Features

More on postal runner Kalua of Bimbanda and another jungle walk

Published

5 years ago

2022/01/30

Sahan Weerasooriya

by Frederick Medis

(Continued from last week)

The postcript to this episode was that by some strange coincidence in the year 2000, as many as 53 years after my first meeting Kalua, I was recounting my experience one evening to a group of friends in Matale. There Mrs Punyakanthi Wijeratne of Matale, startled me when she described Kalua in detail, even to the missing joint of his little finger. She had been a Miss Aluwihare and came from the walauwa (stately home of the chieftain) at Rattota, where Kalua was the family’s trusted servant and factotum. She and her brother were children at the time, and whenever there were long distances to be covered over uneven roadways, it was Kalua who took them pick-a-back across his ample shoulders.

There came a time when her father arranged for his regular employment as a tappal – or postal-runner from Rattota post office to the jungle villages beyond Laggala, but he was provided with a small outhouse built for him near the walauwa. He was given food and shelter, and was cared for in his old age until his death about 20 years ago. Mrs Wijeratne remembered him with nostalgia and showed interest in knowing that I had met him in Rattota in 1947. She extracted from a family album of photographs a snapshot of a young boy, who was a cousin of hers, standing beside a puppy and the squatting Kalua. It was the identical Kalua I had met over a half century ago.

Incidentally, I believe I am now the only living person to have had the privilege of accompanying a tappal-runner through the jungles.

Estate bungalow

In the estate bungalow, after a late lunch, there was plenty of time to spend in conversation. Freshened after a sleep of two hours, followed by a wash, I moved to the dining room for tea and further pleasant conversation. The servants lit the large Hinx kerosene lamp with its round opaque glass globe, as well as smaller lamps in the hall and the rooms. There was no electricity, and in those days nobody bothered about refrigeration and the cold storage of food. Outside, in the distance, could be heard the howling of jackals and the hooting of owls.

We reassembled at dinner, which was a simple meal that was much appreciated. I expressed the wish to move into the jungle villages further on. My hosts were insistent that I should rest the next day after my long and tiring trek. They said they would arrange a tracker the day after. At the following day’s dinner, I was informed that a tracker has been arranged for the trip.

Another jungle walk

The next day, I was ready after an early breakfast when the tracker, whose name was Bimbanda, arrived. He was about 40 years old. He was given the necessary instructions. I had never used a gun before, but I was told it was needed for protection. Accordingly, I was given five minutes of direction in its use. My friends, who provided me with sandwiches, some sweets and a flask of tea in the haversack, saw me off.

We walked for about half a mile, and then left the rough and boulder-strewn road where it ended and entered the jungle. It was apparent the tracker was following an animal footpath. He assured me that within a few minutes we would emerge into easy terrain.

Childbirth

Soon we came across a human footpath, and in about half an hour we heard human voices. Then we saw them, a party of about 40 people, half of them being women. Bimbanda said they were Gam Veddhas from the villages. All the men had their long hair tied up in knots. They wore what I guessed were banians or vests or loose jackets.

The women wore short sarees about eight inches above the ankles. Nearly all of them, except the younger ones, had no blouse or jacket, but in the presence of men they threw the saree fall across their shoulders.

They were all of small build, with their hair parted in the centre. Some wore crudely fashioned gold-plated ornaments. On their hands they wore silver, twisted bangles with a 25-cent coin soldered in the centre.

The women carried on their heads heavy pillowcases filled with food and other pilgrim paraphernalia. These were balanced horizontally. They were apparently the beasts of burden, for the men swung their hands freely without any encumbrance, except when they carried a staff or short stick.

They had already cleared a small portion of a hillock under a large tree, and what was in effect a mattress had been made by spreading clothes over layers of leaves on the ground. I noticed a rope hanging from a low branch of the tree. A clay pot of water was being boiled on a tripod of sticks.

The tracker quickly got into conversation with the men, and I did likewise, but I needed his help, as certain words they used were strange and unknown to me. An old woman

and her son told us that they had halted in their trek from a distant village to Rattota, from whence they would take bus to Matale and then to Kandy to worship at the Dalada Maligawa, and witness the perahera.

This was an emergency stop, for a woman in the group was in labour, and until the child was born, they could not proceed. This old man and woman, after consultation, invited me to be of assistance. Probably my khaki uniform made them confuse me with a Health Department official. My only qualification was a war-time ARP (Air Raid Precaution) St. John’s Ambulance Brigade First Aid Certificate from London.

