Features
Inauspicious start and getting into my stride at the Victorian Bar
Excerpted from a Life in the Law by Nimal Wikramanayake
I drove into work on Monday, 13 October 1972 trembling with excitement. I walked into Owen Dixon Chambers and took the lift up to the third floor to DB’s chambers. DB took me next door and introduced me to a lady barrister, Lyn Opas, in a little dog-box next to his chambers. Next he took me across the corridor and introduced me to a young barrister by the name of John Coldrey. Coldrey had a criminal practice and was later to become the Director of Public Prosecutions, and still later he was appointed to the Supreme Court. Coldrey asked whether I would like to have a cup of coffee and suggested we go up to the lounge on the thirteenth floor.
He was a delightful man with an impish sense of humour. As we walked into the lounge the buzz of conversation suddenly stopped and all the barristers in that room turned around to stare at me. Not a word was spoken as John went up to the servery and ordered two cups of coffee. We sat down and the conversation resumed.
A number of barristers clustered around me and asked me what I was doing there. I told them that I had come to the Victorian Bar to give it some colour. This little quip of mine elicited guffaws of laughter. Coldrey and I then went back down to the third floor and I sat at my little desk. Peter Heerey had arranged for me to sign the Bar Roll on October 26 so that I was now a member of the educated unemployed for the next fortnight.
In the first few weeks, almost every single barrister I saw stopped me to ask me who I was and what I was doing in Owen Dixon Chambers. My stock reply was that I had come to the Bar to give it some colour, but I had to stop my little quip because it elicited some rather snide racist comments.
In the meantime, I was of considerable assistance to DB; having been an advocate/barrister for twelve years, I was extremely skilled in drafting legal documents. I whiled away my time drawing Statements of Claim in the Supreme Court, Particulars of Demand in the County Court, interrogatories and answers to interrogatories.
Mr Nkrumah
November was soon upon me and I sat at my desk for the first two weeks, looking longingly at my telephone and waiting for it to ring. When it did ring suddenly it was my former neighbour, Peter Allaway. While I was a solicitor, we rented a house in Jordan Street, Malvern, but once I made my decision to go to the Bar we moved into a small flat in Myamin Street, Armadale. Peter had been my neighbour in Jordan Street. He had a motor car collision case, or what is commonly called a “crash-and-bash” case.
Peter’s client was IPEC, a large firm of removalists. One of its drivers had been involved in a three-car collision and Peter retained me to appear for the driver, who was the second defendant in the Magistrates’ Court at Williamstown. Peter duly delivered the brief and I spent many an hour preparing it. I would show these young Australian barristers my mettle.
I got up the next morning and left home at 8.30 am for Williamstown. My knowledge of Australian roads was extremely limited as I had been but a year in Melbourne. I had pored over my Gregory’s Street Directory the previous night. Now I wandered up and down the Nepean highway for a couple of hours and was hopelessly lost. I finally arrived at a ferry and went across on it, arriving at the Williamstown Court at 11 am. I rushed into the Magistrates’ Court and learned to my chagrin that my case had been called and was about to be heard. I rushed in and took my seat at the Bar table when two young barristers moved across and sat on either side of me.
I was nonplussed when the first one got up and marked his appearance. He was Peter Rattray and the second was John Tebbutt. After they had marked their appearance I marked my appearance. I had shortened my name to Wikrama when I went to the Bar, and the magistrate, Harry Boarder, asked me to spell my name. I said: W-I-K-R-A-M-A. The magistrate was a beady-eyed, pompous man who looked down at me and said, “Carry on, Mr Nkrumah” (Nkrumah was then the president of Ghana and I can assure you that I bore no resemblance to him.) I gently told the magistrate that my name was Wikrama and not Nkrumah.
His reply was, “That’s alright. Carry on, Mr Nkrumah.” This was my first experience of blatant racism in Australia. Rattray put his client in the box, led his evidence-in-chief, and counsel for the first defendant cross-examined him. I then got up to cross-examine to find that Rattray and Tebbutt each in turn objected to every question I put. Most of my questions were clearly admissible but the magistrate, Harry Boarder, joined in the exchanges. He upheld every single objection, yet most of the objections were completely and utterly frivolous.
The same thing happened when John Tebbutt put his client in the box. My cross-examination was interrupted by Rattray and Tebbutt’s objections. When I put my client in the witness box, these two young heroes objected to every single question I put. I was completely shattered at the end of this experience.
