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Leopards at Pilimagala and Kumana

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by Walter R. Gooneratne

I have made frequent jungle trips over the past 50 years, and these covered most regions of the country. I have camped out on several occasions in the intermediate zones of both Ruhuna and Wilpattu National Parks, but however interesting and exciting these were, the first trip was the most memorable.

In this period about the 1950’s, which I write about, our jungles were teeming with wildlife, and in that unenlightened era, animals were referred to as game, and some such as the bear were officially called vermin. Shooting them was considered sport. Principles of conservation were just beginning to be understood. Attitudes towards conservation have changed now, and hopefully we should be able to save our dwindling species. At the beginning, when shooting was allowed on permits, I indulged in this so- called sport, but gave it up over the past 25 years or more and am now an ardent conservationist.

Leopards at Pilimagala

In June 1951 1 was transferred to General Hospital, Kandy as a house officer, and it was there that I met two kindred spirits, Dr.Mackie Ratwatte, who was also a house officer, and Dr. S. J. Lawrence, better known as Pervey, or Tango Lawrence, so named for his elegant performance of this dance. Pervey was an anaesthetist. We soon discovered that we had a common interest, namely that of nature, wildlife and adventure, and most of our “off’ week-ends were spent in the jungles in Dambulla, Inamaluwa, and Kibissa near Sigiriya.

When the new Department of Wildlife (as it was then called) was formed, areas around national parks were declared as buffer or intermediate zones. People were allowed, on permit, to enter and shoot a limited number of game in these zones. There being no bungalows to hire, only camping was available, and that too at any preferred spot. For the princely sum of ten rupees a party had the exclusive use of the whole block for ten days. The Yala Intermediate Zone was divided into two parts, north and east. The north was further divided into block one (Galge), block two (Warahana) and block three (Muduntalawa).

We decided that we should be more adventurous and go camping into an intermediate zone. Having made inquiries we decided to go to Galge. Fortunately for us, a friend of ours lent us an old war-model Willys Jeep, and another gave us a tarpaulin and a canvas ground sheet. Pervey’s armoury consisted of a 9.3mm Mauser rifle and a double-barrel shot-gun, and as for me, I had borrowed my father’s 7.9mm Mauser and his Stevens six shot repeater shot-gun. I also borrowed my brother’s 0.22 inch calibre Hornet rifle. Mackie had no weapons, for he did not shoot.

When news got around that we were going hunting, there was a special request from an old attendant of the hospital, Seetin Singho. He was a chronic asthmatic and wanted us to bring him some kara mus or flesh from the back of the leopard’s neck. There was a belief that the call of the leopard sounded like panting as in asthma, but it was unable to lick the back of its neck, and therefore eating kara mus was considered a cure for asthma.

Having loaded the jeep, we left Kandy early one morning in February 1952. In addition to the three of us we also took along a cook. The old jeep, groaning under its heavy load, brought us without further incident to Kataragama at about 11 am.

We now had to meet our tracker, Babun Appuhamy who was going to be our guide for the rest of the journey. He had informed us that he lived on the other side of Menik Ganga. Fortunately the river was at a low ebb, and the jeep, despite its heavy burden, had no problem getting across. Everybody at Kataragama seemed to know Babun, and we had no difficulty in finding his house. Our first meeting was a memorable one. He looked at us in surprise, for as he told us later, when he heard that the party consisted of three doctors, he had expected to see three staid middle-aged men. He changed his look of surprise to one of approval.

Babun was about five feet three inches in height and of a dark complexion. He did not seem to have an ounce of fat on his body, and his wiry muscles rippled under his dusky skin. His age was anybody’s guess. He inspected our weapons with the eye of a connoisseur and inquired closely about the Hornet. He said it would be the ideal weapon for small game such as jungle fowl and hare. When I told him that I could and would use it on larger game, he expressed his serious doubts. The Hornet, though of 0.22inch calibre had a muzzle velocity of 3,500 feet per second and fired a much heavier bullet than the ordinary rim fire weapon.

