Features
Fine sportsman, great debater, big appetite but weak stomach
Dudley Senanayake in the short Parliament of March to July 1960
(Excerpted from Rendering Unto Caesar by Bradman Weerakoon)
Family and background had been central in Dudley Senanayake’s case too. Greatness had literally been thrust on him when he had been appointed prime minister on the death of his father D S, in 1952. That had been a time of intrigue and maneuvering which had soured the relations between Sir John, his close relative and him.
Sir John had struck back with the Premier Stakes which he later denied having any connection with. So Dudley had been anxious to win his spurs for himself through the hustings as early as possible. And he had proved his legitimacy by winning the 1952 elections handsomely, helped by the sympathy vote created by the death of his father. But his first stint as prime minister did not last long. Plagued by illness, chronic gastritis and the hartal of August 1953 which resulted in police firing and some civilian deaths, Dudley resigned.
But there was always a fighting streak in him, which his generally soft demeanour, attractive smile and loud guffaw obscured. He was destined to return.
The Senanayake’s had from the second decade of the 20th century become political figures through the espousal of the temperance movement aimed against the colonial policy of liberalizing the consumption of liquor through the rentier system. Don Spater Senanayake, Dudley’s grandfather had been a leading renter at the turn of the century and formed part of a cartel known as the Colombo Arrack Farm Syndicate.
But Don Spater’s three sons, Don Charles, F R and Don Stephen (D S) – Dudley’s father – were among the young leaders of the temperance movement. The jailing of the three brothers along with other leaders of the movement in 1915 for 46 days for their alleged involvement in the anti-Muslim riots of that year gave them a national political prominence as patriots and leaders of the Sinhalese.
The active part being played in politics by the Senanayake brothers of Botale – Don Charles, F R and D S – in the temperance movement, whose roots were essentially political and anti-colonial, and their rise to prominence did not however go unchallenged. Other sections of the low-country colonial bourgeoisie, notably the influential Bandaranaike/Obeyesekera clan, whose power derived from official positions close to the governor, hit back with the cutting observation that here was an example of ‘Nobodies trying to be Somebodies.’
Strategic alliances through the marriages of the sons of leading low-country families with the daughters of high-status ‘feudal’ Kandyan families was not uncommon in this period. For example D. S. Senanayake married Molly Dunuwille daughter of R R Dunuwille who hailed from a famous Kandyan family.
D R Wijewardene the cousin of J R (and grandfather of Ranil Wickremesinghe) married Ruby Meedeniya the daughter of J H Meedeniya, Adigar of Kandy. Describing this phenomenon of newly-acquired wealth acquiring status through strategic marriages, Kumari Jayawardena .suggests that “the Nobodies finessed the Somebodies by marrying into high-status feudal families”.
Dudley’s first go at the top job was not a success. The occasion arose with the death of D S in 1952 of a stroke while riding on Galle Face Green. Dudley was barely 40 and not ready for the rough and tumble of realpolitik. He had reluctantly and with much hesitation – since he was not an ambitious man – allowed himself to be drafted for the succession with some sprightly footwork by Lord Soulbury who convinced the UNP that D S had wanted his son to succeed him in preference to other contenders, notably Sir John.
He needed to prove his legitimacy and the electoral success of the 1952 general elections, in which he won convincingly, restored his confidence in himself but the peptic ulcer which was to become a cause celebre in the future as well, led to his resigning from the position a few months later. All this history was before I entered the prime minister’s office and the only time I had seen him in person was on the cricket field at STC Mt Lavinia in 1949.
At the Old Boys’ day in the traditional half-day one innings match (not even 50 overs) when the Old Boys took on the First Eleven. I remember him bowling some very lofted leg-breaks, which if you used your feet too, could be taken on the full and driven to the boundary past the mostly ageing and sometimes, inebriated fieldsmen.
