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
The quiet habits behind wealth: Without chasing appearances
by Prof. C. A. Saliya
When people picture wealth, they often imagine luxury cars, large homes and expensive holidays. But financial advisers who work with wealthy clients describe a different picture: people who spend carefully, keep cash aside, invest patiently and understand the risks they take.
A recent Research NZ report, based on interviews with financial advisers, found that many wealthy people are discreet about money. They tend to live within their means, maintain emergency savings, take calculated investment risks and pay close attention to tax and financial structures.
For Sri Lankan families facing high living costs, loan repayments and uncertainty about the future, the lesson is not that everyone must become rich overnight. It is that better financial habits can create greater security over time.
Wealth is often quiet
One of the strongest habits associated with long-term financial stability is controlled spending. Many people with high incomes do not automatically increase their lifestyle every time they earn more. Instead, they decide in advance what they can afford, save consistently and avoid treating every salary increase as permission to spend more.
This does not mean denying life’s small pleasures. It means knowing the difference between a need, a want and a purchase made only to impress others.
In Sri Lanka, where social pressure can sometimes encourage visible spending on weddings, vehicles, clothing or celebrations, this is a difficult but useful principle. A household that earns well but spends everything may look prosperous while remaining financially fragile. By contrast, a family that saves even a modest amount regularly can build options: education for children, a medical reserve, a home deposit or capital for a small business.
The Central Bank of Sri Lanka’s financial-literacy survey found that bank-account ownership is high, but financial behaviour remains a concern. Its later roadmap notes that Sri Lankans show satisfactory financial knowledge compared with other countries, while positive everyday financial behaviour still lags behind.
Knowledge, in other words, is not enough. People also need routines.
Keep an emergency fund before taking bigger risks
The wealthy people described in the RNZ article often kept readily available savings for genuine emergencies and avoided using these funds for ordinary spending.
This is perhaps the most practical lesson for an average family. An emergency fund is not money that “does nothing.” It is money that protects a household from making a desperate decision when illness, job loss, vehicle repairs or an unexpected school expense arrives.
For some, the first target may be one month of essential expenses. Over time, it can be increased. The point is not perfection; it is having a buffer.
Without one, families may turn to costly borrowing, informal lenders or repeated credit-card debt. Research on household finance shows that weak credit knowledge, cross-borrowing and reliance on informal debt can increase the risk of over-indebtedness.
Saving alone may not be enough—but investing requires care
Saving is the starting point, not always the final destination. Money kept entirely in cash or low-return accounts can lose purchasing power over time, especially when prices rise. This is why financially secure people often invest—not recklessly, but with an understanding that long-term returns usually require some level of risk.
The key phrase is calculated risk. That means asking basic questions before investing: What is the business model? Is the institution regulated? How easily can I access my money? What happens if the investment falls in value? Am I being promised unusually high returns? Do I understand where my money is going?
A proper investment plan should not depend on rumours, social-media tips or promises of “guaranteed” profits. It should be diversified where possible—spread across suitable assets rather than placed in a single company, property deal or scheme.
For a young worker, investing may begin with a small, regular contribution. For a business owner, it may mean reinvesting carefully in a viable enterprise. For a family nearing retirement, capital protection and predictable income may matter more than aggressive growth. There is no single plan for everyone.
Debt can build wealth or destroy it

The RNZ article also makes a more controversial point: wealthy people sometimes use other people’s money, through debt or outside equity, to build businesses or buy assets. When investment returns exceed borrowing costs, borrowing can magnify gains. But the reverse is equally true: when returns fall or income is interrupted, debt magnifies losses.
This distinction is crucial in Sri Lanka.
Debt used for a productive purpose—such as a well-researched business, equipment that generates income, or an asset with manageable repayments—can be different from debt used for consumption. Borrowing for status purchases, repeated expenses or a lifestyle beyond one’s income can quickly become a burden.
Before taking a loan, families should calculate the monthly repayment under difficult conditions, not only favourable ones. Could the instalment still be paid if income falls? Is the interest rate fixed or variable? Is there enough emergency savings left after the initial payment? These questions may feel cautious, but caution is often what keeps a financial setback from becoming a crisis.
Pay attention to taxes and paperwork
Another quiet habit of financially successful people is paying attention to tax. They understand that the amount earned is not the same as the amount kept. They keep records, claim lawful deductions where applicable and structure businesses or investments properly.