By now, under the tree there was much activity, and the older women stood round like a protective screen. There was whimpering, followed by subdued shrieks. The tracker and I together with the old woman and her son moved towards the ring of women. When we approached, they made way for us. Diffidently I moved into the ring. On the make-shift mattress, was a middle-aged woman in labour crouching on her elbows and knees. It was evident that the rupture of the amniotic sac had taken place.

I was informed that it was her fourth child. I noticed Bimbanda walking out of the group, while I remained with the old couple. The woman in front of us was obviously in pain, but the noises she made were stifled and restrained. She was naked and perspiring profusely. Even though in a prone position, in her hands she grasped with difficulty the knotted end of the rope. The tree-branch shook with her purposeful bearing-down, urged on by a frail, wizened old woman with her hair falling over her face.

She knelt beside the pregnant woman and muttered the same incoherent words over and over again, all the while running her scraggy fingers in a downward movement along the patient’s belly. The sight of coagulated blood and the stained cloth made me somewhat sick. I joined Bimbanda, who was outside, and we chatted with a group of men for a few minutes. The women, who were with them, did not speak, probably without permission from their men.

A little later, when I gained composure, I went back to the “emergency ward”. Before I entered, I could see at a respectable distance, two men who had come from the far side of the jungle. Another old woman met them and took the green and yellow bamboo branch which they held out to her. They helped her cut it into a strip about a foot long and slit it up to the node. She held it in both her hands over her head and walked in with the old man and me, all the while muttering some kind of incantation in a low tone.

Parturition had already taken place, and the infant, pink and slimy, was lying almost under the mother. Two women knelt down and held the child. The woman with the bamboo twig widened the split below the notch and placed it below the umbilical cord, after the two ends had been tightened with a creeper or twine (I could not see what it was). The severance took place cleanly and speedily.

The mother now assumed a supine position, while one woman applied light pressure on her abdomen, another gently moved the child to and fro till there were prolonged choky squeals. While one woman applied some medicinal preparation off a small glass bottle, they swathed the mother around the waist and the pelvic region with two or three folds of cloth. We then saw her face as she gave a frightened, primitive-looking smile.

Journey continued

Bimbanda and I did not want to stay longer. Besides we were getting late, and had a long way to go. On our return journey, we saw something moving clumsily into a narrow-mouthed hole close to the path we were treading. Bimbanda told me it was a kaballawa (scaly ant-eater), which moved like a monitor lizard except for its tightly curved tail. This, I learnt later, was an unusual sight even in the dense jungles.

Soon there were signs of a human habitation. We heard the thud of a flattening and levelling wooden implement, known as tappe mole, being used to strengthen the floor of a mud hut. Lying by the side was a much-worn hide of a spotted deer, with a coir rope attached for dragging on the ground. This was used to haul mud and stones for building purposes.

We had now come to a village of about 20 huts, where all were of wattle and daub except one, which had tall, white walls and a red-tiled roof. This was Illukkumbura post office. I was overjoyed, for philately, as well as coin collection, was my first love from the age of six years. My desire, therefore, was to meet the postmaster of the jungle village of Illukkumbura.

Just as the post office building was incongruous to the village, the postmaster too was different from others in the village. He told me he was the postmaster in this remote outpost for more than three years, and that he was lonely and far-flung from his small family. He readily obliged by applying the date-stamp cancellation marked “Illukkumbura” to a self-addressed 3- cent King George VI, green-stamped post-card he sold me. This was to add to my collection of out of the way post marks. He promised to send it in the tappal-runner’s bag the next day.

Along with the postmaster, we paid a visit to the headman. In the course of the conversation, he told us that Muslim traders came to the village every three months all the way from Matale and Rattota. They brought sugar, dried fish, salt, coconut oil and cloth on tawalam harak or pack oxen, which push their way through the jungle undergrowth. These traders used to barter their goods for poultry, eggs, dried venison, kurakkan and bees’ honey.

We left the headman and visited some huts in the village. The wells were open and unprotected. Stones and planks, usually of kumbuk , were placed in the far side of the well, away from the house. It was considered unlucky to draw water with one’s back to the house.

In an adjoining village, an elderly man explained the reason for this practice. In lonely village houses, he said, while the men folk and the older children were engaged in work in the chenas and fields, only older women were left to tend the infants and toddlers and prepare the food. So when they drew water from the well, it was advisable that they faced the house. This would enable them to overlook and protect the little ones against any outsiders and wild animals, such as serpents and monkeys. I noticed that there were no doors in all the huts we saw.

