Twelve months, still feels like yesterday. A void in our hearts and minds that could never be filled. The world changed the day I lost you and suddenly, every lesson you gave by example, made sense.

Thaththi was a man of integrity and character, wisdom and intelligence, honesty and simplicity and most importantly a man of unwavering faith in Jesus Christ. His smile, witty humour and his ability to converse with almost anyone regardless of their age or status, was no doubt a rarity that set him apart. It was often said, that Mr. Jayamaha had an answer to any question and a solution to every problem, offering his wisdom with a calm assurance that brought comfort to those around him. A sing song with a whiskey in his hand and impromptu piano sessions will always be the fondest memories to those who were lucky enough to know him as he truly was. In other words, as my late maternal grandfather described Thaththi as “a man for all seasons”.

Thaththi worked tirelessly to give us the best, showering us with fatherly love and made us feel like royalty. Whatever duty he undertook, he made sure he did it to the best of his ability, in both his personal and professional life. When the days’ work was completed he made sure that everything was meticulously put away to its place.

Thaththi held my hand when afraid, cheered me in victory and listened without judgement. He was a man of quiet strength, wisdom and unconditional love. He treasured Ammi in a quiet way and was an exemplary husband.

We watched old movies and were introduced to actors of his time, enjoyed walks on the road and on the beach, listened to his achievements and stories of old, and laughed a lot. A weekly swim at the SSC and the daily practice of Yoga was a discipline he maintained throughout his life. Music was also a form of relaxation to him and at times all four of us would take turns on the piano and the violin.

Thaththi was always ready for adventure and vacation. During the civil war conflict in Sri Lanka when local travel was restricted, our vacations were mostly overseas. We were privileged to have travelled abroad at a very young age and explored the world together. Strangely Thaththi never forced us to study. After school we would always be taken out to
visit family or friends, to a dinner or a concert. Shows at the Lionel Wendt and the annual Christmas concert by the Symphony Orchestra of SL and Shakes were regular events we attended together as a family.

He had a passion for recording life as it happened, always behind the JVC GR-AX27 vintage camcorder, quietly capturing the excitement of our most meaningful moments be it, birthday parties and Christmas parties organized at our home, first holy communion, holidays overseas and out of Colombo and ballet concerts where my sister and I performed at the Lionel Wendt under the guidance of the late aunty Oosha and even my cousins’ wedding to name a few. It was a time before Instagram, when moments weren’t shaped for an audience but simply captured for the joy of remembering.
He was blessed to have enjoyed the special moments when Akki and I completed our professional exams. He especially enjoyed the box seat at the Royal Albert Hall for the 25th Anniversary performance of The Phantom of the Opera as well as attending the final rehearsal of the Opening ceremony of the 2012 London Olympics, at which Akki was a volunteer dancer. Thaththi’s career in the legal profession began soon after the untimely demise of his late father Don Hector Nicholas Jayamaha Proctor SC & Notary Public. To Thaththi his profession was never about the number of cases or the clients, neither did he want to put up a sign board at his office.

All that mattered was the service he rendered, with commitment and dedication irrespective of who the client was. He was one of a kind that never insisted on pomp and pageantry. In my brief years at the office I was lucky to have been introduced to many of his colleagues, friends and clients and observed the strong relationships and trust he built with them, which was indeed remarkable.

Thaththi was one who never hesitated to share his knowledge with anyone seeking clarity on legal matters. A telephone call was all that took, to get my father initiating a conversation. To me it was a sign of humility and a gift of being able to give back without being afraid of losing anything. An abundance mindset we rarely see in today’s society. What else could one expect from a legal luminary with 56 years at the Bar. I am grateful to have had my apprenticeship under my own father’s guidance.

During his distinguished years of service, he was appointed Director of the Ceylon State Hardware Corporation in 1980 and later served as a Director of the Ceylon Petroleum Corporation, where he also held the position of Chairman of the Audit Committee from February 2002 to April 2004. He went on to become the first Chairman and Managing Director of Ceylon Petroleum Storage Terminals Limited, serving on its Board from November 2003 to April 2004. In addition, he was a Director of Lanka Cement Limited and chaired its Audit Committee from March 2002 to April 2004. Most recently, he served on the Board of Directors of Lake House Printers and Publishers PLC.