The quiet habits
For self-employed people and small-business owners, this can be especially important. Clear records of income, expenses, invoices and taxes are not merely administrative chores. They help owners understand whether a business is truly profitable and make it easier to obtain formal finance when needed.
This is not an argument for avoiding tax. It is an argument for understanding the rules, meeting obligations and using legitimate options available under the law. When in doubt, taxpayers should seek advice from a qualified professional.
The human side of money
The most important lesson is that wealth is rarely created by one dramatic decision. It is usually built through repeated small choices: saving before spending, avoiding unnecessary debt, learning before investing, and staying patient when others are chasing quick gains.
A literature review of household finance supports this practical view. Studies consistently associate financial literacy, planning, self-control and budgeting with better saving and investment decisions. At the same time, the research warns that financial outcomes are shaped by income, access to formal financial services and economic conditions—not simply by individual discipline.
That matters in Sri Lanka, where many households are working hard simply to meet daily needs. Advice about wealth should never become blame. Not everyone starts with the same income, family support or opportunity.
But the habits that strengthen financial resilience are available in some form to most people: keep records, build a buffer, question easy-money promises, borrow carefully and make decisions based on long-term goals rather than short-term appearances. (See table)
Wealth may not always look glamorous. Often, it looks like an emergency fund nobody sees, an investment made patiently, a loan avoided, and a family that sleeps more peacefully because it has planned ahead.
(Prof. C. A. Saliya, is a charted accountant, academic, researcher and former banker. He is the author of SAMAJA GAVESHAKAYA and Springer Publication DOING SOCIAL RESEARCH. He can be contacted at saliya.ca@gmail.com. The views expressed in this article are his own and do not necessarily represent those of the organisations with which he is affiliated.)
Features
Tusker Kavantissa’s death exposes Sri Lanka’s wildlife conservation crisis
by Prof. Ranjith Bandara,
Emeritus Professor, University of Colombo
This article examines why community exclusion, excessive bureaucratic control, unequal distribution of conservation benefits, weak institutional accountability, and short-sighted political leadership continue to undermine wildlife conservation in Sri Lanka.
The death of Tusker Kavantissa is more than the loss of one of Sri Lanka’s most remarkable wild elephants. It exposes uncomfortable questions about how we protect our natural heritage, how conservation decisions are made, and why repeated warnings have failed to produce meaningful reforms. His death should compel us to examine not only what happened to one extraordinary animal, but also the deeper weaknesses in our wildlife conservation system.
Tusker Kavantissa, one of Sri Lanka’s most prominent wild tuskers, died on 16 October, 2026, after receiving veterinary treatment for an injury, reportedly caused by gunfire. Although the wound had shown some improvement, his health subsequently deteriorated. The precise cause of death requires confirmation through a proper post-mortem examination. Nevertheless, the circumstances raise serious questions about preventive protection, wildlife management, and institutional preparedness.
The wider picture is equally disturbing. According to recently reported figures, Sri Lanka has lost an average of approximately 402 elephants and 138 people annually, since 2019, due to human–elephant conflict. These figures reflect a continuing national tragedy affecting both wildlife and rural communities.
What Sri Lanka faces today is not merely a wildlife conservation problem. It is also a crisis of environmental governance, shaped by institutional weaknesses, political decisions, and the failure to recognise the economic and social realities of conservation.
Conservation without communities
One of the fundamental weaknesses of our conservation approach is that local communities are often treated as subjects of regulation rather than partners in conservation. They are expected to bear the risks, respect restrictions, and cooperate with government programmes, yet their influence over decisions affecting their lives remains limited.
For rural families living alongside wild elephants, conservation is not an abstract environmental objective. It directly affects their safety, agricultural income, property, and everyday lives.
Farmers frequently possess valuable knowledge about elephant movements, vulnerable locations, seasonal changes, and practical protection measures. Yet conservation interventions are sometimes designed without adequately considering this experience.
When decisions are imposed from above, communities may feel excluded from programmes they are expected to support. This weakens trust, reduces cooperation, and ultimately undermines conservation outcomes.
We must recognise that protecting elephants and protecting farmers are not conflicting objectives. Both are essential. A conservation policy that safeguards wildlife while neglecting human security cannot be considered successful.