An hour’s walk brought us to Makumbura, which was a larger village. We had lunch consisting of rice and curry. As it was getting late, we moved on to Pallegama, which was a large village with some tiled houses. When we left Pallegama, we were again in dense jungle. It was dark and gloomy under the trees. Whenever there was a rustling noise, Bimbanda cocked his gun, ready to shoot. I had to restrain him many a time from putting an end to several hare, a miminna (mouse deer) and even a young spotted deer.

The sun had set in when we reached the estate and came to the bungalow, where my friends were waiting expectantly in the yet unlit verandah. I thanked Bimbanda and promised to meet him in the morning. Soon darkness covered us, and a hot bath was the best refreshment before fellowship and conversation at dinner.

Conclusion

I am thankful to many persons for this short jungle interlude in my life. It gave me a new perspective and opened up new vistas of experience where I came directly in contact with wild terrain and its concomitant forests and natural features.

I am now aware that Laggala is believed to be the scenario of an early civilization in our country’s pre- or even proto-history. However, that appears to me too far away from the present reality. Last year, in 2001, I travelled on the same route in a high-powered vehicle with friends from Matale and Kandy. I recalled the earlier scene as I traversed the broad, winding macadamised road through the still majestic and bewilderingly beautiful hilltops.

But now the land is cultivated and concreted with townships full of shops and rural banks, with the blare of radios and the screech of motor vehicles echoing through the dust. What matters to me now is that more than half a century ago, I was privileged to share the company of simple people like the pot-bellied headman, the wrinkle-browed postmaster and the unsophisticated village folk who had their homes in the unspoilt forest.

Above all, I am conscious of the part played by Kalua, Bimbanda and many others I met who are now resting forever in the soil under the shadowy trees of their beloved homeland – the jungle. To them, I shall always remain grateful.

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

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Features

Eastern University and the making of a culture of peace

Published

20 hours ago

2026/09/29

Sahan Weerasooriya

by Jehan Perera

There is an important change in the way peace is being understood in Sri Lanka. The notion that peacebuilding is not simply the responsibility of governments, politicians and peace organisations, but is also a responsibility of educational institutions, appears to be permeating the consciousness of at least a section of the academic community. This was visible on International Peace Day at an event held at Eastern University by the Faculty of Health-Care Sciences. The event was unusual not least because the medical and nursing faculty of the university had decided that peacebuilding was relevant to its academic and professional responsibilities.

Peacebuilding has too often been treated as something undertaken after conflict, when the fighting has stopped and the immediate task is to rebuild relationships between communities. But peace cannot be sustained by governments and peace organisations alone. If it is to become long lasting, the values and practices of peace have to become part of the institutions through which a society educates its younger generations. Universities and other educational institutions are therefore important to peacebuilding. They are among the places where the foundations of a culture of peace can either be built or neglected.

The experience of the Faculty of Health-Care Sciences at Eastern University provides a practical example of what this can mean. Led by its Dean, Prof Thillainathan Sathaananthan, the faculty organised an event which went beyond the ordinary academic scope of a medical faculty. University academics are experts in writing project proposals and applying for research grants. On this occasion, the members of the Faculty of Health-Care Sciences used those skills to apply for a UNESCO grant that they won to conduct an International Peace Day event. The significance lies less in the Rs 200,000 grant than in the decision to use the university’s institutional capacity and resources to invest in peacebuilding. The event at Eastern University needs to be understood as more than a successful university programme. It represents a possible paradigm shift in peace thinking.

Institutional Commitment

The Peace Day event obtained the support of the university administration, including Vice Chancellor Prof P Peratheepan, and reached out to secondary schools in the vicinity to mobilise their attendance. The event itself was meticulously organised. There were cultural items including traditional and modern dance and song in the three languages, performed by combinations of solo, duet and multiple singers, dancers and actors drawn in part from nearby secondary schools. There was a panel discussion by senior academics on the general theme of peacebuilding and how to prepare for it. A discussion among the students followed, where each student spoke on behalf of a religion that was not theirs. This is significant because peacebuilding cannot remain an idea discussed by specialists at conferences. It has to become part of the way institutions educate and prepare people for life in a plural society.

The Faculty of Health-Care Sciences at Eastern University has provided a model through its Peace Medicine course modules that were introduced to the curricular as a compulsory core course over 10 years ago. Two senior academics, Dr Kuveriel Eliyas Karunakaran and Dr Thillainathan Sathaananthan, have written a book on “Peace Medicine- A Health Care Concern” that was published five years ago. Its Peace Medicine Module integrates principles of medical ethics, compassion, equity, social justice and community engagement into health education and practice. In his introduction, former Vice Chancellor of Eastern University, Prof T Jayasingam noted “This book is an introduction to a theme which had already been operating in the Faculty of Health Care Sciences as a course.”

