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Jungle trek with tappal runner Kalua: Laggala — Pallegama in 1947

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By Frederick Medis

It was 1947, and everywhere there was the lingering post-war euphoria of victory in the Second World War in which Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) had played a significant role with Lord Louis Mountbatten’s South-East Asia Command headquarters in Kandy. By now British, American, African and Indian troops had ceased to be evident in most of the populated areas, and the skies were free of the continual droning of British fighter airplanes as they rummaged the skies.

The Soulbury Commission had made its recommendations. Our college class studying the subject of government had been asked to go to the Colombo Town Hall and listen to some of the submissions and recommendations. Food scarcities and queues were quietly being eliminated, but prices were stabilizing at higher levels. The war had brought money into the hands and purses of many people, and a noveau riche was emerging. The five-cent emergency currency-note of June 1,, 1942 (divisible into two and three cents values) was slowly going out of use. The British Government had followed a policy of issuing low denomination currency as being the most effective method of stalling inflation.

Invitation to Laggala-Pallegama

I had just passed 20, and was awaiting results of the university entrance examination. Time was hanging heavy on my hands when, along with my parents and my sister, I attended the wedding reception of a family friend at the Silver Fawn Ballroom. This was one of Colombo’s fashionable places at the time; there were only three recognized hotels in Colombo and another in Mount Lavinia.

At this wedding reception I met a childhood friend and her husband, a planter of Eurasian descent, James Gibbs Martin. He was a happy-go-lucky man and a few years elder to me. He was interested in places connected with history and wildlife. While on a short holiday in the fast developing tea estate at Panwila in August 1945, we had explored what was then the dense jungle fastness of Hunasgiriya peak. Miles and miles of jungle were there with little life at all, both human and animal. Today it is vastly different.

We got into conversation and they invited me to spend a few days on the remote tea estate where he was now stationed temporarily. “Come”, he said, “to be in Kandy at night. Then at 5.20 in the morning take the train to Matale. From Matale there is a bus to Rattota, a sleepy village. Inquire at the Rattota Post Office and they will direct you to the only vehicle which plies the route.” (This “bus” was a small-sized converted lorry with strapped-on wooden benches and open wire grills for windows on either side.) “This makeshift bus will leave at about 9 am. They will charge you 40 cents as fare. It will stop a short distance from the rocky roadway leading to the small bungalow on Laggala Estate. The road that the bus travels is about 10 miles distant. It is narrow, rough and boulder-strewn. But hopefully, you can be with us for lunch by one o’clock in the afternoon.”

The description and the veiled warning forebode a journey of adventure, and I listened with ears and eyes wide open. Naturally, I agreed instinctively (with my parents’ permission). “Write,” they said, “before you come. There is no telephone communication. But in any case it does not matter. We are lonely out there and only the servants, estate workers and trackers are there in the vicinity.” I promised to write.

Rattota via Kandy and Matale

It was just before the Vesak festival in May that I decided to go. The evening train from Colombo Fort took me to Kandy for 90 cents in a third class compartment. At Kandy, it was too late to get to the home of friends in Suduhumpola. Besides, I had to be up and ready to board the 5.20 am train to Matale while it was still dark. I stayed in the rest room, where there was nobody else. The lounge chair was bug-infested. So I slept on the large table in the centre. A fair-sized cut-out of soft plastic, which I had brought with me, served as a good spread. It had served the purpose of a protective barrage balloon over ships in Colombo harbour during the war, and was freely available for sale in the Pettah at the time.

I was up at four in the morning, with the huffing and puffing of steam engines of trains serving as an alarm clock. I washed, ate some biscuits with plain tea from my vacuum flask (milk-tea gets spoilt after some hours) and I was ready.

My luggage consisted of my canvas boy-scout haversack in which I carried a change of clothes, a camera which was a gift from my father, a tripod stand for use with the automatic self-timing shutter, a vacuum flask and some miscellaneous essentials including aspirin, iodine, cotton wool and sticking plaster. For some unaccountable reason, in addition to biscuits, I had taken three anamalu plantains and a generous helping of jaggery cut into manageable pieces.

The train to Matale had a fair number of passengers. On reaching Matale, I crammed along with my haversack into the first available bus, which was shaped like Cinderella’s coach, and reached Rattota. I was shown the post office, which had not yet opened for business. I spent the extra time gainfully watching some well-cared for and trained Sinhala game-cocks tethered to a clump of plantain bushes down the shadowed slope on the opposite side of the road.

The owner, a bare-chested stalwart, was happy to discuss game-fowl characteristics with me. A few years earlier I had joined as a junior member of the Ceylon Poultry Club and by now I owned a few Sinhala game-birds, which had won awards at exhibitions. When he learnt where I was going, the man told me that the bus would not ply the route that day, as it was under repair. This was disturbing news.

When the post office opened, I renewed my inquiry regarding the bus. The officials confirmed the bad news. When they found out that I was determined, if necessary, to walk, they told me that it was a long and circuitous route of 17 miles to Pallegama, through streams and dense jungles infested by bear, wild boar and an occasional leopard. It was impossible, they told me disparagingly. I would get lost, and most likely never return.

Jungle walk with Kalua

However, there was a ray of hope, for soon after 9 am Kalua, the tappal-runner would leave the post office with the mail bag. I could go with him, if I was so inclined. They warned me: “You have to keep pace with him; he walks fast through the jungle. Don’t lag too far behind. You are inexperienced, and the jungle is dangerous.”

