Features

Hobgoblins and Paranormal Encounters in Pohnpei, Micronesia

Published

1 year ago

2024/12/22

by Jayantha Perera

I retired from ADB in April 2011. ADB appointed me as a staff consultant without waiting for the mandatory ‘cooling off’ 12-month period expired. A memo signed by the President, a Vice President, and two Directors Generals of ADB stated why I should be re-recruited immediately. It stated, “Mr. Perera’s experience as a senior and highly respected member of ADB as a safeguard specialist makes him ideal for this position … He is a well-respected ADB staff and was one of ADB’s leading experts in the environment, involuntary resettlement, and indigenous people’s development issues; he was the only international staff member at ADB who had technical knowledge and expertise in all three safeguard areas……..”

One of my major assignments as a consultant was to conduct training in 10 Pacific countries for senior government officials on how to address social and environmental issues to meet ADB’s safeguard policy standards. Fiji, Samoa, Pohnpei, Tonga, Cook Islands and Marshall Islands were among the countries chosen. Each country offered its rich culture, natural beauty, and the opportunity to meet people with vivid personalities and experience paranormal encounters. Pohnpei, an island state in the Pacific, etched a dazzling world I will never forget.

Pohnpei and three island states form the Federated States of Micronesia (FSM) in the western Pacific Ocean. Pohnpei is the largest island in FSM, with a land area of 335 sq. kilometres. The other three states are Yap, Chuuk, and Kosrae. Pohnpei State also owns several small islands in the vast Pacific Ocean.

Pohnpei means ‘stone altar.’ Presumably, it refers to a large stone platform on the island. The island’s population is about 37,000. Its terrain is mountainous and jungle-covered. It is one of the wettest places on Earth, with an annual rainfall exceeding 7,600 mm. A circular, tarred, narrow road connects dispersed towns. Access to the interior, especially to hilly areas, is challenging.

The people are proud of their history and boast about Nan Madol, an ancient city-kingdom. Its civilisation flourished for 700 years, from the 10th century to the 17th century. Its downfall began with the arrival of Spanish sailors in the early 19th century, followed by whalers, traders, missionaries, educators, and colonisers. After the Spaniards, the Germans occupied it. During the Second World War, the Japanese captured it, and the USA took it from the Japanese in the late 1940s.

Locals suffered severely when colonisers plundered their treasures and destroyed cultural artefacts. Spaniards brought cholera and smallpox to Pohnpei, nearly annihilating the local population. The Japanese not only looted local treasures but also enslaved people. During the Second World War, Japanese warlords used local slaves to move heavy cannons to strategic mountaintops. Most of the workers died because of starvation and illnesses.

In 1986, Pohnpei became an independent state within FSM. The five traditional small kingdoms on the island constitute independent Pohnpei, and the Pohnpei State Council represents them. Kolonia is the capital of Pohnpei State, and Palikir is the capital of FSM. The two cities are adjacent to each other. The local kingdoms occasionally clash with the State Council on matters of development. About 10 years ago, for example, the State Council tried establishing a casino complex in the territory of a traditional kingdom. Its king opposed the proposal and took his protest to an international forum for arbitration.

English is the official language, and people consider themselves non-immigrant citizens of the United States. In other words, the USA guarantees they can become US citizens whenever they want. The currency in the country is the US dollar. Postage is paid in US$, and postal stamps are US postal stamps. A taxi charges one dollar to travel within Kolonia.

Fortunately, I got a seat on United Airlines from Honolulu to Kolonia. The Filipino hotel manager told me to wait a few hours before occupying my room. When I asked him why, he said hotel guests who had left in the morning might return if their flight was cancelled. The hotel’s policy is to accommodate such stranded travellers on a priority basis in the rooms they had occupied earlier.

I was tired, hungry, and sleepy. The manager gave me a hot tuna sandwich and coffee at the restaurant. He told me he could give me a room with a door facing the jungle behind the hotel. I feared small insects and reptiles might creep into my room after sunset. The incessant rain added a gloomy atmosphere to my fear. I could hear water gushing down a drain. Rainwater trickled down from the eves of the roof, flooding the narrow corridor in front of the room and making it slippery.

I moved into the room and slept several hours. When I woke up, it was dark and still raining. I did not know how to go to the restaurant. There was no telephone in my room. I was nervous about going to the bathroom. When I opened the tap in the bathroom, it took about five minutes to see clear water. I was reluctant to pull the shower curtain. When I pulled it, a six-legged, black, long, gecko-like creature was in the bathtub. The bathtub was cracked and dirty and covered with dead leaves. The room’s light bulb was weak, and the bathroom was not lit up to see what else was waiting there to meet me. I regretted my decision to occupy an outer room.