Dudley had a passion for cricket and his life in politics too reflected the manner in which he had absorbed its abiding characteristics. He had played it well at school, at St Thomas’ College and was in the First Eleven taking part in the famous Royal-Thomian match over four years in the late twenties. He had evidently savored its many moments of joy and its despairs and would relish in stories of his pleasure at a sweetly-timed cover drive or his bitter chagrin with a dropped catch.
His younger brother Robert with whom he had a continuing close friendship – the two houses were connected and Dudley would often in the day slip across in his sarong, to chat with his nephews, Devinda and Rukman and niece Ranjani – went on to play for Ceylon and was perhaps the better batsman. The records’ show that he and Robert had long and productive partnerships at the crease for St Thomas’ College.
He was regarded in school as the best all-round student of his time and was awarded the Victoria Gold Medal. He was Head Prefect, had a good scholastic record and had won his college colours in five sports – cricket, football, hockey, boxing and athletics.
As was usual for the leading political families of the time, Dudley went abroad for higher studies to Cambridge where he read for the Natural Science Tripos. Although he did not play in the Oxford- Cambridge match during his years there he joined the Crusaders Club which was made up of some of the better cricketers who had not made it to the first team. He continued his love for the game after coming down to London where he attended the Inns of Court, and played for the Indian Gymkhana Club.
He liked to relate this story of his first game at Lords for the Indian Gymkhana Club. Like many of his stories the joke was always on him.
Dudley who went in first for the match against the MCC was having a good morning and was particularly severe against a medium-fast leg-break bowler whom he found comfortable. By lunch break he had got to 45 and looked well set for a big score. At lunch he inquired from his neighbour as to why the famous All England bowler, Ian Peebles, who he knew was in the team opposing them, had not been brought on to bowl as yet. The neighbour remarked that he had indeed bowled throughout the morning and that it was Peebles in fact, who Dudley had been hitting all over the ground. The reputation that Peebles had acquired in the press was formidable. Dudley was quite unnerved at the news. Facing the first ball from Peebles after lunch, Dudley offered no shot and was clean bowled.
Dudley’s love for sports extended to all ball games. Late in life he turned to golf and was so keen on excelling that he even had a putter and golf ball in his study upstairs at Woodlands where he practised putting on the carpet. When he found that I did not play golf, and was not getting enough exercise he offered to teach me. He invited me down to the Royal Colombo Golf Club, where he had membership to show me the ropes.
The first hole is a par four with a water hazard to boot. On my approaching the water, after a series of hockey-like attempts at pushing the ball along, Dudley came up to me to advise on how one should negotiate water. “Just forget about the water,” he said, “keep your head down and swing right through. You’ll be amazed how the ball sails over the water.” I tried to remember all his precise instructions, gave a mighty heave and had the ball plop into the water a few yards ahead.
Dudley shrugged his shoulders, addressed his ball with great deliberation And did exactly the opposite of what he had told me. His head went up, a large sod of turf flew into the air and his ball fell in the water a few feet further on than mine. I felt very sad and discomfited. But Dudley was too good a sportsman to worry over trifles. “It’s easier to say than do,” was all said as we continued on to the second, walking past the waterhole.
For all his relaxed and carefree lifestyle that his bachelorhood had given him Dudley had a streak of obstinacy and rebellion which, literally once in a blue moon, emerged. It was mostly, being the great sport that he was, when he felt cheated or shortchanged. His friends spoke of the time he had gone as prime minister for the Coronation of the Queen in London in 1953. The Palace officials were arranging the Royal procession in which the prime ministers of the Commonwealth were also to be accommodated.
Each prime minister was to have a horse-drawn carriage. When it came to Ceylon’s turn, as the carriages were getting scarce, Dudley was approached by Palace protocol officer with the request that he share his carriage with Roy Welensky, the prime minister of Rhodesia. Dudley protested that Rhodesia, although a member of the Commonwealth, had still not been given its independence and it would not be proper for Ceylon, which was independent, to be downgraded in this manner.
