Features
Frightening experiences with elephants at Lahugala
by Lal Anthonis
Lahugala is a magic word that never fails to stir a tingle of excitement and bring a thrill to all those who know and love our jungles and their denizens. It is a little village with two fairly large wewas or tanks, one known as Kitulana and the other by the name of the village itself. It is situated 14 miles inland from the little town of Arugam Bay in the south-east coast of Sri Lanka. Both these tanks are overgrown with a kind of grass, now known as Lahugala grass. It is referred to in Sinhala as beru, which reaches well up to the height of an elephant.
As for me, Lahugala tank holds a special, precious memory. It is now over 50 years since, yet I remember it as if it were only yesterday. I stood on the verandah of that dilapidated circuit bungalow at the edge of the tank, with my parents at my side and with a pair of over-sized binoculars in my seven-year old hands. I gazed across the grass of Lahugala at my first pair of wild elephants.
It was at that moment that the ‘jungle bug’ first bit me and the feelings grew in me like a spreading illness. Many are the jungle jaunts I have done and many are the occasions I have visited Lahugala tank since then. Yet on that day long ago I never ever imagined that Lahugala tank was to give me some of the finest moments with wild elephants.
Midway in the afternoon one day in August 1974, Mervyn Gunasekera and Chandima Karunaratne, two of my friends and I arrived at the Lahugala lodge for a three day stay. At about 4 pm the first herd of elephants broke cover across the tank, almost at the very same spot that I had seen my first wild elephants many years earlier.
The bungalow keeper Samuel, who was called Sam for short, and I decided to approach the elephants by jeep. Leaving my friends in the lodge and keeping as close as possible to the edge of the jungle, we drove up slowly on the pockmarked lunar-like surface of the dried tank bed.
About a quarter mile from the lodge, the edge of the jungle goes round a bend and when we drove up to this point the sight that met our eyes was unbelievable. The entire area from the water’s edge to the jungle was a mass of elephants. The next moment they heard or saw us, and they all made off into the jungle in a swirling cloud of dust.
I switched off the engine and waited quietly. A few minutes later they came out again, all 87 of them. We watched them at very close quarters until the late evening light started to play tricks with our vision. In the greying dusk, the elephants moved like spectres against the darkening undergrowth of the forest.
A close call
It was on the second day at Lahugala that I had one of the most frightening experiences in the wilds. It was a warm but breezy noon and we were about to sit for a chilled refresher when I spotted an elephant on the bund some distance away. Very soon there were five of them and as they were some distance off, I decided to approach them on foot to do some photography.
Sam and I set off along the bund. The breeze was in our favour and we were confident that we could approach the animals without being detected. By the time we were within 50 yards of the elephants, the entire herd (about 60 of them) came out into the open and was feeding on both sides of the bund.
It has been a habit of mine when doing photography in the jungle, to turn around every now and then to find out what was happening behind. This practice had prevented many a sticky situation for me. But on this day, fascinated by two young elephants playfully fighting, and another young one rubbing her giant bottom on the bund trying to get at an itchy point with an irritated look on her face, I entirely forgot about the rear. It was then that I thought I heard the familiar ‘flop’ of an elephant’s ear flapping behind us. I turned round slowly and looked down at the bund.
For 250 yards the bund stretched away and there was nothing on it. In the hot afternoon it looked desolate and little whirls of dust rose from it, like tiny ghosts rising from this dusty path to dissolve in the wispy breeze.
I could see the lodge far away and the figures of my two friends that seemed to float in the heat waves that raced across the wewa, as they stood on the rock in front of the lodge.
The only other signs of life were a few grey langurs that sat on the branches of a large tree that grew just below the bund. I turned back to the herd and was just beginning to enjoy the scene when I heard my name being called in a loud and clear voice, which was Mervyn’s. It was one short shout, but I noticed the tone of urgency in it. I whipped around, and there, barely 20 yards behind us, on the bund stood ‘jumbo’. He was a magnificent beast, a very large bull.
Sam’s bravery
He was looking our way, with his trunk half lifted and its prehensile tip drawing little designs in the air. His ears were outstretched. For a moment time seemed to stand still, and in the deadly silence, I could hear the drumming in my chest like the beat of an engine. The breeze caressed the nape of my neck and sent a chill down my spine, while my knees were feeling weak. After my initial shock, I whispered to Sam, who was still watching the herd, that there was an elephant behind us. In a moment he gathered the situation and making a gesture with his hand, he wanted me to follow him.