Of course, you can guess the inevitable. Rattray won 100 per cent, John Tebbutt’s client was exonerated and in addition received compensation from my client for his damage. Furthermore, my client was made liable to pay two sets of damages and two sets of costs. I was mortified. I walked out of court and told both these heroes that this would never happen to me again – and it never did.
I returned to my chambers and gave Peter Allaway the bad news. He was furious. I was about to have my dinner that evening when Peter burst into our little flat in Armadale. He was screaming and yelling at the top of his voice, and was uncontrollable. He told me that because of my incompetence and stupidity, he had lost an exceptionally good client, as IPEC was taking all its business away from him.
Explanations were useless, as Allaway refused to believe his client could in any way have been negligent. He promised me that he would never brief me again and that I should leave the Bar, as I was hopelessly and utterly incompetent. He stormed out of the flat leaving me speechless. What an inglorious beginning!
My brief fee in the Allaway case was $46 – my only income for November 1972 – an inauspicious beginning.
The Christmas vacation
The Christmas vacation was soon upon me as the courts, in my case the Magistrates’ Court, was closed for two weeks. DB had given me about forty briefs to work on during the summer vacation. I spent the next two weeks diligently working my way through them as Anna Maria had to work through January.
In that month, DB invited us home for dinner. We took chocolates for his four children. The youngest, little Willie, was two years old. He finished eating his slab of chocolate and stood beside me while I was having dinner. He kept staring at my hand which was resting on the arm of my chair. He suddenly leant forward, grabbed my hand and bit it, obviously thinking it was another piece of chocolate. I gave a loud yell and little Willie disappeared.
I returned to work in the first week of January and sat there twiddling my thumbs, as no solicitors delivered briefs to Gamin’s list. I worked through DB’s pleadings and gave my completed work to him when he returned to work on February 1. I got plenty of thanks but no money.The next few months were uneventful, save for the fact that volume one of Williams found its way back to my desk. I was writing in about $400 a month until the time came for me to end my reading.There were about 420 barristers at the Bar at that time and rooms were rare as hens’ teeth. I remember my friends, Peter Buchanan (now the late Mr Justice Buchanan of the Court of Appeal) and Clive Rosen sharing a little cubicle on the first floor in Owen Dixon Chambers.My friend Michael Croyle and I had coffee early in the month of April and he proudly told me that he had obtained a room in Equity Chambers. This is where Sir Eugene (“Pat”) Gorman comes into my story.
Sir Eugene Gorman
In 1952, Dad had brought us out to Australia on a holiday. His friends were aghast because Australia was regarded, as Ava Gardner once said, as “the end of the world” Dad said that he would like to see a place where no one else had been to, so we travelled to Australia on the Neptunia, a Lloyd Triestine vessel. It was a small boat, some 12,000 tonnes in weight, and it rolled badly. We spent three weeks in Melbourne because the Neptunia was to go on to Sydney, be refurbished, and return three weeks later. But the voyage was delightful, as we traveled first class and the service on board first class was unbelievable, second to none.Dad was vice-chairman of the Ceylon Bar Council. When he came to Australia he met two distinguished lawyers, Pat Gorman and Monahan KC, later Mr Justice Monahan of the Supreme Court of Victoria.
Ceylon was one of the richest countries in the world at that time. It was selling its rubber to China as no other country was trading with China. Tea was extremely expensive, costing one English pound for a pound of tea until our prime minister ruined the market in 1954.The stupid man went to England and when he expressed surprise at the price of tea, which he said should not have been one English pound, the price of tea fell to two shillings and sixpence a pound.
In addition, when malaria was virtually eradicated, the population started increasing in leaps and bounds. The final straw came when the government granted free education, which meant Ceylon became a third-world country. I refer to this debacle because Monahan KC was horrified at my father’s fees. He was charging fifty English guineas a day while Monahan was charging fifteen Australian pounds a day.
Pat Gorman and Dad became good friends and when he discovered that Dad was on the committee of the Ceylon Turf Club, he took him to the three race courses in Melbourne. They kept up their friendship over the years. When I decided to emigrate to Australia, Dad wrote to Pat Gorman and told him that I was coming to Australia.
