Connect with us

Features

Early marriage, starting a govt. job and enjoying the country with friends

Published

on

Excerpted from Memories that linger: My journey through the world of disability by Padmani Mendis

After marriage, there were two matters that Nalin felt we should attend to as soon as possible. One was that I should get a driving license. I knew he thought that this was to his advantage because then he would not need to drive me around. This, his motive, was not an issue. I loved driving and still do. I have decided that I will continue to drive until my reflexes tell me I should not.

I had actually been driving from the time I was hardly a teenager. At our home in Kalubowila there were always at least three or four cars parked in the garden at any one time – owned by my mother, by Uncle Lyn, by my brothers, by guests and of course Uncle Geoff’s blue Plymouth. These had to be moved in and out of two garages; or moved to and fro to let another be taken out of the gate and so on. Now here those three brothers of mine (older than I but younger than my other brothers) – the very same who would not teach me to ride a bike – taught me to drive a car. Sheer exploitation this was, and I fell for it; enjoying the task of moving the cars here and there, using a cushion to enable me to see over the steering wheel and at the same time to reach the pedals.

So now, nearly 20 years later, getting a driving license was as easy as pie. A few formal lessons from Mr. Stephenson, a very efficient teacher, was all I needed. He arranged a test for me. I recall the Inspector took me down Horton Place for a short distance, asked me to reverse the car into a side road, and that was it. I had my driving license. Nalin was happy that he did not need to be my chauffeur when he did not want to be. He did not know that from my perspective, the license enabled me to go where I wanted to, when I wanted to. It was advantageous to both of us.

The second matter he had in mind was to enable me to get the work I wanted as a physiotherapist with employment in government service. My previous experience four years ago taught us that this would be no easy task. We had to “know” someone. That “someone” we had. It was another one of my mother’s numerous cousins who was the very well-known and charming Prof. C.C. de Silva. Uncle Chummy as we knew him, was one of the best paediatricians this country has known. Nalin and I paid him a visit with Nali Akka.

“Oh,” he said, “you are Pansy Akka’s baby. You know she had so many dolls. When we played together I wanted to play with her dolls and she would not let me.” I thought to myself. I can understand why – she would have thought, why should a boy want to play with dolls?” When I asked him for the help I needed, he said that would be easy. He spoke with the responsible Deputy Director in the Department of Health and I had my letter of appointment in no time.

Coming to live next door to my in-laws

My father-in-law’s name was Garret and my mother-in-law’s was Bella. This is how everybody knew her. I think very few knew that her name was Muriel. I learned later that my father and my father-in-law had been born in the same year, 1893. He was well-known as the historian Dr. G.C. Mendis. His interest in the subject earned for him a special grant in the late 1920s to further his studies at the School of Oriental and African Studies of the University of London. He gained his doctorate in 1931 for a thesis called, “A Historical Criticism of the Mahavamsa”.

Later, in 1957, the same institution conferred on him the degree “Doctor of Literature (D. Litt)”. He taught at the Universities of Colombo and Peradeniya until he retired in 1952. This was before Nalin entered university in 1953. Nalin studied history at the University of Peradeniya. And can still talk on the subject with authority. It could be in his blood.

When he retired, Nalin’s father built a residence for the family at 17, Swarna Road. This he would gift to Nalin when he passed on. Attached to the house itself he built two apartments for his daughters Sita and Deepthi also to be gifted later. When we married, Nalin and I came to live in one of these apartments, 17/1. I was now calling them Daddy and Mummy as Nalin did. The wedding gifts we were given by family and friends helped us furnish our new home.

Daddy and Mummy and Nalin’s sisters between them gifted us an exquisite dining table with six chairs. In Burma Teak and made by Apothecaries, the best furniture maker of the time. We added to that a matching tea trolley. It was – may be still is – the custom that a wife would bring with her the bedroom furniture, and my siblings had seen to that. We still use all these pieces every day, polished regularly and still looking as good as new.

Mummy carried out another custom which was that the mother-in-law should furnish the newly acquired daughter’s kitchen. And from that gift too, I still have in use many utensils. Most of the essential utility electric items like kettles, toasters, irons and crockery and cutlery came from family and friends. Some gifted cash and this was handy for us to fill the gaps. One Sunday we drove up to Weweldeniya and purchased four cane chairs, comfortable for guests. They cost thirty rupees each.

