Features
Brilliant Bougainvillea
Short story
by Ruki Attygalle
The hospital matron glanced up from her desk and for a moment compassion clouded her eyes, as she looked at the small, frail woman standing before her desk, shakily holding out a typed sheet of paper.
“Ah…. you got our letter came on the 5.30 bus from Matara this morning. Matron Nona. I … I… can’t understand My son — Ranjit — has been transferred to the psychiatric ward?” Tears welled in Somawathie’s eyes.
The matron’s sigh was hardly noticeable. There were so many cases. Her training forbade emotional reaction.
She said gently, “His head wound is healing nicely. But you see, there are other problems.
“He was so much better the last time I saw him, about two weeks ago! The nurse also said so… .” Somawathie wiped her eyes with her sari pota and pushed back a strand of grey hair that had loosened itself from the small tight knot at the back of her head.
“Did he speak to you then? Has he said anything to you on any of your visits?”
“Yes … no … nothing much, because so much pain, no? His head all bandaged.” She blew her nose into a handkerchief which she took out from inside her hatte.
“Amme, I understand, but try and tell us. His bandages were off when you saw him, two weeks ago.”
“Yes, with the blessings of the gods! He was looking fine then That is why I thought he would be discharged soon.”
The matron sighed. It was always the same. Contradictions muddled thoughts, in times of stress. Gently she said, “This Amme. can you repeat to us even a word or two he said? You see, he refuses to talk to us.”
The overhead fan creaked, shifting humid air from one side’ of the room to the other. The work-worn hands of the mother twisted together nervously. Her eyebrows knit, deepening the already existing lines on her forehead as she tried to remember.’
“He – he was a quiet boy, never much of a talker. Kept to himself. Didn’t even join the village boys. They called him the upasakaya. We just could not believe it, when he said that he had joined the army.”
The matron interrupted. “Did your son say anything to you about how he got his injuries? Or anything at all?”
Somawathie’s bleary eyes took on a distant look as she tried to think back, to recollect. She remembered her fear for her son’s life when she was first told that he had been brought to the army hospital, with injuries to his head. She remembered seeing him lying on his side on the iron bed, with bandaged head and motionless body. She had stroked his arm gently, and bending over, asked him whether he could hear her. But he did not respond. Then a nurse led her away saying, “He is still in shock, and it’s best to let him rest now.”
The next time she visited him, a week later, he was seated in bed leaning against the bedhead with his eyes closed, his head still firmly bandaged. At first, she had thought he was in deep meditation, but then she saw his lips moving silently and presumed he was praying. She had waited in silence for a long time before she spoke.
“I have come to see you, Putha. Are you feeling better now?” Perhaps he hadn’t finished his prayers because he did not answer. She gave him more time, before she spoke again.
“Ranjit, look at me, Putha, I have come all the way from Matara to see you. Please speak to me.” Still silence. Yet she had continued trying to engage him in conversation.
“Tell me Putha, what happened to you? I was so relieved when they said that you had no gunshot injuries. How did it happen? Was it a bomb blast? We never get to hear what really happens to our children! Putha, please tell me what happened,” she pleaded.
Then he suddenly spoke, “I don’t know. I can’t remember,” but remained motionless with his eyes closed.
Somawathie continued talking to him although he had withdrawn once more into his lonely silence. She had told him about the bodhi poojas she was carrying out to bring about his full recovery; how the priest asked after him every time she went to the temple; that pirith was being chanted for him every day.
She touched his hand, but he remained unresponsive. Perhaps he was tired, she’d thought, and needed to rest. As she bent to touch his shoulder and bid him goodbye, she heard him whisper to himself, panati-pata veramanisikka padam samadiyami mouthing the precept to abstain from killing. He is observing his five precepts she had thought, but then, he seemed to be repeating the first precept over and over again, as though he had forgotten the rest.
The next time she saw him he was walking towards his bed returning from the toilet. His head had been shaven. The bandage had been removed and the back of his head was covered with dressing held together with bands of sticking plaster. He looked so different, but better, and she was pleased.
He had walked past her and sat on the bed. Obviously, he had seen her, she’d thought, so she walked up to him and laughing said, “So, now you only need a yellow robe and you can join the Sangha!”
He had turned his face away from her. Perhaps she had said the wrong thing, even though she had meant it to be light banter. She was happy to see him better, much better, and wanted him to feel good too.
She winced, as her mind raced back to the time when Ranji went missing for several hours after a row with his father. She had eventually found him seated under a coconut tree by the kamatha, his face swollen with crying. Eyes broody, unhappy.
“Where were you this morning?” his father had demand angrily.
“I was helping out at Sunday School, Thatha.”
“So, helping at Sunday School is more important than helping your father in the field? The field that brings you the rice that fills your belly? Do you call yourself a male?” he sneered.
“You are worse than a woman. Your sisters have more energy in them than you have. They are a credit to this household, unlike you. See how they work. All you can do is to get to a side and read books or creep to the temple! You may as well shave your head and go live in the temple!”