The manager came to take me to dinner. He had a strong flashlight and a large umbrella. I asked him about possibly moving to a room inside the hotel. But by then, the hotel was fully occupied. The manager told a Filipina woman to clean my room again and to keep a heater in it. I insisted that the bedsheets and pillows should also be changed. When I returned to my room after supper, it looked neat and smelled good. The gecko-like creatures had disappeared.

I had a free weekend in Pohnpei before leaving for Honolulu. The hotel manager suggested I hire his four-wheel drive Jeep and travel around the island. He charged me $100 for the trip, which included a driver-cum-guide, a lunch box, snacks, and soft drinks. He advised me to carry one-dollar bills with me to pay local taxes. I changed a 50-dollar note for one-dollar and five-dollar bills. The bills were dirty and discoloured; some were as hard as cardboard.

The Jeep was a rickety old van without a spare wheel. It spluttered dark, unburned diesel, and its engine noise was unbearable. Roger, the jeep driver, was a local young man with long hair and a ferocious-looking black beard. He carried a big, heavy knife. The hotel manager handed him food boxes and an umbrella.

I thought Roger might sacrifice me to a native god by cutting my neck at a remote place. I had read on Google about human sacrifices to gods on the island. I wished I had invited another hotel guest to accompany me, but it was too late. Roger promised to show me places that foreign visitors rarely visit. His offer made me more nervous. I told him that I should return to the hotel before 5 p.m.

Roger drove the old Jeep with care. He stopped the Jeep in front of churches to talk to his friends who came for the Sunday mass. Sometimes, he offered them a ride in the Jeep without asking me. At a church, at least 10 people entered the Jeep, and two sat next to me in the front seat, pushing me onto the gear shift. They were fat people dressed in large white shirts and baggy blue jeans. They had unshaven faces and unwashed mouths. They spoke English. They invited me to visit their church and to join them for a communal lunch. I politely declined the offer by saying I was on a tight travel programme and should return to Kolonia early.

Later, I visited a small Christian church. The church had a neat front yard, and a local artist had painted beautiful murals of the genesis and the crucifixion. I could see some well-thumbed prayer books and hymn books on a small table covered with an embroidered white tablecloth. The small board on the table invited donations. One could donate money by dropping dollar bills or cents into a small glass box, which a small padlock secured.

Several people were in the church, wearing their Sunday best. Men wore European clothes, and women wore long white dresses with beautiful shoes. Some of them had heavy makeup. All adult women wore head covers. Many devotees, especially the women, carried rosaries in their hands.

People sat in circles by the road and ate from large metal pots. Roger explained that Christians do not work on Sundays except for attending mid-morning service. They cook on Saturday and partook of it on Sunday after the church service. Pork was the main dish. Raw tuna fish competed with fried pork to be the best food item. Someone told me they had learned how to raise pigs and cook pork dishes from Filipino friends whose ancestors came with the Spaniards as cooks and servants.

Suddenly, Roger drove off the main road, saying he wanted to show me the statue of Henry Nanpie. The figure was about 100 metres from a protestant church and was on an elevated stone dais. I thought it was built of steel with a hollow interior. Henry was in an elite tailcoat with a walking stick in his right hand. Roger told me that Henry had lived in Pohnpei in the late 19th century and early 20th century. He was the son of a local army commander. His mother was an English woman – the daughter of an English beachcomber.

Henry inherited lots of land from his powerful father. Then, he wanted to acquire land from another local kingdom. Henry visited the kingdom’s palace carrying a loaded gun and a bag of goodies. He took the weapon to kill the king and the goodies to bribe palace servants to get their allegiance. When he saw the king in an inner palace chamber, he tried to kill the king. But his gun misfired. Then Henry aimed the weapon at a flowerpot and pulled the trigger. The bullet went through the flowerpot and damaged the wall behind it.

Henry cunningly claimed that he had supernatural powers and could stop a gun from firing a bullet. He explained to the king that before he aimed the weapon at the king, he had “charmed” the gun. Because of the charm, the gun misfired. After removing the charm from the gun, a bullet fired from it smashed the flowerpot. The king was amazed and convinced himself of Henry’s supernatural powers. The king asked him to be the kingdom’s protector offering him a mansion and a vast stretch of land.

Henry opened a large supply shop to supply food, water, oil, and labour to whaling ships in the Pacific. He used his new wealth to add more land to his estate. In Pohnpei, he established protestant groups and spread Western cultural practices and beliefs among the locals through them. Even today, local people consider him a semi-god who brought wealth and salvation to them and connected them with the outside world. Roger sang a folk song about Henry, which depicted Henry as a local god. A copper plaque beside his statue indicates that he still has admirers to spread, invent and reinvent myths about him.

