Features

Maha ovita (My Grandfather’s Vegetable Plot )

Published

4 years ago

2022/09/16

Thilina Walpola

A SHORT STORY

By Dr. Siri Galhenage

As I stood at the edge of a strip of mangroves that separated the dry land [goda] from the wet [mada], the vast expanse of the paddy field rolled out in front of me. The embankment of the Boralu Wewa, the lake that fed the crops of many generations of my ancestors, could be seen in the horizon. The paddy, except for a nearby abandoned patch, was pregnant with grain ready for harvest. A cool breeze swept across the field, making a golden ripple, bringing some relief from the oppressive humidity. Few women chuckled as they bathed in a nearby well hedged by bamboo trees. One of them washed her clothes by striking them on a rock face, sending an echo across the field. Two kids ran along a niyara in an abortive attempt at getting their kite airborne.

Behind me was a neglected plot of land, nearly an acre in extent, which stretched between the mangrove and the gravel path. The path snaked through the village towards the ancient Buddhist temple of Royal patronage. The dagoba and the bell tower of the temple loomed over a growth of coconut palms that surrounded the sacred site like a group of devotees. I remember, my father saying, that the legendary poet of the ‘Colombo era’, who wrote ‘To an Unborn Child’, once lived somewhere beyond the temple.

The neglected plot of land was the vegetable patch of my grandfather. We used to call it the Maha Owita. No vegetables have been grown here for several years. A few feral vines of pumpkin had braved the invasion of an army of weeds. A horde of mimosa amongst them, with their flowery helmets, spread across the field like an occupying force. Their thorny weaponry was hostile towards me, oblivious of my inheritance to the property. A dilapidated mud-brick hut stood at the centre of the Owita. In it a few broken pots, strewn around an abandoned wood fire, appeared like museum artefacts. In a shallow well beside the hut, tadpoles swam vigorously in the murky water lashing their tails. A young frog, after a brief exploration of the land, leapt back into the water in glee. A lone egret dipped its beak into the water in search of its morning meal.

Temple bells chimed. The tapping of the drums and the initial testing of the flute heralded a procession of monks preparing to attend an almsgiving. Measured movement of yellow robes could be seen through the coconut palms.

My brother was awaiting the arrival of Abaran Appu. No relative of ours, we called him Abaran Aiya as a gesture of respect and endearment; aiya in Sinhala meaning elder brother. An elderly figure appeared at the kadulla, a ramshackle gate with wooden poles, an entry point to the Owita from the gravel path. He wore a new sarong, with a tartan design, tied to his waist with a silver chain. His arms were strong despite his advanced age. His deeply pigmented body carried a profuse growth of grey hair, mainly over his chest, barely covered with a white vest, and a towel thrown over his right shoulder. He cautiously climbed over the kadulla, with some assistance from my brother.

As I approached Abaran Aiya, he greeted me with a broad smile. As a respectful gesture he removed the towel from his shoulder while tilting his body slightly to the right. I reciprocated with a verbal greeting of ayubowan, holding both his hands with mine, and with a feeling of gratitude and warmth. An archetypal ‘wise old man’, he certainly was – a figure, symbolic of my past.

“Your brother sent word that you have arrived, and would like to visit the Owita. I know that you come home from time to time, but I never get a chance to meet you. I last saw you at your mother’s funeral, but you were too busy. Your brother, of course, I meet often at the village temple.”

“I am too old now – almost ninety.” Abaran Aiya looked much younger than his years. Then he went on to talk about hi various ailments, which I thought were age-related. I lent a sympathetic ear. “There must be a lot of new medicines for these sicknesses in those countries,” he said. I nodded. “You must come back to your own country. We could do with more doctors.”

After a pause Abaran Aiya started chatting again. Looking around the Owita, he said, “It breaks my heart to see this place neglected. Until a few years ago, I grew vegetables in this patch. It is too hard for me now. My sons are not interested in working in the field; they don’t like getting their hands dirty; they prefer to do an office job in the city. Until recently, I managed to get Sugathan, my brother-in-law to do the paddy field; he too is getting old. And you can’t find reliable people these days.” My brother nodded in approval.