The real challenge is to replace conservation imposed on communities with conservation undertaken alongside them. Meaningful participation requires more than consultation meetings. Communities must have a genuine role in planning, implementing, monitoring, and evaluating conservation activities.
Bureaucratic authority versus public accountability
Wildlife conservation requires strong institutions, professional expertise, and effective regulations. However, excessive bureaucratic control can become an obstacle when administrative authority takes precedence over practical outcomes.
Decision-making in Sri Lanka’s conservation system remains heavily dependent on central institutions. Administrative procedures, overlapping responsibilities, and limited coordination can delay responses to urgent problems.
More importantly, excessive centralisation can discourage local innovation and prevent communities from contributing practical solutions.
When administrative authority becomes more important than results, conservation risks becoming an exercise in controlling people rather than protecting nature.
This criticism should not be confused with questioning the dedication of frontline wildlife officers and veterinarians. Many work under difficult conditions with limited resources. The efforts undertaken to save Tusker Kavantissa deserve recognition.
However, individual commitment cannot compensate indefinitely for institutional weaknesses.
We must ask whether our conservation institutions have the capacity to identify risks early, protect vulnerable animals, coordinate emergency responses, and evaluate the effectiveness of their interventions.
Public accountability should, therefore, extend beyond compliance with administrative procedures to measurable conservation outcomes.
Who bears costs, and who receives benefits?
Perhaps the most neglected dimension of wildlife conservation in Sri Lanka is the unequal distribution of its economic costs and benefits.
Wild elephants contribute substantially to tourism, biodiversity, cultural heritage, and the country’s international image. Their conservation generates benefits enjoyed by society as a whole.
Yet the financial and personal costs are concentrated among rural communities living within elephant habitats.
A study published in 2023, involving 300 farming households in southern Sri Lanka, revealed a striking imbalance. Although these households lived near two national parks, none received economic benefits from tourism. Meanwhile, 57 percent had experienced elephant-related crop damage.
The findings raise a fundamental economic question: if the entire country benefits from elephant conservation, why should a relatively small and vulnerable section of society bear a disproportionate share of its costs?
Conservation cannot remain economically sustainable when its benefits are widely enjoyed but its costs are concentrated among those least able to bear them.
A separate study, published in 2024, involving 439 affected farming households, examined the possibility of financing compensation through tourism revenue. It demonstrated the potential for tourism-based financial mechanisms to support human–elephant coexistence.
The policy implications are significant
A proportion of wildlife tourism revenue could be directed towards affected communities through transparent benefit-sharing arrangements. Such measures could support compensation, village protection, local employment, community enterprises, and agricultural improvements.
However, financial compensation alone is insufficient. The 2023 study also indicated that fear of elephants and concerns about crop damage strongly influenced community attitudes. People must feel safe in their homes and farms, not merely receive payment after suffering losses.
Equitable benefit-sharing is, therefore, more than an act of generosity. It is an economic and social requirement for sustainable conservation.
Political decisions and absence of long-term vision
The weaknesses in wildlife conservation cannot be attributed solely to public officials. Political leadership must accept its share of responsibility.
Poor land-use planning, habitat fragmentation, obstruction of elephant movement corridors, and development decisions that inadequately consider environmental consequences have contributed to human–elephant conflict.
Political decisions made for immediate gains can create environmental and economic costs lasting for decades.
Another weakness is the preference for visible, short-term interventions.
Constructing electric fences, relocating elephants, and launching emergency operations can attract considerable publicity. However, such interventions should be evaluated according to their effectiveness, not their visibility.
Political leadership should be judged not by the number of conservation programmes announced, but by the lives protected, conflicts prevented, and long-term improvements achieved.
There is also a serious problem of policy continuity. Conservation cannot be governed according to electoral cycles or changing political priorities.
Elephant habitats, migration patterns, and ecological processes do not change with governments. Successful conservation, therefore, requires consistent national commitments extending beyond individual political administrations.
Without such continuity, public investment may be wasted while the underlying problems remain unresolved.
Problem is not always a lack of policy
Sri Lanka’s conservation crisis cannot be explained simply by a shortage of scientific knowledge or policy recommendations.
In many instances, the greater challenge lies in translating available knowledge into coordinated, adequately funded, and politically supported action.