Doctors, nurses and health workers know better than anyone the harm that war and violence does. They are the people who treat the wounds and trauma that violence leaves behind. In a hospital, a patient is not asked what their religion or ethnicity is before they are treated. Health care is one of the places where peace is practised every day. The Faculty has therefore found a way of connecting its professional responsibilities with the wider social responsibility of peacebuilding. The question is whether this experience can be replicated throughout the country, at universities and at other educational institutions, so that peacebuilding becomes part of the consciousness of education itself. If that happens on a sufficient scale, it can begin to generate a culture of peace that becomes increasingly difficult to reverse.

Local Action

The Eastern University event corresponded closely to the United Nations theme for this year’s International Day of Peace, “Invest in Peace – For Everyone, Everywhere, Every Day”, which honours the “everyday architects of peace”, people driving local action, laying the groundwork for stability and building lasting peace from the ground up. The emphasis on investment is important. An investment means that something is put in: time, courage and resources. There is no more violent conflict in Sri Lanka today. But the absence of war does not automatically produce a culture of peace. The factors that fed the country’s conflict have not disappeared from the world. Racism, corruption and the violation of laws and human rights are the raw materials of conflict. So too are unresolved grievances, discrimination and the failure to recognise the suffering of others.

A country that does not deal with its past does not escape it. The past can return in the next generation. This is why the experience of Eastern University needs to be replicated countrywide, both at universities and at other educational institutions. The objective should not be to turn every academic discipline into peace studies. Rather, peacebuilding needs to become part of the consciousness of education itself. Eastern University shows that a medical faculty can develop Peace Medicine. A law faculty can examine the relationship between justice, rights and peace. Faculties of education can prepare teachers to work in diverse communities, while the humanities and social sciences can examine the different narratives through which communities understand their histories. Every institution can find its own way of making peacebuilding relevant to what it teaches.

Sri Lanka has had many declarations, pledges and programmes in the past. What matters is whether these produce changes in behaviour and institutional practice. Peacebuilding requires confronting difficult issues rather than avoiding them. It requires respect for different identities, but also engagement across those identities. It requires dealing with grievances in the present while also addressing unresolved issues from the past. It requires truth, accountability, reparations and guarantees of non-recurrence. It requires people to learn that the rights of another community do not diminish their own rights. The International Peace Day event at Eastern University was evidence of a change in the way at least some academics in a part of the country deeply affected by war are thinking about their responsibilities. Peace needs to be invested in and the most important investment will be in the minds of those who will inherit the future.

Features

Quality assured education commodities

Published

20 hours ago

2026/09/29

Sahan Weerasooriya

by Ahilan Kadirgamar

I have always noticed the little paper tags that are inside the packaging of some products that say quality assured or quality control. I often wonder who might have checked the product and stamped that tag, but I also forget the tag soon enough. Decades later, when I entered academia, I was taken aback by the emphasis placed on quality assurance in our universities. It is not something that could be forgotten and done away with; the entire university system is obsessed with quality assurance.

Beginning with the staff induction programme, quality assurance is drilled into the newly recruited lecturers. It is the norm, not seen as doing any harm and only trying to improve quality. It is accepted as given, and not questioned. Quality Assurance Cells and Committees are omnipresent and hover above the Departments and, at times, even the Faculty Boards. Quality Assurance reviews are feared by the Deans and Vice Chancellors. University life itself seems secondary to the rule of quality assurance. What do we make of this system of quality assurance and what are its implications for our university system?

Corporate speak

Universities globally have been going through major changes with neoliberal education policies. In many countries, universities increasingly became corporatised to be run like businesses in the 1980s. As state support for universities declined, cost cutting became the norm. They started hiring adjunct or part-time staff. Many public non-fee levying universities around the world began to charge fees. Decade by decade, tuition fees became more and more exorbitant, forcing students to take student loans. The total student debt in the United States now stands at close to US$ 2 trillion; which is about 20 times the GDP of Sri Lanka. As the higher education landscape transformed in the West, university administrations began to recruit Presidents, Vice Chancellors and administrative officials with corporate backgrounds and experience.