Learning from my mother-in-law

I could not have hoped for better neighbours to help me start being a wife. Mummy was an expert cook and was always ready to teach me a new dish. Particularly those she knew her son enjoyed. Came the era of no imports, of economising, and of shortages in the 1970s and she taught me innovative cookery. And how to make substitutes for desserts and cakes – cherries using papaw, candied peel with jambola and so on. Her love cake and Christmas cake were delicious. From her I learned to make black pork curry, parippu rice and fish mustard curry. But more than that I learned the secrets of home-made bacon, ham, corned beef and salt beef.

And she helped me entertain. With the size of my family joined with his, the menu was often lamprais. Mummy had an original Dutch recipe for it from her friend Kathleen Peglott. There was a man living down on the canal bank who would be an unending source of banana leaves. We cooked the dishes over a period of some days so only the rice and the packing had to be done on the last day – and of course the baking. We had dozens to make for one meal –50 or 60 lamprais would easily be consumed during a single lunch. Many guests had to have two each. My nephew Rohan had three for his lunch.

And now, Nalin and I share one. And that too is too much. We still often entertain with lamprais. But whatever the number we require, we order these from a professional caterer. To make them at home is too labour intensive. That is my excuse.

Being a government employee

After getting our new home organised, I was anxious to start work in Ceylon once again. I had been assigned to work at what was called the “Department of Physical Medicine, Special” located in the upstairs of the Orthopaedic Clinic on Regent Street. The “Special” I believed referred to the orthopaedic service it was designed to provide. The physician in charge was Dr. L.P.D. Gunawardene, Ceylon’s second physician in physical medicine. The first was Dr. Frank Perera and he already had the DPM “General” which served the whole of the General Hospital.

The administration of physiotherapy in the DPM Special was in the charge of “MAA” Fernando, one of the gentlest men I have met. I worked with him in his room and he sent to me all those male patients who needed physio for one arm or both. If the same male patient needed physio for one or two legs he was sent to a colleague in the same room.

Females were treated in another room, while yet another room at the end of the corridor was where patients with stroke and such conditions were treated. This was staffed by a physical training instructor and a walking training instructor to accept referrals. To assist them they had one or two junior physios. This was a very busy department. Very often Dr. LPD as he was called, would summon a physio to his room and hand over to that physio a “special” patient. This would be someone known to him or who was sent by someone known to him or by another eminent person.

Nalin and I were both now government employees. As such, our salaries were very low, even in relation to the relatively low cost of living at the time. Nalin had a monthly salary of Rs. 800, but after the car loan and other deductions, he brought home a little over 600 rupees every month. On Nalin’s pay day he came home and handed me his whole salary. From which I would ensure that his purse had always a small sum of money – at least 10 rupees – every day for any expense he may incur.

I started at the bottom of the physio pay scale with 252 rupees per month. But we were surprisingly comfortable. The money I brought home every month covered the cost of maintaining our vehicle. We had no problems buying our food and other provisions at the beginning of the month, for cinema and other entertainment and for a little travel now and then.

But there were months however when cash was tight. If we wished to go the cinema at the end of a month for example and were unsure of our financial position, we poured out on our bed all the cash we had between us and sometimes counted even the coins to ensure we could afford the cost of the tickets. In spite of our fears, as I recall, we always had the few rupees we required. I think it was Rs 3.50 each for the best seats.

We were well satisfied with what we had and with our lives.

Living in our changing country

It was while I was working at the DPM Special that Ceylon gave the world its first woman prime minister. With her Government, we had a new Constitution in 1972. With this, Ceylon became Sri Lanka; then plantations were nationalised; ownership of land was limited to fifty acres per adult family member; ownership of houses was limited to one for each family member and one extra; many landowners and house owners suffered a mental breakdown at having to accept the extent of their losses; the economy became a closed one and collapsed; foreign exchange could not be exported; citizens were asked to tighten their belts; citizens could not eat rice on three days of the week; and we grew sweet potato and manioc and corn on every inch of land available in our garden to have these to replace the starch and nutrients that rice provided as our staple food.