The derision in the father’s voice had hung heavy in the room like dark monsoon clouds. With head hung low, a sinking heart, trying to hold back tears of humiliation that stung his eyes, Ranjit cringed out of the house. His relationship with his father had never been an easy one. He had always known that he failed to measure up to his father’s expectations. Sitting under the tree brooding, he felt as though an old wound he had tried to keep at bay, to ignore, had started bleeding. His sense of inadequacy and alienation ran deep. I’ll show him that I am not the weakling he thinks I am. I will join the army.
“Putha,” said Somawathie, gingerly placing the comb of pIantains she’d brought for him on the bedside table. “Aren’t you going to look at the plantains I brought you? They are just how you like them – not overripe.” He took no notice.
“Ranjit, are you angry with me? I was only joking, Putha, about you looking like a Buddhist monk.” But he remained silent, his eyes fixed on the blank wall.
“Your sisters are worried about you. In fact, Prema wanted to come with me today, but I didn’t think she should be travelling such a long distance in her condition. The baby is due end of the month.” He didn’t seem to be listening.
“Why don’t you talk to me, Putha? Have I annoyed you?” “No,” he snapped, suddenly, harshly.
“Then why don’t you talk to me? I have come all the way from Matara and you won’t even look at me!”
“Amma! I need to think. I need time to remember. I have to sort things out,” he almost shouted at her, not hiding his annoyance. “What things Putha?”
He did not answer; but lay down on the bed and shut his eyes and shut her out.
The Matron’s voice brought her back to the present. “Try to remember his words,” she was saying.
“I think he didn’t like it when I joked with him and said he looked like a monk, with his shaven head.”
The Matron sighed. She had seen too many cases like this where there was no easy answer. But Ranjit had been an exceptionally docile patient, doing what he was told to do, never complaining. But this silence from a man, so young … something was wrong … radically wrong. Strange, that the window beside his bed was always kept closed with the curtains drawn. No sooner the nurse opened it, he’d get out of bed and shut it. How could he be helped if he wouldn’t even talk to the doctors?
The mother gingerly touched the Matron’s hand in a gesture of pleading. “What happened to my boy, Matron? How did he get hurt? We are never told.”
A division of the Sri Lanka Army, with Ranjit among 40 soldiers led by a Captain, were detailed to search a village in Vavuniya believed to be harbouring Tigers – cadres of the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam. Shooting had broken out, and hand grenades thrown at the soldiers.
“We lost 14 soldiers,” the matron said quietly. “Several were very badly wounded. Your son was lucky to have escaped with only a head injury. What is so strange is, that he seems to have been hit with a blunt instrument. He won’t tell us what happened.”
“That is because he does not know. He said he couldn’t member what happened.”
“Did he actually say so?” The matron queried eagerly.
“Yes,” said the mother, “He said he needed time to think. He said he needed time to remember.” His words rang strong in her mind now.
Time. Yes. Remembering what?
Ranjit walked slowly to the window. Although he tried not to look as he reached out to shut the window, he couldn’t help but notice from the corner of his eye the bougainvillea he now hated much. The creeper had hooked its treacherous thorns on to the trunk and branches of a mango tree, crept up stealthily and then burst into bloom. It was the colour he couldn’t stand.
It ‘wasn’t the common purple-red, nor an orange-red, rather, it was a deep, deep, red, the colour of blood. The colour that seeped through his eyes, and into his brain. It flooded inside and created a pressure in his head that was unbearable. It was worse than the pain of his wound. Why did they insist on opening the window!
He gently touched the dressing at the back of his head as he ,tried to remember for the umpteenth time what happened on that fateful day. The more he tried, the more his grip on his memory slipped away, his mind like a shattered mirror, its pieces scattered. As he tried to piece a few together, they disintegrate again into splintered fragments. A kaleidoscope of images’; scenes, noises, smells, feelings, memories – distant and recent advanced, receded, merged, unceasingly. He desperately strain
recognize a pattern; to insert the pieces of the jigsaw together and make up a picture he could comprehend.
Suddenly his body jerks with the sound of an explosion. A overpowering smell of gunpowder, blood, and singed flesh assail him. He is engulfed in the odour of death.
Then the kaleidoscope shifts and he is walking along a jungle path which, dream-like, turns into a field where the village boys are playing.
“Come and join us – we are catching grasshoppers,” they shout He shrinks back. “Are you afraid?” they taunt. “Grasshoppers don’t bite.”
“I’m not afraid of grasshoppers,” he affirms. Cupping his bands he traps a grasshopper on the ground. He feels its frantic movements against the hollow of his cupped palms.
“Grab it. Pick it up.” They bellow.
“No,” he says, “I may hurt it. It may die.”
“Coward! Coward! Coward!” they taunt with evil laughter. The word ‘coward’ ricochets in his head, as gunshots blast, around him.
“Shoot!” a voice booms behind him. “Shoot to kill. You blood coward shoot!”
His insides twist in fear as if an invisible band is clenching his guts. He lifts his gun and points at the young woman running towards him.
“Please don’t kill me. Please. Please,” she screams in Tamil as she draws closer with out-stretched arms. The white gemstone on her nostril glints as the sunlight catches it.