The protocol officer then offered to let Dudley ride in the carriage of the Queen of Tonga who, by virtue of her royal origin had been provided with a larger carriage. This was to Dudley like falling from the frying pan into the fire. The Queen was an enormously endowed Polynesian woman and Dudley for all his size would have been dwarfed by her and not seen by the crowd. Dudley decided to put his foot down and announced that if the Palace could not find him a carriage of his own he would have no alternative but to return immediately to Ceylon.
The protocol officer was aghast and said that would be an insult to the Queen. Dudley in turn retorted that the protocol arrangements were an insult to his country. Finally a carriage was found and Dudley rode in style in the royal procession to the coronation.
So it was with mixed feelings that I awaited his arrival under the porch at Temple Trees on his second ceremonial entrance there as prime minister in March 1960. The general elections called by Dahanayake who had succeeded to the position on the assassination of S W R D Bandaranaike had been inconclusive. Prime Minister Dahanayake’s own party, the Lanka Prajantantra Party, hastily formed days after the dissolution -of the Parliament in December 1959, had been obliterated. Dahanayake himself lost his seat in Galle, while only four of his party’s 101 candidates were returned.
Without the semblance of an organized party behind them the majority of his men lost even their deposits. Neither the UNP led by Dudley or the SLFP led by C P de Silva, since Mrs Bandaranaike had refused the leadership of her slain husband’s party, had an outright majority.
The major party breakdown in a Parliament of 151 members was as follows:
UNP 50
SLFP 46
FP 13
MEP 10
LSSP 10
Since the UNP had a slender lead over the SLFP the Governor-General Sir Oliver Goonetilleke, invited Dudley to form the government. It was a tough situation as we sat down to work in his small office downstairs. “It’s a sticky wicket I have to bat on,” he observed using a well-known cricketing metaphor. “Sir,” I replied, “there are only two ways to deal with that. Put your head down and play each ball with a dead straight bat, or hit out and hope for the best.” “I know,” he said, “Lets see. The only thing I can’t make up my mind about is which of the two to do.”
Dudley appointed a Cabinet of eight, the smallest by far, in the country’s history. He clearly needed the support of another party and the likely candidates were the Federal Party with 13 and the MEP led by Philip Gunawardene with 10 members. The FP was playing difficult to get with a program of Minimum Demands which Dudley could not possibly give in to. Philip, with whom Dudley had excellent personal relations although ideologically they were at polar opposites on basic issues, seemed to offer some chance for a while.
The Throne Speech was the first hurdle and he went for it again using rice as a chief weapon. He promised to reintroduce the rice subsidy of two measures at 25 cents each, and put it in the speech. The speech he made winding up the debate was the finest I have ever heard him make. It was from the beginning a losing cause. But he was at his best. The rhetoric flowing, his head thrust forward, his forefinger stabbing the air to emphasise the point, and all the while his eyes fixed firmly on Philip in the opposition front bench.
Philip, with his renewed MEP had become the darling of the press in the short campaign. For a while the maha kalu Sinhalaya had captured the popular imagination as the coming ‘third force’. Philip was undoubtedly moved, but the magnificent speech which finally called for the formation of a national government was not enough. The magic had not worked. When the votes were counted the results showed that the government had been defeated. Ayes 61: Noes 86. Dudley lost no time in advising the governor-general the next morning to dissolve the shortest Parliament Ceylon was likely to see and hold another general election in July.
Dudley’s Celebrated Stomach
Although strong in physique and a natural athlete as his school record on the sports ground indicated, Dudley had a very weak and erratic stomach. The origins of his gastritis or peptic ulcer, about which he knew a great deal, were obscure and no physician in Washington, London or Singapore had been able to accurately diagnose what was wrong and what he should do to cure the malady. It was rumoured, probably unfairly, that he had brought it upon himself by indulging in some hefty meals when his stomach was completely functional, which was not often.
There was an apocryphal story going round whenever ‘Dudley’s stomach’ was the subject of discussion, that once, at school he had, on a bet, eaten a record number of 120 string-hoppers’ at one sitting. I observed that he was very concerned at eating at the right time, because as he repeatedly instructed his genial giant of a bodyguard, A S P Shantung Abeygunewardene, the gastric juices began to flow at regular intervals and if one disturbed the pattern by irregular intake of food, one was heading for trouble.