One of the most meaningful lessons I will carry with me is to always have faith and trust in the Lord, even in the most difficult moments. Thaththi made it a habit to say a prayer before leaving home, upon returning, and throughout the day. No matter how long or tiring the day had been, the family Rosary was never missed. The greatest gift he gave my sister, my mother, and me is the gift of faith. He passed away on the Feast of Divine Mercy last year, and we rejoice knowing he is in heaven and find comfort trusting that he is our guardian angel guiding us from above.

Priyanti and Lasika (akki) Jayamaha

I was struck by the article written by MDD Pieris in The Sunday Island, under the title, “Free school uniform decision taken in minutes on a platform in Bakamuna” by President Premadasa. I am penning this piece as a tribute to this remarkable visionary in social development and grassroots economic policy, who was tragically assassinated by an LTTE suicide bomber in Colombo exactly 33 years ago.

The term of Sri Lanka’s first Executive President, J. R. Jayewardene (JRJ), was ending in 1989. As the constitution required, JRJ decided to call a presidential election. After some uncertainty within the United National Party (UNP) about who should be the next candidate, then-Party Chairman Ranjan Wijeratne and JRJ’s security advisor Ravi Jayewardene (JRJ’s only son) thought the best candidate was Prime Minister Ranasinghe Premadasa. They realised that the country was moving from elite-centred, Colombo-focused politics toward a more populist, grassroots and security-dominated phase.

They advised the President JRJ and party stalwarts accordingly.

At a UNP Parliamentary Group and Working Committee meeting, J. R. Jayewardene proposed Premadasa’s name. To maintain party unity and avoid an internal contest, he also arranged for Premadasa’s main political rivals from the UNP, Lalith Athulathmudali and Gamini Dissanayake, to second the nomination. This move made Premadasa the unanimous party choice.

Premadasa played a key role in the UNP’s landslide victory in the 1977 parliamentary election, boosting its grassroots membership through his “Man of the Masses” image. He was then appointed deputy leader of the party.

The second Presidential Election took place on December 19, 1988, amid severe unrest. The Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP) called for a boycott and staged a violent protest in the south.

Despite a low voter turnout and violence, the election went ahead, and Premadasa won a clear majority of valid votes, defeating main opposition candidate Sirimavo Bandaranaike from the SLFP. Ranasinghe Premadasa was sworn in on January 2, 1989, as Sri Lanka’s second executive president.

Premadasa was a strong nationalist who campaigned for the withdrawal of the Indian Peace Keeping Force (IPKF), whose presence was unpopular among the Sinhalese majority. He saw the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE), actively fighting the IPKF, as a potential ally in this effort.

His predecessor JRJ did argue that the Tamil issue was a very ancient problem and therefore external mediation might be necessary, which partly explains why he accepted Indian involvement leading to the 1987 accord.

In a pointed critique of India, Premadasa believed that the ethnic conflict could be resolved internally without foreign intervention.

He invited the LTTE and the JVP for talks as part of a strategy to end the prevailing dual insurrections, bring the groups into the democratic process, and secure the withdrawal of the IPKF from Sri Lanka. The LTTE accepted the offer and sent a delegation to Colombo for talks.

The LTTE delegation was transported by helicopter from the Mullaitivu jungles to Colombo. Premadasa arranged for LTTE ideologue Anton Balasingham and his wife, Adele, to fly to Colombo from London via Air Lanka at government expense. The LTTE team was provided with tight security managed by the Special Task Force (STF). During their stay in Colombo, LTTE cadres were permitted to retain their personal weapons as part of the security arrangements.

During the Premadasa–LTTE talks, the LTTE visited the homes of key traditional Tamil democratic leaders, such as A. Amirthalingam and V. Yogeswaran, for discussion and assassinated them, effectively destroying moderate Tamil parliamentary politics.

Both the JVP and Premadasa were opposed to the Indo-Lanka Accord and the IPKF presence, which provided a shared point of interest. He called an All Party Conference (APC) to resolve the problem through dialogue. JVP, however, refused to attend this conference. He then launched a brutal crackdown on the JVP using extreme counter-insurgency methods under the direct supervision of State Minister for Defence General Ranjan Wijeratne.