Abaran Aiya continued. “I am worried that squatters may occupy this place, and you will have a hard time evicting them; there is hardly any vacant land left around here”.

My brother joined in the conversation at this stage.”Yes, you can’t find good vacant land around here now; one pays an exorbitant amount for a perch, especially after the University was built; it is round the corner from here. Look at the number of new houses that has come up in the neighbourhood. It used to be bushland; all those beautiful trees around here are gone.”

There was a brief pause in our conversation as the procession of monks passed by gracefully along the gravel path. Abaran Aiya whispered in my brother’s ear that the monks were attending a customary almsgiving for a village elder who passed away three months ago. They both knew who he was. I felt like an alien.

Abaran Aiya had grown vegetables in this owita for nearly four decades, leasing the property from my family for a meagre fee. He sold his produce at the village fair held on Sundays. I remember, when my parents were alive, he brought in a sackful of vegetables, from time to time, as a gesture of goodwill. It often contained okra, snake beans, aubergines, bitter gourd, snake gourd, pumpkins and a variety of yams, which my mother received with delight. She shared the produce with friends and family.

My family had owned this land since the mid-nineteenth century. Being the elder sibling, my brother had been delegated the task of looking after family property and documents since the death of my parents.

Over many generations my people have toiled this land to sustain themselves. Since the death of my grandfather in1926, the Maha Owita was neglected for several years, before Abaran Aiya, the son of one of his loyal assistants was allowed to cultivate this land by my father.

My grandparents died long before my parents married. But over the years, I have developed a mental image of their persona through bits of information picked up from family elders and have put them together as a jigsaw. The most reliable informant would have been my father, but he passed away before I developed a keen interest in my ancestors. Since I emigrated in 1972 my interest in my progenitors grew.

When I left my motherland, I took this landscape with me. The village occupied my mental domain and my ancestors continued to dwell in it. I watched them plough this field, sow seeds, harvest their paddy, grow vegetables in the Owita. I listened to their folk songs. I followed them to the village temple, saw them offer ‘new rice’ [aluth bath] to the monks, and listened to the sermons by the head monk. I joined them during their festivities, and shared their hardship and their grief, and admired their resilience in overcoming them. They gave me strength and solace during difficult times.

I imagined sitting on the niyara [embankment] watching my grandfather toil in the field from dawn to dusk, his feet immersed in mud. Wearing a loin cloth [amude], his youthful body covered in sweat, glistened in the midday sun. Washing his hands and feet at the shallow well in the Owita, he would find shelter in the nearby hut at noon, awaiting his youthful wife [my grandmother] who brought him his ambula [lunch]. He watched with affection, the vibrant young woman, dressed in cloth and jacket [redda hette], hurry across the paddy field carrying the basket of food. They sat down to share a meal of rice and vegetables, chatting to each other about the weather, family matters and the happenings in the village.

On this day in the month of Vesak in 1896 she had a twinkle in her eye. She whispered in his ear that she was pregnant. They wished for a son as their first child and were full of innocent dreams. “I don’t want him to toil all day in the mud as I do”, said my grandfather. “I prefer him to have an education in English and work for the sudda [white man] in Colombo. Their first child – my father – did live up to their expectations. I remember my father wearing a white suit with tie and waistcoat going to work in the hot and humid capital city!

My ‘dreaming’ was interrupted by my brother. “There is no point in hanging on to this property; let’s sell it”, he said. I could read a sense of sadness in Abaran Aiya’s face, beneath his nod of approval. My brother and I had joint inheritance to the Maha Owita. I once entertained the thought of returning home in my retirement, of building a small house on my section of the property, growing vegetables, and leading a quiet life! My brother was always sceptical about it. “This is no longer the village it was”, he said, with a sense of nostalgia. “We hardly know the people who live around here. I hear, some youngsters occupy the hut at night”. And, Abaran Aiya joined in: “even some of the so-called educated people dump their rubbish here”. Pointing to the rubbish heap at the edge of the Owita, he added, “this place has now become a breeding ground for mosquitoes; they don’t seem to listen to an old man like me”.