Another story was about his attempting to diet while at Cambridge and confining himself to a fruit diet for awhile. There he became so ill that he could hardly retain water. K S Periyasamy, the fabulous south Indian cook at the prime minister’s lodge in Nuwara Eliya, who could produce gourmet meals without a cook book – he used to say the recipes were in his heart – would tell us when we went up for holidays that Dudley had one of the biggest appetites he had encountered. Apparently Mrs D S, Dudley’s mother, had warned him to always, When they had guests for dinner, make certain that Dudley was served last.
The July 1960 election saw a rearrangement of forces whose main objective was the defeat of the UNP Sirimavo Bandaranaike had replaced C P de Silva as leader of the SLFP and combining in a no-contest pact with the LSSP and the C P swept the polls. The results showed the following party positions in a House of 151:
SLFP 75
UNP 30
Federal Party 16
LSSP 12
C P 4
Dudley bowed to the verdict of the people and I wended my now familiar way to Queens House with his resignation letter in hand. Ceylon was poised to make history with the first woman prime minister in the world waiting in the wings.
Features
Revolt in the Temple: Poverty as Structural Control
The underlying issue in Anuradhapura is a struggle between a few families who, for years, have waged a quiet cold war over control of the Udamaluwa. Similar situations exist in Mihintale as well. These places, among others, are treated as treasures of Buddhism but, in practice, function as tightly controlled economic centres. The same pattern repeats in Kandy around the Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic and in Kataragama at the shrine of God Kataragama. Variations of it exist across religious spaces of Islam, Catholicism, and Hinduism too, where institutional authority becomes indistinguishable from localised power networks. What is presented as sacred order often operates as inherited control.
It is indeed devastating to see situations where parents have no alternative but to expose their children to predators in robes for survival. This has nothing to do with religion itself, but with human pathology in the context of survival. These are the questions that demand answers, not superficial responses that treat symptoms while ignoring the conditions that produce them. What is more shocking and disturbing is not the tragedy itself, but the reactions to it. Social media has overwhelmed us, not towards understanding, but towards a fragmented cognitive state with no exit route.
A friend of mine in Nairobi used to keep all his electronic devices at home and go into the forest once a month, spending days there before returning. He called it “detoxification”, but in reality it was an escape from a system that no longer allows uninterrupted thought. Daily life is now saturated with unnecessary content, and attention itself has become a commodity extracted, processed, and sold back to us. This is where we have become unable to understand what really drives certain tragedies we endlessly react to, while remaining blind to the systems that quietly manufacture them.
Multi-dimensional poverty
Poverty is structural, poverty is political, and poverty is functional; it is a tool and a manoeuvring force of power. The question is no longer whether poverty exists, but who benefits from its persistence, and who is forced to survive within it. From education to medicine to basic food supply chains, countries like Sri Lanka are not simply mismanaged; they are structurally captured by a small number of actors who remain stable regardless of who is formally in power. Small-scale enterprises and NGO circuits that circulate foreign funding to “solve structural issues” often operate as hollow administrative performances, producing reports rather than transformation.
Poverty is not merely the absence of money. It is the absence of bandwidth, absence of protection, absence of time, and absence of cognitive stability. As Sendhil Mullainathan and Eldar Shafir state, “Scarcity captures the mind. Just as the starving subjects had food on their mind, when we experience scarcity of any kind, we become absorbed by it.” This is a description of how human cognition is structurally reorganized under constraint. Scarcity does not sit outside the person; it occupies them.
They also state, “Scarcity leads us to borrow and pushes us deeper into scarcity.” That is the mechanism that must be confronted without euphemism. Poverty is not only deprivation; it is a self-reinforcing trap in which survival decisions generate the next layer of crisis. Once a society crosses a certain threshold of scarcity, it stops producing long-term reasoning as a default condition. It produces short-term survival logic, often mistaken by outsiders for irrationality.