A period remembered for severe human-rights abuses and some opposition members even took the matter to the UN Commission on Human Rights. The crackdown ended with JVP leader Rohana Wijeweera being killed.

At the request of the President Premadasa, India withdrew the IPKF between September 1989 and March 1990.

Rural Unemployment and 200 Garment Factory Programme

Premadasa was from a humble, urban, working-class background, rose through grassroots politics in Colombo and had a better understanding of the grievances and aspirations of people of rural areas compared to JRJ. He knew the main problem was the unemployment of rural youth. He also knew that developing agriculture alone would not help solve this problem. He therefore decided to take industries to rural areas and embarked on the famous 200 garment factory programme.

He logically explained what his objective was when a prominent university professor of the time asked him what he was aiming to achieve through the programme.

He said one of the main problems Sri Lanka faced was rural unemployment, especially among the youth. Unless this issue was addressed, there would be no meaningful development in the country, as these youths would become pawns of political activists.

He identified unemployment as the root cause of political violence. Therefore, he wanted industrialisation to reach rural areas.

But he said there are obstacles. Sri Lanka, being an agriculture-based country, has most people not used to “industrial discipline.” It had been largely an Agricultural, Public-sector oriented and Plantation-based economy and society since colonial era and even after independence. The majority Sinhalese are accustomed to an easy life working in the paddy fields and practing Chena cultivation for thousands of years.

A common feature of the few factories established since Independence, both public and private, was the high absenteeism during the paddy harvesting periods, which left the management in a precarious situation.

Many rural youths had never worked in a factory environment with fixed working hours, meeting production targets, strict quality control and assembly-line work.

Without industrial discipline among the rural folks, no investor would risk his money setting up factories in rural areas. Some rural girls working in the Katunayake FTZ faced significant problems. They face isolation and lack of support, sexual risks and exploitation, language barriers, and more. When they work in a factory close to their homes, most of these issues could be resolved, Premadasa said.

On the other hand, garment manufacturing isn’t too complicated technology-wise. So, it was easy to train mechanics in preventive and break-down maintenance and operators in operational aspects.

He also knew it would help integrate rural areas into the export economy, and into a global value chain (GVC) moving beyond traditional free trade zones like Katunayake and Biyagama.

World Textile and Apparel (T&A) production went through three main phases, mostly based on production costs. First, in the 1970s in Hong Kong, Singapore, the Republic of Korea, and Taiwan, and during 1985-1990, they (Factory owners) reduced production and moved operations to the Philippines, Indonesia, Thailand, and Malaysia. The third phase involved shifting to countries like Bangladesh, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Laos, Nepal, and Vietnam during the early 1990s. Premadasa aimed to take advantage of this trend.

His target was to create about 100,000 jobs, with factories typically employing at least 500 workers and giving employment opportunities in rural areas. Preference was deliberately given to economically disadvantaged families, helping spread incomes beyond urban centres.

Structural changes initiated to facilitate 200 garment factory programme

The Greater Colombo Economic Commission (GCEC), established in 1978 under JRJ, was originally created to manage Free Trade Zones (FTZs) like Katunayake and attract export-oriented foreign direct investment (FDI) into specific zones.

Premadasa transformed the GCEC into a national-level investment facilitator and renamed it the Board of Investment of Sri Lanka (BOI). It was more of a functional transformation and expansion of the GCEC role. With BOI, he established a centralised decision-making structure to expedite project approvals and reduce bureaucracy.

BOI effectively served as a “one-stop shop”, which was crucial because garment investors required speed and predictability.

President Premadasa Meeting the Potential Investors

\Working out the strategy with his handpicked officials, President Premadasa convened a meeting of potential investors at BMICH. The first meeting played a key role in launching the garment factory programme and demonstrated his hands-on, interventionist approach to economic development.

There were many would-be investors, mainly locals and entrepreneurs from countries like South Korea, Singapore and other Newly Industrialised Countries (NICs).