I had come this far, and I was determined to go on. I was wearing khaki shorts, my scout shirt with its numerous pockets, belt and pith hat. The haversack was strapped round my shoulders. I wore khaki hose-tops, for I probably thought of leeches, and comparatively new leather shoes with light-coloured compressed rubber soles.

A postal officer introduced me to Kalua. He was a dapper, black-complexioned man, as the name implied, nearly six feet tall, bare-footed and wearing a grey-brown sarong about 10 inches above ground, with a brass-buttoned official black serge coat. When told that I was keen to join him, Kalua grunted his approval. Aside, he spoke a few words to those who were sealing the smaller bags to be enclosed in the large canvas sack to be carried by him. I gathered from his gesticulations that what he was saying was “I have no time to waste. If he is slow I will leave him behind.”

The postmaster, as I guessed him to be, edged close to me. He said, “Don’t take off your shoes. Your feet are not used to the sharp rocks and thorns like our tappal-runner.” I nodded my thanks.

By now Kalua was ready. “Yamu (let’s go)”, he said bluntly and somewhat condescendingly. Impulsively, I moved forward at a steady pace behind him, with shoes and all.

For about one mile of descent, Kalua’s sturdy frame pushed through narrow jungle paths where there was evidence of at least some agricultural use. We were now leaving the semi-cultivated land and moving upwards for half a mile through brushwood and patna with sparse and heavily foliaged, gnarled trees.

The scene then changed. An occasional grunt made my muscles tense, but I was relieved to realize it came not from an animal, but from my leader and guide. Both Kalua and I took cautious steps as it was evident that hidden under the bushes with innocent-looking leaves were sharp drops that hid dangerous ravines and streams.

We had now reached an open valley. The gurgling sound indicated that there was a fast-moving stream winding over both sharp and rounded rocks of massive proportions. Kalua, balancing the mail-bag on his head, walked steadily through the water gushing a few inches below the knee. Above the sound of the rumbling water, he shouted to me to keep to the identical path he was taking. As there was no time for me to take off my footwear, I plunged in after the leader, with shoes and hose-tops to boot.

The upward climb through a heavily wooded area was not easy, especially with the fair weight of my haversack. It was then that I noted his feet. They were broad, strong and the toes splayed apart. This gave him a firm grip of whatever came in contact with them. This man walked with unusually erect posture. He was balancing the canvas postal bag vertically and sometimes horizontally on his head without the aid of his hands, except when he bent under creepers and low branches.

In his right hand he held something like a light manne knife and a nail about six inches long. From a cord on his left wrist was suspended a thin metal plate about two inches by five inches in size. He struck the nail on the plate from time to time, much like an alarm bell, whenever we crept through the bushes. Each alarm he sounded four or five times in a staccato rhythm. In the still silence of the morning it echoed, specially in those areas where a stray wind was swaying the low trees.

Kalua was a strong and bold man. How intrepid he was became evident to me when we were in a dense jungle area where he cut his way through the creepers and the tall, slender undergrowth, while I followed in his footsteps. The pathway he had cleared two days earlier had to be cut once again, so fast did the jungle regain its lush strength after the light rains.

In front of us was a sizeable mound, partly hidden by bushes and wild creepers. There was no other way in which we could move out except by going round the hillock. Trees on the sides were too dense and their huge trunks of wide circumference would daunt anyone thinking of going through their interstices.

Kalua moved round the hillock and I followed. And then I saw what made me tremble. Kalua simultaneously turned round with the bag gyrating on his head to keep direction. Looking at me he clamped his four fingers and thumb over his mouth. This was in much the same way that a school teacher places her index finger vertically over her lips, indicating that the pupils must keep silence.

On the mound I saw them; there were four black bears, three large and one small. Two were stamping around, and we heard the sound of loose earth being scattered on the leaves in front of us as they clawed the dry ant-hill, which was a fairly large termites’ nest.

Kalua paused momentarily, and without any hasty movement, indicated that I follow him in close formation. I was trembling. The sight was a menacing one, and the bears were above us about four yards away. After the encounter, Kalua was more relaxed and spoke occasionally.

As we passed the area of wet vegetation resulting from light rain, there arose from the ravine an uninterrupted sound of shrieking whistles, five or six long calls of high and low-pitched notes resembling a hen’s cackle, but reaching a crescendo and then going lower down the scale. This continued for a long time on a raucous, almost quarrelsome note. Without my inquiring, Kalua volunteered the information that it was the call of the Ceylon spur fowl (haban-kukula). He told me that we would perhaps see them if we were fortunate enough.

We continued to climb over the incline of what appeared to be a semi-montane wilderness, but the trees, though shorter, let in more streaks of sunlight on the dry decayed leaves which formed a thick carpet over the long and broad supporting roots. I asked Kalua about leeches. He grunted again, as the question appeared absurd to him. In any case, who bothered about leeches?

Then we heard the clattering as about 30 red-faced monkeys (rilaw) were swaying high up in the trees. They were a diversion. Kalua informed me that we were approaching a jungle clearing where three families chose to plant millet and kurakkan in the valley fed by a small ravine. They were a good distance away from the rest of humanity.

We came upon them in a few minutes. A tiny straw-thatched hut served as a small boutique, but there was nothing to buy except a welcome cup of plain tea, and of course some dried fish, dried game meat, kurakkan seed and wood-apple. These were not on display but brought out only when there was a wayfarer who stopped by. They said that monkeys were thieves and nothing could be kept exposed.