It is precisely here that public discourse becomes intellectually dishonest. Everything is translated into moral language because moral language is easier than structural analysis. But morality without structure becomes theatre. It produces outrage, not understanding, and repetition, not reform.
It is indeed brutal when an individual wearing religious insignia—whether robe, symbol, or institutional identity—is accused of acts that fundamentally contradict the moral authority attached to that position. It is equally brutal when institutions that depend entirely on trust begin to function as shields rather than safeguards. But the deeper question is not shock. The deeper question is what kind of social condition produces families who see placement within such institutions not only as devotion, but as a survival strategy under constraint.
Ethical decision-making
That is where the argument collapses into its most uncomfortable form. Poverty does not produce ethical decision-making environments. It produces constrained optimization under pressure. When food insecurity, debt, and social instability converge, institutional spaces that appear stable become transactional destinations for survival rather than moral choices. To interpret this as purely cultural failure is to deliberately ignore the structural compression of options.
Mullainathan and Shafir describe this clearly: “Instead of saying that scarcity ‘focuses,’ we could just as easily say that scarcity causes us to tunnel: to focus single-mindedly on managing the scarcity at hand.” That tunnelling effect is not abstract. It is visible wherever long-term planning collapses under immediate pressure. Systems then misread this as irresponsibility, when it is in fact cognitive overload produced by structure.
What is rarely acknowledged is how deeply this extends into governance itself. Institutions increasingly operate as if they are managing rational, unconstrained individuals. In reality, they are interacting with populations whose cognitive bandwidth is already structurally taxed. The result is policy failure interpreted as public non-compliance, enforcement interpreted as moral correction, and reform interpreted as communication failure rather than design failure.
Social media has intensified this distortion. It does not merely spread information; it destroys sequencing. Structural problems require temporal depth. Social media removes that depth and replaces it with instantaneous judgment. Every event becomes a surface object, detached from causality. The outcome is a society permanently reacting and never diagnosing.
Poverty, in this environment, becomes invisible in its real form. It is not seen as a continuous structural condition but as episodic failure. A scandal appears, is consumed, and disappears. Another replaces it. Nothing accumulates into understanding because attention itself is exhausted before synthesis can occur.
Modern Condition
The modern condition reflects a reversal of earlier social organization, where human relationships are embedded within abstract systems of finance, law, and administration that often fail to recognize the lived constraints of those they govern. In this disembedded state, institutions increasingly misinterpret human behaviour as their capacity for structural understanding weakens. At the same time, attempts to resolve systemic failures through expanding administrative complexity produce diminishing returns: more regulation, oversight, and reporting generate less coherence. Over time, institutions shift from functional effectiveness to symbolic performance, maintaining the appearance of control rather than achieving it.
This is why public outrage repeatedly fails to translate into structural change. Outrage is not a tool of reconstruction. It is a signal of system fatigue. It circulates, intensifies, and dissipates without altering the underlying architecture. Meanwhile, the conditions that produce repetition remain intact.
The most persistent illusion is that these are separate problems: poverty here, institutional misuse there, media distortion elsewhere. They are not separate. They are expressions of a single condition in which scarcity, complexity, symbolic authority, and fragmented enforcement interact without coordination. The system does not fail in one place; it fails in the gaps between these layers.
Symbolic systems
What makes this condition more severe is that symbolic systems continue to operate at full strength even when structural systems degrade. Religious identity remains powerful. Political rhetoric remains strong. Cultural symbolism remains intact. But enforcement capacity, institutional coherence, and social trust degrade beneath them. That gap is where instability grows. Until that gap is addressed at the level of structure rather than sentiment, repetition remains inevitable. New scandals will emerge, new interpretations will circulate, and new cycles of outrage will follow. Nothing resolves because nothing is being reconstructed beneath the surface of reaction.