Premadasa personally addressed attendees and explained his vision of moving investment into rural districts. He said there are tax holidays on offer (the length varies by location, especially for rural/”difficult” areas), duty-free import of machinery and raw materials would be allowed, and guaranteed access to U.S. garment quotas under the Multi-Fibre Arrangement (MFA). The quotas would be allocated based on location: 10,000 dozen for non-difficult areas, 25,000 dozen for difficult areas and 50,000 dozen for the most difficult areas.\

He also said land, electricity, water, roads, and telecommunication would be provided by the state through the Board of Investment (BOI), the government agency responsible for promoting and facilitating investment. On the finance side permission to open foreign currency accounts would be allowed, and access to loans (including foreign currency banking units) would be available.

Premadasa requested investors to set up their factories to employ around 500 workers per factory and prioritise recruitment from low-income rural families. He also requested to provide meals (or subsidised food) to workers. It was however not a formal legal requirement written into BOI agreements.

He also offered duty-free import of a luxury vehicle (e.g., Benz car) after project completion.

Premadasa then concluded the meeting, assuring them that he will meet in a month or so to assess the progress.

At the progress review meeting held at the same venue, Premadasa asked if anyone had problems. About 10% of the attendees raised their hands, and the president asked them to move to the side. Then he said, “I will work with those who don’t have problems,” and asked the others to leave the chamber. This was how Premadasa achieved his goals.

Opening of factories under the programme

Premadasa personally supervised the progress of the programme. All initial problems reported to him by investors through his officials were quickly resolved.

He often had a clock tower built near many factories opened under the “200 Garment Factories Programme.” He believed that factory workers—mostly young people who had previously worked in agriculture or informal jobs—needed to adapt to strict working hours and punctuality. The clock tower served as a visible public timekeeper for workers and the surrounding community and it symbolized the transition from a village lifestyle to an industrial work culture.

Although Sri Lankan youth initially lacked technical skills and industrial discipline, they were able to assimilate into the garment industry relatively quickly because training requirements were short, production systems simplified tasks and strong factory training programs were introduced with the public institutions like Sri Lanka Institute of Textile & Apparel (SLITA). Above all literacy levels among the Sri Lankan youths were high.

This adaptability is one reason why Sri Lanka became a major garment exporter in the 1990s.

He attended numerous factory opening ceremonies from the late 1980s to the early 1990s, especially in less underdeveloped areas like Matale, Polonnaruwa, and Monaragala. Some factories launched under this programme have now grown into large conglomerates with factories in many other countries.

Success of the garment factory programme The 200 Garment Factories Programme played a pivotal role in transforming Sri Lanka into a global hub for apparel manufacturing, while also introducing modern industrial employment to rural districts for the first time.

Today, the garment industry continues to be Sri Lanka’s largest export sector, underscoring the lasting impact of this initiative.

J.R. Jayewardene’s modernisation strategy

It was JRJ who attempted to modernise Sri Lanka after coming to power.

Although JRJ’s government (1977–1989) achieved many successes in modernising the country, leading to economic development and improved living standards through major economic liberalisation and constitutional changes, it also faced numerous failures.

The benefits of the open economy concentrated in urban and Western Province areas. Expansion of the private sector and open economy did not absorb educated youth from rural areas. As a result, there was a huge mismatch between the education system and job market contributing to youth frustration and radicalisation, especially in the south.

Premadasa, after coming to power as Executive President of Sri Lanka, attempted to correct many weaknesses under the previous president, while taking forward the “Modernisation Programme” launched by him. Through “200 Garment Factories Programme” he attempted to take “National Development” to rural areas.

Another area he attempted to rectify was the recruitment process in public employment, which was often based on political patronage and arbitrary appointments made based on party loyalty. He directed that vacancies—particularly for non-technical jobs in the public service and state institutions—be filled through competitive written examinations and interviews, rather than ministerial recommendations.

Unfortunately, Premadasa’s main failure was underestimating the LTTE’s long-term goals. He only sought a political opening with the LTTE, mainly to achieve one objective: the withdrawal of the IPKF. Although he succeeded, the LTTE quickly turned against the government and launched the Second Elam War in June 1990 after attacking police and military targets.