Sir Eugene Gorman (known as Pat) was one of the great advocates at the Victorian Bar. He was born in 1892 and had a large and a lucrative practice. His boast was that he intended retiring at the age of fifty, but the war intervened so he went off to war and retired immediately after. I believe he was a general in the Australian Army and ran the race course in Egypt during the war.
He had large salubrious chambers on the third floor of Equity Chambers, and a sign on his door read: Nothing matters half as much in life, as you think it does.Whenever I went to see Pat Gorman he was seated behind his large desk in his large room puffing on a large Cuban cigar. He would greet me with great affection, but within a few minutes would start moaning about how badly off and poor he was. For the life of me I was at a loss to understand why his conversation always started off with his poor financial situation.
It was only after he died that the penny dropped. Gorman thought that every time I visited him I was coming there to “touch him for a load”. When I decided to go to the Bar, he invited two of his friends who were senior partners in two big city firms to dinner with me. Suffice it to say I never got a brief from them.He always threw a large party every Christmas and he invited me to his party when I was reading with DB in 1972. These parties were magnificent affairs, with champagne flowing freely, oysters and the rest.
Anyway, I decided to see Pat Gorman about getting a room in Equity Chambers. I remember going to see him one afternoon in April 1973. His secretary, Pam Nicholson, ushered me into his room and he greeted me with his customary warmth. I told him that there was a room falling vacant in Equity Chambers and asked whether it would be possible for me to have it.
He picked up the phone and dialled Sir James Tate, who then handled accommodation at the bar. Pat Gorman said, “James, I have young Nimal Wikramanayake here with me. I believe there is a room going in Equity Chambers on the second floor. I want you to give it to him” I did not hear what Sir James said but Pat put the phone down, looked up at me and said: “Sonny, the room is yours” This was, I might say with some modesty, the only underhand thing I have ever done in my life. To this day Michael Croyle does not know how he lost his room. Mick died after I began this writing.
I would like to tell you about an interesting incident that happened during the final months of my reading period. It is slightly risque and un-Australian but still amusing. DB decided to take me for a drink to his club, the Victorian Club. It was in Queen Street and the subject of the “Great Bookie Robbery” a few years later. We got there shortly after five pm and joined a large group of about 15 people.
There was a short, florid Australian who appeared to take umbrage at my presence for he started relating racist Indian jokes, obviously under the impression that I was Indian. When he had finished relating his second anti-Indian joke, I asked the group whether I could have the floor and tell them a joke about the “New Australian”. They all agreed to let me have the floor, save for the florid Australian.
I told them that an Italian recently had been granted citizenship. He was excited about it and that evening he went to a pub close to his home, something he had never done before. He asked the bartender for an empty glass and then urinated into it and drank its contents. This created great interest among the members in the pub. He then left the pub with the members trailing behind him. He went back home and entered his garden through a side-gate, went to his fowl run and started choking a few of his hens to death. He then opened the back gate and went into a paddock where a cow was grazing peacefully. He went up to the cow, picked up its tail and put his ear to his rectum. At this stage the police were contacted and he was taken before the authorities for certification as being mentally unsound.
He was furious and said, “Why you arrest me? Me new Australian. Me go the pub, me drinks da piss, me screws da birds and then me listen to da bull-shit.’ This little anecdote was greeted with roars of laughter and the racist gentleman put his drink down and disappeared. I shouted to him to come back as I had a lot more jokes.
Features
The silent crisis: A humanitarian plea for Sri Lankan healthcare
As a clinician whose journey in medicine began from the lecture halls of the Colombo Medical Faculty, in 1965, and then matured through securing the coveted MBBS(Ceylon) degree in 1970, followed by a further kaleidoscopic journey down the specialist corridors, from 1978 onwards, I have witnessed the remarkable evolution of healthcare in Sri Lanka. I have seen the admirable resolve of a nation that managed to offer free healthcare, at the point of delivery, to all its citizens, and I have seen many a battle being fought to bring state-of-the-art treatments for the benefit of sick patients, even despite some of the initial scepticism on the part of some.
However, as we now try to navigate the turbulent waters of 2026, I find myself compelled to speak even impulsively. This is not a mission of fault-finding, or a manifestation of a desire to “ruffle feathers,” for the sake of fanning a fire. Rather, it is a reflection offered in good faith, born from the “Spirit of an Enthusiast” who has seen both the brickbats as well as the accolades bestowed on our profession. My goal is relatively simple: which is to bring to light the silent, sometimes extremely difficult, situations faced by patients, doctors, and relatives, and to urge for a compassionate and collective solution to a crisis that threatens the very foundation of the care we provide.