“As I have discussed with you”, said my brother, “there is an interested party prepared to buy the land, and he is willing to offer a good price. I hear he is looking for a block of land to build a hostel for University students. This is an ideal site for accommodation for students of the newly built University, a walking distance away from here”.

“A hostel for students? Not a bad idea”, I thought. Once again, my imagination ran riot. Many young men and women would arrive here, their bags packed with hope for their future, as I did when I arrived in Peradeniya many decades ago. Seeds of knowledge will be sown on this fertile land. Creative thought, literary analysis, political debate and psychological insights will sprout. Time will be spent on reflection; there will be deadlines for assignments. Exams…bloody exams! Success and failure; joy and despair; frustration; rebellion; alcohol binges on weekends and love and betrayal! Most would harvest the life skills and knowledge, and would carry them into their future. A few, sadly, may wither away like a failed crop.

After a lengthy conversation, my brother and I helped Abaran Aiya to cross the kadulla, perhaps for the last time. We watched him stagger along the gravel path carrying a sackful of our heritage with him, which, he will, sadly, take to his grave.

The procession of monks seems to have reached its destination; the sound of drums was heard no more. The monks will continue to traverse this path, and one day, in the near future, will reach the home of Abaran Aiya, who would have been fit for the throne, washed of his mud.

[sirigalhenage@gmail.com]

All News Advertisement

Features

Peace march and promise of reconciliation

Published

8 hours ago

2026/04/28

Sahan Weerasooriya

Peace walk in progress

The ongoing peace march by a group of international Buddhist monks has captured the sentiment of Sri Lankans in a manner that few public events have done in recent times. It is led by the Vietnamese monk Venerable Thich Pannakara who is associated with a mindfulness movement that has roots in Vietnamese Buddhist practice and actively promoted among diaspora communities in the United States. The peace march by the monks, accompanied by their mascot, the dog Aloka, has generated affection and goodwill within the Buddhist and larger community. It follows earlier peace walks in the United States where monks carried a similar message of mindfulness and compassion across communities but without any government or even media patronage as in Sri Lanka.

This initiative has the potential to unfold into an effort to nurture a culture of peace in Sri Lanka. Such a culture is necessary if the country as the country prepares to move beyond its history of conflict towards a more longlasting reconciliation and a political solution to its ethnic and religious divisions. The government’s support for the peace march can be seen as part of a broader attempt to shape such a culture. The Clean Sri Lanka programme, promoted by the government as a civic responsibility campaign focused on environmental cleanliness, ethical conduct and social discipline, provides a useful framework within which such initiatives can be situated. Its emphasis on collective responsibility and shared public space makes it sit well with the values that peacebuilding requires.

government’s previous plan to promote a culture of peace was on the occasion of “Sri Lanka Day” celebrations which were scheduled to take place on December 12-14 last year but was disrupted by Cyclone Ditwah. The Sri Lanka Day celebrations were to include those talented individuals from each and every community at the district level who had excelled in some field or the other, such as science, business or arts and culture and selected by the District Secretariats in each of the 25 districts. They were to gather in Colombo to engage in cultural performances and community-focused exhibitions. The government’s intention was to build up a discourse around the ideas of unity in diversity as a precursor to addressing the more contentious topics of human rights violations during the war period, and issues of accountability and reparations for wrongs suffered during that dark period.

Positive Response

The invitation to the international monks appears to have emerged from within Buddhist religious networks in Sri Lanka that have long maintained links with the larger international Buddhist community. The strong support extended by leading temples and clergy within the country, including the Buddhists Mahanayakes indicates that this was not an isolated effort but one that resonated with the mainstream Buddhist establishment. Indeed, the involvement of senior Buddhist leaders has been particularly noteworthy. A Joint Declaration for Peace in the world, drawing on Sri Lanka’s own experience, and by the Mahanayakes of all Buddhist Chapters took place in the context of the ongoing peace march at the Gangaramaya Temple in Colombo, with participation from the diplomatic community. The declaration, calling for compassion, dialogue and sustainable peace, reflects an effort by religious leadership to assert a moral voice in favour of coexistence.