Camping at Pilimagala

Having had a lunch of rice and curry at a small eating house or buth kade in Kataragama, we started on the last lap of our journey to the campsite. The old Buttala-Kataragama road was a nightmare. The first three or four miles of the road were a drain four to five feet deep and just wide enough for our vehicle. Rainwater had gouged out deep channels on its floor, and when the jeep fell into these ruts it would tilt at crazy angles. We had therefore to dismantle the hood to prevent it from being damaged on the banks of the road.

At the sixth milepost, there was a shrine dedicated to Lord Ganesh. Babun hung a leaf at the shrine with a prayer to the deity for a safe journey. At this point we turned right on the track to Pilimagala, our campsite. After about four and a half miles we came to an open plain or eliya. This was Thalakola Wewa. The bund of this former tank or reservoir, as suggested by the name wewa, had breached many years ago and the resulting plain was lush and green after the recent rains. Here was a herd of about twenty deer. There were many does and a few bucks, which gazed at us in curiosity.

Babun wanted me to shoot the big antlered buck both for food and as bait for the leopard. I decided to use the Hornet, but Babun admonished me saying that I would only injure the animal and thereby lose him. Ignoring Babun’s advice I shot the buck in the shoulder with a hollow-point bullet. At my shot the animal collapsed in its tracks. Total disbelief was written all over the tracker’s face. He examined the rifle closely to make sure that I had not deceived him about the calibre.

We arrived at the campsite at about six pm and got about setting up our camp, which was a very simple affair. A rope was tied between two trees and the tarpaulin slung over it. The four corners of the tarpaulin were tied to some pegs driven into the ground. The ground sheet was spread on the floor and our tent was complete.

Pilimagala was a huge slab of rock, about 300 yards long and 150 yards wide. At the base of the rock, where our camp was located, there was a water-hole or kema extending some distance into the rock. This provided what we considered pure water (except for a few frogs!) for drinking and cooking. Towards the left corner of the rock, was a cave about twenty yards long and ten feet deep. It had a drip-ledge on the overhanging rock above the opening, providing architectural proof that centuries ago it was part of a monastery. It would have been occupied by monks, who would have worshiped the statue and the vihare, the ruins of which still existed at the top.

The rock itself was two tiered. The lower and bigger part had a large water-hole (kema) about 30 feet long and eight feet wide. The upper part was smaller and at its summit was a smaller water-hole and the ruins of the statue and vihare. It is this statue that has given the rock the name Pilimagala. (pilima = statue; gala = rock).

We washed away our grime and fatigue of the journey in a cool bath with water drawn from the kema and lingered awhile to enjoy the cool breezes that blew over the green canopy. The view too was breathtaking, an unbroken sea of varying shades of green around us. Back in camp, we relaxed with a drink, and now that the cook had prepared the dinner, we had a delicious meal of venison curry, pol sambol and rice. We then had unbroken steep till next morning.

Baits for leopard

After breakfast the next day, we set about tying up baits for the leopards. The first was taken eastwards to a swampy plain called Unawa, which was about a mile from camp. The bait was in fact dragged along the track, as Babun said that when a leopard, in its nightly wanderings spots the drag mark, it follows it to the bait. The next bait was tied up at Thalakola Wewa close to the water-hole.

That evening we did a trek to the other side of Pilimagala, where there were large plains, interspersed with high forest. We kept to the edge of the forest so as not to disturb any animals in the glades. Suddenly there was an alarm call of a deer to our right and in front. Babun immediately signaled us to freeze. There were more hysterical calls warning the jungle folk that there was a leopard on the prowl. Pervey and I were ready with our rifles in case the leopard should show up. However, after a short while, the calls ceased, indicating that the leopard had most probably spotted us and moved away.