The National Action Plan for the Mitigation of Human–Elephant Conflict, prepared in 2020, proposed a science-based approach that emphasised community participation, protection of villages and agricultural land, and more effective conflict-management strategies.
Yet an important question remains: how much of this plan has been implemented successfully?
Have implementation difficulties arisen from inadequate resources, weak institutional coordination, administrative resistance, or insufficient political commitment?
An independent assessment of the plan’s implementation would help identify these obstacles and establish clear responsibilities.
We must also recognise that a substantial proportion of Sri Lanka’s wild elephants live outside protected areas. Attempting to confine all elephants within national parks and forest reserves is, therefore, neither realistic nor sustainable.
Effective conservation requires land-use policies informed by elephant ecology, settlement patterns, agricultural needs, and the practical realities of human–wildlife coexistence.
A sound policy that remains largely unimplemented offers little protection to either elephants or people.
Towards more responsible conservation system
Sri Lanka needs a fundamental change in how wildlife conservation is governed.
Four priorities deserve immediate attention.
First, local communities must become genuine partners in conservation management, with meaningful responsibilities and decision-making opportunities.
Second, conservation benefits must be distributed more fairly. Wildlife tourism should contribute directly to protecting the livelihoods and safety of communities that bear conservation costs.
Third, existing national conservation plans should be independently reviewed to identify implementation gaps and establish a realistic timetable for corrective action.
Fourth, conservation institutions must become more accountable for measurable outcomes, including reductions in human deaths, elephant mortality, crop losses, and property damage.
These reforms require cooperation among wildlife, forestry, agriculture, land, irrigation, and local government institutions.
They also demand political leadership willing to prioritise long-term results over short-term publicity.
For exceptional animals, such as Tusker Kavantissa, improved risk monitoring, preventive protection, and timely veterinary responses are particularly important. However, conservation should not be limited to protecting a few well-known animals.
Every wild elephant has ecological value, just as every person living alongside elephants has an equal right to safety.
The objective must be a system that protects both.
Lesson tusker Kavantissa leaves behind
The death of Tusker Kavantissa should not become another moment of national sorrow that gradually fades from public memory. It should mark a turning point in how Sri Lanka approaches wildlife conservation.
A proper investigation into his death is essential. Equally important is an honest examination of the conservation system within which such tragedies continue to occur.
The real challenge is not choosing between people and elephants. It is creating a system in which both can coexist safely, and where the responsibilities, costs, and benefits of conservation are shared fairly.
This requires more than scientific expertise and stronger regulations. It demands accountable institutions, meaningful community participation, economic fairness, and political leadership guided by a clear long-term vision.
Our greatest failure would not be the loss of Tusker Kavantissa alone. It would be allowing the same weaknesses in our conservation system to claim more lives while we continue to avoid the reforms that could prevent them.
Features
Equality before the Law as foundation of Sri Lanka’s recovery
by Jehan Perera
The government appears set to overcome the first major challenge to one of its foundational principles. It has faced down demands from sections of the Buddhist clergy and opposition parties to release Ven. Galagodaatte Gnanasara from his prison sentence for contempt of court.
Ven Gnanasara is best known as the general secretary of the Bodu Bala Sena, a nationalist Sinhala grouping. The government seemed unfazed by a protest march organised by Buddhist monks and the opposition parties and its supporters organised an even bigger march to support the government’s position. It is notable that the general population did not get involved in either march in any substantial number. The issue has now become a test of whether the government will uphold its commitment to apply the law equally, irrespective of a person’s position or status, even when doing so brings it into conflict with a powerful constituency.
The case has a specific legal history. Ven. Gnanasara was sentenced to six years’ imprisonment by the Court of Appeal in 2018 for contempt of court in a case involving former military personnel where he disrupted the proceedings. The Supreme Court rejected his appeal in 2018. Former President Maithripala Sirisena subsequently granted him a presidential pardon in 2019. Last month, the Supreme Court invalidated that pardon. The initial demand by Buddhist monks and their lay supporters was that Ven. Gnanasara should be permitted to wear his Buddhist robes when appearing in public before the courts. The government has indicated its willingness to examine the procedures governing the treatment of Buddhist monks in prison, in consultation with the relevant religious authorities. However, the initial demand has now been escalated into a demand for a presidential pardon.