The Generic Gamble: The Lament of the Ward
The cornerstone of our health service has always been the provision of free medicine to all who come to our state medical facilities. For decades, the “generic-only” policy served as a vital safety net. But, today, that net is fraying, not just at the edges but virtually as a whole. In our hospital wards, the clinician’s heart sinks when a patient fails to respond to a standard course of treatment.
We are increasingly haunted by the fancy terminology, “Quality Failure”, as alerts on medicinal drugs. When an anti-infective medicine lacks the potency to clear an infection, or when a poor-quality generic drug fails to stabilise the circulation of a little gasping child who is fighting for his life, the treating doctor is left in a state of agonising clinical despair. It is a profound lament to realise that while the medicine is “available” on the shelf, its efficacy remains as a question mark. The “free health service” becomes tragically and obstinately expensive when it leads to prolonged hospital stays, complications, or, in the worst cases, even the loss of a life that could have been saved with a more reliable formulation of an essential medicine. We must acknowledge that a cheap drug that does not work is the most expensive drug of all. For the doctor, this turns every prescription into a calculated risk, a far cry from the “best possible care” we were trained to deliver. These situations are certainly not the whims of fancy of a wandering mind, but real-time occurrences in our health service.
The Vanishing Innovators and the Small Market Reality
In the private sector, the situation is equally dire, though the causes are different. We must face a hard truth: Sri Lanka is a comparatively small market in the global pharmaceutical landscape. For the world’s leading manufacturers of proven, branded medicines and vaccines, our island is often a small, rather peripheral, consideration.
When the National Medicines Regulatory Authority (NMRA) fixes prices at levels that do not even cover the “Cost, Insurance, and Freight” (CIF) value, let alone the massive research and development costs of these innovator drugs, these companies inevitably reach a breaking point. They do not “bail out” through a lack of compassion, but do so even reluctantly sometimes, because they simply cannot sustain their operations at a loss.
Over the last few years, we have watched in silence as reputable international companies have closed their shops and departed our shores. With them have gone some of the vaccines that provided a lifetime of immunity, and the so-called branded drugs that offered predictable, life-saving results. When these “Gold Standards” vanish, the void is often filled by products from regions with lower regulatory oversight, leaving the patient with no choice but to settle for what is available or just what is left.
The Shadow Economy of “Baggage Medicines”
Perhaps the most heartbreaking symptom of this broken system is the rise of the “baggage medicine” market. Walk into any major private hospital today, and you will hear the whispered conversations of relatives trying to source drugs from abroad, in a clandestine manner.
Reputed branded drugs are being brought into the country in the suitcases of international travellers. While these relatives are acting out of pure, desperate love, the medical risks are astronomical. These medicines sometimes bypass the essential “Cold Chain” requirements for temperature-sensitive products like insulin or specialised vaccines. There is no way to verify if the drug in the suitcase is genuinely effective, or if it has been rendered inert by the heat of a cargo hold of an aircraft.
As a physician, it is an agonising dilemma: do I administer a drug brought in a suitcase to save a life, knowing very well that I cannot certify its safety? We are forcing our citizens into a shadow economy of survival, stripped of the protections a modern regulatory body should provide.
The Unavoidable Storm: Geopolitical Shocks
Adding to this internal struggle is the current unrest in the Middle East. As of March 2026, the escalation of conflict has sent shockwaves through global supply chains. With major maritime routes, like the Strait of Hormuz effectively halted and air cargo capacity from Middle Eastern hubs, like Dubai, slashed by over 50%, the cost of transporting medicine has become a moving target.
* Skyrocketing Logistics: Freight surcharges and war-risk insurance premiums have added “unavoidable costs” that simply cannot be absorbed by local importers under a rigid price cap.
* Delayed Transport is delayed healing:
Shipments rerouted around the Cape of Good Hope add weeks to delivery times, leading to stockouts of even the most basic medical consumables.
These are global forces beyond our control, but our regulatory response must be agile enough to recognise them. If we ignore these external costs, we are not just controlling prices; we are ensuring that the medicine never arrives at all.