Watching Sam walk towards the bull with an air of confidence and absolutely no outward sign of fear took away that feeling of helplessness from me, yet it was with leaden feet and a sweaty brow that I followed him. The bull stood still with his ears still out. His trunk was now lowered, but its tip was still curved slightly upwards. It was a grand sight. He looked intently at Sam with a quizzical expression on his face. Then a deep rumble came from that cavernous belly, and he gave a throaty growl that seemed to shake the very bund that we stood on.
Not for a moment did Sam falter but kept walking towards the elephant. Then an ear-splitting squeal rent the air and the elephant gave way. He turned around, yet with that air of dignity these beasts possess and slowly walked down the bund. Then turning round again at the edge of the jungle, he watched us. At this point no more than fifteen feet separated the bull from the bund. Sam, that brave man, stood on it and wanted me to get past him. My involuntary quick strides brought trumpeting from the bull. I turned round expecting him to be coming after me, but Sam was behind me with a wide grin on his face.
It was with a sense of relief, now that our path of retreat to the lodge was once again clear, that we sat on the bund and waited for the bull to come out. Within minutes he obliged by coming on to the bund and walking towards the herd. He then got into the wewa and started to feed on the luscious grass. I noted then that I was thirsty, and once again looked into Sam’s grinning face. He then said, “Sir, your beer must be getting warm”.
Mock fight
There was another incident that was pleasing to watch as long as it lasted and then left delightful memories after it was over. Just after a 20-minute shower of rain that left as suddenly as it came and made the evening damp but sunny, two young bulls came on to the bund and started pushing each other and banging foreheads in a playful wrestling bout. This went on for some time till they got down from the bund and entered the jungle from where we could hear them. The din however was getting closer and we waited expectantly.
They broke cover just in front of the lodge, bursting out of the undergrowth, with one bull chasing after the other. The first one in a hurry did not notice the large pool in front of him, just below the anicut. Before he could stop himself his forelegs crumbled, and as if in slow motion, slithered head over heels into the water. He was up in a flash and stood watching his companion at the edge of the pool with a bewildered, almost human, expression on his face.
Largest herd
The climax of our stay at Lahugala came in the morning before we left. The enthusiastic voice of Mervyn woke me up, and was almost pleading with me to get up as I loathed to leave the comfort of my cozy camp bed and face the morning chill in order to see what he was looking at. When I responded I saw, right across the wewa, almost stretching across our entire field of vision, the largest gathering of elephants I had seen till then.
We gave up our count at 200, as the centre section of the herd had already started making their way into the jungle. By 8 am they were all back in the forest. Once the elephants had gone, an indescribable feeling of loneliness and desolation pervaded the place.
These incidents took place in 1974 and at that time Lahugala was not declared a national park. The lodge was leased from the Department of Irrigation and run by Wildlife and Nature Protection Society for its members. It was handed over to the Department of Wildlife once the place was declared a national park. Visitors were then not allowed to walk along the bund.
However, in the 1980’s when I was Honorary Secretary of the Society and consultant and adviser to the then Director of Wildlife, I had the privilege of traversing the bund, when I had some excellent experiences with elephants. I also had some exciting footage from the bund when filming for national television.
In 1974, when I did not have much experience in the wilds, the incident on the bund as related here, was terrifying. In the 1980’s, when I worked extensively in the field in an honorary capacity for the Director of Wildlife, I had more nerve-racking experiences, but I still consider the incident on the bund a ‘sticky moment’.
Chandima Karunaratne and Mervyn Gunasekera made many more jungle trips with me and shared many an exciting event. Sadly in 1996 Mervyn passed away. Though no longer with us, his memory, like that of the herd at Lahugala, will always remain with us. The bungalow keeper Samuel was employed by the Society, and when the bungalow was handed over to the Department of Wildlife, he left the Society and I have completely lost contact with him.
