly sway
Hail to thee, Fair City, glorious in decay,
Hail! thrice hail! Forever and for aye!
Si monumentum quaeris
– cast your gaze around
Ruined fanes and dagobas everywhere abound
Alas! for glory faded, for erstwhile beauty sped
For hierarchs and heroes, long numbered with the dead
Hail! then hail!…
Great Ruwanaveli Seya, once fairest of the fair,
The splendour of thy palmy days has melted into air;
And like Imperial Caesar now ‘dead and turned into clay’,
Thy sacred bricks ‘may stop a hole to keep the wind away.’
Note by Tillakaratne:
Since 1873, Bhikku Naranvita Sumanasara has been doing conservation work on this stupa. In 1876, Governor William Gregory, after visiting the work site, wrote that its conservation was not just a religious work but a great National Monument.
See ‘Bayagiri’ massive – ‘Fearless Mount’ forsooth – Centre once of schism rank, from ‘Great Vihara’ truth.
Patched up by prison labour, anew it flaunts on high
A ‘hideous excrescence’ athwart a tranquil sky.
Note by H. C. P. Bell
: T. N. Christie, Planting Member at the time protested in the Legislative Council against the abortive “restoration” by prison labour of the Abhayagiri Dagaba, dubbing its truncated pinnacle, half restored, a “hideous excrescence”.
Jetawanarama, Great Sena’s priestly boon
Comely shape and giddy height will crumble all too soon;
Where forest trees and chequered shade a peaceful picture lend,
From cruel axe and ruthless spade, may gracious Heaven defend.
Note by H. C. P. Bell:
Two decades after these poems were written, the surrounding area of the Jetawanarama was still covered in forest, and the Atamasthana Committee conditionally allowed a monk to clear a limited number of trees. But not a tree remained unfelled, contrary to what the monk was authorized to do.
Thuparama graceful, in outline clear and bold,
Begirt with column chaste and slim, a gem in the ring of gold
To thee pertains high honour a pious people gave – The tomb of Sanghamitta, and Prince Mahinda’s grave.
Note by
H. C. P. Bell: The ruins are pointed out, wrongly, as the tradional tombs of Arahat Mahinda and Sanghamitta Theranee.
With bricks and mortar bolstered up, behold the Sacred Bo;
To some – misguided mortals – ‘tis but a ‘bo-gas’ show.
Where humble Mirisveti a monarch’s fad recalls,
Lo! Royal Siam’s silver now builds its futile walls.
Note by H. C. P. Bell:
According to Mahawansa, Mirisavetiya was so named after King Dutugemunu’s compunction at forgetting chillies (miris) in his alms giving to monks on one occasion. The restoration work on the Mirisavetiya began under the Ceylon Government, with funds provided by the King of Siam. When the money flow began to cease, work also ceased, and bats began to frequent the holed structure.
- Ruwanveli Seya in the background. Murage in the front c. 1900 From Sacred City of Anuradhapura (1908)
- Bhayagriya (Abhayagiriya) c. 1900 From: Sacred City of Anuradhapura (1908)
- Jetawanaramaya c. 1900. From Sacred City of Anuradhapura (1908)
What need to tell of sculptures, of ‘pokunas’ galore,
Of balustrades and Yogi stones and half a hundred more,
Of Brazen Palace spacious, with gilt-roofed storeys dight –
A modern race more ‘brazen’ would desecrate each site.
For midst these sacred ruins of shrines and cloistered hall,
A reckless generation disports with little balls,
Whilst ‘Parliamentary language’ and imprecations deep
Disturb the peaceful solitude where saintly Rahats sleep.
Note by H. C. P. Bell:
After European residents, old city Anuradhapura in the late 19th century, the area still being cleared between Ruwanveli Seya and Thuparama, was used a ‘golf links’. Ievers did not like the area used as a playground:
Iconoclasts and vandals have had their little day;
No more shall ancient pillars to culverts find their way.
No more a watchful Government such sacrilege condones –
One may not meddle with the gods, nor tamper with the stones.
Anuradhapura! Thy glory shall revive;
Yhu [sic] sons shall swarm within thee like bees about a hive.
The effort of the present for past neglect atones;
New breath of life resuscitates this vale of driest bones.
Composed by R. W. Ievers
(1850-1905)
Introduced by Lokubanda Tillakaratne
Features
Meththa Rehabilitation Foundation: Restoring Mobility, Dignity and Hope Across Sri Lanka
For thousands of Sri Lankans living with limb loss and physical disabilities, access to quality rehabilitation services remains a significant challenge. Yet, for more than three decades, our organisation has quietly transformed lives through innovation, compassion and community-based care. The Meththa Rehabilitation Foundation Guarantee Limited (MRFGL), supported by the Meththa Foundation-UK and in partnership with the Manitha Neyam Trust, the LEBARA Foundation and the Oblates of Mary Immaculate in Jaffna, emerged as one of Sri Lanka’s most effective voluntary rehabilitation service providers, restoring mobility, independence and dignity to some of the country’s most vulnerable citizens.