But the country survived; in spite of all the strictures, its people survived the hardships. We had an election in 1977. The country used the vote to say no to socialism of that kind and elected a government that would open the economy and give the people their democratic freedoms – for most of the time as it turned out.

The value of friends and friendships in the early years

On our marriage it turned out that more of Nalin’s friends than mine became “our” friends. I had drifted somewhat from my school friends during my sojourn in the UK. This would change later and the bonds we formed at school did withstand the test of time. I am back to where we were with my friends. Meanwhile Nalin had an extensive social network as a bachelor and it seemed as it were, that I moved into his social network. Having spent so many years abroad as a student, I had no real social network at home in Colombo at the time of our marriage.

Quite quickly his friends were mine. Another difference – we observed that whereas many young couples spent their time together as friends in each other’s homes and moving around Colombo, our friendships took us travelling out of Colombo. This had much to do with the shared common interest in travel within our country that kind of sealed our friendships and may be made them what they were.

Most of our early holidays we spent with our friends Mervyn and Therese (Perera). We had much in common. We did not have children and lived on the low salaries of government officers. Little cash to spare but lived life to the full. We made use of the three annual railway warrants or passes allowed to such as us who worked in government and travelled by train to places that would be difficult to reach by car. We stayed, usually a week at a time, in circuit bungalows available to government officers at a low price.

Pattipola, the highest point on the railway was one. Ohiya not far below was another. Nuwara Eliya was yet another and so on. Not having the use of a vehicle was not a loss as we explored what we could of surrounding towns and areas by train. We spent many hours morning and evening, walking. Mervyn and Nalin had much in common, both taking a keen interest in horse racing. They had much to talk about. Mervyn used racing parlance in his conversations. He called me a “stayer” because I could outdo them in the length of the walk and kept a steady pace, always at the front, leading the group.

Another holiday was to spend time with Nada and Indra. Nada was at the Jaffna railway station to greet us off the overnight express. He worked in the Petroleum Corporation and had booked us to stay at the guest house run by the Cement Corporation. In his Austin A40 he showed us all the sights that had to be seen on the peninsula. My most memorable is the Keerimalai Springs used for bathing by hundreds of people wishing to avail of its mineral benefits. In the evening, his charming wife Indra would welcome us to have a meal with them in their home – could it please be local Jaffna food was our request.

Many years later we spent time with Stanley and Hermi (Unamboowe), travelling always in their Nissan SUV. Stanley loved to drive. Hermi sat by his side and was his navigator. Together we enjoyed holidaying in the south on more than one occasion, to Hambantota and from there to Bundala for bird watching. North-east to Giritale many times too staying at the Giritale Hotel run by Carsons where Stanley was a former Chairman, and exploring the surrounding countryside. More often we just relaxed in the hotel, sitting on the wide-open verandah and watching the many varieties of birds that came to the Giritale Lake. Stanley could identify almost all the birds that visited there.

Sometimes with them and at times with other friends we enjoyed the wild life parks of Yala, Wilpattu, Wasgamuwa and Uda Walawe. Together we had the joy of watching elephant, leopard, deer of many varieties, an occasional sloth bear and beautiful birds-a-plenty.



Features

Quandary of Dengue: Some roving perspectives

Published

on

Sri Lanka is currently well and truly trapped in the strangling grip of a devastating and severely enhanced dengue outbreak. The numbers alone are staggering; over 44,000 cases have been recorded across the island so far this year, with the highest concentration systematically suffocating the Western, Southern, and Central provinces. Hospitals and healthcare providers are under extreme pressure, but the cold metrics of morbidity do not capture the true implications and dismay of this current wave. What has profoundly shaken the public consciousness and even sent a shudder through the medical community is a grim shift in the implications for the populace.

Dengue has always been quite a threat, looming over our Motherland from time to time. Yet for all that, historically, child deaths due to the virus were relatively rare in Sri Lanka, thanks to scrupulously adhering to robust clinical guidelines, as well as exceptional paediatric monitoring and management. This year, that safety net seems to be straining quite a bit at the edges and among the reported fatalities are a tragic number of children. The virus is moving faster, hitting harder, and exposing a terrifying reality, even stressing that our existing defence mechanisms are perhaps no longer totally sufficient to deal with the problem.