Kalua gave the order for boiling water for tea, while I gladly pulled off my haversack and slumped on the sliced log-seat placed on two flat stones in the compound. Although there was ample room on the seat, Kalua refused to sit with me. He preferred to squat on his haunches. Two middle-aged women and two men, who were sparsely clad, fetched and boiled water for tea on an open hearth fed by dry twigs.

Kalua sniffed at and declined the round kurakkan rotti, which was placed on a flat, woven mat-tray. He drew up the sleeves of his black coat and showed me two long welted scars on his forearm. “This is what a bear did to me one morning in the jungle. I did not see him in time.” He had also lost part of a little finger in the fray.

While we sat waiting for the tea to brew, the two men asked me some questions. I answered as best as I could, but most of the words were strange to me as the Sinhala they spoke had a peculiar drawl and accentuation. Kalua therefore answered for me. He was a familiar figure to them and was a link with the world outside the jungle. They were able to gather from him information relevant to their lonely lives, and they awaited his twice-weekly arrivals to and fro.

He would go alone through the jungle to Laggala, Illukkumbura, Makumbura and Laggala-Pallegama. Then he would rest for a day and come back to Rattota with mail for onward transmission through Matale and Kandy.

The cost of the two cups of tea was two cents, and I paid with two copper one-cent coins I had in my bag. This was about the price anywhere in the country at that time. Instead of sugar they gave us a spoonful of tal sukiri, a type of jaggery, to the palm of the hand.

Refreshed, Kalua sprang to his feet, as he had no time to lose.

After we had walked for about a mile in silence, Kalua asked me why I was going to the jungle tea estate of Laggala, which he knew. I told him I had friends there. Again he grunted. When I asked whether anyone else had made the trek with him earlier, he said there was no need for company. He knew the jungle well enough, and there had been tappal runners who carried staves for defence and bells for scaring away the wild animals.

He had hardly finished speaking when two large sambhur stopped in their tracks a few yards ahead of us with a young fawn on slender quivering legs. They looked at us and almost immediately ran across with a thumping sound on the dry earth. It was a beautiful sight. “As I was telling you,” Kalua said, “today there are fewer animals. They cannot harm us. They are afraid of us.”

He told me he was brought up as a young boy in a walauwa (stately home) with many children. He was their servant and messenger, and later the master arranged with the postal authorities for him to serve as a tappal-runner. They had been kind to him and even given him a small outhouse in the walauwa garden where he stayed and did odd jobs during his free time.

By now the uphill climb and the downhill drag were making me feel hungry and exhausted. If I lagged behind I would lose my way, for other than Kalua there was no human being in sight. Then it occurred to me that in my haversack were plantains and pieces of jaggery. This was a wonderful discovery. I offered Kalua his share, but he took only the plantains. Within a minute of taking a few bites, I was back to normal with revived energy. I plodded on, ready to walk many more miles.

Ahead of us, in a partly open area with low bushes, we heard a persistent series of short grunts. As the bushes moved to and fro, we stopped to watch an amazing struggle between two full-grown porcupines as they came to the open patch of jungle. They were contending for a point of vantage. Instead of facing each other, they were turning around in semi-circles so that they attacked by backward thrusts in order that the sharp quills would injure the exposed part of the opponent.

At first I thought it was a mating ritual, but soon we heard the rattling sounds of the quills grating, mixed with the low pitched sniffs and grunts. It was for me an interesting combat, but Kalua decided to move on.

Within minutes after this encounter, we were confronted only a short distance away by the tall grasses being flattened. Kalua showed me a grey-black wild sow with about a dozen piglings as they moved very fast trampling the mana grass. He stopped until they were out of sight, and then he uttered one sentence: “They are dangerous”.

The sun was now right above us as we came to a dense jungle of low trees. Kalua set to work with his knife, as he struck at the wild creepers and slender twigs that blocked our path. Our progress was slowed down, but when we finally emerged, there was open country, desolate except for the omnipresent low bushes.

I was cautioned to be on my guard. There was an animal that soon made its way out, and to our relief it was a peacock that nuzzled its way out of the grass. In a jerky way it rose in the air with its bedraggled, cumbersome tail folded behind. Within seconds it was followed by two peahens making persistent, awkward noises.

The heat had made me thirsty. Before I could communicate this to Kalua, he moved to a rocky outcrop where we drank from a cascade of cool gushing water.

I looked at my watch. It was nearly 2 pm. Above and beyond the canopy of trees I now saw smoke coming from the kitchen chimney of a large zinc-roofed house half a mile away. There was a sense of relief when Kalua announced we had almost arrived. I could then see patches of tea with some shade trees on an estate.

While we were within sight of the bungalow, he told me it was time to part company. I thanked him for all his help, and the protection and advice he had offered me. When I took out from my purse a new King George VI one-rupee currency note and gave it to him, he politely refused to take it.

As I moved forward and away from him, he paused to watch me go, and even at a distance he cautioned me to move slowly across the narrow metal bridge, which had no balustrades. When about 25 yards away, as the dogs started barking, my friend’s wife appeared in the doorway. As soon as she recognized me, I turned round to Kalua and asked him whether he would come in. He grunted, shook his head and was on his way where duty called.

His help made the journey possible, and naturally I was grateful to him. I had earlier heard of postal runners, whose duty was to distribute on foot letters from a post office to distant, out of the way villages, but this was the first time I had seen one. With time, their breed has suffered a natural death.

(To be continued)

(Excerpted from Jungle Journeys in Sri Lanka edited by CG Uragoda)



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Features

El Niño under way and threatens weather extremes, scientists say

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El Niño – the natural Pacific weather pattern that pushes up global temperatures – has officially begun, US scientists say.