(To be continued)
(Excerpted from Jungle Journeys in Sri Lanka edited by C.G. Uragoda)
Features
Toward a people-friendly transport system in Sri Lanka
Professor Mohamed Maheesh’s inquiry into reducing fuel waste amidst a failing public transport system and chronic congestion he discussed in a YouTube on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/reel/892342193673092) strikes a chord because it addresses a structural crisis with a call for individual agency. While the lack of a robust transit network often makes private vehicle use feel like a forced choice, rather than a luxury, the ‘unnecessary’ waste, he mentions, is often fuelled by a combination of outdated driving habits and a lack of collaborative transit solutions. In a country where idling in gridlock is a daily tax on both the wallet and the environment, the response must be a tactical shift toward high-occupancy behaviour—such as organised carpooling—and a conscious adoption of ‘smooth’ driving techniques that minimise the fuel-heavy cycles of rapid acceleration and braking. Ultimately, while we wait for the systemic overhaul of our railways and bus lanes, the most immediate way to curb waste is to decouple our movement from peak-hour bottlenecks through better route planning and, where possible, advocating for decentralised work models that remove the need for the commute entirely.
Reducing fuel waste
The question raised by Prof Mohamed Maheesh, regarding the feasibility of reducing fuel waste in a country plagued by gridlock and a weak public transport system, is a modern dilemma with deep historical irony. For a nation currently tethered to expensive, imported fossil fuels, the ‘unnecessary consumption’ mentioned by Prof Mohamed Maheesh is not just a personal inconvenience but a macroeconomic burden. While individual driving habits and the adoption of carpooling are immediate sticking points for reform, the core of the issue lies in the structural abandonment of high-capacity, electrified transit—a system that Sri Lanka actually pioneered over a century ago. Between 1892 and 1900, Colombo transitioned from a horse-drawn era to a modern electrical one. Following the call for tenders by the Colombo Municipal Council, the Colombo Electric Tramway was established, with the first lines—the Grandpass and Borella routes—opening on January 11, 1900. This was a period where the city’s movement was decoupled from the price of oil, powered, instead, by a dedicated station in Pettah. At its zenith, the system operated 52 tram cars, providing a reliable, fixed-rail alternative that kept the city’s arteries clear of the chaotic private vehicle growth we see today.
However, the decline of this ‘strong public transport’ began not with a lack of demand, but through labor and management friction. The historic Tramcar Strike of January 23, 1929, led by A.E. Goonesinha, marked a shift in the operational viability of the private firm, Boustead Brothers. Although the Municipal Council took over operations on August 31, 1944, the post-war global trend toward ‘flexible’ rubber-tired vehicles led to the system’s eventual demise. The last tramcar ran on June 30, 1960, and by 1964, even the electric trolley buses, that replaced them, were scrapped.
Importance of railway
This historical trajectory confirms Prof. Maheesh’s underlying point: the current waste is a result of moving away from a system that once worked. To reduce fuel consumption today, we are effectively trying to ‘tech’ our way out of a problem that was solved in 1900. Until we reintegrate the efficiency of rail-based or electrified mass transit, the ‘unnecessary’ waste of fuel in traffic remains an inevitable tax on a society that traded its electric tracks for a congested, oil-dependent future.
The modern Light Rail Transit (LRT) proposals for Colombo, primarily the Japan-funded project that reached advanced stages before its cancellation in 2020, represent a massive technological and spatial leap from the original 1900 tram system. While the original Colombo Electric Tramway operated at street level on narrow 12 km routes like the Grandpass and Borella lines, modern LRT plans envision a 75 km network across seven main lines, utilising elevated tracks to entirely bypass the ‘unnecessary traffic’ Prof. Mohamed Maheesh describes. Unlike the streetcars of the past, which were often accused of causing road congestion and operated among pedestrians and horse-drawn carriages, the proposed LRT is designed for high-speed, high-capacity movement—capable of carrying over 30,000 passengers per hour in a single direction, compared to the 52 modest tram cars that served a much smaller, slower-moving Colombo.
Despite these advancements, the two systems share a core philosophy: the electrification of public transport to reduce reliance on fossil fuels. The original trams were powered by a dedicated station in Pettah, a localised energy model that modern LRT would mirror on a much larger scale to insulate the city’s transport costs from global oil prices. However, the modern project has faced significant political and financial hurdles that the British-era system avoided during its first few decades. As of early 2026, although the Sri Lankan government has attempted to revive the project, the Japan International Cooperation Agency (JICA) has maintained that approval depends on the successful completion of ongoing multimodal transport hubs. This delay leaves a century-old gap in Colombo’s infrastructure: we have moved from an era of functional electric tracks to one of aspirational elevated rails, while the daily reality remains the fuel-wasting gridlock Prof. Maheesh highlights.