One of the central promises of the National People’s Power (NPP) during its election campaign two years ago was to apply the law equally to all. This commitment has shaped the government’s approach to allegations of corruption and criminality involving individuals who previously wielded political power. The NPP government was swept into power on a wave of antipathy towards those in previous governments who were perceived to have abused their positions for private gain. The economic collapse Sri Lanka experienced in 2022, and the hardships endured across society, remain vivid in the public memory. The past two years have seen the government pursuing those accused of corruption and other offences. Several high-ranking members of previous governments have faced arrest and legal proceedings and been sentenced to jail.
Religious Concerns
The ability of opposition parties to mobilise widespread resistance against proceedings involving their leaders has been limited, as much of the general population continues to favour accountability for past financial crimes. However, the case of Ven. Gnanasara is different. It does not concern allegations of financial corruption, but the relationship between religious authority, the courts and the law of the land. This is where the distinction between respecting religious traditions and upholding the law becomes crucial. There is a sense among sections of the general population that Buddhist monks should not be treated on a par with others and that requiring Ven. Gnanasara to appear in court without his robes was unjust and contrary to the national ethos. Such sentiments reflect the special place Buddhism occupies in Sri Lanka’s history and society. Sinhala Buddhist nationalism has been a potent political force throughout the country’s history, drawing on a heritage that extends back more than two millennia. The question is whether respect for Buddhism needs to also entail the exemption of individual monks from the ordinary requirements of the law and thereby treat them differently.
The challenge would be to accommodate legitimate religious concerns through rational and lawful procedures without allowing religious status to become a source of legal privilege. The government has been amenable to addressing the issue of monastic robes, but has so far resisted the demand to release Ven. Gnanasara through a new pardon. President Anura Kumara Dissanayake and government members have made it clear that the government would not bend the law to accommodate any individual. They have taken the position that any shortcomings in existing rules should be addressed by changing the rules through proper procedures, rather than by making an exception for a particular individual. If the government holds its position, it will demonstrate that its commitment to the rule of law extends even to constituencies that have historically enjoyed considerable political influence.
This is important not only for the country’s democratic institutions but also for its economic future. Sri Lanka is seeking to recover from its economic collapse and establish the foundations for sustained growth. The International Monetary Fund’s analysis of Sri Lanka’s governance weaknesses has repeatedly emphasised the economic costs of corruption and institutional deficiencies. Its 2024 analysis of governance and growth concluded that comprehensive and coherent reforms could bring significant macroeconomic benefits. The IMF’s 2025 assessment also highlighted the importance of sustained governance reforms in unlocking the country’s growth potential. Investors, both domestic and foreign, need confidence that public institutions function according to predictable rules, that contracts and property rights are protected, and that political connections or social status will not determine how the law is applied.
Sensitive Issue
Sri Lanka has long sought the leap towards prosperity that has proved elusive under successive governments. Economic reform alone will not achieve it. The connection between the rule of law and economic prosperity is direct. Businesses are more likely to invest when they can expect disputes to be resolved fairly, public resources to be managed transparently and regulatory decisions to be made on rational grounds. No country can achieve a durable economic take-off if its institutions are perceived to operate according to political favour, inherited privilege or communal pressure. Sri Lanka cannot afford to return to a political culture in which powerful interests are shielded from accountability while ordinary citizens bear the costs.
Changing a political culture that has evolved over the decades if not centuries is a difficult undertaking, particularly in a country where political leaders have long relied on religious and communal identities to consolidate their support. It requires not only firmness but also sensitivity, dialogue and a willingness to reform laws and institutions where genuine deficiencies exist. The present controversy offers an opportunity to demonstrate that these objectives need not be in conflict. The government can respect the Buddhist clergy’s concerns about the treatment of monks in prison while refusing to grant an individual an exemption from a judicial sentence. It can recognise the importance of Buddhism to the country while maintaining that no religious or political authority stands above the law.
The question is whether national traditions and ethos are interpreted in ways that strengthen justice, responsibility and social harmony, or invoked to defend privileges that undermine them. The country needs a transformation in public expectations from privilege to accountability, from communal claims to equal citizenship, and from personal discretion to institutions governed by law.
The government’s handling of the case involving Ven. Gnanasara is therefore about more than one monk or one sentence. This particular case will determine whether the government can build a system in which no government, religious authority or politically influential individuals can place themselves beyond the law. A just society must be able to honour both its traditions and its commitment to equality before the law.
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