Roger was hurrying me to go to the ruined capital of Nan Madol Kingdom. He told me that the kingdom was on the banks of a large lagoon connected to the eastern shoreline. It was the only ancient city ever built atop a coral reef. In 2016, the UN declared it a World Heritage Site. We drove on a narrow gravel road and parked the Jeep. From there, we walked about two kilometres to Nan Madol. We walked through private lands, and landowners charged a fee for crossing their land. Some landlords collected a dollar or two, but one landlord demanded seven dollars.

We entered a rocky trail from the last property. The land rapidly became marshy, and we walked on an elevated narrow bund. Both sides of the bund were inundated, and walking on it was risky. Henry dexterously cut down weeds and plants that obstructed the path. He wanted me to follow him closely but did not say why. The thought that he might sacrifice me to a local god began looming in my mind. I did not look around as I wanted to keep my eyes on him and the bund. He walked fast, brandishing his knife as if in a frenzy.

The narrow bund that stretched through a grotesque jungle of mangroves looked never-ending. I thought that spirits were watching and following me. I tried to avoid looking at large trees because I thought they were beckoning me. Some tree trunks, I thought, turned into hobgoblins. I remembered reading how funny elves resort to mischievous acts towards human beings who encroach on their territories.

Suddenly, I felt some invisible force pulling me back. I could not see Roger. I thought that I got lost among the mangroves forever. I saw the shallow water in marshy fields swelling to engulf me. I stopped walking. I thought how silly I was to think about bizarre things. Then Roger returned and asked me whether I had seen anything or anybody. I told him that some trees had tried to talk to me and were making faces at me. He said that many visitors had similar supernatural encounters. Roger explained that Pohnpiens treated the ruins at Nan Madol as sacred. They also knew various spirits haunt the place. The spirits came out at night, but a few hovered around during the daytime to harass visitors. Roger gave me several small, polished stones connected in a string. It reminded me of the rosaries that churchgoers had in their hands. He said that the string would fend off evil spirits. I then remembered my grandmother, who gave me my first rosary when I was seven, advising me to carry it with me to protect myself from evil forces.

We arrived at a stagnant shallow canal from where we could see the temple entrance. To reach the temple, we crossed a shallow canal. There were several decayed logs in the canal, and we had to push them aside to cross it. About 50 metres from the canal were the elegant stone walls three to five metres high. Just under a stone arch was a conduit from a table-flat wall top where, presumably, human sacrifices were conducted. According to Roger, the blood of those victims trickled down from the wall top to the main entrance through the conduit, where priests performed rituals to appease gods. Many city outer walls remain intact, although mangroves have engulfed them.

Local people believe twin brothers, who were sorcerers, built Nan Madol. They came to Pohnpei from another island in a large canoe to build an altar where they could perform ancestor worship. The legend is that the two brothers levitated large stones with the help of a flying dragon and built the entire city in three years. They transported basalt columns from a faraway island. Most of the columns are now under shallow water in the lagoon.

The temple consists of about 90 rectangular islets linked by narrow channels. Each islet had a coral-filled platform. Nan Madol means “within the intervals,” and the “intervals” are the complex canal grid. It is unclear who lived on islets, but locals believe priests who performed rituals at the altar lived in single-house units built on islets.

There were reserved locations among the islets for priests to feed turtle innards to a sacred eel who lived in a deep well. After feeding the eel, priests shared the rest of the turtle as a sacrament. To this day, eels are considered holy and are never killed or eaten.

The main enclosure is a large stone chamber with hundreds of human bones. About 15 years ago, several German archaeologists dusted and rearranged the bones to examine their age. That night, one archaeologist died in his hotel room in Kolonia, and the other fell gravely ill. Roger said his ancestors were unhappy when foreigners excavated and labelled their bones. They, as spirits, protect the monuments and punish anyone who disturbs them.

Roger’s father and two uncles had seen several light beams starting from the temple’s main altar late one night. The light beams travelled across the sea to faraway islands and large stars. When I asked Roger if he would camp at Nan Madol after sunset to watch the light beams, he said he would not risk meeting his ancestors! He advised me not to talk about them as they were holy spirits with enormous powers and could harm us in their domain.