A mirror of values
A transport system is more than a set of roads, buses, and trains. It is a mirror of how a society values its people—their time, their safety, their dignity, and their ability to participate fully in national life. In Sri Lanka, mobility is a daily struggle for millions, yet it is also the foundation upon which economic opportunity, social inclusion, and national cohesion depend. If we are to imagine a more humane and efficient future, we must begin by rethinking transport, not as a technical sector, but as a social contract.
Sri Lanka’s current transport landscape is a paradox. The country possesses a long-established railway network, an extensive road system, and a vibrant culture of movement that keeps even remote communities connected. Yet the lived experience of travel is often stressful, unpredictable, and unsafe. Congestion in urban areas has reached unsustainable levels. Public transport, though essential, suffers from fragmentation, poor coordination, and declining quality. Pedestrians navigate hostile streets, and vulnerable groups—women, elders, children, and disabled people—face daily risks that should be unacceptable in a modern society. A peoplefriendly transport system must, therefore, address not only infrastructure but the deeper structural and cultural issues that shape mobility.
Fundamental requirement
Safety is the most fundamental requirement of a humane transport system. Sri Lanka’s road fatality rates remain among the highest in the region, and these tragedies are not random misfortunes; they are the predictable outcomes of systemic neglect. Treating road safety as a public health priority rather than a policing matter is essential. This means designing roads that slow vehicles where people walk and live, enforcing speed limits consistently, improving driver training, and ensuring that vehicles meet basic safety standards. It also means recognising that certain groups—children walking to school, elders crossing busy roads, women travelling at night—face disproportionate risks. A society that protects its most vulnerable road users creates a safer environment for everyone.
Yet safety alone does not create dignity. A peoplefriendly system must also guarantee accessibility. In Sri Lanka, mobility is often shaped by inequality: urban residents enjoy more options than rural villagers, men feel safer travelling at night than women, and those with private vehicles enjoy privileges that public transport users do not. A humane system ensures that all citizens, regardless of income, gender, age, or physical ability, can travel with dignity. This requires lowfloor buses that elders can board without struggle, stations with ramps and handrails, clear signage for those with visual impairments, and reliable services that do not force women to choose between harassment and immobility. Accessibility is not an optional feature; it is a measure of a society’s moral maturity.
Public transport remains the backbone of mobility for the majority of Sri Lankans. Buses and trains carry millions of passengers daily, yet the system is undermined by fragmentation and outdated operational models. Private buses compete aggressively for passengers, SLTB struggles with limited resources, and rail serv
ices are hampered by ageing infrastructure. A peoplefriendly system requires a shift from competition to coordination. Instead of treating each bus owner as an independent entrepreneur, Sri Lanka must adopt a unified service model in which routes, schedules, and standards are centrally planned. Operators should be paid for service quality rather than passenger volume, eliminating the reckless race for passengers and ensuring that socially necessary routes are maintained even if they are not profitable.
Railway underutilised
The railway system, though historically significant, remains underutilised. Modernising key commuter corridors, upgrading signalling, improving rolling stock, and integrating bus services with rail stations can transform the railway into a reliable, highcapacity alternative to private vehicles. When trains run frequently, on time, and in coordination with buses, they become not only a mode of transport but a catalyst for economic development and urban regeneration. The potential is enormous; what is lacking is a coherent strategy and sustained investment.
A peoplefriendly system must also begin at the most basic level: the street. Walking is the most fundamental mode of transport, yet Sri Lanka’s urban and semiurban areas often treat pedestrians as afterthoughts. Sidewalks are narrow, broken, or non-existent. Crossings are dangerous. Shade is scarce. A humane transport system must reclaim the street as a shared space where pedestrians are respected. Continuous, wellmaintained sidewalks, safe crossings near schools and hospitals, shaded walkways, and trafficcalmed residential zones are essential. When walking becomes safe and pleasant, it reduces the need for short vehicle trips, eases congestion, and improves public health.