In response, public health authorities have deployed their traditional arsenal. Teams are busy with intensive surveillance, conducting house-to-house inspections, enforcing strict penalties for standing and stagnant water, and sending fogging machinery through the streets to blanket neighbourhoods in chemical mists. Yet, as case counts climb by nearly 50% week over week, an uncomfortable question must be asked: Are these traditional measures sufficient, or are they bordering on an exercise in futility?

The Illusion of the Fog: Why Our Current Strategy May Be Failing?

To understand why Sri Lanka might be in a tight corner, one must look closely at the enemy. Dengue is transmitted primarily by the Aedes aegypti mosquito, a highly adapted, urbanised insect. While Aedes aegypti is widely considered the primary culprit, Aedes albopictus (commonly known as the Asian tiger mosquito) plays a massive, highly dangerous role in Sri Lanka’s dengue transmission as well. In fact, the interplay between these two species is one of the biggest reasons why controlling dengue on the island is so incredibly difficult. These two vectors behave differently, breed in different places, and require distinct strategies to combat their well-recognised roles in the propagation of the disease that is dengue. Understanding how these two mosquito species split the territory could explain why a single controlling method might not always work across the board.

Aedes aegypti mosquitoes are strictly urban and indoor creatures. They live alongside humans inside houses, apartments, and in heavily built-up commercial areas. They rest on dark clothes in closets, under furniture, and behind curtains. They breed in artificial containers, clear, stagnant water in flower vases, plastic cups, concrete sumps, and overhead tanks. They prefer human blood almost exclusively and bite multiple people to get one full meal, thereby spreading the dengue virus rapidly within even a single household.

In contrast, Aedes albopictus is semi-urban and rural, thrives in vegetations, gardens, rubber plantations, and peri-urban areas where green spaces meet houses. The creature rests in shaded bushes, high grass, and low canopy foliage, as well as holes in trees, leaf axils, coconut shells, discarded tyres and trash. The biting behaviour of these mosquitoes is opportunistic. They bite humans but also feed on birds and domestic mammals, indicating that they can survive easily even when human density is low.

The traditional responses we rely on, most notably thermal fogging, are largely cosmetic public relations exercises rather than a totally effective vector control mechanism. Such fogging misses indoor resting sites, drives resistance, and stagnant water elimination fails against cryptic, microscopic breeding sites.

Fogging utilises “adulticides“, chemical sprays meant to kill flying mosquitoes. However, Aedes aegypti is a domestic creature; it rests indoors, hidden in the dark recesses of closets, under beds, and behind curtains. A fogging process achieves very little penetration into these indoor sanctuaries. Furthermore, over-reliance on these pyrethroid-based chemical sprays has accelerated insecticide resistance, effectively rendering the chemicals useless over time.

Similarly, while the National Dengue Control Unit (NDCU), to their eternal credit, aggressively pursues the elimination of visible standing water, the sheer adaptability of the mosquito outpaces manual human labour in trying to eliminate the breeding places of the vectors. Aedes eggs can remain dormant in dry containers for months, hatching the moment a drop of water touches them. In dense, urbanised areas like Colombo and Gampaha, microscopic breeding sites, from the rim of a discarded plastic bottle cap to the base of an indoor potted plant, are impossible to completely police.

If we continue to rely solely on manual cleaning and chemical fogging, we are fighting a twenty-first-century climate-driven crisis with mid-twentieth-century tools. We must look beyond our borders to see how global science is shifting the paradigm of mosquito control.

The Biological Frontier: Insects fighting Mosquitoes

When searching for international alternatives, many look towards the United States, where vector control districts manage complex mosquito populations across diverse ecosystems. A common point of curiosity is the historical use of “mosquito-eating insects.”

In the US, biological control has long featured predatory species. While some point to insects like dragonfly nymphs or giant non-biting mosquito larvae (Toxorhynchites, which actively prey on other mosquito larvae), the most widely used traditional biological agent in American municipal water systems is actually the Gambusia affinis, commonly known as the “mosquitofish.” A single one of these surface-feeding fish can devour hundreds of mosquito larvae a day.