This is no longer repairable through adjustment or rhetoric. It is a form of decay that persists until it exhausts itself, because the mechanisms meant to correct it are now part of the same failure. It continues until rupture, not reform. At that point, instability ceases to be episodic and becomes structural. Pressure will accumulate into breakdown, and what follows will not be managed transition but forced reversal. The responsibility lies with those who govern these institutions to prevent that trajectory, not through language, but through change. The drama is ending; farce is over; what we are witnessing is tragedy unfolding with unprecedented consequences.
by Nilantha Ilangamuwa
Features
Are threats to Buddha Sasana external or from within?
As Sri Lanka celebrates the birth, Enlightenment and the Parinibbana of the Buddha, almost a month after the rest of the Buddhist-world did so, there is widespread discussion about threats to Buddha Sasana provoked by some recent incidents. Regarding the views expressed about postponing Vesak celebrations in my article ‘May Day and postponement Vesak 2026’ (The Island, 25 May), my very good friend Dr Upali Abeysiri has sent me the following comments: “The Mahanayakas have a good reason to postpone Vesak. The dawning of the full moon has to be on the same constellation (nekatha) as when the Buddha was born and attained enlightenment. Although Adhi Poya is reckoned as the second full moon arising in the same calendar month, this is supposed to be an odd exception.” Though it would have been ideal if a consensus could have been reached prior to the split of celebrations, perhaps, it does not matter very much as celebrations occur on a symbolic rather than an actual date, there being no historical or archaeological evidence confirming exact dates.
Whilst there are no direct threats to Buddha Dhamma, as the expanding horizons of science continue to confirm the fundamentals of Buddha Dhamma, there is no doubt whatsoever that there are threats to Buddha Sasana. However, these threats become important as the Buddha Sasana performs the pivotal role in protecting and propagating the Dhamma and, hence, become an indirect threat to Dhamma itself. Therefore, it should be the concern of all Buddhists and it is in this spirit I am making some comments which some may interpret as disrespectful to the Maha Sangha. I can reassure that my intentions are entirely directed towards the preservation of the Buddha Dhamma and Sasana. Though the Buddha proclaimed that the Sasana consists of Bhikkhu, Bhikkhuni, Upasaka and Upasika, for all practical purposes Sasana had been led by Bhikkhus, often at the expense of others.
There is hardly any doubt that there are external forces at play in Sri Lanka and even some Buddhists seem to object to Sri Lanka being called a Buddhist country. Interestingly, no one seems to object to countries like the UK and the USA being called Christian counties. I
There is no registration or baptism in Buddhism and there are no rewards for Buddhists for conversions. As I pointed out in a previous article, ‘How does the Buddha differ’ (The Island, 1 May) unlike most other religions, Buddhism is not a ‘high-demand’ religion, nor ‘law-based’ religion and is not exclusivist. Perhaps, it is this liberalism, pacifism and gentleness, which are the real strengths, that are being exploited as weaknesses by others.
There will always be external threats and the Buddha too faced many during his lifetime. Before addressing those, is it not more important to address the threats within? One of the most important problems seems to be the breakdown of discipline. Bhikkhus are bound by Vinaya rules, laid down by the Buddha and some recent incidents highlight total deviations. Though there were many previous incidents like unsubstantiated claims of Arahanthood, Bhikkhus attacking each other on YouTube and Bhikkhus conducting YouTube channels, not for the propagation of the Dhamma but for the accumulation of rupees, attention was focused after the detection of 22 young monks carrying narcotic drugs.
Though many commentators were quick to condemn the Sangha on this account, we need to go deeper. Narcotic menace has become a huge problem in Sri Lanka and it looks as if the drug lords would resort to anything to achieve their objectives. Though it looks as if some gullible young monks had been duped by drug lords, we need to question why it was possible. Is it due to the lack of supervision of these novices by their seniors that allowed them to accept a request in a WhatsApp group? Should there be checks and balances on foreign travel by Bhikkhus?