Cycling in mobility ecosystem
Cycling, too, deserves a place in the mobility ecosystem. Although not everyone will cycle, those who do reduce pressure on roads and public transport. In cities like Colombo, Kandy, Galle, and Jaffna, even a modest network of protected cycling lanes can encourage more people to choose bicycles for short trips. Cycling infrastructure is relatively inexpensive compared to road widening or flyovers, yet its social and environmental benefits are substantial. A peoplefriendly system recognises that mobility is not only about speed but about choice, and cycling expands the range of choices available to citizens.
Governance is perhaps the most overlooked dimension of transport reform. Sri Lanka’s current system is characterised by institutional fragmentation: the national ministry, provincial councils, local authorities, the police, SLTB, private operators, and various regulatory bodies all play roles, often without coordination. A peoplefriendly system requires a single, empowered regional transport authority for major urban areas—especially the Western Province—that can plan, regulate, contract, and monitor all modes of transport. Such an authority must be insulated from political interference, guided by data, and accountable to the public. Without coherent governance, even the best-designed policies will fail.
Technology can support this transformation, but it must serve people rather than dictate their behaviour. Integrated ticketing systems that allow passengers to use a single card or QR code across buses and trains reduce friction and make transfers seamless. Realtime information through apps, SMS, and digital displays reduces uncertainty and improves the perceived quality of service. Open data policies allow universities, startups, and civil society to analyse performance and propose improvements. Technology should not be a shiny distraction but a tool that enhances reliability, transparency, and user experience.
Cultural change is equally important. Sri Lanka’s transport culture is shaped by impatience, competition, and a sense of individual survival on the road. Changing this culture requires education, enforcement, and the redesign of physical spaces to encourage cooperation rather than conflict. When roads are designed to slow vehicles, when public transport is reliable, when pedestrians are protected, and when drivers are trained and held accountable, behaviour begins to change. Culture follows structure; people behave differently when the environment supports different behaviours.
Economic sustainability
Economic sustainability is another essential pillar. Public transport cannot rely solely on fare revenue; it requires stable, predictable funding. This can come from a mix of government budgets, modest fuel or parking charges, and land value capture around major stations. When public transport improves, land values rise; capturing a portion of this increase allows the system to fund itself sustainably. A peoplefriendly system is therefore not only socially just but economically rational.
Transforming Sri Lanka’s transport system will require a phased, realistic approach. Quick improvements—such as enforcing speed limits, repairing sidewalks near schools, improving lighting at stations, and piloting unified bus contracts—can build public trust. Mediumterm reforms—such as establishing regional transport authorities, modernising rail corridors, and implementing integrated ticketing—create structural change. Longterm goals—such as nationwide integration, transitoriented development, and sustained reductions in road deaths—require patience and political commitment. A peoplefriendly system is not built overnight; it is built through consistent, incremental progress guided by a clear vision.
Ultimately, the question of transport is a question of what kind of society Sri Lanka aspires to be. A society that values human dignity will design systems that protect and empower people. A society that values time will create reliable, efficient services. A society that values equality will ensure that mobility is not a privilege but a right. A peoplefriendly transport system is, therefore, not merely an engineering project but a moral project. It reflects a belief that every person—whether a schoolchild in Monaragala, a garment worker in Katunayake, an elder in Kurunegala, or a commuter in Colombo—deserves to move through the country safely, comfortably, and with dignity.
SL at a crossroads
Sri Lanka stands at a crossroads. The old model of endless road widening, unregulated competition, and privatevehicle dominance has reached its limits. Congestion grows, pollution worsens, and the social costs of unsafe roads continue to mount. The alternative is not a utopian dream, but a practical, achievable vision grounded in global best practices and local realities. It is a vision in which buses and trains form an integrated network; in which walking and cycling are safe and pleasant; in which women and children travel without fear; in which rural communities remain connected; and in which the daily journey becomes not a burden but a reflection of a society that values its people.