The US National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) has declared that El Niño conditions are now under way in the tropical Pacific, with sea surface temperatures having risen sharply in recent months.

Many forecasts suggest this could end up as a so-called “super” El Niño, and even be among the strongest ever recorded.

Coming on top of decades of human-caused warming, it could bring another record-hot year – most likely in 2027 – with disruption to weather, food supplies and economies running well into that year.

This announcement by NOAA is not a surprise as forecasters have expected this warming phase, after the cooler “sister” pattern, La Niña, ended earlier this year.

Sea surface temperatures in the central and tropical Pacific have now passed the 0.5C-above-average threshold that US scientists use to define an El Niño event.

El Niño conditions developed over the past month, as shown by above-average sea surface temperatures (SSTs) across the central to eastern equatorial Pacific Ocean,” the agency said.

NOAA has also seen the winds above the equatorial Pacific begin to shift – a sign that the atmosphere is now responding to the warmer ocean, not just the ocean warming on its own.

A graphic of two global maps with one showing in blue, cooler conditions in a key section of the Pacific in December last year, with a second one showing conditions in May this year, with red indicating a far greater amount of heat coming to the surface of sea.

What has surprised the researchers is how confident the computer models already are about its strength.

El Niño‘s intensity is measured by how far sea surface temperatures rise above average in a key zone of the Pacific.

A strong event is defined as more than 1.5C above average; a very strong one above 2C.

According to NOAA’s June outlook, “there is a 63% chance of a very strong El Niño during November-January, that would rank among the largest El Niño events in the historical record going back to 1950,” the agency said.

The three strongest events since then have been in 1982/83, 1997/98 and 2015/16.

Some of the latest US and European (ECMWF) models go further, showing temperatures in the tropical Pacific potentially climbing more than 3C above average by the end of the year.

But the US agency urged some caution on what their strength prediction implies.

“Even very strong El Niño events do not lead to the expected impact everywhere, but stronger events can more significantly tilt the odds in favour of expected outcomes.”

The bigger concern is that all this is happening on an already much hotter planet.

“We do need to worry about the impacts,” said Prof Adam Scaife, head of monthly to decadal prediction at the UK Met Office.

“The current El Niño is… riding on top of a substantial amount of global warming.

“This means that the actual temperatures in affected regions could well be unprecedented, as the warming from El Niño is being topped up by climate change.”

A very strong El Niño typically lifts global air temperatures by around 0.2C, releasing heat stored in the ocean into the atmosphere. That extra blast now lands on a world that is already setting records.

The year 2024 – the warmest on record – was boosted by an El Niño that was not even especially strong.

And despite the cooling drag of a La Niña event, 2025 still came in as the third warmest year on record, hotter even than the super El Niño year of 2016.

Line graph showing monthly global temperatures since 1975 compared with pre-industrial levels of the late 19th Century. Temperatures show a long-term rising trend - the result of climate change. But temperatures tend to spike in El Niño periods, shown in red, and fall in La Niña periods, shown in blue.

“At the end of this year and into 2027, we’re likely to see very high temperatures globally,” Prof Scaife said.

“In 2027, we’re likely to see excess heat on top of the global warming we’ve already got, and that could easily lead to another year above 1.5 degrees [of warming above late-19th-Century levels].”

EPA-EFE/REX/Shutterstock A farmer holds a small pale ear of corn, grown on his farm in Zambia, that was affected by drought, driven in part by a previous El Niño event.
A farmer in Zambia shows a small ear of corn grown in a field impacted by drought during a previous El Niño event.[BBC]

No two El Niños are alike, but the disruption is felt most sharply in the tropics.

Flooding is common in northern Peru and southern Ecuador, and can reach parts of East Africa, Central Asia and the southern United States.

At the same time, the risk of drought and wildfire rises across much of Australia, Indonesia and northern South America – hitting agriculture and global food stocks.

El Niño also tends to suppress Atlantic hurricanes, and forecasters already expect a quieter-than-average season.

“While that sounds like a good thing, for Central America that leads to a lot less rainfall and potentially drought conditions,” said Liz Stephens, professor of climate risk and resilience at the University of Reading.

Even the UK feels it, if faintly: El Niño can tilt the odds towards a mild start and cold end to winter, though the links are loose.

For many, the forecast is far from abstract.

“An El Niño declaration is not just another weather forecast – for millions of people it is a deadly siren to be feared,” said Mohamed Adow, director of campaign group Power Shift Africa.

“It means failed rains, dying crops, rising food prices, and families pushed to the edge yet again. In East Africa especially, this will land on communities already battered by droughts and floods in recent years.”

Japan’s Meteorological Agency (JMA) takes a similar view to NOAA, judging that El Niño conditions are present. It adds it is all but certain to last into the autumn.

Not every agency is ready to call it, though. Australia’s Bureau of Meteorology (BoM) uses a stricter criterion, requiring sea surface temperatures to exceed 0.8C above average.

This week it said the tropical Pacific was “approaching El Niño conditions”, with central Pacific temperatures already crossing its thresholds, but it stopped short of formally declaring the event had begun.

It expects El Niño to develop later this year, and says it could be strong.

El Niño occurs every two to seven years and usually lasts about a year.

There is still no conclusive proof that climate change is making these events stronger or more frequent – but a warming world can supercharge their effects.