What shocked Buddhists was what followed next; the arrest of the Nayaka of Atamasthana for allegedly having sex with a minor. Anuradhapura was our first capital and Sri Maha Bodhi is the longest surviving authenticated tree in the world. Ruwanweliseya and Jetawanaramaya were among the ten tallest man-made structures in the ancient world, Jetawanaramaya still holding the Guiness record for the largest stupa in the world. Cyberspace is full of theories. Whilst some have condemned the Nayaka Thero even before the conclusion of inquiries whilst others claim that this was a coup by another Nayaka Thera in an attempt of succession.
I was intrigued, reading in a Sri Lankan newspaper about the 80th birthday celebrations of a Nayaka priest, who was convicted in London in 2012 of historical child sex abuse and sentenced to seven years in prison. I remember the case very well as he was the head of the Vihara, we had our first contact on relocating to the UK. I also remember his devotees, who believed that he was wrongly accused, collecting over £50,000 for an appeal. In spite of being represented by one of the top Barristers in the UK, the conviction was upheld but the jail-term was reduced by a year. His name is still on the sex-offenders register in the UK and he is permanently prevented from association with children. One can argue that as he has served the sentence and not reoffended, this should not be held against him but what baffled me is that he is still being referred to as the Chief Sangha Nayaka. Should a person on the sex-offenders register be the Chief Sangha Nayaka?
It is high time we put our own house in order before fighting the external enemies. It is reported that the former president CBK has written to the Mahanayakas requesting urgent reform and we should be obliged to her for taking the lead.
There are many aspects that need urgent reform, the first being removal of caste barriers practiced by some Nikayas, which is the greatest insult to the Buddha who promoted equality. The second is the active encouragement of Bhikkhuni Sasana which has not happened in spite of the landmark ruling by the supreme court. The third is the establishment of proper disciplinary processes under a single Adhikarana Sangha Nayaka with powers and support than allowing the government to take over the control of even non-criminal Vinaya matters.
There are many other issues that need settlement like the controversy of the land of Buddha’s birth which seems to linger on. An expert committee should hear all evidence and settle this issue once and for all.
As I have pointed out on many occasions in these columns, it is high time a Dhamma Sangayana was held, as the last one was 70 years ago. Ideally, it should be different with active participation of lay experts as well. It is the duty of us Buddhists to ensure that the words of wisdom of the Buddha continue to enlighten generations to come.
By Dr Upul Wijayawardhana
Features
Vijaya Kumar: Academic, Activist & Genial Fellow-Traveller
The University of Ceylon, Peradeniya, was in our time, a less-crowded residential university, where everybody knew everybody else or at least knew of everybody else.
I knew of Emeritus Professor Vijaya Kumar of the Department of Chemistry at Peradeniya, or Kumar, as we referred to him fondly, before I got to know him. His dear wife Savitri, also a member of the academic staff of the Department of Chemistry, was nicknamed Kumee, by some of their students (of which vintage is unknown to me) and the duo were thereafter referred to affectionately as Kumar and Kumee.
The Faculty of Science became a regular haunt of mine as I would go there in the company of my batchmates to attend lectures on Basic Mathematics given by Professor Maheswaran, as it was a requirement for our General Arts Qualifying Examinations. I would also go there to listen to some excellent talks under a programme that was held in the auditorium of the Science Faculty referred to as “Popular Science Gossip”. The “gossip” at these talks were not confined solely to science but were broad enough to include Literature, History and other branches of knowledge as well. I would often spot Kumar in the audience at these talks or bump into him in the corridors of the Science Faculty. But I got to know him personally only after he became the Warden of Arunachalam, my hall of residence, during my undergraduate years initially, and later, as a member of the academic staff of the Department of English.
Our Science Faculty undergraduate contemporaries, especially those at Arunachalam Hall and its immediate neighbour, Jayatilaka Hall, both within a stone’s throw away from the Science Faculty, shared many an anecdote about Kumar and their other lecturers. One of these anecdotes, had to do with a spectacular (motor car) driving feat of Kumar’s. Legend has it that he drove from his university bungalow-home to the Faculty of Science deploying only the reverse gear of his car! Kumar, on hearing of this, had told certain of his student friends, including some who became his colleagues later on, that this story is one of the biggest yarns he had heard in his life!