He places his finger on the trigger.
“Shoot!” the booming voice commands. “Shoot, you idiot!”
Images and sounds recede. Something tugs at him, sucking him down into a dark void of exhaustion; he struggles frantically and drags himself out slowly. The kaleidoscope shifts again.
His mother is seated cross-legged in her room on the cement floor. He is seated in her lap. She takes his little hands and places his palms together. He repeats the Pali stanza after her. Panatipata veramani sikkbapadam samadiyami . …
That’s the first precept she says. Then she explains what it means. You must never take the life of any living creature. Yes, not even an ant. Killing is a sin.
Suddenly the vision explodes like fireworks against his eyelids. Images pile one on top of another. Bodies thrown up in the air, coming down in pieces; blood and shattered bone; heads with eyeless black sockets. Shrill cries of terror.
The vision comes upon him again. The woman running towards him with outstretched arms. “Please, don’t kill me…
“Shoot! Shoot!”
He feels the coldness of the trigger on his forefinger. He feels the wetness of urine running down his leg.
“Coward! Coward! Coward!”
A gunshot echoes in his head. The woman crumples to the ground. He smells blood as he too collapses and lies on the parched earth. Intense pain stings like live coals at the back of his head.
“Ranjit,” the Matron’s voice grated on his raw nerves. “Your mother is here to see you.”
Ranjit’s fists clenched. Why couldn’t he be left alone! He needed to sort things out in his head. He needed to know what happened. He needed time to remember.
“Get out! Get out!” he screamed. “Just leave me alone.” Somawathie stepped back in shock, unbelieving, desperate.
Captain Welgama’s heavy boots stomped along the grey corridor behind the woman in the blue uniform. Suddenly, she slowed down, then stopped and looked at him.
“I’m telling you once again, Captain, Ranjit will not talk. He does not talk to anyone, and if he does, it will only be to chase you out.”
“But I need to talk to him Matron. It is important to me and perhaps to him too. I would have come earlier if I was allowed, but I was discharged from hospital only yesterday.” His voice was powerful even though he tried to speak softly. “You say he can’t remember what happened to him?”
“That’s what he told his mother. He does not speak to us.” They resumed walking.
The Captain frowned. “Maybe I could jog his memory. You see, we were fighting quite close to each other during the attack. saw him collapse, just before I got shot in my leg.”
He took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. “Tell me Matron, could Ranjit’s present problems be the result of the blow to his head?”
“I don’t know Captain, I’m not a doctor. Ranjit did suffer concussion. Sometimes, people can’t remember because they subconsciously block out memories, which are too painful. T here could be other reasons too for his loss of memory.”
The matron stopped at the entrance to Ward 12 and opened he door.
“Captain, I don’t think you should stay too long,” she murmured, moving towards the far end of the ward. Ranjit was lying on his bed with his eyes closed.
“You have a visitor, Ranjit,” the matron said with forced cheerfulness.
Ranjit screwed up his eyelids and tensed his body as if in anticipation of an onslaught. He was determined to resist any attempt to divert his attention from the vital task he had: to put together his shattered thoughts and make sense of the images that constantly besieged him.
“Hello Ranjit, how are you?” Captain Welgama tried to keep his voice down. “I would have come to see you earlier, but I was in hospital too. I was shot in my leg.” He dragged the chair that was against the wall by the window and sat by Ranjit’s bed.
Ranjit sat up as if galvanized by electricity. The voice boomed in his head echoing, vibrating like the sound of a gong. Shoot!
Shoot! Coward! Idiot! Shoot! His hands crumpled and clenched the bed sheet. His eyes stared at Captain Welgama unseeing. The captain stood up and placed his hands on Ranjit’s shoulders.
“I’m sorry, man, I’m truly sorry for what I did to you. I just lost control.”
Ranjit looked at Welgama, trying to, but not understanding him.
“I saw the woman running towards you, and you were in a better position to shoot. I couldn’t understand why you were, hesitating
The puzzle was slowly coming together in Ranjit’s head. “But’ she was asking to be spared, she was innocent, she was coming towards me with outstretched arms…
“Yes, but she could have been a suicide bomber. Why was she running towards you, instead of running away? What happened to all those months of training?”
“Was she…?”
“What?” Welgama interjected.
“A suicide bomber?”
“No, as it happens. But she could have been!”
Ranjit’s eyes were fixed on the bare wall, but his mind was seeing the woman, running towards him with her arms stretched out, pleading. He felt his hands lifting the gun as if in slow motion. He felt his finger on the trigger. The voice boomed from somewhere behind him. “Shoot! Shoot!” and suddenly his mind went blank.
The captain saw the anguish on the young man’s face and tried to say something to comfort him. But he couldn’t think of what to say. For a few moments they were locked in silence.
“You see, Ranjit,” Welgama said gently, as if speaking to a child, “by hesitating, you were putting so many lives in jeopardy. That is why I lost my temper. I brought my gun down on your head, with all the energy I could muster. It was such a savage blow; I might have killed you. I am sorry, Son.”