Clapping for jungle fowl

As we went further along, a jungle fowl called in the thicket to our right. Babun immediately motioned us to squat and whispered to me to be ready with the Hornet.

rolled up the lower part of his sarong into a ball and having placed it on the palm of his left hand, clapped on it with his right palm. One sharp clap was followed after a second by four or five rapid ones. Each series of claps was immediately followed by the crowing of the cock. This went on for some time, and each time the bird got closer and closer, and suddenly it dashed towards us.

However, on seeing us he immediately took flight. I took a quick shot, but missed completely. I learned two lessons, one being how to call up jungle fowl, and the other to use only a shot gun for shooting it. I have used this technique several times since then with spectacular success. I demonstrated this to Dr. Chris Uragoda recently at Malwariya Kema in Yala Block Five. The theory behind this technique is that every time a jungle fowl crows to announce its territory, it flaps its wings. The muffled clap on the sarong simulates the flapping of the wings of an intruder and he rushes in to meet his challenger.

Building hides

Early next morning we set out to inspect the baits. The one at Unawe had been attacked by a leopard as evidenced by the profusion of pug-marks around it. However, only a small amount of flesh had been eaten, but all internal organs had been carried to the edge of the jungle and devoured. Babun deduced that the leopard had found the bait only at day-break, and had therefore taken only the detachable parts and eaten them at the edge of the jungle. It would undoubtedly return to the feast. We now set about building a hide or kotuatte. It was sited about fifteen yards from the bait at the edge of the forest. Four stout saplings were cut from trees some distance away, so as not to disturb the area close to the bait. These saplings were now planted at the selected site to make a five-foot square. Thinner sticks were lashed to this frame to form a lattice. Strips of bark from the tree, maila were used as rope for this purpose. Next, small branches were threaded into the lattice until it was completely covered. In front were two holes or kapollas at eye level, one being for the tracker, and the other for the hunter to look and point his rifle through. These were covered with large leaves from the penera tree. At the back was an opening for the prospective occupants to get in, after which it was closed with a leafy branch. Finally, Babun inspected the contraption to make sure it was completely covered. He claimed that the leopard had such keen eyesight that it could spot even the batting of an eye-lid. Its hearing too was very acute.

As luck would have it, the bait or kuna at Thalakola Wewa had also been eaten. We built a kotuatte here too and returned to camp for a bath at the kema and lunch.

Mistaken identity

At 5 pm. we left for our respective hides. Pervey and Babun went walking to Unawe as it was not far, and Mackie and I took the jeep to Thalakola Wewa. Babun gave us strict instructions on how to conduct ourselves in the hide. We were to stay absolutely motionless, even if we were being drained of our blood by the hordes of mosquitoes that abounded there. Only when we heard the sound of the leopard eating the bait were we to open the kapolla and shoot.

At about 6 pm. we heard the alarm call of langur, a species of monkey, to the front of us but some distance away. A short while later a sambhur called, warning the animals that a leopard was on the prowl. For quite some time the jungle fell silent, except for the raucous calls of some Malabar pied hornbills from a tree behind us. It was now growing dark, and we thought that the leopard had spotted us and gone away. We were about to abandon our hide and get back to camp when a whole herd of spotted deer called from the track on our right and crashed away into the jungle.

The leopard was near at hand, but still no sounds of feeding were heard. Swarms of mosquitoes blanketed us, and it was quite dark by now. The moon had risen but was still covered by the wall of tall trees. Suddenly there was the sound of tearing of flesh and the simultaneous growl of the leopard. The growling and tearing of flesh continued for some minutes. We assumed that the leopard had spotted us and was trying to frighten us or maybe attack us.

By now the moon had just crested the trees and there was some light. We had to act fast before the leopard was on us. I exchanged the rifle for the shot-gun. I signaled Mackie to open his kapolla, and I did likewise. I then saw in the faint light what I thought was a gray head as it tore away the flesh. Taking careful aim I fired. At my shot, the animal crashed away and fell into the water-hole nearby. We, in our ignorance, had assumed that the leopard had been mortally wounded, and we could come the next day and recover the body.