Premadasa was assassinated in an LTTE suicide bomber attack in Colombo exactly 33 years ago.

The LTTE continued its insurgency until its defeat in 2009.

by Rohan Abeygunawardena
abeyrohan@gmail.com)

On 27 April 2026, Sri Lanka lost a quiet giant. Professor Y. Karunadasa, one of the world’s foremost scholars of Abhidhamma and Buddhist philosophy, passed away in Colombo. He was 92.

For those who never sat in his classroom, the name might sound distant. But for anyone who has ever wondered what the Buddha really meant by anatta (no‑self) or sabhāva (intrinsic nature), Karunadasa’s work was a lantern in the dark. He did not write to impress other academics. He wrote to make the Dhamma clear.

Born in 1934, he graduated with First Class Honours in Pali from the University of Ceylon in 1958. A decade later, his PhD thesis from the University of London became his landmark book, The Buddhist Analysis of Matter. One reviewer called it “the final word on the subject for many years to come.” He later served as Dean of Arts at the University of Kelaniya and founded its Postgraduate Institute of Pali and Buddhist Studies. The nation honoured him with Sri Lanka Sikhamani in 2005.

Yet his true gift was teaching. He once said he loved students who knew nothing about Buddhism. “It’s more adventurous,” he explained. “For those already exposed, it’s not so fascinating. In a way, it’s easier because they carry no prejudices.” He taught at SOAS, Toronto, Calgary, and Hong Kong, but he always returned to Sri Lanka – because, he said, “the Dhamma lives best where the language of the texts is still spoken.”

What exactly made his scholarship so special? Before Karunadasa, Western, and even some Asian scholars, often dismissed Abhidhamma as dry scholasticism – a medieval invention far from the Buddha’s original words. Karunadasa spent four decades proving otherwise. He showed that Abhidhamma is not a later corruption but a natural extension of the early suttas. His analysis of sabhāva (intrinsic nature) was revolutionary: he demonstrated that the Abhidhamma schools never posited eternal substances, only conditioned, momentary realities. In doing so, he rescued the entire Abhidhamma tradition from the charge of being “proto‑Hindu” or essentialist. Philosophers in London and Chicago began citing him alongside Western phenomenologists. Yet he never lost his Sri Lankan accent or his habit of drinking plain black tea while discussing citta and cetasika.

His most profound contribution was to Abhidhamma, the analytical heart of the Buddha’s teaching. Western scholars often dismissed Abhidhamma as dry scholasticism. Karunadasa showed it was a living philosophy of mind and matter, free from eternalism and nihilism. He argued that the Buddha’s refusal to posit a permanent self was not a mere negation but an invitation to see reality as a process – a stream of conditioned moments, luminous and awake.

What made him rare was his humility. He never claimed to be a meditation master or a saint. He was a reader of texts, a lover of words, a man who believed that truth shines brightest when pointed at, not possessed. “I present what I find,” he said. “Whether one decides to accept it is an individual matter.”

I recall a small story that students often told. Once, a young monk asked him after a lecture, “Venerable Professor, after all this analysis, does the self exist or not?” Karunadasa smiled. “That question,” he said, “is like asking whether the flame in this oil lamp is the same as the flame a moment ago. The Buddha’s answer is neither ‘yes’ nor ‘no’ but ‘it is not proper to say so.’ Learn to live with the question, and you will be freer than any philosopher who claims to have an answer.”

Students remember him not for grand speeches but for small kindnesses – a patient explanation of a Pali compound, a gentle nod when a young scholar stammered through a seminar. He never raised his voice. He never needed to.

The Buddha once said that the Dhamma is like a finger pointing to the moon. Do not stare at the finger, he warned. Professor Karunadasa spent a lifetime perfecting that finger – polishing it, straightening it, making sure it pointed true. We may now look at the moon and remember the hand that showed us where to turn.

May his passing be his final lesson: that even the greatest scholar must one day let go. And in that letting go, become the silence from which all teaching first arose.

May he attain the supreme bliss of Nibbana!

Dedicated to the memory of a teacher who never stopped learning.

K.L. Senarath Dayathilake