“I can’t remember you hitting me, or even falling down. I saw her falling after I’d shot her, and the next thing I remember is lying on the ground feeling a great pain in my head.”
“But you didn’t shoot her! That is why I hit you. I was behind you when I shot her. I shot her and then whacked you.”
Ranjit looked at the captain’s face, suddenly noticing his features for the first time. The deep-set eyes beneath his well-defined eyebrows, the slim long nose, the full lips and the slightly protruding teeth, and he felt a surge of gratitude. Gratitude to a man who helped him back to his senses; a man who’d lifted the heavy oppression that had been weighing him down, so long. The man who had used his gun on him with ferocity but now had brought resolution to his paralyzing mental turmoil.
“Did you say I didn’t kill her?” Ranjit wanted to hear it over and over again till every brain cell in his head was imbued with this knowledge. “Are you sure, Sir, are you sure?” Tension from his face and body was visibly easing. He felt a lightness of body and mind he had previously not experienced.
“Of course, you didn’t, man! I wish you had. Then you wouldn’t have suffered that head injury.” He walked to the window, drew the curtains apart and opened it. “It’s so hot, man, I don’t know how you stay in this room with the window closed!”
The curtains danced as a cool breeze blew in through the window.
“That is a beautiful bougainvillea,” commented the Captain, looking out. “It’s an unusual colour.”
Ranjit looked at the bougainvillea with new eyes. “Yes, Sir,” he said, “It is a brilliant colour.”
Features
Building a sustainable future for Sri Lanka’s construction industry
Sri Lanka’s construction industry has long been a central pillar of sustainable development. From roads and bridges to homes, schools, and hospitals, construction shapes the country’s physical landscape and supports economic progress. As the nation continues to rebuild and modernise, the demand for construction materials and infrastructure keeps rising. However, this growth also brings a significant environmental cost. Cement, steel, bricks, aggregates, and timber all require energy, resources, and transportation, contributing to carbon emissions and environmental damage. If Sri Lanka continues with traditional construction practices, the long-term impact on the environment will be severe.
The encouraging news is that Sri Lanka has many opportunities to adopt more sustainable construction practices while still maintaining the highest standards of quality and safety. Sustainable construction does not mean weaker buildings or lower standards. It means using sustainable materials, reducing waste, improving design, and choosing methods that protect the environment. Many countries have already moved in this direction, and Sri Lanka has the potential to follow the same path with solutions that are practical, affordable, and suitable for local conditions.
A promising option
One promising option is the use of Compressed Earth Blocks (CEB), which are different from the concrete blocks commonly used in Sri Lanka for the past 25 years. CEBs are made from soil mixed with a small amount of stabiliser and pressed using machines. Unlike traditional fired clay bricks, CEBs do not require high-temperature kilns, which consume large amounts of firewood or fossil fuels. This makes CEBs a low-carbon alternative with a much smaller environmental footprint. In Sri Lanka, CEBs are already used in eco-resorts, community housing projects, and environmentally focused developments. They offer good strength, durability, and thermal comfort, making them suitable for many types of buildings. By expanding the use of CEBs, Sri Lanka can reduce energy consumption, lower emissions, and promote locally sourced materials.
Recycled aggregates also offer significant potential for sustainable construction. These materials are produced by crushing concrete, demolition waste, and construction debris. In Sri Lanka, recycled aggregates are already used in road construction, particularly for base and sub-base layers. They are suitable for non-structural building work such as pathways, garden paving, drainage layers, landscaping, and backfilling. Using recycled aggregates reduces the need for newly quarried rock and aggregates, decreases landfill waste, and lowers transportation emissions. With proper quality control and standards, recycled aggregates can become a reliable and widely accepted material in the construction industry.
Timber and sustainability
Timber is another important area where sustainability can be improved. In the past, timber for construction was often taken from natural forests, leading to deforestation and loss of biodiversity. Today, this approach is no longer sustainable. Instead, the focus must shift to legally sourced timber from managed plantations. Sri Lanka’s plantation-grown teak, jak, and kubuk can provide high-quality, legally sourced timber for construction while protecting natural forests and supporting rural economies. Using plantation timber ensures that harvesting is controlled, trees are replanted, and the supply chain remains legal and ethical.
Beyond materials, sustainable construction also involves better design and planning. Buildings that are designed to maximise natural ventilation, daylight, and energy efficiency can significantly reduce long-term operating costs. Simple design improvements such as proper orientation, shading devices, roof insulation, and efficient window placement can reduce the need for artificial cooling and lighting. These measures not only lower energy consumption but also improve indoor comfort for occupants. Sri Lanka’s tropical climate offers many opportunities to incorporate passive design strategies that reduce environmental impact without increasing construction costs.
Waste reduction is another key component of sustainable construction. Construction sites often generate large amounts of waste, including concrete, timber offcuts, packaging, and soil. By adopting better site management practices, recycling materials, and planning construction sequences more efficiently, contractors can reduce waste and save money. Proper waste segregation and recycling can also reduce the burden on landfills and minimise environmental pollution.