[BBC]

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Features

The Sniper Approach: Precision Medicines to Fight Cancer

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For a considerable length of time in the past, the global war on cancer relied on a strategy similar to carpet-bombing or shooting from the hip in a wider circle. Traditional chemotherapy, while lifesaving for millions, has always been a blunt and aimless instrument. It floods the body with medications that attack any cell that divides rapidly, and because cancer cells divide ever so speedily, they too are destroyed. However, those chemotherapy drugs also attack the healthy multiplying cells all over the body, including those in the hair follicles, stomach, intestinal lining, and bone marrow. It was a kind of an all-encompassing blunderbuss approach. The end result is the all-too-familiar gauntlet of severe nausea, loss of appetite, hair loss, bone marrow depression, as well as profound exhaustion.

But a quiet and profound revolution has been unfolding in the corridors of oncology. Western medicine is rapidly shifting away from this one-size-fits-all assault. Instead, we are entering the era of precision oncology: a paradigm shift where treatments are tailor-made to target the specific genetic and molecular aberrations lurking inside a tumour. In a telling analogy, modern cancer therapy is deploying snipers instead of grenades or carpet bombs. Nowhere is this revolution more visible or more successful than in the fight against blood cancers and lymphomas.

Decoding the Enemy: What are Antigens and Tumour Markers?

To understand how this new generation of medicine works, we have to look at the microscopic histological landscape of a cancer cell. Every cell in the body is covered in unique surface proteins, which act like microscopic identification badges. The immune system scans these badges to differentiate between one’s own healthy tissue and foreign invaders like bacteria or viruses. When any such protein triggers an immune response, it is called an antigen.

When a normal cell transforms or mutates into a cancerous one, its identification badges change. It begins to overexpress certain proteins, display mutated or altered versions of them, or throw out chemical distress signals. Scientists refer to these telltale chemical signatures as tumour markers.

In the past, two patients with the same type of lymphoma would receive exactly the same chemotherapy regimen because their tumour cells looked identical under a standard microscope. Today, molecular testing can reveal that Patient X’s tumour cells are covered in a specific antigen, while Patient Y’s tumour even lacks it entirely. Though the cancer has the same name, the underlying biology is completely different. By identifying these distinct tumour markers, doctors can now select a drug designed specifically to latch onto that exact marker, leaving the neighbouring healthy cells virtually untouched. It is akin even to modern drone technology.

The Breakthrough in Blood Cancers and Lymphomas

While precision medicine is making waves across all of oncology, its most dramatic victories have been won in haematological malignancies; the cancers of the blood, bone marrow, and lymph nodes. Blood cancers are uniquely suited for targeted therapies. Unlike a solid tumour in the lung or colon, which can be a chaotic, structurally complex mass of many different cell types, blood cancers often stem from a single, rogue line of immune cells circulating through the body. This makes it easier for scientists to isolate the specific “glitch” or antigen common to the entire cancerous population and then attack it specifically.

The Story of Rituximab: The First Smart Bomb

Consider the case of a Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma, a cancer of the lymphatic system. A vast majority of these lymphomas arise from cancerous B-cells (a type of lymphocytic white blood cell). Scientists discovered that these malignant cells almost universally carry a specific surface antigen called Cluster of Differentiation or Cluster of Designation, universally known by the abbreviation CD20.

This discovery led to the creation of the medication Rituximab, one of the earliest and most successful monoclonal antibodies. Monoclonal antibodies are laboratory-produced molecules engineered to mimic the body’s natural immune system. They act like guided missiles, designed to seek out and bind to specific proteins or foreign invaders to block disease processes, stop inflammation, or flag infected cells for natural destruction. Engineered in a lab, Rituximab behaves like a heat-seeking missile or a drone, designed to seek out and bind exclusively to the CD20 antigen.

Once it locks onto the cancer cell, it does two things: It delivers a direct blow to the cell’s internal machinery and simultaneously acts as a neon sign, screaming to the patient’s own immune system: “Come and destroy this specific cell.” The introduction of targeted therapies like Rituximab radically transformed the prognosis for lymphoma patients, turning what was once a highly fatal diagnosis into a highly manageable, often curable condition.

Turning the Patient’s Body into the Medicine: CAR-T Cell Therapy

If monoclonal antibodies are smart bombs, the latest frontier in tailored treatment is akin to training an elite, personalised army. CAR-T Cell Therapy (Chimeric Antigen Receptor T-cell therapy) is a highly specialised form of immunotherapy that genetically modifies a patient’s own white blood cells (T-cells) to seek out and destroy cancer cells. The use of the term Chimeric ” indicates a tissue with two or more genetically distinct populations of cells. This is the essence of CAR-T cell therapy, a living drug tailored not just to a type of cancer, but to the individual patient.

The process sounds like science fiction, but it is saving lives today. A patient’s white blood cells (T-cells, the foot soldiers of the immune system) are harvested from their blood. These cells are then genetically re-engineered in a specialised laboratory by using a harmless virus to insert a new gene into these T-cells. This gene instructs the cells to grow a specialised receptor on their surface called a Chimeric Antigen Receptor (CAR). This receptor is custom-built to recognise the exact antigen on the patient’s cancer cells (such as CD19 in acute leukaemia). Then these newly armed “super-cells” are grown by the millions in a laboratory and infused back into the patient.

Once back inside the body, these living weapons hunt down the cancer cells with astonishingly targeted precision. As they are the patient’s own cells, they can persist in the body for years, acting as a vigilant, microscopic security guard against any relapse.