The popular response to the peace march has also been striking. Large numbers of people have been gathering along the route, offering flowers, water and support to the monks. Schoolchildren have been lining the roads, and communities from different religious backgrounds extend hospitality. On the way, the monks were hosted by both a Hindu temple and a mosque, where food and refreshments were provided. These acts, though simple, carry a message about the possibility of harmony among Sri Lanka’s diverse communities. It helps to counter the perception that the Buddhist community in Sri Lanka is inherently nationalist and resistant to minority concerns that was shaped during the decades of war and reinforced by political mobilisation that too often exploited ethnic identity.

By way of contrast, the peace march offers a different image. It shows a readiness among ordinary people to embrace values of compassion and coexistence that are deeply embedded in Buddhist teaching. The Metta Sutta, one of the most well-known discourses in Buddhism, calls for boundless goodwill towards all beings. It states that one should cultivate a mind that is “boundless towards all beings, free from hatred and ill will.” This emphasis on universal compassion provides a moral foundation for peace that extends beyond national or ethnic boundaries. The monks themselves emphasised this point repeatedly during the walk. Venerable Thich Pannakara reminded those who gathered that while acts of generosity are commendable, mindfulness in everyday life is even more important. He warned that as people become unmindful, they are more prone to react with anger and hatred, thereby contributing to conflict.

More Initiatives

The presence of political leaders at key moments of the march has emphasised the significance that the government attaches to the event. Prime Minister Harini Amarasuriya paid her respects to the peace march monks in Kandy, while President Anura Kumara Dissanayake is expected to do so at the conclusion of the march in Colombo. Such gestures signal an alignment between political authority and moral aspiration, even if the translation of that aspiration into policy remains a work in progress. At the same time, the peace march has not been without its shortcomings. The walk did not engage with the Northern and Eastern parts of the country, regions that were most affected by the war and where the need for reconciliation is most acute. A more inclusive geographic reach would have strengthened the symbolic impact of the initiative.

In addition, the positive impact of the peace march could have been increased if more effort had been taken to coordinate better with other civic and religious groups and include them in the event. Many civil society and religious harmony groups who would have liked to participate in the peace march found themselves unable to do so. There was no place in the programme for them to join. Even government institutions tasked with promoting social cohesion and reconciliation found themselves outside the loop. The Clean Sri Lanka Task Force that organised the peace march may have felt that involving other groups would have made it more complicated to organise the events which have proceeded without problems.

The hope is that the positive energy and goodwill generated by this peace march will not dissipate but will instead inspire further initiatives with the requisite coordination and leadership. The march has generated public discussion, drawn attention to the values of mindfulness and compassion, and created a space in which people can imagine a different future. It has been a special initiative among the many that are needed to build a culture of peace. A culture of peace cannot be imposed from above nor can it emerge overnight. It needs to be nurtured through multiple efforts across society, including education, religious engagement, civic initiatives and political reform. It is within such a culture that the more difficult questions of power sharing, justice and reconciliation can be addressed in a constructive manner.

by Jehan Perera

Features

Regional Universities

Published

8 hours ago

2026/04/28

Sahan Weerasooriya

Development initiatives: Faculty of Technology, University of Jaffna and NCDB

The countryside and peripheral regions have been neglected in the national imagination for many decades. This has also been the case with regional universities which were seen as mere appendages to the university system, and sometimes created to appease political constituencies in the regions. The exclusion of the rural world and the institutions in those regions was not accidental nor inevitable, but the consequence of conscious policies promoted under an extractive and exploitative global order. Neoliberalism globalisation, initiated in the late 1970s with far-reaching policies of free trade and free flow of capital, or the “open economy,” as we call it in Sri Lanka, is now dying. The United States and the Western countries that promoted neoliberalism, as a class project of finance capital to address the falling profits during the long economic downturn in the 1970s, are themselves reversing their policies and are at loggerheads with each other. However, those economic processes will continue to have national consequences into the future.