The Rights of Patients Seeking Private Healthcare
Whatever the reason for patients seeking private healthcare, all of us have an abiding duty to respect their wishes. It is their unquestionable right to have access to drugs and vaccines of proven high quality, if they decide to go into Private Fee-levying Healthcare. This is particularly relevant to the immunisation of children. Sometimes the child receives the first dose of a given vaccine in a Private Hospital, but when he or she is taken for the second dose, that particular vaccine is not available, and they are not able to tell the parents when it would be available as well.
Some of the abiding problems, associated with immunisation of children and adults in the Private Sector, were graphically outlined at the Annual General Meeting of the Vaccines and Infectious Diseases Forum of Sri Lanka, held on the 10th of March, 2026. This needs to be attended to as a significant proportion of vaccines are administered to patients, both children and adults, in the Private Sector.
In other cases, the drug or drugs of proven quality is or are not available in the Private Sector as the company, or importing authority, has wound up the operations in our country due to their inability to sustain the operations, resulting from factors entirely beyond their control. Let us face it, the current pharmaceutical industry is significantly profit-oriented, and they will continue to operate only in countries where their profit margins are quite lucrative.
A Humane Call to All Stakeholders
The current scenario is a shared burden, and it requires a shared, compassionate solution. We must look at this, not through the lens of policy or profit, but through the eyes of the patient waiting in the clinic or in the ward.
* To the Ministry of Health and the NMRA:
We recognise the extremely difficult task of balancing affordability with quality. However, we urge a “Middle Path.” We need a dynamic pricing mechanism that reflects the reality of global trade logistics and the unique challenges of a relatively smaller market. Let us prioritise the restoration of “Quality Assurance” as the primary mandate, ensuring that every generic drug in the state sector is as reliable as the branded ones we have lost. To be able to provide such an abiding certificate of good quality, we need a fully-equipped state-of-the-art laboratory.
* To the Private Sector and Importers:
We ask you to remain committed to the people of Sri Lanka. Your role is not just commercial; it is a vital part of the national health infrastructure. A transparent dialogue with the regulator is essential to prevent more companies from leaving.
* To our Patients and their Families:
We hear your lamentations. We see the struggle in your eyes when a drug is unavailable or when you are forced to seek alternatives from abroad. We respect your right to seek the best possible treatment, and we are advocating for a system that honours that choice legally and safely.
Finally, the Spirit of Care
In the twilight of my career, I look back at my work and the thousands of patients I have treated. The “Spirit of an Enthusiast” is certainly not one of resignation, but of persistent hope. We have the clinical talent and the commitment of our healthcare professionals, we have the history of a strong health service, and we have a populace that deserves the best. For us, in this beautiful land, hope springs eternal.
Let us stop the “baggage medicine” culture. Let us invite the innovators back to our shores by treating them as partners in health, not just as vendors. Let us also ensure that our state-sector generics are beyond reproach.
This is a mission to find a way forward. For the sake of the child in the ward, the elderly patient in the clinic, and the integrity of the medical profession. We desperately need to act now, together, hand in hand, and with a pulsating heart of concern, for the entire humanity we are committed to serve.
by Dr B. J. C. Perera
MBBS(Cey), DCH(Cey), DCH(Eng), MD(Paediatrics), MRCP(UK), FRCP(Edin),
FRCP(Lond), FRCPCH(UK), FSLCPaed, FCCP, Hony. FRCPCH(UK), Hony. FCGP(SL)
Specialist Consultant Paediatrician and Honorary Senior Fellow,
Postgraduate Institute of Medicine, University of Colombo, Sri Lanka.
Features
Social and political aspects of Buddhism in a colonial context
I was recently given several books dealing with religion, and, instead of looking at questions of church union in current times, I turned first to Buddhism in the 19th century. Called Locations of Buddhism: Colonialism and Modernity in Sri Lanka, the book is a study by an American scholar, Anne M Blackburn, about developments in Buddhism during colonial rule. It focuses on the contribution of Ven. Hikkaduwe Sri Sumangala who was perhaps the most venerated monk in the latter part of the 19th century.
Hikkaduwe, as she calls Ven. Sumangala through the book, is best known as the founder of the Vidyodaya Pirivena, which was elevated to university statues in the fifties of this century, and renamed the University of Sri Jayewardenepura in the seventies. My work in the few years I was there was in the Sumangala Building, though I knew little about the learned monk who gave it its name.