We spent two hours walking around the temple. The shallow sea and the lagoon behind the ruins were very picturesque. We tried to count the heaps of basalt rafts submerged in the lagoon. When we decided to leave Nan Madol, I felt I could not move. I was unsure whether the feeling came from my fear of hobgoblins or the perplexity in my mind. I told Roger to walk with me to the Jeep. He walked ahead of me, occasionally checking whether I was following him. I tried to walk fast without looking at the trees I had seen earlier. I felt a powerful, unseen force pulling me backwards. I imagined a tree with strange roots moving towards me. The gushing winds created a bizarre atmosphere. I felt I had not left the ruins, so I called Roger and asked him to walk with me. We plodded to the Jeep from the ruins. He reassured me that the spirits would not follow us. I was glad to leave Phonpei the following day.

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Features

Power crept into the Sangha and is now tearing it apart

Published

22 hours ago

2026/06/5

Thilina Walpola

A file photo of Buddhist monks engaged in a protest

For more than a century, Sri Lankan society has lived with a quiet contradiction at the heart of its religious life. On the one hand, the Buddhist monk is revered as the embodiment of moral discipline, selfrestraint, and renunciation. On the other, the modern monk has become a public figure, political actor, administrator, media personality, and in some cases power broker whose influence extends far beyond the temple. This contradiction has been tolerated, even celebrated, for decades. But recent events, most notably a widely publicised case involving a senior monk accused of grave moral misconduct, have forced the country to confront a painful truth: the institutional conditions that make such scandals possible are not new. They are the predictable outcome of a long historical process that H. L. Seneviratne described with remarkable clarity in The Work of Kings. The moral deterioration visible today is not an aberration. It is the culmination of a centurylong transformation in the identity, function, and authority of the Sangha.

To understand how we arrived at this moment, it is necessary to revisit the argument Seneviratne made nearly three decades ago. His thesis was simple but profound: the modern Sri Lankan monkhood has taken on the ‘work of kings.’ By this he meant that monks, instead of confining themselves to the renunciant life prescribed by the Vinaya, have assumed the secular responsibilities once associated with precolonial kingship, such as protecting the religion, organising society, guiding the nation, and enforcing moral order. This shift, he argued, was not a natural evolution of Buddhist tradition but a modern invention shaped by colonialism, nationalism, and the anxieties of a society struggling to redefine itself in the face of foreign domination. The monk became a symbol of national identity, a guardian of cultural authenticity, and a leader in the struggle for political autonomy. In the process, the boundaries that once separated the monastic from the worldly began to dissolve.

Transformation

The consequences of this transformation were not immediately visible. For decades, the activist monk was celebrated as a patriot, a reformer, and a moral guide. His involvement in education, social welfare, and nationalist mobilisation was seen as a necessary response to colonial pressures and missionary competition. But beneath the surface, the foundations of monastic discipline were slowly eroding. The Vinaya, which had served for centuries as a rigorous framework for regulating monastic life, was increasingly overshadowed by the demands of public engagement. The communal structures that once ensured accountability, senior supervision, collective confession, and the daily rhythms of monastic routine, were weakened by the pressures of modernity. Monks who travelled constantly, managed institutions, or lived independently in urban temples found themselves outside the traditional systems of oversight that had long protected the integrity of the Sangha.

Scandal

It is within this historical context that the recent scandal must be understood. The case shocked the nation not only because of the severity of the allegations but because it shattered the public’s assumption that the monkhood remains a bastion of moral purity. Yet the shock itself reveals a collective denial. For years, Sri Lankan society has been aware, sometimes quietly, sometimes openly—of the growing gap between the ideal of the monk and the realities of modern monastic life. Stories of misconduct, financial irregularities, political manipulation, and abuse of authority have circulated with increasing frequency. But each incident has been treated as an isolated failure, a personal weakness, or an unfortunate exception. What has been missing is recognition that these incidents are symptoms of a deeper structural problem.

Seneviratne’s analysis helps illuminate this problem. When monks take on the work of kings, they inevitably enter domains of power that expose them to temptations the Vinaya was designed to avoid. Handling money, managing institutions, cultivating political patrons, and exercising authority over laypeople create opportunities for ego, ambition, and moral compromise. The monk who becomes a public figure is no longer shielded by the anonymity and humility of the renunciant life. Instead, he becomes a celebrity, a leader, and in some cases an object of uncritical devotion. This elevation brings with it a dangerous form of immunity. Laypeople who revere a monk for his public achievements may hesitate to question his behaviour. Politicians who rely on monastic support may protect him from scrutiny. The media, which often treats monks as moral authorities, may be reluctant to investigate allegations that challenge the sanctity of the robe.