Some of his one-time younger colleagues, now in retirement like Kumar, tell me that Kumar exuded warmth and friendliness in all of his professional and administrative interactions with others in the wider university community. But there was no warmth or mercy for those who indulged in the unsavoury pastime of student ‘ragging’. He was a very strong proponent of the need to ensure to all freshers an environment free of the menace of ‘ragging’. He remained ever-vigilant during the ‘ragging’ season. There are stories of his chasing ‘raggers’ and catching them. Professor Maheswaran, who later became an intimate friend and remains so after more than half a century, was another who was fiercely opposed to ‘ragging’. I was a personal witness to Mahes chasing a ‘ragger’ up and down the stairs of the main library to nab him. Yet another of his students has noted that Kumar’s office room in the Faculty was a total mess at all times. It had tables, piled so high with books and documents that one could not easily spot Kumar at his desk. He, however, had the knack of pulling out from amidst the clutter, any document that he needed at any given time. If anybody were to volunteer to help tidy his desk, Kumar would respond firmly with “Don’t you touch my desk!”.
Kumar, like several of his colleagues in the other faculties as well, had his own eccentricities. According to information received from reliable sources, Kumar who taught Organic Chemistry used to carry his lecture notes in his shirt or trouser pocket with ‘the entire lecture condensed in point form on a half-sheet or half of a half-sheet of paper’. The way he rummaged through his sling bag filled to the brim with stuff to find an item that he needed was another ritual that amused onlookers.
Kumar, interestingly enough is a Royal-cum-Thomian product, in that he had his primary education at S.Thomas’ Prep School, Kollupitiya and the entirety of his secondary education at Royal College, which he entered in 1953. In a note written by Kumar himself, he notes that despite having had excellent teachers at Royal, his was not a notable school career. He goes on to say that “the only achievement I could boast of was my being the joint-winner of the school General Knowledge Prize”. However, he had been active in a Scout Group outside of school (1st Port of Colombo, Sea Scouts) where he “was Queen’s Scout, Patrol leader, and later, Assistant Scout Master”.
Kumar entered the Faculty of Science of the University of Ceylon in 1961 and secured from it an honours degree in Chemistry in 1965. He joined the academic staff of the Department of Chemistry in the Faculty of Science, University of Ceylon, Peradeniya in 1965 and left the following year for Magdalen College at Oxford University, from which institution he obtained his doctorate in Chemistry. His entire teaching career was at Peradeniya, where in the period 2003-2006 he served as the Dean of the Faculty of Science, a position that his late father-in-law had held a few decades earlier.
Among the other highlights of his career are: Chairman of the Industrial Technology Institute (formerly the Ceylon Institute of Scientific and Industrial Research, CISIR); Member (representing Sri Lanka) of the Geneva-based UN Commission on Science and Technology from 1999 to 2007 and its President from 2001-2003; President of the Sri Lanka Estate Workers Union from 1989 onwards; Member of the Politburo of the Lanka Sama Samaja Party from 1988 to 2014 and currently, a member of the Executive Committee of the National People’s Power (NPP).
Vijaya and Savitri Kumar are parents of daughters Shamala and Ramya, who are following in the footsteps of their parents: with the former teaching in the Department of Agricultural Economics in the Faculty of Agriculture, University of Peradeniya and the latter, in the Department of Community Medicine at the University of Jaffna.
(I wish to thank the following who assisted me in the writing of this brief essay: Mr. Bandula Warnakulasuriya, Emeritus Professor Ratnayake Bandara, Professor Mahinda Wickramaratne, Professor Swarna Wimalasiri and Mr. Manik de Silva).
*Editor’s note: Prof. Vijaya Kumar, a member of the NPP’s National Executive Committee and is still active in politics turns 84 today. This article by Tissa Jayatilaka, former Executive Director of the United States – Sri Lanka Fulbright Commission for Mutual Academic Exchange, was written for an upcoming collection of essays on Kumar’s life by his friends.
(Colombo Telegraph)
By Tissa Jayatilaka
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