However, American vector management has largely evolved past simply dumping predatory fish into ponds. The true modern frontier in global mosquito control relies on advanced biological and genetic interventions that turn the mosquitoes against themselves.

1. The Wolbachia Revolution

Perhaps the most successful international intervention against dengue is the introduction of Wolbachia-infected mosquitoes. Wolbachia is a naturally occurring bacterium found in up to sixty per cent of all insect species, but crucially, not naturally present in Aedes aegypti.

When scientists introduce Wolbachia into Aedes mosquitoes in a laboratory and release them into the wild, two extraordinary things happen: –

· Viral Suppression: The bacterium competes with viruses like dengue, Zika, and chikungunya inside the mosquito’s body, making it incredibly difficult for the virus to replicate. If the virus cannot replicate, the mosquito cannot transmit it to a human.

· Population Replacement:

Through a mechanism called cytoplasmic incompatibility, when a Wolbachia-carrying male mates with a wild female that does not carry the bacteria, her eggs do not hatch. If a Wolbachia female mates with a wild male, her offspring will carry the bacteria. Over time, the local mosquito population is entirely replaced by harmless, non-transmission-capable mosquitoes.

In comprehensive global trials, such as those conducted by the World Mosquito Programme in Yogyakarta, Indonesia, the introduction of Wolbachia mosquitoes led to a staggering 77% reduction in dengue incidence and an 86% reduction in dengue-related hospitalisations.

2. Sterile Insect Technique (SIT) and Genetic Modifications

Other countries, including parts of the US (such as the Florida Keys) and Brazil, have turned to genetic engineering. Using the Sterile Insect Technique (SIT) or advanced genetic variants (like those developed by Oxitec), millions of bio-engineered male mosquitoes are released into the wild. Because male mosquitoes do not bite humans, and they feed exclusively on nectar, thereby posing zero risk to the public. These males mate with wild females, but pass on a self-limiting gene that causes the female offspring to die in the larval stage before they can ever mature, bite, or transmit disease. This results in a drastic collapse of the localised vector population without the use of even a single drop of toxic chemical pesticide.

Moving beyond the Status Quo: A Blueprint for Sri Lanka

The current dilemma in Sri Lanka is a classical gridlock: we are deploying immense physical effort and economic capital into vector control measures that yield diminishing returns, while our clinical wards fill with critically ill patients. If we are to break this cycle, our public health policy must undergo a rapid structural evolution

We cannot instantly replicate the multimillion-dollar genetic laboratories of the West, but we can modernise our strategy immediately by adopting a highly targeted, multi-tiered approach.

Comprehensive Vector Management Strategy

The following are some thoughts that need to be carefully evaluated in a venture towards getting things under control.

· Shift from Adulticides to Target Microbial Larvicides Immediate Phase

Cease the reliance on sweeping chemical thermal fogging. Instead, deploy specialised microbial larvicides such as Bacillus thuringiensis israelensis (Bti). Bti is a naturally occurring soil bacterium that, when ingested by mosquito larvae, destroys their digestive tracts. It is completely non-toxic to humans, pets, and other aquatic life, and can be distributed via localised backpack sprayers or drones into inaccessible urban sumps.

· Scale Up Localised Wolbachia Trials Intermediate Phase

Sri Lanka has previously initiated small-scale, localised pilot releases of Wolbachia mosquitoes in select urban pockets. Given the severity of the 2026 outbreak, these programmes must be aggressively scaled up into an industrial-level national initiative. Public-private partnerships must be leveraged to establish sustainable, high-capacity mosquito-rearing facilities locally.

· Implement Digital Ovitrap Surveillance Continuous Integration

Replace manual, retroactive searching with predictive digital mapping. Deploy networks of smart “ovitraps” (oviposition traps) across high-burden provinces. These traps monitor egg-laying rates in real-time, allowing automated data systems to predict a spike in the adult mosquito population weeks before an actual clinical outbreak occurs, enabling preventative targeting.