The recent scandal illustrates how these dynamics can converge. The monk at the centre of the case was not an obscure figure. He was a respected preacher, charismatic leader, and head of a prominent institution. His public image was built on years of service, teaching, and community engagement. Yet it was precisely this public stature that allowed him to operate without meaningful oversight. The institutional structures around him, administrators, lay supporters, and junior monks, were either unwilling or unable to challenge his authority. The very qualities that made him a respected figure in the eyes of the public also made him untouchable within his own institution. When allegations finally emerged, they revealed not only personal wrongdoing but a systemic failure of accountability.

Failure that is not unique

This failure is not unique to one temple or one monk. It reflects a broader pattern within the modern Sangha. As monastic institutions have grown in size, wealth, and influence, their internal governance has struggled to keep pace. Many temples operate as semiautonomous entities controlled by a single monk or a small group of monks. Financial transparency is limited, administrative oversight is weak, and the mechanisms for addressing misconduct are often informal or ineffective. The traditional structures of monastic discipline, such as the Sangharama procedures for adjudicating offences, are rarely used in modern contexts, partly because they require collective participation and partly because they are illsuited to the complexities of contemporary institutional life. In practice, this means that monks who wield significant authority can act with little fear of internal sanction.

The politicisation of the Sangha has further complicated matters. Since the midtwentieth century, monks have played an increasingly prominent role in electoral politics, nationalist movements, and public policy debates. This involvement has given them access to political networks that can be mobilised to protect their interests. It has also created a culture in which monks are valued not for their adherence to the Vinaya but for their ability to influence public opinion, mobilise voters, or lend moral legitimacy to political causes. In such an environment, the monk who is politically useful may be shielded from criticism, while the monk who adheres strictly to the renunciant ideal may find himself marginalised or ignored.

The result is a profound distortion of monastic identity. The monk who once sought liberation from worldly attachments is now encouraged to cultivate influence, authority, and public recognition. The monk who once lived under the strict supervision of senior elders now operates in a world where independence is celebrated and oversight is minimal. The monk who once relied on laypeople for basic sustenance now controls vast resources, manages institutions, and commands the loyalty of thousands of followers. This inversion of traditional roles has created a fertile ground for moral deterioration.

Yet it would be a mistake to interpret this deterioration as evidence that the Sangha as a whole is corrupt. Many monks continue to live lives of remarkable discipline, humility, and spiritual dedication. In remote forest monasteries, small village temples, and meditation centres across the country, monks quietly uphold the ancient ideals of the renunciant life. They are not the ones who appear on television, lead political rallies, or manage large institutions. Their work is invisible, their influence subtle, and their commitment unwavering. The crisis facing the Sangha today is not a crisis of individual morality but a crisis of institutional identity. It is the product of a centurylong transformation that has blurred the boundaries between the monastic and the secular, the spiritual and the political, the renunciant and the worldly.

If Sri Lanka is to address this crisis, it must begin by acknowledging the structural nature of the problem. The temptation to treat each scandal as an isolated incident must be resisted. Instead, the country must confront the uncomfortable reality that the modern configuration of monastic life is fundamentally at odds with the principles of the Vinaya. The Sangha cannot simultaneously function as a political force, a social service provider, a media institution, and a spiritual community without compromising its integrity. The more monks are drawn into the world, the more vulnerable they become to the moral dangers that the Buddha warned against.

Reform, therefore, must focus not only on punishing individual offenders but on rethinking the institutional structures that enable misconduct. This includes strengthening internal governance, enhancing financial transparency, restoring the authority of senior elders, and reestablishing the communal practices that once ensured accountability. It also requires a broader cultural shift in how laypeople relate to monks. Blind devotion must give way to informed respect. Reverence must be balanced with responsibility. The robe must be honoured, but it must not be used as a shield against scrutiny.

Seneviratne’s work offers a valuable starting point for this rethinking. His analysis reminds us that the crisis facing the Sangha is not the result of moral decline alone but of historical forces that reshaped the identity of the monkhood. By tracing the evolution of the activist monk, he shows how the Sangha became entangled in the political and social structures of the modern nationstate. This entanglement has brought both benefits and dangers. It has allowed monks to play important roles in education, social welfare, and national development. But it has also exposed them to the corrupting influences of power, wealth, and public acclaim.

The challenge now is to disentangle the Sangha from these influences without undermining its ability to serve society. This will not be easy. The activist monk has become deeply embedded in the cultural and political fabric of the country. Many laypeople expect monks to be leaders, reformers, and guardians of national identity. Politicians rely on monastic support to legitimise their agendas. Media institutions depend on monks for content, commentary, and moral authority. Reversing this trend will require a collective effort from monks, laypeople, and political leaders alike.