The Benefits: Better Results, Kinder Side-Effects

The most immediate benefit of tailored therapy for the average patient is the reduction in collateral damage. Because these drugs are engineered to ignore cells that do not bear the target antigen, the devastating side effects of traditional chemotherapy are heavily mitigated. Patients generally do not lose their hair, and the severe, debilitating nausea that once defined the cancer experience is significantly lessened.

Furthermore, these treatments work where chemotherapy fails. Cancer cells are notoriously cunning; they often evolve mechanisms to pump chemotherapy drugs out of their system or repair the DNA damage caused by standard drugs. Targeted therapies bypass these defence mechanisms by attacking the cell’s unique structural vulnerabilities or cutting off the specific growth signals the tumour needs to survive.

Challenges on the New Frontier

Despite the immense promise, the transition to fully tailored cancer care is not without its hurdles. At these initial times, these therapies are not panaceas for all ills.

Cancer cells are highly unstable and prone to frequent mutations. A drug may successfully eliminate 99% of tumour cells bearing a specific antigen, but the remaining 1% might mutate, stop producing that antigen, and begin to multiply. This is known as “antigen escape,” leading to drug resistance. To counter this, researchers are now developing therapies that target multiple different markers simultaneously, trapping the cancer in a molecular crossfire.

Tailored treatments are marvels of modern biotechnology, but they are incredibly complex and expensive to manufacture. Designing a unique cellular therapy for a single individual requires highly sophisticated infrastructure, specialised laboratories, and pristine quality control. Lowering the cost of production so these life-saving treatments are accessible to patients worldwide remains one of the greatest challenges of 21st-century medicine.

A targeted drug is only useful if you know exactly what you are targeting. This requires patients to undergo advanced genetic sequencing and biomarker testing at the time of diagnosis. Integrating these sophisticated diagnostic tools into routine medical care globally is essential if we are to realise the full potential of precision oncology.

The Road Ahead: A Future Without “Cancer” perhaps!!!

It is not wishful thinking. We are rapidly approaching a future where the word “cancer” will no longer be treated as a single, terrifying megalith. Instead, a patient’s diagnosis will be defined by its specific molecular profile: a unique combination of antigens, genetic mutations, and tumour markers. The swing towards tailored treatments in Western medicine represents more than just a technological advancement. It perhaps represents a philosophical shift. We are no longer treating the disease in isolation; we are treating the specific, unique manifestation of that disease within an individual person.

While there is still a long winding road ahead to conquer drug resistance and ensure equitable access to these therapies, the future trajectory is quite clear. The era of carpet-bombing is drawing to a close. The age of precision medicine has arrived, bringing with it unprecedented hope, gentler recoveries, and a brighter dawn, especially for cancer patients around the world. Hail Personalised Medicine; Vivat Medicina Ad Personam.

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.
An independent freelance correspondent.

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Lest We Forget – V

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The Pilot

Francis Gary Powers was born in Jenkins, Kentucky on August 17, 1929, the only son in a family of six children. His father, Oliver Powers, was a coal miner struggling through the Depression years. At the age of 14, Francis took a joy ride in a light aircraft at a country fair in exchange for $2.50. Immediately bitten by the ‘flying bug’, he decided that he wanted to be a pilot someday, although his father wanted him to be a doctor. By then World War II was on, and Francis planned to join the US Navy after completing high school graduation. But when the time came, the war had ended and Francis missed that opportunity.

However, at his father’s suggestion he enrolled at the Milligan College in Tennessee. In his senior year there he applied to become a US Air Force cadet, and was selected, with the stipulation that only after graduating from Milligan would he be allowed to sign his papers for entry as a cadet. As the Korean war had begun, Powers’ father preferred him to return home after graduation and wait for his draft notice for war service. Powers complied, but after two months he applied again to the US Air Force, was selected and enlisted.

His initial training was in skills other than flying, mainly photography. Eventually, in November 1951 he joined the flight school and commenced training on a North American T-6 Texan. Six months later, he began learning to fly jet aircraft, with Powers desperately wanting to participate in combat over Korea. But he was stricken with appendicitis and missed out on the action.

Subsequently, in October 1953 he was sent to New Mexico to train on aerial nuclear bombardment missions at the Watertown airbase, believed to be the birthplace of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) and later dubbed ‘Area 51’. Meanwhile, Powers was planning to enter ‘civvy street’ as an airline pilot after completing his period of military service. However, he discovered that by the time of his release from the USAF he would be overage for selection by the airlines, so now with a wife to support, Powers decided to renew his tour of duty with the USAF.

In late 1955 Francis was approached by the CIA to fly a specialised type of intelligence-gathering airplane. Manufactured by Lockheed and developed in Area 51, the aircraft was dubbed the ‘Utilities 2’ (‘U-2’ for short). However, he would work ostensibly as a civilian pilot for the CIA. While regular pilots in the USAF were earning $400 per month, this job came with a monthly salary of somewhere between $1,500 and $2,000, with the pilot based overseas basing. For Powers it was an attractive proposition, not least because it was an opportunity to do something patriotic in a new type of aircraft.

As for operations in the U-2, because flights were conducted close to outer space, pilots could see the curvature of the earth, and had to wear a proper space suit, like astronauts. As sunlight was reflected from below, at those altitudes when pilots looked up all they saw was darkness. Once a pilot was cocooned inside his partial-pressure space suit, like an astronaut’s, his full-pressurized helmet was ‘hermetically sealed’ to the extent that he couldn’t even scratch his nose! And if the suit failed or was damaged, the pilot’s blood would literally boil.