The Cost of Inaction

Maintaining our current trajectory is not a neutral choice; it is an endorsement of escalating mortality. The 2026 outbreak has proven that the ecological dynamics of dengue have changed, fuelled by changing weather patterns and urban density. Our public health response must change with it.

The heart-breaking loss of young lives in this current surge must serve as a stark wake-up call. We must look at the international landscape, embrace the biological innovations that have saved lives across the globe, and transition from a policy of panic-driven reaction to one of scientific eradication. It is no longer just a matter of cleaning our drains; it is a matter of upgrading our science.

Why Aedes albopictus Makes the Sri Lankan Crisis Harder

In Sri Lanka, the geographic landscape transitions quickly from dense concrete cities to lush, tropical vegetation. This creates the perfect environment for both species to thrive simultaneously.

· The Surveillance Blindspot: When health authorities focus heavily on checking indoor water storage and concrete drains in cities, they can completely miss the massive Aedes albopictus populations breeding in the surrounding vegetation, suburban gardens, and rural homesteads of the Southern and Central provinces.

· The Failure of Indoor Fogging:

While indoor residual spraying or targeted indoor fogging might hit Aedes aegypti, it has virtually no effect on Aedes albopictus, which spends its life cycle outdoors in the bushes.

· Climate Resilience:

Aedes albopictus eggs are remarkably tolerant of colder temperatures and varied environments. This allows the vector to push higher into the mountainous terrains of the Central Province, bringing dengue to areas that historically saw very few cases.

To truly bring down the case numbers in a severely enhanced outbreak, public health interventions must be dual-targeted: addressing the indoor, urban threat of Aedes aegypti while simultaneously tackling the outdoor, ecological stronghold of Aedes albopictus. We cannot sit back on our laurels of the past. We need to move forward resolutely.

Continue Reading

Features

ANURADHAPURA ANTHEM c.1893

Published

on

Anuradhapura. Image courtesy Central Cultural Fund

R. W. Ievers, who wrote this poem, was the Government Agent of the North Central Province during 1884, 1886, and 1890. He is the author of the Manual of the North Central Province (1899) and a half dozen published reports on the life and practices in the Province. Before his death, he shared it with his good friend H.C.P. Bell, the Archaeological Commissioner of Ceylon at the time. In 1917, Bell had it published in the Times of Ceylon – Christmas Number. Since then, it remained unknown for 109 years, until Ievers’s great-grandson, Turtle Bunbury, historian and author of Living in Sri Lanka (2006) with James Fennell, tipped me off about its source – H.C.P. Bell: Archaeologist of Ceylon and the Maldives (1993), written by Bell’s granddaughters Bethia N. Bell and Heather M. Bell.

THE ANTHEM

Anuradhapura! City grand and vast,

Lanka’s famous Capital, in ages of the past:

In the Mahawansa the story has been told

Of thy palaces, and temples, and pinnacles of gold.

Hail! then hail! to the worth of a bygone day,

Hail! all hail! to the relics of kingly sway

Hail to thee, Fair City, glorious in decay,

Hail! thrice hail! Forever and for aye!

Si monumentum quaeris

– cast your gaze around

Ruined fanes and dagobas everywhere abound

Alas! for glory faded, for erstwhile beauty sped

For hierarchs and heroes, long numbered with the dead

Hail! then hail!…

Great Ruwanaveli Seya, once fairest of the fair,

The splendour of thy palmy days has melted into air;

And like Imperial Caesar now ‘dead and turned into clay’,

Thy sacred bricks ‘may stop a hole to keep the wind away.’

Note by Tillakaratne:

Since 1873, Bhikku Naranvita Sumanasara has been doing conservation work on this stupa. In 1876, Governor William Gregory, after visiting the work site, wrote that its conservation was not just a religious work but a great National Monument.

See ‘Bayagiri’ massive – ‘Fearless Mount’ forsooth – Centre once of schism rank, from ‘Great Vihara’ truth.

Patched up by prison labour, anew it flaunts on high

A ‘hideous excrescence’ athwart a tranquil sky.

Note by H. C. P. Bell

: T. N. Christie, Planting Member at the time protested in the Legislative Council against the abortive “restoration” by prison labour of the Abhayagiri Dagaba, dubbing its truncated pinnacle, half restored, a “hideous excrescence”.