Ultimately, the future of the Sangha depends on its ability to reclaim the renunciant ideal that lies at the heart of Buddhist monasticism. This does not mean withdrawing from society entirely, but it does mean reestablishing the boundaries that protect the monk from the dangers of worldly involvement. It means recognising that the true strength of the Sangha lies not in its political influence or institutional power but in its moral authority, its spiritual discipline, and its commitment to the path of liberation. The recent scandal, painful as it is, may serve as a catalyst for this reevaluation. It has exposed the vulnerabilities of the modern monastic system and forced the country to confront the consequences of a centurylong transformation.

To understand how the Vihara Devalegam Act relates to the perceived moral deformation of the clergy, it is necessary to examine how property management, state law, and monastic discipline intersect in the modern era. Historically stemming from the Buddhist Temporalities Ordinance No. 19 of 1931, this act serves as the primary legal framework governing the ‘temporalities’—meaning the secular wealth, extensive landholdings, and material donations belonging to Buddhist temples and shrines. While ancient kings granted these vast tracts of land to support the monkhood’s spiritual pursuits, the modern codification of this law has inadvertently fostered a system where property rights frequently supersede spiritual accountability.

The core of the crisis lies in the commercialisation of the monastic order that this legal framework enables. By treating temple lands as economic assets and vesting absolute administrative power in individual chief monks or lay trustees, the act has contributed to the rise of what critics term a monastic middle class. Access to vast, unregulated financial resources, rent from lands, and corporate donations has fundamentally shifted the focus of certain segments of the clergy away from the traditional path of worldly renunciation and spiritual guidance. Instead, it has driven a preoccupation with business investments, the accumulation of private capital, and luxury lifestyles, which deeply alienates a public looking to the Sangha for moral leadership.

The institutional flaws embedded in the Vihara Devalegam Act find a stark, real-world manifestation in the recent criminal case involving Venerable Pallegama Hemarathana Thero. As the chief priest of Anuradhapura and the custodian of the Atamasthana—the eight highly venerated Buddhist shrines, including the sacred Jaya Sri Maha Bodhi—Hemarathana Thero occupied one of the most powerful and wealthy positions within the Sri Lankan Sangha. His arrest on charges of sexual abuse of a minor girl perfectly illustrates how the structural defects of the Act facilitate not only moral decay but also the systemic obstruction of justice.

The core of this intersection lies in the vast, unaccountable wealth generated by the temporalities of the Anuradhapura shrines. Under the Vihara Devalegam Act, the chief custodian exercises immense, virtually unchecked control over temple revenues, state-backed land management, and millions of rupees in daily donations from millions of global pilgrims. It is precisely this immense financial liquidity that enabled the alleged deployment of vast sums of money to the victim’s family.

Furthermore, the situation underscores the profound policy failures cited regarding the helplessness of the monastic hierarchy and state enforcement. When child protection authorities initially attempted to act, the National Child Protection Authority noted severe delays and institutional resistance, stating they practically had to force the police to execute the arrest. The monk’s immediate retreat to a private hospital in Colombo upon the advancement of the criminal probe, followed by his release on bail, mirrors the exact loop described where wealthy monastics deploy high-priced legal defence teams funded directly or indirectly by their institutional positions. Because the Vihara Devalegam Act does not provide a mechanism for the immediate, unconditional forfeiture of temporal administrative rights upon a criminal indictment, the accused retains his structural power throughout the legal process. The Pallegama Thero scandal stands as definitive proof that without a fundamental overhaul of how temple wealth is legally governed and disciplined, the material benefits guaranteed by ancient temporalities will continue to shield the worst elements of moral deformation from the rule of law.

If Sri Lanka can learn from this moment and if it can recognise the structural roots of the crisis and commit to meaningful reform, then the Sangha may yet emerge stronger, more disciplined, and more faithful to its ancient ideals. But if the country continues to treat each scandal as an isolated failure and if it continues to ignore the deeper institutional problems that Seneviratne identified, then the moral deterioration we see today will only deepen. The work of kings, when performed by monks, carries a heavy price. It is time to decide whether that price is worth paying.

by Professor Amarasiri de Silva

Features

Kondachchi wind farm and battery storage project to boost energy security, says Power Ministry Secretary

Published

22 hours ago

2026/06/5

Thilina Walpola

The Power and Energy Ministry’s drive towards energy security and renewable energy expansion received a major boost yesterday with the signing of a tripartite cooperation agreement for the development of the 150 MW Kondachchi Wind Power Project and an integrated Battery Energy Storage System (BESS) in Mannar.