He is also renowned for having participated in the Panadura debates against Christians, and having contributed to the comparative success of the Buddhist cause. It is said that Colonel Olcott came to Sri Lanka after having read a report of one of the debates, and, over the years, Ven. Sumangala collaborated with him, in particular with regard to the development of secondary schools. At the same time, he was wary of Olcott’s gung ho approach, as later he was wary of the Anagarika Dharmapala, who had no fear of rousing controversy, his own approach being moderate and conciliatory.
While he understood the need for a modern education for Buddhist youngsters, which Olcott promoted, free of possible influences to convert which the Christian schools exercised, he was also deeply concerned with preserving traditional learning. Thus, he ensured that in the pirivena subjects such as astrology and medicine were studied with a focus on established indigenous systems. Blackburn’s account of how he leveraged government funding given the prevailing desire to promote oriental studies while emphatically preserving local values and culture is masterly study of a diplomat dedicated to his patriotic concerns.
He was, indeed, a consummately skilled diplomat in that Blackburn shows very clearly how he satisfied the inclinations of the laymen who were able to fund his various initiatives. He managed to work with both laymen and monks of different castes, despite the caste rivalry that could become intense at times. At the same time, he made no bones about his own commitment to the primacy of the Goigama caste, and the exclusiveness of the Malwatte and Asgiriya Chapters.
What I knew nothing at all about was his deep commitment to internationalism, and his efforts to promote collaboration between Ceylon Lanka and the Theravada countries of South East Asia. One reason for this was that he felt the need for an authoritative leader, which Ceylon had lost when its monarchy was abolished by the British. Someone who could moderate disputes amongst monks, as to both doctrine and practice, seemed to him essential in a context in which there were multiple dispute in Ceylon.
Given that Britain got rid of the Burmese monarchy and France emasculated the Cambodian one, with both of which he also maintained contacts, it was Thailand to which he turned, and there are records of close links with both the Thai priesthood and the monarchy. But in the end the Thai King felt there was no point in taking on the British, so that effort did not succeed.
That the Thai King, the famous Chulalongkorn, did not respond positively to the pleas from Ceylon may well have been because of his desire not to tread on British toes, at a time when Thailand preserved its independence, the only country in Asia to do so without overwhelming British interventions, as happened for instance in Nepal and Afghanistan, which also preserved their own monarchies. But it could also have been connected with the snub he was subject to when he visited the Temple of the Tooth, and was not permitted to touch the Tooth Relic, which he knew had been permitted to others.
The casket was taken away when he leaned towards it by the nobleman in charge, a Panabokke, who was not the Diyawadana Nilame of the day. He may have been entrusted with dealing with the King, as a tough customer. Blackburn suggests it is possible the snub was carefully thought out, since the Kandyan nobility had no fondness for the low country intercourse with foreign royalty, which seemed designed to take away from their own primacy with regard to Buddhism. The fact that they continued subservient to the British was of no consequence to them, since they had a façade of authority.
The detailed account of this disappointment should not, however, take away from Ven. Sumangala’s achievement, and his primacy in the country following his being chosen as the Chief Priest for Adam’s Peak, at the age of 37, which placed him in every sense at the pinnacle of Buddhism in Ceylon. Blackburn makes very clear the enormous respect in which he was held, partly arising from his efforts to order ancient documents pertaining to the rules for the Sangha, and ensure they were followed, and makes clear his dominant position for several decades, and that it was well deserved.
by Prof. Rajiva Wijesinha
Features
Achievements of the Hunduwa!
Attempting to bask in the glory of the past serves no purpose, some may argue supporting the contention of modern educationists who are advocating against the compulsory teaching of history to our youth. Even the history they want to teach, apparently, is more to do with the formation of the earth than the achievements of our ancestors! Ruminating over the thought-provoking editorial “From ‘Granary of the East’ to a mere hunduwa” (The Island, 5th March), I wished I was taught more of our history in my schooldays. In fact, I have been spending most of my spare time watching, on YouTube, the excellent series “Unlimited History”, conducted by Nuwan Jude Liyanage, wherein Prof. Raj Somadeva challenges some of the long-held beliefs, based on archaeological findings, whilst emphasising on the great achievements of the past.