Jetawanarama, Great Sena’s priestly boon

Comely shape and giddy height will crumble all too soon;

Where forest trees and chequered shade a peaceful picture lend,

From cruel axe and ruthless spade, may gracious Heaven defend.

Note by H. C. P. Bell:

Two decades after these poems were written, the surrounding area of the Jetawanarama was still covered in forest, and the Atamasthana Committee conditionally allowed a monk to clear a limited number of trees. But not a tree remained unfelled, contrary to what the monk was authorized to do.

Thuparama graceful, in outline clear and bold,

Begirt with column chaste and slim, a gem in the ring of gold

To thee pertains high honour a pious people gave – The tomb of Sanghamitta, and Prince Mahinda’s grave.

Note by

H. C. P. Bell: The ruins are pointed out, wrongly, as the tradional tombs of Arahat Mahinda and Sanghamitta Theranee.

With bricks and mortar bolstered up, behold the Sacred Bo;

To some – misguided mortals – ‘tis but a ‘bo-gas’ show.

Where humble Mirisveti a monarch’s fad recalls,

Lo! Royal Siam’s silver now builds its futile walls.

Note by H. C. P. Bell:

According to Mahawansa, Mirisavetiya was so named after King Dutugemunu’s compunction at forgetting chillies (miris) in his alms giving to monks on one occasion. The restoration work on the Mirisavetiya began under the Ceylon Government, with funds provided by the King of Siam. When the money flow began to cease, work also ceased, and bats began to frequent the holed structure.

What need to tell of sculptures, of ‘pokunas’ galore,

Of balustrades and Yogi stones and half a hundred more,

Of Brazen Palace spacious, with gilt-roofed storeys dight –

A modern race more ‘brazen’ would desecrate each site.

For midst these sacred ruins of shrines and cloistered hall,

A reckless generation disports with little balls,

Whilst ‘Parliamentary language’ and imprecations deep

Disturb the peaceful solitude where saintly Rahats sleep.

Note by H. C. P. Bell:

After European residents, old city Anuradhapura in the late 19th century, the area still being cleared between Ruwanveli Seya and Thuparama, was used a ‘golf links’. Ievers did not like the area used as a playground:

Iconoclasts and vandals have had their little day;

No more shall ancient pillars to culverts find their way.

No more a watchful Government such sacrilege condones –

One may not meddle with the gods, nor tamper with the stones.

Anuradhapura! Thy glory shall revive;

Yhu [sic] sons shall swarm within thee like bees about a hive.

The effort of the present for past neglect atones;

New breath of life resuscitates this vale of driest bones.

Composed by R. W. Ievers
(1850-1905)
Introduced by Lokubanda Tillakaratne

Continue Reading

Features

Meththa Rehabilitation Foundation: Restoring Mobility, Dignity and Hope Across Sri Lanka

Published

on

Mahawa Factory

For thousands of Sri Lankans living with limb loss and physical disabilities, access to quality rehabilitation services remains a significant challenge. Yet, for more than three decades, our organisation has quietly transformed lives through innovation, compassion and community-based care. The Meththa Rehabilitation Foundation Guarantee Limited (MRFGL), supported by the Meththa Foundation-UK and in partnership with the Manitha Neyam Trust, the LEBARA Foundation and the Oblates of Mary Immaculate in Jaffna, emerged as one of Sri Lanka’s most effective voluntary rehabilitation service providers, restoring mobility, independence and dignity to some of the country’s most vulnerable citizens.

The Foundation’s roots stretch back to 1994, when a group of expatriate Sri Lankan professionals in the United Kingdom recognised the severe shortage of rehabilitation services available to disabled persons in Sri Lanka. Drawing upon their expertise in rehabilitation medicine and allied healthcare professions, they established the Meththa Foundation-UK with a simple but powerful vision: to provide affordable, high-quality prosthetic and rehabilitation services to those who needed them most.

Below knee artificial limb Designed and made at Mahawa

What began as an effort to recycle and repurpose high-quality prosthetic components donated by the UK’s National Health Service has evolved into a comprehensive rehabilitation network serving communities across the island.