At the heart of such policies is the neoliberal city, which has become the centre of the economy with expanding financial businesses and a real estate boom. Such financialised cities also had their impact on universities, in lower income countries, where commercialised education with high fees, rising student debt, research for businesses and transnational educational linkages with branch campuses of Western universities, have become a reality.

In the case of Sri Lanka, while neoliberal policies began with the IMF and World Bank Structural Adjustment Programmes, in the late 1970s, the long civil war forestalled the accelerated growth of the neoliberal city. I have argued, over the last decade and a half, that it is with the end of the civil war, in 2009, coinciding with the global financial crisis, that a second wave of neoliberalism in Sri Lanka led to global finance capital being absorbed in infrastructure and real estate in Colombo. The transformation of Colombo into a neoliberal city was overseen by Gotabaya Rajapaksa as Defence Secretary with even the Urban Development Authority brought under the security establishment. While Colombo was drastically changing with a skyline of new buildings and shiny luxury vehicles drawing on massive external debt, there were also moves to promote private higher education institutions. The Board of Investment (BOI) registered many hundred so-called higher education institutions; these were not regulated and many mushroomed like supermarkets and disappeared in no time when they incurred losses.

In contrast to these so-called private higher education institutions that proliferated in and around Colombo, Sri Lanka, drawing on its free education system, has, over the last many decades, also created a number of state universities in peripheral regions. However, these regional universities lack adequate funding and a clear vision and purpose. The current conjuncture with the neoliberal global order unravelling, and the immediate global crisis in energy and transport are grim reminders of the importance of local economies and self-sufficiency. In this column I consider the role of our regional universities and their relationship to the communities within which they are embedded.

Regional context

The necessity and the advantage of robust public services is their reach into peripheral regions and marginalised communities. This is true of public transport, as it is with public hospitals. Private buses will always avoid isolated rural routes as their margins only increase on the busy routes between cities and towns. And private hospitals and clinics flock to the cities to extract from desperate patients, including by unscrupulous doctors who divert patients in public hospitals to be served in the private health facilities they moonlight. Similarly, it is affluent cities and towns that are the attraction for private educational institutions.

Public institutions, including universities, can only ensure their public role if they are adequately funded. Over the last decade and a half, with falling allocations for education, our state universities have been pushed into initiating fee levying courses, both at the post-graduate level and also for undergraduate international students. These programmes are seen as avenues to decrease the dependence of universities on budgetary support. However, the reality is that it is only universities in Colombo that can draw in students capable of paying such high fees. Furthermore, such fee levying courses end up pushing academics into overwork including by offering additional income.

Therefore, allocations for underfunded regional universities need to be steadily increased. Housing facilities and other services for academics working in rural districts would ensure their continued presence and greater engagement with the local communities. Increased time away from teaching and research funding earmarked for community engagement will provide clear direction for academics. Indeed, such funding with a clear vision and role for regional universities can provide considerable social returns. In a time when repeated crises are affecting our society, agricultural production to bolster our food system as well as rural income streams and employment are major issues. Here, regional universities have an important role today in developing social and economic alternatives.

Reimagining development

In recent months, there have been interesting initiatives in the Northern Province, where the Universities of Jaffna and Vavuniya have been engaging state institutions on issues of development. In an initiative to bring different actors together, high level meetings have been convened between the staff of the Agriculture Faculty and officials of the Provincial Agriculture Ministry to figure out solutions for long pending agricultural problems. Similar meetings have also been organised between provincial authorities and the Faculties of Technology and Engineering in Kilinochchi. These initiatives have led to academics engaging communities and co-operatives on their development needs, particularly in formulating new development initiatives and activating idle projects and assets in the region. Such engagement provides opportunities for academics to share their knowledge and skills while learn from communities about challenges that lead to new problems for research.