The agreement was signed at the Ministry of Power auditorium under the patronage of Power Minister Anura Karunatilaka and Deputy Power Minister Arkam Ilyas.

Speaking at the event, Ministry Secretary G. M. R. D. Aponsu described the project as a transformative investment that would strengthen the country’s electricity network while supporting Sri Lanka’s transition towards cleaner energy sources.

“The Kondachchi Wind Power Project represents a significant milestone in Sri Lanka’s renewable energy journey. By combining large-scale wind generation with advanced battery energy storage technology, we are creating a more resilient and reliable power system capable of meeting future energy demands while reducing dependence on imported fossil fuels,” Aponsu said.

The project will be developed at Silavathurai in the Kondachchi area of Mannar on lands owned by the Sri Lanka Cashew Corporation. It is expected to utilise some 31 modern wind turbines with a total installed capacity of at least 150 MW.

Aponsu said the inclusion of an integrated battery storage facility would help address the variability associated with wind power generation and ensure stable electricity supply to the national grid.

“The battery energy storage component is a key feature of this project. It will enable the efficient integration of renewable energy into the grid and enhance overall system stability, which is essential as Sri Lanka increases the share of renewables in its energy mix,” he said.

According to the Ministry, the wind farm is expected to generate nearly 525 gigawatt-hours of electricity annually, significantly reducing the country’s expenditure on imported fuel and strengthening national energy security.

The project is also expected to contribute to Sri Lanka’s climate commitments by reducing carbon dioxide emissions by an estimated 372,750 tonnes annually.

“This investment delivers both economic and environmental benefits. It will reduce greenhouse gas emissions, support sustainable development objectives and help Sri Lanka move closer to achieving its renewable energy and climate targets,” Aponsu noted.

The project will be implemented under a Public-Private Partnership (PPP) arrangement using the Build, Own and Operate (BOO) model. The Asian Development Bank is providing technical and financial advisory support through its Transaction Advisory Services programme.

The signing ceremony was attended by Pradeep Perera, Chairman of the National System Operator (Pvt) Ltd., and Takeyo Koike, Head of Market Development and Public-Private Partnership Division of the ADB, among other distinguished guests.

The Ministry said comprehensive Environmental Impact Assessments and avifaunal studies have been undertaken to ensure minimal impacts on bird populations, nearby communities and agricultural lands. A dedicated 220-kilovolt transmission system will also be constructed to connect the project to the national grid.

“The Kondachchi Wind Farm is a strategic national project that will help secure Sri Lanka’s energy future while accelerating the country’s transition towards sustainable and affordable electricity generation,” Aponsu said.

Energy sector experts view the project as one of the most important renewable energy initiatives currently being pursued in Sri Lanka, combining utility-scale wind generation with modern energy storage technology to enhance grid reliability and long-term energy sustainability.

By Ifham Nizam

Features

Saudi Arabia sets new benchmark in Hajj management as 1.7 million pilgrims complete sacred journey

Published

22 hours ago

2026/06/5

Thilina Walpola

Ambassador Al-Kahtani

Interview with Khalid Hamoud Al-Kahtani, Ambassador of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia to Sri Lanka

Saudi Arabia has once again demonstrated its unparalleled capacity to manage one of the world’s largest annual religious gatherings, with this year’s Hajj pilgrimage concluding successfully despite extreme temperatures and the immense logistical challenge of accommodating more than 1.7 million pilgrims from around the world.

In an exclusive interview with The Island, Khalid Hamoud Al-Kahtani, Ambassador of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia to Sri Lanka, described the 2026 Hajj season as a resounding success, crediting the achievement to the visionary leadership of the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques, His Royal Highness the Crown Prince and Prime Minister, and the coordinated efforts of multiple government agencies working around the clock to serve pilgrims.

The Ambassador noted that nearly 3,500 Sri Lankan pilgrims participated in this year’s Hajj under the quota allocated to Sri Lanka, benefiting from enhanced healthcare services, sophisticated crowd-management systems, expanded shaded areas and cutting-edge digital solutions introduced by the Kingdom.

With Saudi Arabia continuing to invest heavily in infrastructure, technology and pilgrim services under Vision 2030, Ambassador Al-Kahtani said the Kingdom remains committed to ensuring that pilgrims from around the world perform their religious duties in safety, comfort and tranquility.

The Saudi envoy also highlighted the growing partnership between Saudi Arabia and Sri Lanka, emphasising expanding cooperation not only in Hajj affairs but also in trade, investment, education, culture and institutional exchanges.