Promoting sustainable construction
Public projects such as schools, hospitals, and government buildings can play a leading role in promoting sustainable construction. When government projects adopt greener materials and designs, the private sector follows. This creates a positive cycle where environmentally responsible choices become the industry standard. Public sector leadership can also encourage local manufacturers to produce sustainable materials, improve quality standards, and invest in new technologies.
Sri Lanka also carries a proud and remarkable history in construction, with achievements that continue to inspire the world. The engineering brilliance behind Sigiriya, the advanced urban planning of Polonnaruwa, the precision of the Aukana Buddha statue, and the sophisticated water management systems of ancient tanks and reservoirs all demonstrate the deep knowledge our ancestors possessed. These historic accomplishments show that innovation is not new to Sri Lanka; it is part of our identity. As the world moves toward 2050 with increasing sustainability challenges, Sri Lanka can draw strength from this heritage while embracing modern technologies and sustainable practices. With the combined efforts of skilled professionals, industry experts, academic researchers, and strong government support, the country can introduce new systems that improve efficiency, reduce environmental impact, and strengthen resilience. By working together with determination and sharing knowledge across generations, Sri Lanka’s construction industry can build a future that honours its past while leading the way in sustainable development.
Foundation of sustainable development
Sri Lanka’s construction industry has always been a foundation of sustainable development. Today, it also has the chance to take a leading role in sustainability. By choosing sustainable materials, reducing waste, improving design, and supporting responsible sourcing, the country can build a future that is both modern and environmentally responsible. Sustainability is essential for Sri Lanka’s long-term goals of reducing carbon emissions and limiting the impacts of global warming. As Sri Lanka moves forward, the construction industry must embrace sustainability not only as an environmental responsibility but also as an opportunity to create stronger, smarter, and more resilient buildings for future generations. Sri Lanka has the talent, the heritage, and the technical capacity to shape a more sustainable future, and with the right national direction, the construction industry can become a model for the region. If professionals, policymakers, and communities work together with a shared vision, the country can transform its construction sector into one that protects the environment while supporting long-term progress.
About the Author: P.G.R.A.C. Gamlath Menike,
BSc (Hons) Quantity Surveying (University of Reading, UK), MSc Quantity Surveying (University College of Estate Management, UK), MCIArb, Doctoral Student, Department of Building and Real Estate, The Hong Kong Polytechnic University, Hong Kong, is a Senior Quantity Surveyor: Last Project (2022 -2025) Hong Kong International Airport Terminal 2 Construction Project, Gammon Engineering Construction (Main Contractor).
By P.G. R. A. C. Gamlath Menike
Features
Palm leaf manuscripts of Sri Lanka – 1
Palm leaf manuscripts have been in existence in Sri Lanka since ancient times. The two oldest palm-leaf manuscripts found in Sri Lanka today are the Cullavagga Pâli manuscript of the H. C. P. Bell collection, which is held at the Library of the National Museum, Colombo, and the Mahavagga Pâli manuscript in the University of Kelaniya collection. Photocopies of both are available at the Library of the University of Peradeniya. Both are dated to 13 century. Cullavagga manuscript has wooden covers richly decorated in lac with a design of flowers and foliage.
Karmmavibhâga
However, the oldest known Sinhala palm leaf manuscript in the world is the Karmmavibhâga which was found in a Tibet monastery in 1936 by the Indian scholar Rahul Sankrityayan. Rahul Sankrityayan, (1893–1963) former Kedarnath Pandey, was an Indian polymath, who searched out rare Buddhist manuscripts on his travels abroad. Sankrityayan visited Sri Lanka as well. Vidyalankara Pirivena is mentioned.
Sankrityayan visited Tibet several times to collect manuscripts from the Buddhist monasteries there. In May 1936 on his second visit to Tibet, Sankrityayan visited the Sa-skya monastery. The Chag-pe-lha-khang Library in this monastery was specially opened for Sankrityayan.
He stated in his autobiography that when the clouds of dust which greeted this rare opening of its doors had subsided, they beheld rows of open racks where volume on volume of manuscripts were kept. “After rummaging around, I came across palm-leaf manuscripts. They were not wrapped in cloth, but were tied between two wooden planks with holes through them.” Sankrityayan found several important manuscripts he had been looking for, in that collection.
Sankrityayan catalogued fifty-seven manuscripts bound in thirty-eight volumes. The thirty-seventh volume was written in the Sinhala script. Sankrityayan records that this volume contained ninety-seven palm- leaves each of which measured 18 1/4 by 1 1/4 in. (46 x 3 cm.) and that there were seven lines of writing on each folio.
According to Sankrityayan, these Sinhala texts originally belonged to a Sri Lankan monk called Anantaśrî who had come to Tibet in the time of ŚSrî Kîrttidhvaja (Kirti Sri Rajasinha). Analysts noted that Sankrityayan does not give the source of this information and the manuscript makes no mention of Anantaśrî.