We urge the Minister of Transport to give urgent attention to the insights shared here and the historical precedents of Colombo’s transit system. It is vital that the Ministry recognises the transition from a once-functional electrified network to our current oil-dependent gridlock as a call to action. By prioritising the revitalisation of high-capacity, integrated, sustainable public transport, the government can directly address the unnecessary fuel waste and economic drain that currently burden the nation, and make the system a passenger friendly system.
by Professor M.W. Amarasiri de Silva
Features
Trincomalee oil tank farm: An engineering marvel
The ownership of Trincomalee port was highly contested by the Dutch, French and British as Gateway to Bay of Bengal in 1700s and 1800s. The famous seafarer Vice Admiral Horatio Nelson, as a fleet Midshipman (trainee Naval officer) on board HMS Seahorse, in 1775, wrote in his journal “Trincomalee is the Finest Natural Harbour in the World”.
What Lord Nelson realised as a Midshipman was the immense Strategic, Natural and Commercial value of the port, considered as one of the deepest natural Harbours in the World.
Vice Admiral Sir Edward Hughes (British Royal Navy) and Vice Admiral Bailli De Suffern (French Navy) had sea battles to take control of Trincomalee from 25th August to 3rd September 1782.
French Forces attempted to capture Trincomalee on 30th August 1782, for supremacy in India and Ceylon (Sri Lanka) Eastern Coast, which prompted the Royal Navy to come into action. Even though both fleets had heavy casualties (British – 51 killed, 283 wounded. French – 82 killed, 255 Wounded), but no ships were lost.
The British captured Trincomalee on 31st August 1795 from the Dutch after taking over Fort Ostenburg.
It is interesting to note Famous Admiral Lord Nelson and Trincomalee have a special connection. One of the Ships built after the death of Admiral Nelson in 1805 was named HMS Trincomalee; it was built in 1812. HMS Trincomalee is still active; it was restored and is now the National Museum of the Royal Navy at Hartlepool, England.
The US National Anthem “The Star- spangled Banner “was written by Francis Scott Key on 14th September 1814, onboard a truce ship at Baltimore harbour, Maryland, USA! It is pertinent to note that Sri Lanka Navy’s latest addition, ex-US Coast Guard Ship DECISIVE (P 628) started her 14,775 nautical miles journey, longest journey by a Sri Lanka Navy Ship, was from Baltimore to Colombo/ Trincomalee, as explained in my previous article.
Trincomalee was under British rule for a very long time. Their fleet was stationed in Trincomalee and the British developed Trincomalee into a major ship repair and logistical facility for their ships. Larger War ships, like Aircraft Carriers, Destroyers and Frigates, were stationed at Trincomalee.
During the 1930s, the British realised that there should be an Energy Storage facility between Oil fields of Saudi Arabia/ Arabian Gulf and Far East Asia, and designed and built a huge Oil Storage Facility at Trincomalee. The word HUGE is appropriate; as they built 100 tanks, each tank can contain ten thousand (10,000) MT of oil. So, an oil tank farm with a capacity of one million metric tons (one BILLION LITERS) was commissioned by 1935. As per their estimates at that time, the strategic oil stocks in Trincomalee were sufficient for their fleet for more than six months! Every country has Strategic Oil reserves except Sri Lanka! Even India stored part of their Strategic Oil Reserve at Trincomalee with the Indian Oil Company.
Building of tanks was a major engineering project; it was an ENGINEERING MARVEL in the 1930s!
Four-inch thick best quality Manchester Steel was used to build these tanks. Each plate is hand-riveted. They were built in such a way that if one tank caught fire, the fire would not spread to others. Pipe lines are connecting all tanks, which could be isolated or interconnected. The “TANK FARM “IS IN TWO SECTIONS – Lower tanks (numbering 39) closer to sea and Jetty (known as Oiling jetty) and Upper tanks on the hillock numbering 61 tanks. The Lower tank farm tanks, closer to the sea, were covered with thick concrete walls, to avoid attack by enemy small raid groups.
Huge Pump house, with very powerful pumps, was installed to pump oil to Upper tanks.All this happened almost 100 years ago!
As advancement of Imperial Japanese Army on the Asian Front and German Forces advancement on the Western Front was stopped by Allied forces in 1944/45 and World War Two ended earlier than anticipated due to US Atomic bombing of Japan. Trinco tanks were not fully utilised.
However, the British knew the importance of the Trincomalee harbour.
When we got Independence in 1948, we signed a Defence Pact with the British so that they could retain control of Trincomalee harbour, the oil tank farm and the China bay airfield.