When we got back to camp, the others had not returned yet. Half an hour later they were back. Their leopard had, for some reason not turned up. When I told Babun what had happened to us, he had a hearty laugh. He explained that it was a crocodile from the nearby water hole that was feeding, on the kill, and leopard in the thicket was trying to drive it away. No self-respecting leopard, he said, would jump into a water hole. It was not the leopard I had shot but the crocodile. Sure enough, the next morning Babun probed the water-hole with a pole and fished out the dead crocodile.

Another night’s vigil

In the evening we left early as Babun predicted that the leopard would come to the bait early to thwart the crocodile. He explained that the sound of gunfire, as long as the leopard was not injured, would be attributed by it to the sound of thunder. I can now confirm this, based on what happened to two of my friends on later occasions. The late Mr. Simon Gunewardene at Galge, and again the late Dr Ivor Obeyesekera at Kumana each had fired at and missed a leopard. On both occasions the leopards returned to the kill a short while later.

At 5.40 pm we were alerted by the numerous alarm calls of peafowl, langur and spotted deer from quite a distance away. Obviously the animal had no reason for stealth, as he knew that a ready-made feast was awaiting him. A few minutes later there was the welcome sound of tearing of flesh and crunching of bone. Our leopard had come and was feeding. This was the moment we were waiting for. I signaled Mackie to look through his kapolla and simultaneously looked through mine. There was the leopard quite oblivious to his surroundings, gorging away at the meat.

I took the Mauser and fired at its head at that short range. At my shot the raised head came down and rested on its paws, and a shudder went through its whole body. All was now still. However, going on the old adage ‘never trust a leopard until he’s skinned’, we got out of the hide with the shot gun cocked. I asked Mackie to throw clumps of earth from a termite mound that lay nearby. Nothing happened. The leopard was dead.

The jeep was brought and the carcass hauled onto the bonnet in triumph. When we arrived at the camp, the others had not returned yet. A few minutes later, there was the sound of gun-fire. However, Babun had warned, that should we hear gun shots, we should stay put. In case the leopard should be injured, we would be blundering into an infuriated animal. An hour later they returned. Pervey had also got his prize. The jeep was taken and the leopard brought back.

After a bath in the kema, we drank the rest of the liquor in celebration. Then dinner and bed were most welcome The whole of the next morning was spent skinning the two leopards. At about 10 am, Pervey and I walked to Unawe. There we surprised a huge lone wild boar with prominent Lushes wallowing in the mud. We both got our rifles up, but it was too quick for us and crashed away into the nearby jungle.

In the evening, we walked towards Muduntalawa. About four miles from camp was a huge rock, with a long kema at ground level. The rock overhung the kema. Its surface was adorned with a pale green water weed in the shape of a rose petal. This was Banawelkema. On the way back, there were large numbers of spotted deer, but we did not shoot any, as it was getting late and we were in no mood to carry carcasses. The place was a paradise for leopard, and the track was riddled with their pug marks. A bear had also walked towards Muduntalawa.

It was getting quite dark when returning to camp, and had to walk with much caution as we had forgotten to bring a torch, for we had not expected to get so late. However, we sang at the top of our voices to warn any prowlers that some tough guys were on their way. When we got back to camp, the cook informed us that a leopard had called from the rock. Late at night the leopard called again, and Pervey and Babun went to investigate, but as there was bright moonlight the creature must have spotted them and moved away.

The next morning was cloudy and there was a drizzle. Though we had planned to stay two more days, we were compelled to leave the next day as our food supply was running out. We had misjudged the appetites of Babun and the cook, who could and did eat double of what we did.

(To be continued)



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Power crept into the Sangha and is now tearing it apart

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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

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

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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

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

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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

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