Sankrityayan had taken with him to Tibet, one Abeyasinghe, (Abhayasimha) to help him with copying manuscripts. They made hand-copies of the important manuscripts. Abhayasimha had copied about 250 to 350 strophes each day. But he fell ill due to the extreme cold and was sent home in June. Abeyasinghe had written letters home during his stay in Tibet.
Photographs of the manuscripts found during Sankrityayan’s expeditions in Tibet are preserved at the National Archives in Colombo. There is also a copy in Vidyalankara pirivena library The Historical Manuscripts Commission In its 1960/1961 report, drew attention to this manuscript, known as Sa-skya Codex, describing it as “a unique document.” (Annual Report of the Government Archivist 1960/61, 1963)
Sinhala scholar P.E.E. Fernando examined photographs of the Sa-skya Codex at the request of the Historical Manuscripts Commission and assigned it to the 13th century. The Historical Manuscripts Commission, dated it to either twelfth or the thirteenth century.
The Historical Manuscripts Commission observed that this manuscript was of great value for the study of the development of the Sinhala script. Ven. Meda Uyangoda Vimalakîrtti and Nähinne Sominda in their edition of the Karmmavibhâga published in 1961 agreed that the Sa-skya Codex represented an early stage in the evolution of the Sinhala language.
Mahavamsa
The Mahavamsa is considered a unique historical document. There is nothing like it in South Asia, and probably all Asia, with the exception of China. Mahavamsa provides a historical account of events, with emphasis on chronology and dating. This, it appears, was rare at the time.
However, Mahavamsa is not a political history, though that is the popular perception of it. It is a religious history. It was written to record the introduction and entrenchment of Buddhism in the country. Other Buddhist countries, such as Cambodia, Burma and Thailand value the Mahavamsa for this reason. They held copies of the Mahavamsa and used events from it in their temple frescoes.
But Mahavamsa is also an important reference source for reconstructing the political history of Sri Lanka. Political and social facts are included in the Mahavamsa narrative when describing religious events, and this makes the Mahavamsa important for historians. This tradition of history writing, beginning with the earlier Sihala Attakatha and Dipawamsa, it is suggested, started in Sri Lanka in 2nd or 3rd BC.
Today, the Mahavamsa has become a major source of historical information, not only for dating kings, temples and reservoirs, but also for reconstructing ancient Sinhala society. The fact that Kuveni was seated beside a pond, spinning thread has been used to indicate that there was water management and textiles long before Vijaya arrived. Dutugemunu (161-137 BC) paid a salary to the workers building the Maha Thupa. This shows that money was used at the time.
Copies of the Mahavamsa have been treasured and looked after in Sri Lanka for centuries. They have been copied over and over again. The manuscripts were held in temple libraries because the subject of the Mahavamsa was the entrenchment of Buddhism in Sri Lanka.
The Mahavamsa manuscripts did not pop up suddenly during British rule as people seem to think. The British did not ‘discover’ the Mahavamsa. It was there. When the British administration started to take interest in the history of the island, the sangha would have directed them to the Mahavamsa, in the same way that they directed HCP Bell to the ruins in Anuradhapura and the Sigiriya frescoes. HCP Bell did not discover those either.
The British administrators saw the value of the Mahavamsa and copies were sent to libraries abroad. The Bodleian library, Oxford has a well preserved Mahavamsa manuscript, taken from Mulkirigala, which Turner used for his translation. Cambridge has two Mahavamsa manuscripts. The two copies at India Office library, and the copy in East India Library are probably in the British Library today. The Royal Library, Copenhagen, has a copy, consisting of 129 sheets, 12 lines to a leaf, written in good handwriting.
In Sri Lanka there are several copies of the Mahavamsa in the Colombo Museum Library. One copy, known as the ‘Cambodian Mahavamsa ‘is in Cambodian script. University of Peradeniya has at least three copies.
It is interesting to note that the Mahavamsa was known to the Sinhala elite and some had copies in their private libraries. The Historical Manuscripts Commission of the 1930s said in its first report that five copies of the Mahavamsa and a 19th century copy of the Dipawamsa were found in private collections.
The temple libraries had many copies of the Mahavamsa. Some were of very high quality. Wilhelm Geiger had looked at the copies held at Mahamanthinda Pirivena, Matara and Mulkirigala vihara. Asgiriya, Nagolla Vihara and Watagedera Sudarmarama Potgul vihara, Matara, are three of the many libraries that held copies of the Mahavamsa.
Sirancee Gunawardene examined the copy at Mahamanthinda Pirivena, Matara, very closely. She says that it is a very old manuscript. According to its colophon, the manuscript was first copied 400 years ago. It is in a very good state of preservation. It has 232 folios. Each 50 cm long 6.25 wide. Nine lines on each side, in Pali metric verse.
The writer of the manuscripts said that his version was an improvement on the copy. He wrote, “I will recite the Mahavamsa which was compiled by ancient sages. [their version] was too long and had many repetitions. This version is free from such faults, easy to understand and remember. It is handed down from tradition, for arousing serene joy and emotion’ .