One of the most rewarding engagements I have been part of is an internship programme for the Technology Faculty of the University of Jaffna, where four batches of final year students, from food technology, green farming and automobile specialities, have been placed for six months within the co-operative movement through the Northern Co-operative Development Bank. This initiative has created a strong relationship between the Technology Faculty and the co-operative movement, with a number of former students now working fulltime in co-operative ventures. They are at the centre of developing solutions for rural co-operatives, including activating idle factories and ensuring quality and standards for their products.

I refer to these concrete initiatives because universities’ role in research and development in Sri Lanka, as in most other countries, are often narrowly conceived to be engagement with private businesses. However, for rural regions, the challenge, even with technological development, is the generation of appropriate technologies that can serve communities.

In Sri Lanka, we have for long emulated the major Western universities and in the process lost sight of the needs of our own youth and communities. Rethinking the development of our universities may have to begin with an understanding of the real challenges and context of our people. Our universities and their academics, if provided with a progressive vision and adequate resources and time to engage their communities, have the potential to address the many economic and social challenges that the next decade of global turmoil is bound to create.

Ahilan Kadirgamar is a political economist and Senior Lecturer, University of Jaffna.

(Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies)

by Ahilan Kadirgamar

Features

‘Disco Lady’ hitmaker now doing it for Climate Change

Published

8 hours ago

2026/04/28

Sahan Weerasooriya

The name Alston Koch is generally associated with the hit song ‘Disco Lady.’ Yes, he has had several other top-notch songs to his credit but how many music lovers are aware that Alston is one of the few Asian-born entertainers using music for climate advocacy, since 2008.

He is back in the ‘climate change’ scene, with SUNx Malta, to celebrate Earth Day 2026, with the release of ‘A Symphony for Change’ – a vibrant Dodo4Kids video by Alston.

The inspiring musical video highlights ocean conservation and empowers children as future climate champions, honouring Maurice Strong’s legacy through education, creativity, and global collaboration for a sustainable planet.

The four-minute animated musical, composed and performed by platinum award-winning artiste Alston Koch, brings to life a resurrected Dodo, guiding children on a mission to clean up marine environments.

With a catchy melody and an uplifting message, the video blends entertainment with education—making climate awareness accessible and engaging for the next generation.

SUNx Malta is a Climate Friendly Travel system, focused on transforming the global tourism sector that is low-carbon, SDG-linked, and nature-positive.

Professor Geoffrey Lipman, President of SUNx Malta, described the project as a joyful collaboration with purpose:

“It’s always a pleasure to produce music with Alston for the good of our planet. And this time, to incorporate our Dodo4Kids in the video urging the next generation of young climate champions to help save our seas.”

For Alston, now based in Australia, the collaboration continues a long-standing journey of climate-focused creativity:

Says Alston: “I have been working on climate songs since the first release, in 2009, of the video ‘Act Now.’ Since then, I’ve performed at major global events—from Bali to Glasgow. I wrote this song because the climate horizon is darkening, and our kids and grandkids are our best hope for a brighter future.”

Alston’s very first climate song is ‘Can We Take This Climate Change,’ released in 2008.

It was written by Alston for the World Trade Organisation presentation, in London, and presented at ‘Live the Deal Climate Change’ conference in Copenhagen.

The Sri Lankan-born singer was goodwill ambassador for the campaign, and the then UK Minister Barbara Follett called it a “gift in song to the world suffering due to climate change.”

Alston said he wrote it after noticing butterflies, birds, and fruit trees disappearing from his childhood days.

In 2017, his creation ‘Make a Change’ was released in connection with World Tourism Day 2017.

Alston Koch’s work on climate advocacy is pretty inspiring, especially as climate change is now creating horrifying problems worldwide, and in Sri Lanka, too.

Alston also indicated to us that he has plans to visit Sri Lanka, sometime this year, and, maybe, even plan out a date for an Alston Koch special … a concert, no doubt.

Can’t wait for it!