Clinical services commenced in Sri Lanka in 1995 through a mobile outreach programme that initially supported injured soldiers and later expanded to civilians affected by conflict and disability. The majority of them were victims of land mines. In 2010, the Sri Lankan arm of the organisation was formally registered as the Meththa Rehabilitation Foundation Guarantee Limited, strengthening its ability to deliver sustainable services nationwide.

Today, the Foundation operates four modern rehabilitation centres located in Mahawa, Mankulam, Balapitiya and Kilinochchi. These centres provide prosthetic and orthotic services, posture and mobility support, limb repairs, and rehabilitation assistance to patients from diverse social and economic backgrounds.

Recognising that many disabled individuals live in remote areas with limited access to healthcare, Meththa Foundation also established a mobile outreach service in 2011. Through a successful “Hub and Spoke” model, rehabilitation teams travel regularly to underserved communities, ensuring that patients are not denied care simply because of distance or financial hardship.

The scale of the Foundation’s work is impressive. During 2025 alone, the organisation recorded approximately 2,000 patient contacts, including the provision of 350 new artificial limbs, 850 limb repairs and around 800 other rehabilitation devices. For many beneficiaries, these interventions represent far more than medical treatment; they offer a pathway back to employment, education and social participation.

Innovation has become a hallmark of the Foundation’s approach. Through an active research and development programme, MRFGL has developed affordable prosthetic technologies specifically suited to Sri Lankan conditions. Among its achievements is the development of a modular below-knee artificial limb system manufactured largely from locally sourced materials. The Foundation has also designed low-cost prosthetic knee components that significantly reduce the financial burden on patients while maintaining quality and functionality. These developments are funded by generous International Grants facilitated by affluent members of the Meththa Foundation-UK. Service users are encouraged to donate whatever they can but for those who cannot, which is a majority the services are entirely free.

These innovations not only make rehabilitation more affordable but also strengthen local manufacturing capabilities and reduce dependence on imported components.

Equally important is the Foundation’s commitment for building local expertise. Recognising the shortage of trained rehabilitation professionals in Sri Lanka, Meththa Foundation

established an apprentice-based vocational training programme that recruits and trains young people as prosthetists, orthotists and rehabilitation technicians. Several locally trained staff members are now employed across the Foundation’s centres, helping to create a sustainable workforce for the future.

The organisation’s work has attracted growing recognition within the healthcare sector. Discussions have already taken place with health authorities regarding the potential use of Meththa-designed prosthetic components within Government hospitals. Such collaboration could significantly expand access to affordable rehabilitation services throughout the country.

Beyond its clinical achievements, the Foundation’s impact is measured in restored confidence and renewed independence. Surveys conducted among beneficiaries indicate that many educated amputees successfully return to productive lives after receiving rehabilitation support. However, the findings also highlight an ongoing challenge among poorer and less educated amputees, many of whom struggle to access follow-up care due to transportation difficulties and financial constraints.

To address this issue, the organisation hopes to -expand its mobile services and community outreach programmes. Additional funding would allow rehabilitation teams to reach isolated communities more frequently, ensuring that vulnerable patients continue to receive the support they need.

Operating on an annual expenditure of approximately Rs. 30 million in Sri Lanka, supplemented by overseas fundraising and donations, the Foundation remains heavily reliant on the partnership of charitable trusts such as the Manitha Neyam Trust and LEBARA Foundation and generosity of individual well-wishers. Every contribution directly supports the provision of artificial limbs, mobility devices, training programmes and outreach services for those who might otherwise be left behind.

As Sri Lanka continues to strengthen its healthcare and social welfare systems, organisations such as the Meththa Foundation demonstrate how innovation, volunteerism and dedication can create lasting social

By helping individuals regain mobility and independence, the Foundation is not merely providing artificial limbs—it is rebuilding lives and restoring hope.

For many “beneficiaries, every step they take is a testament to the life-changing work of the Meththa foundation

www.meththafoundation-sl-uk.org

Chairman’s WhatsApp contact number +94 77 788 6119

Prof S P Lamabadusurira, Chairman and Dr B Panagamuwa, ✍️
First Trustee

Continue Reading

Trending