The Mahamanthinda manuscript records the continuous history of 23 dynasties from 543 BC to 1758 AD. It refers to the principle of hereditary monarchy as 39 eldest sons of reigning monarch succeeded their fathers to the throne. It highlights the fact that fifteen reigned only for one year, 34 for less than four years, 22 kings were murdered by their successors, 6 were killed during battles, 4 committed suicide, 11 were dethroned.
Mahawansa as a World Heritage document
An ola manuscript of the Mahavamsa, held in the Main Library of the University of Peradeniya has been recognised by UNESCO as a part of World Heritage. UNESCO announced In 2023 that it has included the Mahavamsa as one of the 64 items of documentary heritage inscribed in the UNESCO’s Memory of the World International Register for 2023. The manuscript is dated to the early 19 century.
The certificate declaring the Mahawansa as a world heritage document was handed to the Chancellor of Peradeniya University by UNESCO Director General, who visited the University in 2024 specially to do so. She also unveiled a plaque marking the declaration.
The story began much earlier. The National Library of Sri Lanka and the Ministry of Buddha Sasana had jointly appointed a 6-member committee headed by Prof Malani Endagamage, to find the best preserved copy of the Mahavamsa in Sri Lanka. This would have been in 2000 or so. For two years, this team had examined copies from over 100 temples nationwide.
Temples around the country yielded copies, crumbling to well-preserved, reported Sunday Times. There was one from the Ridi Vihara that almost made the cut, but four other copies were shortlisted. One from the Dalada Maligawa, Kandy and three manuscripts from the Main Library of the University of Peradeniya. Three academics from the University’s History Department, Professors K.M. Rohitha Dasanayaka, Mahinda Somathilake and U.S.Y. Sahan Mahesh examined the three Peradeniya manuscripts
Dasanayaka said, “We poured over the copies together, and it became clear that one copy stood out. While the other two had numerous inconsistencies, this one, written in a curvy hand, was neat and beautiful. After more than two centuries, the manuscript was still very attractive, with a ‘flaming cinnamon orange’ cover and elegant lettering.
The first section of the manuscript ends with Mahasen (274–301 AD), written by the monk Mahanama. The second part ends at 1815. The author is given as Ven. Thibbotuwawe Buddharakkhita but he was dead by 1815. The final part was probably done by an acolyte. He has done a very neat job, seamlessly adding his bit, concluded Dasanayake.
This manuscript was acquired by the Library of University of Peradeniya when K. D. Somadasa, was the Librarian (1964 – 1970). It is held in the Main Library and its Accession Number is 277587.
National Library & Documentation Services Board of Sri Lanka, which administers the National Library of Sri Lanka submitted a nomination to UNESCO on behalf of this manuscript. UNESCO responded positively to the application.
UNESCO said the Mahavamsa was recognized as one of the world’s longest unbroken historical accounts, presenting Sri Lanka’s history in a chronological order from the 6th century BCE. The authenticity of the facts provided in the document has been confirmed through archaeological research conducted in Sri Lanka and India.
It is an important historical source in South Asia, said UNESCO. It was the first of its kind in South Asia, initiating a mature historiographical tradition. It has contributed singularly to the identity of Emperor Asoka in Indian history. The existence of a number of manuscripts of the Mahavamsa in several countries as well as the transliteration and translation of the text to several Southeast Asian and European languages stand testimony to its immense historical, cultural, literal, linguistic and scholarly values, .” UNESCO press release said.
Further, UNESCO found that this manuscript was correctly conserved at the University Library. The university and its library maintained high standards in safeguarding the palm-leaf manuscripts, preventing deterioration, declared UNESCO. (Continued)
REFERENCES
https://archives1.dailynews.lk/2021/02/25/local/242520/ola-leaf-mahavamsa-be-declared-world-heritage
Sirancee Gunawardana Palm leaf manuscripts of Sri Lanka . 1977 p 41,44-47 , 253 290 292, ,
N. E. I. Wijerathne Methods, Techniques and Challenges in Deciphering the Sa-skaya Codex. Vidyodaya Journal of Humanities and Social Sciences (2025), Vol. 10 (01) https://journals.sjp.ac.lk/index.php/vjhss/article/view/8571/6001
First report of the Historical Manuscripts Commision.1933 SP 9 of 1933. p . 53, 95, 96
https://journals.sjp.ac.lk/index.php/vjhss/article/view/8571/6001https://www.austriaca.at/0xc1aa5572%200x00314cc3.pdf
https://leftword.com/creator/rahul-sankrityayan/
https://www.sundaytimes.lk/230910/plus/in-search-of-the-perfect-mahavamsa-531513.html
https://www.dailymirror.lk/breaking-news/Mahawansa-declared-a-world-heritage/108-287528
https://mfa.gov.lk/en/visit-of-unesco-dg/
https://sundaytimes.lk/online/education/UNESCO-ready-to-support-digitalisation-of-Ola-leaf-books/290-1146314
https://media.unesco.org/sites/default/files/webform/mow001/53_131%252B.pdf
by KAMALIKA PIERIS
Features
A new Sherlock Holmes novel
Tales of Mystery and Suspense – 1
“The House of Silk” is set in a grim Victorian winter, and moves from Baker Street to a luxurious suburban villa, from dingy pubs to elegant London clubs, from a correction school for boys high on a hill to Dr Silkin’s House of Wonders, which provided noisy low life entertainment. Holmes and Watson went there in search of the House of Silk, a name they had heard when looking into the death of one of Holmes’ Baker Street irregulars (slum children who ferreted out information for him) .