It was on 15 October 1957, the British handed over the Trincomalee port. The then Prime Minister S W R D Bandaranaike was the Chief Guest at the event and the Royal Ceylon Navy Guard of Honour, commanded by Lieutenant Basil Gunasekara, proudly presented the salute to the Prime Minister. After a long time, the the Royal Navy Ensign (flag) was lowered at Trincomalee Naval Base and the Royal Ceylon Navy flag was hoisted. A plaque, erected near the Trincomalee Naval, has information about this historic occasion. The British ultimately left our shores almost after 162 years – (1795 to 1957).
In the 1987 Indo- Sri Lanka Accord, we agreed to develop the Trincomalee Oil Tank farm jointly with the Indian government. Later on, in the Lower tank farm, we gave 14 tanks to Indian Oil Company (IOC) and 24 tanks to the Ceylon Petroleum Company (CPC).
In January 2022, the remaining 61 tanks in the Upper tank farm were allocated for a CPC- IOC joint venture (51:49 shares) and the Managing Director of CPC was appointed the Chairman of this joint venture and CEO of Lanka IOC as Managing Director of the new company. Initially, Rs 100 million (51 million from CPC and 49 million from IOC) was allocated for renovation and development of these 61 tanks on the Upper tank farm. Feasibility study was done by a renowned international company. 
I worked voluntarily as the Chairman of Trincomalee Petroleum Terminals Ltd., (TPTL) for six months in 2023. It was fascinating to work in Trincomalee, where I spent most of my Naval career.
The present situation in the World has proved what the British thought almost 100 years ago is even valid today!
As per my information, Lanka IOC uses all its tanks to store fuel and sometimes do offshore bunkering of ships also. It built TWO MORE NEW TANKS and they have 16 tanks now. All are operational.
The CPC tanks remain unused except three leased to Prima Flour Mills Ltd., for storing fresh water.
The Upper tank farm is being renovated at a very slow pace. Out of 61 tanks on the Upper tank farm, tank No 91 was destroyed during World War II due to Japanese aircraft bombing. There is no tank number 99! (The British also thought 99 was a bad number?). Instead, we have number 101! Tank number 102 is partly built at the top of the hillock! So, that means the British had ideas of expanding tank farms BEYOND 100 TANKS!
The Election Manifesto of the National People’s Front, led by President Anura Kumara Dissanayake, clearly stated that “Trincomalee Oil Tank Farm will be renovated with support of a friendly Foreign County”.
At least now, we should start it without further delay. As a former Chief of Naval Staff of India told me “Ravi, you are sitting on a GOLD MINE at the Trincomalee Naval Base; without realising the value of it”! How true!
By Admiral Ravindra C Wijegunaratne
WV, RWP and Bar, RSP, VSV, USP, NI (M) (Pakistan), ndc, psn, Bsc
(Hons) (War Studies) (Karachi) MPhil (Madras)
Former Navy Commander and Former Chief of Defence Staff
Former Chairman, Trincomalee Petroleum Terminals Ltd
Former Managing Director Ceylon Petroleum Corporation
Former High Commissioner to Pakistan
Features
The scientist who was finally heard
Dr Asha de Vos PhD: A Sri Lankan voice that reshaped Global Marine Science
Specialist Consultant Paediatrician and Honorary Senior Fellow, Postgraduate Institute of Medicine, University of Colombo, Sri Lanka.
At a recent United Nations (UN) event marking International Women’s Day, a striking portrait of a Sri Lankan lady scientist appeared on the screen, alongside a simple but powerful declaration: “They told me I was not capable – so I made a discovery that changed the world.”
The scientist was Dr Asha de Vos. For many Sri Lankans, this moment passed with little notice, confined to a brief news item in the newspapers. Yet for all that, in that global forum, her presence represented something far greater than personal recognition. It marked the arrival of a Sri Lankan scientist on the world stage, not as a participant, but as a pioneer.
A Discovery that Challenged a Conventional Precept
For decades, marine biology held a well-settled view: blue whales, the largest of mammals, in fact, the largest animals ever to have lived, are migratory. This assumption was repeated in textbooks, scientific articles, and accepted without question.