The Foundation’s roots stretch back to 1994, when a group of expatriate Sri Lankan professionals in the United Kingdom recognised the severe shortage of rehabilitation services available to disabled persons in Sri Lanka. Drawing upon their expertise in rehabilitation medicine and allied healthcare professions, they established the Meththa Foundation-UK with a simple but powerful vision: to provide affordable, high-quality prosthetic and rehabilitation services to those who needed them most.
What began as an effort to recycle and repurpose high-quality prosthetic components donated by the UK’s National Health Service has evolved into a comprehensive rehabilitation network serving communities across the island.
Clinical services commenced in Sri Lanka in 1995 through a mobile outreach programme that initially supported injured soldiers and later expanded to civilians affected by conflict and disability. The majority of them were victims of land mines. In 2010, the Sri Lankan arm of the organisation was formally registered as the Meththa Rehabilitation Foundation Guarantee Limited, strengthening its ability to deliver sustainable services nationwide.
Today, the Foundation operates four modern rehabilitation centres located in Mahawa, Mankulam, Balapitiya and Kilinochchi. These centres provide prosthetic and orthotic services, posture and mobility support, limb repairs, and rehabilitation assistance to patients from diverse social and economic backgrounds.
Recognising that many disabled individuals live in remote areas with limited access to healthcare, Meththa Foundation also established a mobile outreach service in 2011. Through a successful “Hub and Spoke” model, rehabilitation teams travel regularly to underserved communities, ensuring that patients are not denied care simply because of distance or financial hardship.
The scale of the Foundation’s work is impressive. During 2025 alone, the organisation recorded approximately 2,000 patient contacts, including the provision of 350 new artificial limbs, 850 limb repairs and around 800 other rehabilitation devices. For many beneficiaries, these interventions represent far more than medical treatment; they offer a pathway back to employment, education and social participation.
Innovation has become a hallmark of the Foundation’s approach. Through an active research and development programme, MRFGL has developed affordable prosthetic technologies specifically suited to Sri Lankan conditions. Among its achievements is the development of a modular below-knee artificial limb system manufactured largely from locally sourced materials. The Foundation has also designed low-cost prosthetic knee components that significantly reduce the financial burden on patients while maintaining quality and functionality. These developments are funded by generous International Grants facilitated by affluent members of the Meththa Foundation-UK. Service users are encouraged to donate whatever they can but for those who cannot, which is a majority the services are entirely free.
These innovations not only make rehabilitation more affordable but also strengthen local manufacturing capabilities and reduce dependence on imported components.
Equally important is the Foundation’s commitment for building local expertise. Recognising the shortage of trained rehabilitation professionals in Sri Lanka, Meththa Foundation
established an apprentice-based vocational training programme that recruits and trains young people as prosthetists, orthotists and rehabilitation technicians. Several locally trained staff members are now employed across the Foundation’s centres, helping to create a sustainable workforce for the future.
The organisation’s work has attracted growing recognition within the healthcare sector. Discussions have already taken place with health authorities regarding the potential use of Meththa-designed prosthetic components within Government hospitals. Such collaboration could significantly expand access to affordable rehabilitation services throughout the country.
Beyond its clinical achievements, the Foundation’s impact is measured in restored confidence and renewed independence. Surveys conducted among beneficiaries indicate that many educated amputees successfully return to productive lives after receiving rehabilitation support. However, the findings also highlight an ongoing challenge among poorer and less educated amputees, many of whom struggle to access follow-up care due to transportation difficulties and financial constraints.
To address this issue, the organisation hopes to -expand its mobile services and community outreach programmes. Additional funding would allow rehabilitation teams to reach isolated communities more frequently, ensuring that vulnerable patients continue to receive the support they need.
Operating on an annual expenditure of approximately Rs. 30 million in Sri Lanka, supplemented by overseas fundraising and donations, the Foundation remains heavily reliant on the partnership of charitable trusts such as the Manitha Neyam Trust and LEBARA Foundation and generosity of individual well-wishers. Every contribution directly supports the provision of artificial limbs, mobility devices, training programmes and outreach services for those who might otherwise be left behind.
As Sri Lanka continues to strengthen its healthcare and social welfare systems, organisations such as the Meththa Foundation demonstrate how innovation, volunteerism and dedication can create lasting social
By helping individuals regain mobility and independence, the Foundation is not merely providing artificial limbs—it is rebuilding lives and restoring hope.
For many “beneficiaries, every step they take is a testament to the life-changing work of the Meththa foundation
www.meththafoundation-sl-uk.org
Chairman’s WhatsApp contact number +94 77 788 6119
Prof S P Lamabadusurira, Chairman and Dr B Panagamuwa, ✍️
First Trustee
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