I do not think highly of sequels to books written by highly regarded writers, though I must admit that this dislike is based on just a few samples. But while in England I was given by my former Dean, with a forceful recommendation, a book about a Sherlock Holmes mystery, supposedly written by Dr Watson. I began on it soon after I got back home, and found it difficult to put down, so I suppose I will not look on Anthony Horowitz as an exception to my rule. I may even look out for his efforts at continuing the adventures of James Bond, though I suspect Fleming’s laconic style will be less easy to emulate.
“The House of Silk” is set in a grim Victorian winter, and moves from Baker Street to a luxurious suburban villa, from dingy pubs to elegant London clubs, from a correction school for boys high on a hill to Dr Silkin’s House of Wonders, which provided noisy low life entertainment. Holmes and Watson went there in search of the House of Silk, a name they had heard when looking into the death of one of Holmes’ Baker Street irregulars (slum children who ferreted out information for him). They had asked Holmes’ brother Mycroft for help in finding what and where this was, but he had warned them off, having been himself told by someone very senior in government that it might involve those in very high positions, and further inquiries might prove dangerous.
Needless to say, Holmes does seek further, and is lured to an opium den where he is drugged, to be found outside with a gun in his hand and the body of a girl beside him, the sister of the murdered boy Ross. A passer-by swears he had seen Holmes fire the shot, and the owner of the opium den and a customer swear that Holmes had taken too much opium and left the den in a demented condition. A police inspector who had been passing promptly arrests Holmes and Watson, and even their old acquaintance Inspector Lestrade finds it difficult to get access to him.
Watson eventually gets to see him when he is in the infirmary, after he has been told by a mysterious man that Holmes was going to be murdered before his case could be taken up. The man said he had earlier tried to get Holmes to investigate the House of Silk by sending him a white silk ribbon, such as had later been found tied round the hand of the murdered boy. But, as a criminal himself, he said, he could not reveal more, though he himself was horrified by the business of the House of Silk, which gave criminality a bad name, which is why he wanted it all stopped.
Holmes escapes from the infirmary, with a little help from the doctor whom he had once assisted earlier, right under the nose of the nasty Inspector Harriman. He then joins up with Watson, and having with the help of Lestrade overcome the men designed to kill him at Dr Silkin’s House of Wonders, he sets off, with an even large posse of policemen, to the House of Silk.
After much suspense, the habitues of the House of Silk are arrested, the Inspector having broken his neck in the course of a chase downhill, having fled when his misdeeds were exposed. The mastermind claims that he will not face a trial because of the important people involved, but instead falls down a staircase while in prison and breaks his neck. One of the noblemen involved commits suicide, but another, and the medical man who had sworn he saw Holmes kill the young lady, get off without charge.
But then we revert to the original story, which had involved an art dealer who came to Holmes because he was being followed by someone he thought was an American gangster out for revenge. This was because he had shipped some pictures to an American buyer, and these had been destroyed when a train was held up by an Irish gang and the coach with the safe in it dynamited. The buyer and the dealer had got a private agency to investigate, and this had ended with the gang being killed in a shootout, though one of the twins who led it had escaped. The buyer had subsequently been killed, and Mr Carstairs feared that the twin who survived had followed him to England.
Holmes and Watson went to Carstairs’ house, where they met his wife, whom he had met on the boat back from America, and his sister. Their mother had died some months earlier, when gas had filled her room after the flame had gone out. It transpired that there had been a break in, and some money and a necklace stolen from a safe, and it was in tracing these, through a pawnbroker, that Holmes and Watson had found the American murdered in the hotel where he had been staying.
The leader of the irregulars had come to tell Holmes that they had traced the man to the hotel, and Ross had been left on guard. He seemed terrified when Holmes and Watson and Carstairs turned up, but said he had seen nothing. When the boys had been dismissed, and the room opened up, the man was found dead, the murderer obviously having gained entrance through a window.
Holmes assumed the boy had seen someone he recognized, but he could not be traced, until he was found dead, horribly tortured. The silk band around his wrist then led Holmes to pursue the House of Silk. One of the boys at the school where Ross had been mentioned that he had a sister at a pub, and she, when confronted, asked in fear if they were from the House of Silk and then, having lunged at Watson with a knife, ran off – herself only to be found dead outside the opium den, which prompted the arrest of Holmes.
After the drama at the House of Silk, Holmes and Watson go to the Carstairs household, where he explains exactly what had taken place, identifying the murdered man as not a member of the gang but the head of the private agency which had investigated them. As my Dean told me, Horowitz then ties up all the loose ends with consummate skill, connecting with a fine thread all the malefactors, of various kinds.
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