Surely, this little drop in the Indian ocean performed well beyond its size to have gained international recognition way back in history. Pliny the Elder, the first-century Roman historian, therefore, represented Ceylon larger than it is, in his map of the world. Clicking on (https://awmc.unc.edu/2025/02/10/interactive-map-the-geography-of-pliny-the-elder/) “Interactive Map: The Geography of Pliny the Elder” in the website of the Ancient World Mapping Centre at the University of North Carolina at Chappel Hill, this is the reference to Anuradhapura, our first capital:
“The ancient capital of Sri Lanka from the fourth century BCE to the 11th century CE. It was recorded under the name Anourogrammon by Ptolemy, who notes its primary political status (Basileion). It has sometimes been argued that a “Palaesimundum” mentioned by Pliny in retelling the story of a Sri Lankan Embassy to the emperor Claudius is also to be identified with Anourogrammon. A large number of numismatic finds from many periods have been reported in the vicinity.”
Ptolemy, referred to above, is the mathematician and astronomer of Greek descent born in Alexandria, Egypt, around 100 CE, who was well known for his geocentric model of the universe, till it was disproved 15 centuries later, by Copernicus with his heliocentric model.
It is no surprise that Anuradhapura deservedly got early international recognition as Ruwanwelisaya, built by King Dutugemunu in 140 BCE, was the seventh tallest building in the ancient world, perhaps, being second only to the Great Pyramids of Giza, at the time of construction. It was overtaken by Jetawanaramaya, built by King Mahasena around 301 CE, which became the third tallest building in the ancient world and still holds the record for the largest Stupa ever built, rising to a height of 400 feet and made using 93.3 million baked mud bricks. Justin Calderon, writing for CNN travel under the heading “The massive megastructure built for eternity and still standing 1,700 years later” (https://edition.cnn.com/travel/jetavanaramaya-sri-lanka-megastructure-anuradhapura) concludes his very informative piece as follows:
“Jetavanaramaya stands today as evidence of an ancient society capable of organising labour, materials and engineering knowledge on a scale that rivalled any civilisation of its time.
That it remains relatively unknown beyond Sri Lanka may be one of history’s great oversights — a reminder that some of the ancient world’s most extraordinary achievements were not carved in stone, but shaped from earth, devotion and human ingenuity.”
Extraordinary achievements of our ancestors are not limited to Stupas alone. As mentioned in the said editorial, our country was once the Granary of the East though our present leader equated it to the smallest measure of rice! Our canal systems with the gradient of an inch over a mile stand testimony to engineering ingenuity of our ancestors. When modern engineers designed the sluice gate of Maduru Oya, they were pleasantly surprised to find the ancient sluice gates designed by our ancestors, without all their technical knowhow, in the identical spot.
Coming to modern times, though we vilify J. R. Jayewardene for some of his misdeeds later in his political career, he should be credited with changing world history with his famous speech advocating non-violence and forgiveness, quoting the words of the Buddha, at the San Francisco Conference in 1945. Japan is eternally grateful for the part JR played in readmitting Japan to the international community, gifting Rupavahini and Sri Jayewardenepura Hospital. Although we have forgotten the good JR did, there is a red marble monument in the gardens of the Great Buddha (Daibutsu) in Kamakura, Japan with Buddha’s words and JR’s signature.
It cannot be forgotten that we are the only country in the world that was able to comprehensively defeat a terrorist group, which many experts opined were invincible. Services rendered by the Rajapaksa brothers, Mahinda and Gotabaya, should be honoured though they are much reviled now, for their subsequent political misdeeds. Though Gen-Z and the following obviously have no recollections, it is still fresh in the minds of the older generation the trauma we went through.
It is to the credit of the democratic process we uphold, that the other terrorist group that heaped so much of misery on the populace and did immense damage to the infrastructure, is today in government.
As mentioned in the editorial, it is because Lee Kuan Yew did not have a ‘hundu’ mentality that Singapore is what it is today. He once famously said that he wanted to make a Ceylon out of Singapore!
Let our children learn the glories of our past and be proud to be Sri Lankan. Then only they can become productive citizens who work towards a better future. Resilience is in our genes and let us facilitate our youth to be confident, so that they may prove our politicians wrong; ours may be a small country but we are not ‘hundu’!
By Dr Upul Wijayawardhana
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