Dr Asha de Vos challenged it. Working in the waters off Sri Lanka, often with limited resources and without the extensive institutional backing available in more developed research environments, she identified a population of blue whales that does not migrate. These whales remain in Sri Lankan waters throughout the year.
This finding was not just an accident, a chance occurrence, nor an incidental observation. It was a carefully orchestrated scientific expedition that overturned a fundamental assumption about one of the most studied animal species on Earth. In doing so, it reminded the scientific world of an essential truth: that knowledge is never complete, and that even the largest creatures in the oceans can still hold secrets. It showed that such secrets of behaviour that were detected can have a profound impact on the aftermath, as far as the world is concerned.
Global Consequences of a Local Discovery
The implications of this work extended far beyond academic debate. A non-migratory population of blue whales is inherently vulnerable. Concentrated in a relatively small geographic area, these animals face risks that migratory populations can avoid.
The waters off Sri Lanka are among the busiest shipping routes in the world. Large vessels pass through areas that coincide with whale habitats, creating a significant risk of fatal collisions. Dr de Vos’s research brought international attention to this issue. It contributed to changes in shipping practices, including the adjustment of routes and the introduction of measures aimed at reducing whale-ship strikes of blue whales. In this way, her work moved beyond theory to influence real-world policy and conservation efforts.
Science Rooted in Sri Lanka
Equally significant is the context in which this work was carried out. Dr de Vos has consistently advocated for the leadership of local scientists in studying local ecosystems. Her position challenged the long-standing pattern where research in developing regions is often led by external actors. Quite appropriately and most beautifully, she describes the phenomenon as “parachute science”, the practice of Western Scientists collecting data in developing countries and then leaving without training or investing in the locals or the region.
To address this imbalance, she founded Oceanswell, Sri Lanka’s first marine conservation research and education organisation. Through this initiative, she has worked to build local capacity, inspire young researchers, and promote a deeper understanding of marine ecosystems. Her work has demonstrated that world-class science can emerge from a little country like Sri Lanka, not as an extension of external efforts, but as an independent and authoritative effort.
A Journey of Determination
Those widely quoted words attributed to Dr Asha de Vos are not mere rhetoric. They reflect the reality of a journey marked by doubt, resistance, and the challenge of pursuing an unconventional path. Marine biology was not an established field in Sri Lanka when she began her career. Opportunities were limited, and the path was uncertain. Yet, through persistence and conviction, she transformed these limitations into magnificent opportunities.
Dr de Vos has always dreamed of being an “adventure-scientist”. Her achievements include being the first and only Sri Lankan to obtain a PhD in marine mammal research, a distinction that underscores both her pioneering role and the barriers she has overcome. Today, Dr. de Vos is recognised internationally as a leading voice in marine conservation. Her work is cited in scientific literature, her insights are sought in policy discussions, and her presence is felt in global forums. The recognition she received at the United Nations is just one reflection of this standing.
However, her significance to Sri Lanka extends beyond her scientific contributions. She graphically represents the potential of Sri Lankan scholarship. She illustrates what can be achieved through determination and intellectual rigour. The lady serves as an inspiration to a new generation of scientists who may choose to follow paths that are not yet well defined.
A Moment That Should Not Pass Unnoticed
That such an achievement received only limited attention locally is a matter for reflection. Nations are often judged not only by the accomplishments of their citizens, but by the ability of those very same nations to recognise and celebrate them.
Dr Asha de Vos’s work has altered global understanding, influenced international policy, and established a new field of scientific inquiry within Sri Lanka. These are not minor achievements of limited consequence. They are contributions of lasting, immense, and seminal significance.
The image displayed at the United Nations, accompanied by a single sentence, captured a story of perseverance and discovery. It spoke of a brilliant scientist who refused to accept limitations imposed by others. It told of a discovery that reshaped certain types of scientific understanding. It brought to light a voice that, though once doubted, is now heard across the world. It is a voice that our beautiful Pearl of the Indian Ocean would do ever so well to listen to.
This author has not had the honour or the privilege of even meeting Dr Asha de Vos, but is so very pleased to declare that all of us should be so proud of a Sri Lankan Lady Scientist who is recognised, acknowledged and celebrated by the entire scientific world.
We salute you, Madam, for all of your splendid achievements!
Dr B. J. C. Perera
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