The Aircraft

After WWII, with the advent of the ‘Cold War’, the USSR put up their ‘Iron Curtain’. US President Dwight Eisenhower realised it was imperative for the US to look over the other side of that invisible wall to see what was happening there. By then the Soviets had also acquired nuclear capability. While the USAF had aircraft such as the Boeing B-52 Stratofortress with sufficient range and capability for intelligence-gathering, unfortunately the bombers could operate only at lower altitudes, within easy reach of Soviet missiles and fighter jet aircraft. What the USAF needed was an aircraft which could fly above 70,000 ft for at least ten hours at a time.

After evaluating many options, Lockheed applied the resources of its legendary top-secret ‘Skunk Works’ development programme to design and produce a single-engine aircraft with a 105 ft wingspan (measured from wing tip to wing tip) capable of meeting the USAF’s latest requirements. Working under the direction of Lockheed’s equally renowned designer, Kelly Johnson, the team built a prototype in only eight months by combining the fuselage of a Lockheed F-104 Starfighter (a type labelled by pilots as the ‘widow maker’) with newly-designed ultra-long wings. As much weight as possible was saved by providing the barest minimum of equipment, without any armaments, except for the high-resolution camera. Even the canopy enclosing the pressurised cockpit wasn’t fitted with an electric motor to open and shut it, as that would have added to the airplane’s weight. With the ‘empty’ aircraft weighing much less than it otherwise would have, a spin-off benefit was greater fuel efficiency by carrying the maximum amount of fuel, in integral tanks in the wings and nose, for the long surveillance flights for which the U-2 was primarily designed.

The U-2’s landing gear (undercarriage) comprised two main wheels mounted in tandem at the nose and tail along the longitudinal axis, not unlike wheels on a bicycle. For stability during taxiing and takeoff, two smaller wheels were attached to outriggers at each wingtip. These wheels were designed to fall away as the aircraft lifted off, then retrieved for reuse by a ground crew. However, the absence of the outrigger, or ‘pogo’, wheels made the U-2 difficult to land and roll along the runway at the end of a mission.

The spy-plane’s long wings were so efficient that they produced lift even with the General Electric turbofan engine on idle power close to the ground (with the aircraft flying in what is called ‘ground effect’), while the landing gear, flaps and spoilers helped to create drag to slow the aircraft down. During the landing process another U-2 pilot in a chase car (called the ‘mobile’) followed the aircraft when it was directly above the runway, giving the pilot of the landing U-2 guidance in flying parallel close to the ground, before he induced an aerodynamic stall to touchdown by raising the nose. Performance-wise the aircraft could take off within less than 1,000 ft of runway and climb quickly to the planned very high altitude.

Pilots called the U-2 the ‘Dragon Lady’. It was relatively slow with a cruise speed of Mach 0.7, i.e. 70% the prevalent speed of sound. (Today’s big commercial jets fly at speeds between Mach 0.80 and 0.85.) For the more technically minded, the difference between the low-speed stall and high-speed stall was only eight knots. (‘Stall’ in this instance refers to an aerodynamic stall, whereby the lift-generating airflow over the wings deteriorates causing the airplane to descend. It is distinct from an engine stopping, or ‘stalling’.) Consequently, U-2 pilots had to be very gentle with the controls.

Another characteristic of the U-2 is that it flew very close to what is known as ‘Coffin Corner’ at high altitude. To explain that term and phenomenon, an aircraft remains airborne as the force of lift, produced by airflow over its wings, is equal to the airplane’s weight, while the thrust generated by its engines is equal to aerodynamic drag, or resistance. Lift is also proportional to the density of the air through which the aircraft flies. As an aircraft reaches higher altitudes, air density reduces, and consequently the ‘lifting power’ deteriorates too. If nothing is done to stabilize the aircraft it will begin descending or literally fall out of the sky from lack of lift. Therefore, to maintain the value of the lift component and keep the airplane aloft at those ultra-high altitudes, the aircraft must fly faster with the engine(s) at full throttle.

Additionally, as the aircraft approaches the speed of sound, the air flowing over the top of the wing, which is usually curved to generate lift, tends to move faster than the speed of sound and creates a shock wave. However, the speed of sound reduces with Absolute Temperature, therefore the aircraft reaches the sound barrier earlier at a lower speed at high altitude. Again, the aircraft could fall out of the sky by going too fast. Those are the problems that must be reckoned with when flying at high altitudes, hence the expression ‘Coffin Corner’.

The Mission

On May 1, 1960 Francis Gary Powers was assigned to a mission code-named ‘Operation Grand Slam’, to fly from Peshawar, Pakistan to Bodø in Norway, taking photos along the way. As the USSR was busy celebrating May Day in its usual grandiose manner, CIA planners thought it would be a good opportunity to launch the covert photo reconnaissance flight on that day. Ater lining up for takeoff, Powers had to await authorisation from Washington. The ‘Go Signal’ would be received on High Frequency (HF) Radio relayed via Turkey by Morse code.

Departing Peshawar at 0626 hours, Powers climbed quickly through 66,000 ft, then clicked his microphone twice to indicate that he was well and operations were normal. That was the last anyone monitoring the flight heard from him. Reaching 70,000 ft, the U-2 entered USSR airspace from over Lake Van in Northeastern Turkey. But the Soviets were monitoring his flight almost from departure point and waiting for him.