Following are excerpts of the interview:

Q: How do you assess this year’s Hajj season?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: This year’s Hajj season was a resounding success, thanks to the Almighty Allah and the integrated efforts of the government of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, led by the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques and His Royal Highness the Crown Prince and Prime Minister. This success was reflected in the efficiency of crowd management, the quality of services provided to the Hajj pilgrims and the effective coordination among the various relevant authorities, which enabled pilgrims to perform their rituals in an atmosphere of security, tranquility and ease.

Q: How many Sri Lankan pilgrims performed Hajj this year?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: The number of Hajj pilgrims from the Democratic Socialist Republic of Sri Lanka reached approximately 3,500, within the quota allocated to Sri Lanka for this season.

Q: Are there any discussions regarding increasing Sri Lanka’s quota in the future?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani:Hajj quotas are determined according to approved regulatory mechanisms that take into account a range of considerations. The relevant authorities in the Kingdom continue to study various aspects related to developing Hajj services and accommodating the allocated numbers for all countries, in coordination with the concerned parties.

Q: What were the most prominent special arrangements implemented this year?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: The operational plans for this season focused on enhancing the safety and comfort of the Hajj pilgrims, especially given the climatic conditions and high temperatures. Measures included expanding shaded areas, increasing water distribution points and enhancing health and ambulance services, in addition to developing the transportation system and traffic management within the holy sites.

Q: What are the most prominent digital systems and smart services that were provided?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani:The Kingdom continues to implement its digital transformation objectives for the Hajj and Umrah system. The scope of electronic services offered through the Nusuk platform and application has been expanded, along with the development of digital systems for issuing permits, managing crowds, guidance and health services. This contributes to increasing the efficiency of services and improving the pilgrim’s experience at all stages of their journey.

Q: How were the challenges of overcrowding and heat addressed?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: The relevant authorities adopted an integrated crowd-management system based on modern technologies and real-time data analysis. This was coupled with intensified health-awareness campaigns, expanded organised movement routes and increased deployment of field, medical and emergency teams. These measures support the safety of the Hajj pilgrims and reduce the risks associated with crowd density and climatic conditions.

Q: Were there special services for the elderly and sick?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: Yes. The Kingdom paid special attention to the elderly and people with special health needs by providing specialized medical services, assistive transportation and facilities equipped to meet their needs, in addition to field teams working to provide humanitarian support and necessary healthcare throughout the Hajj period.

Q: How successful was the Kingdom in combating irregular Hajj permits?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: The relevant authorities in the Kingdom continued to rigorously implement the regulations and instructions governing Hajj, utilising modern technologies and advanced monitoring procedures to reduce violations related to irregular Hajj. These efforts contributed to enhancing the safety of pilgrims, improving crowd-management efficiency and maintaining the smooth flow of movement within the holy sites.

Q: How would you describe Saudi-Sri Lankan cooperation in organising Hajj?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: Cooperation between the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and the Republic of Sri Lanka is characterised by continuous and constructive coordination in all matters related to Hajj. The relevant authorities in both countries work jointly to ensure the provision of the best services for Sri Lankan pilgrims and enable them to perform their rituals with ease and peace of mind.

Q: How many Hajj pilgrims were there globally, and what were the main challenges?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: According to official statistics, the number of Hajj pilgrims this year reached 1,707,301 from various countries around the world. The main challenges included managing large crowds, ensuring public safety and providing health, transportation and accommodation services within a specific geographical and temporal scope. These challenges were addressed through advanced and integrated operational plans, which contributed to the smooth and successful completion of the Hajj season.

Q: Are there any future expansion projects?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: The Kingdom continues to implement strategic development projects within the framework of Vision 2030, including developing the infrastructure in Makkah and the Holy Sites, and enhancing transportation networks and smart services. This contributes to raising the quality of services provided to pilgrims and Umrah performers and improving their long-term experience.

Q: How are Saudi-Sri Lankan relations strengthened outside the context of Hajj?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: Relations between the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and the Republic of Sri Lanka are witnessing continuous development in many areas, including political, economic, trade, cultural and educational cooperation, in addition to developing exchanges between institutions and the private sector. This reflects the two countries’ keenness to strengthen the bilateral partnership and achieve common interests.

Q: What message would you like to convey to Sri Lankan Muslims?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: We extend our sincere congratulations to the Hajj pilgrims who have completed their Hajj rituals, and we ask Almighty Allah to accept their pilgrimage. We also assure Muslims in Sri Lanka that the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia places serving the Two Holy Mosques and the guests of Almighty Allah at the forefront of its priorities and continues to develop the Hajj and Umrah system to achieve the highest standards of quality and safety.

By Ifham Nizam