As it happened, there had been a similar U-2 flight the day before. But as none of the Russian fighter jets or missiles could reach 70,000 ft, complacency had set in among the Americans. This morning however, when Powers was passing Lake Van, an explosion occurred behind his U2. Three missiles had been launched by the USSR, one of which struck one of their own fighter aircraft in error, with another going astray. But the missile that detonated in close proximity to Powers’ U-2 was more successful. As the spy-plane was relatively ‘flimsy’ for the purpose of saving weight, the explosion’s shock wave was strong enough to tip the aircraft over in a nose-down attitude. The resulting g-forces pushed Gary Powers up in his seat toward the cockpit canopy and out of reach of the self-destructive switch designed to destroy the on-board camera and film. Still in control of the airplane, Powers descended to 30,000 ft but found that he was now too low to eject. Then a second missile struck the aircraft, throwing him out of the cockpit. His parachute deployed automatically and he landed on a Soviet community farm where he was soon apprehended and handed over to the authorities (KGB). Powers did not, however, use the lethal poison-laced pin, hidden in a coin he carried, to kill himself.

Meanwhile, the CIA realised that one of its U-2 spy-planes had gone missing, so they put out a standard cover story from their files saying that it was an unarmed NASA weather observation aircraft that had been shot down. They claimed that the airplane had suffered an oxygen system problem, with the resulting hypoxia possibly disorientating the pilot. The CIA added that almost certainly the pilot would not have survived, and that was the version announced to the world by President Eisenhower.

However, it wasn’t until May 7 when Soviet Prime Minister Nikita Khruschev announced that an American U-2 had been shot down and its pilot captured. Finally, Eisenhower was forced to admit on May 11 that he had lied, and that he had authorised the spy flights over the USSR.

With the Cold War showing signs of thawing slightly (although the Cuban missile crisis was still two years in the future), a high-level summit meeting had already been planned for May 16 between the US, USSR, Great Britain, and France in Paris. The other Communist nations were not pleased with Khrushchev for agreeing to participate. But the U-2 ‘incident’ on May Day now provided him with a convenient excuse not to attend that highly anticipated meeting. Eventually though, he only met French President Charles de Gaulle and British Prime Minister Harold Macmillan individually, then withdrew from the summit in a huff.

Later, on August 31, 1960 – Francis Gary Powers’ 31st birthday – a ‘show trial’ began at the Hall of Columns (Dom Soyuzov) in Moscow. The pilot’s family was present too. But the verdict was preconceived. Although Powers was expected to be executed, as a spy, he was sentenced to ten years’ imprisonment, with a 100 rubles per month of pocket money and permitted to send one letter home each month. But after serving 21 months, on February 10, 1962 Powers was exchanged for a Soviet intelligence officer named Rudolf Abel (born Vilyam Fisher), who had been convicted on espionage charges and incarcerated on a 30-year sentence at the Atlanta Federal Penitentiary in Georgia, USA.

The much-publicised, almost stage-managed exchange took place at the Glienicke Bridge linking West Berlin to East Germany, and later formed the subject of the Steven Spielberg movie ‘Bridge of Spies’ starring Tom Hanks. Significantly, by the time of the prisoner exchange, CIA chief Allen W. Dulles (brother of John Foster Dulles, the former US Secretary of State under President Eisenhower) had been forced to resign over the Bay of Pigs debacle in Cuba and other perceived strategic failures.

Although, after extensive series debriefings the CIA remained ostensibly pleased with Powers’ actions while in captivity in the USSR, President John F. Kennedy cancelled a formal reception to celebrate his return to the USA. Even Powers’ private writings, in the form of a diary he kept during captivity in the USSR, were suppressed by the CIA. However, they were released many years later in the book titled ‘Letters from a Soviet Prison’.

On March 6, 1962, Powers, who had been awarded the CIA Intelligence Star on his return from captivity, fronted an Armed Services Senate Committee who wanted to ensure that he hadn’t divulged state secrets to the Soviet Union. At the end of the sessions the Senate Committee members were so pleased with his conduct whilst in Soviet captivity, they gave him a standing ovation.

Although the media at that time was making things uncomfortable for Powers, he received the back pay that had accrued while he was out of the country, and he resumed flying but as a civilian U-2 test pilot for Lockheed. Over-flights of the USSR were suspended, but surveillance missions continued over countries such as Vietnam, Cuba and Indonesia. Today the U-2 still flies, mainly on weather and communications missions.

Much later, Francis Gary Powers joined Los Angeles TV station KNBC as a helicopter pilot on traffic-reporting duties. But on August 1, 1977, the Bell JetRanger Powers was flying whilst filming brush fires in Santa Barbara County, ran out of fuel and crashed over the San Fernando Valley, killing him and cameraman George Spears.

Frances Gary Powers was only 47 years old at the time of his death. Dick Spangler, President of the Radio and Television News Association of Southern California, lobbied to have Powers buried at Arlington National Cemetery. The request was duly granted by President Jimmy Carter on the basis of Powers having been awarded the CIA Intelligence Star (equivalent to a military Silver Star) for his service as a CIA spy-plane pilot.

Posthumous Awards received by Capt. Francis Gary Powers (in 2000 & 2012):

· Silver Star: Awarded by the US Air Force in 2012 for valor and exceptional loyalty while being held captive.

· Distinguished Flying Cross:

Awarded for actions during his flights.

· Prisoner of War Medal:

Awarded in 2000 for his time imprisoned in the Soviet Union.

· CIA Director’s Award:

Given for extreme fidelity and courage.

· National Defense Service Medal:

Awarded by the Department of Defense.

God Bless America and no one else!

BY GUWAN SEEYA

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