Such corporatisation of universities in the West has since been imported into countries like Sri Lanka, introducing a new corporate vocabulary, including quality assurance, graduate competencies, programme outcomes, intended learning outcomes, etc. University teaching has become secondary to documenting so-called outcomes. The teacher-student relationship, the environment of the lecture hall and even administering the university have been over-determined by the processes of ensuring quality. How did such major changes come about in such a short time? Indeed, academics of just two generation ago, would never have heard of these terms and processes in the Sri Lankan university system.

World Bank Trojan horse

Since the early 2000s there have been a number of World Bank projects that have drastically changed the character of Sri Lankan universities. Quality assurance as a central agenda within universities, and many other changes to the working of our universities, came through these World Bank initiatives. The Improving Relevance and Quality of Undergraduate Education (IRQUE) project and Higher Education for the 21st Century (HETC) project were two such earlier projects that set up the Quality Assurance and Accreditation Unit (QAAU) under the University Grants Commission (UGC) and established systematic quality assurance reviews for state universities. The public often thinks these are grants from the World Bank to modernise our universities. However, they are not grants but loans.

The most recent such project, Accelerating Higher Education Expansion and Development (AHEAD) is a US$ 100 million loan from the World Bank implemented from 2018 to 2023, which consolidated the quality assurance structures from the earlier projects. Furthermore, these projects are implemented with tremendous arrogance, prioritising their implementation over all other concerns in the universities, when the project over six years for example accounts for just one fourth of our budget allocation for universities this year.

The AHEAD project drastically changed course curricula, sought to increase student enrolment in science, technology, engineering, mathematics (STEM) disciplines, commercialise the university research agenda and create university-business linkages. All of this was pushed to supposedly help us face development challenges. We have heard the ideological attack on our universities and even students claiming they are “unemployable graduates”. These changes to our higher education system were supposedly going to create jobs and increase employment.

The irony of the AHEAD project is that just as it was ending in 2023, apparently after having reached its targets, the Sri Lankan economy was collapsing. The World Bank often gets the direction of causality wrong. It is the economy that creates jobs for graduates, and not the training or kind of graduates that create jobs. It is decades of World Bank policies, and those of its ideological twin the IMF, that have led to such high youth unemployment, not only in Sri Lanka but also in many other countries in the global South.

Sri Lanka entered an IMF agreement in March 2023 and started a new Country Partnership Framework with the World Bank in June 2023. These programmes have little to say about, and actively discourage, government initiatives that aim to create an industrial policy or an employment creation policy. Instead, they push for austerity measures, which not only restrict the allocation for education among other sectors, but also end up contracting the economy to the detriment of increasing employment. Their goal is the commercialisation of higher education, to make universities into businesses and run them like factories.

In this context, the ideology of quality assurance is powerful. The International Organisation for Standardisation (ISO), whose different standards are necessary for marketing, is the institution that came up with the concept of “quality assurance”. It promoted quality assurance as a process of identifying defected products. Therefore, when the World Bank promotes this conceptual framing, our students are, in fact, seen as products on the assembly line, with quality assurance processes aiming to prevent the release of defected products from the university system. For the US$ 100 million we borrowed for the AHEAD project and the many more million dollars in similar World Bank projects, there is no evidence of increased employment of graduates.

Commodity fetishism

Over a century and a half ago, Karl Marx critiqued the economic analysis prevalent at that time that associated some inherent or monetary value for commodities without considering the social relations that underlie the production of those commodities. Marx called this commodity fetishism. Furthermore, he theorised that such commodity fetishism was also a reason for the alienation of human beings from the world. If our labour and what we produce is seen devoid of the social relations that underlie them, we lose our connection with the people and the world. In this process we become alienated from what we produce and the world.

We are now in a world where our students themselves are fetishised as commodities for the market. Universities are no longer communities concerned about knowledge and human growth, but mere factories producing commodities, which have to be produced without defects to be marketed. In this way, quality assurance has become the cause for the alienation of students, academics and our universities themselves, from the larger relationship with our economy and society.

Our university system does need reform. It is grossly underfunded and not providing the financial support and facilities for our students. Universities have become hierarchical spaces without the academic freedom and democratic ethos necessary for producing knowledge. Academics and students need to engage more with their communities to make their learning and research meaningful, not to mention their contribution to and integration with society. However, when it comes to even questions of governance and regulation of the universities, such concerns are merely reduced to improving quality. In our contemporary times, this singular focus on quality assurance, as opposed to addressing the larger structural issues, is crippling our universities. There may be no way out, but to put back quality assurance where it started, those little tags on goods, to perhaps be noticed but quickly forgotten.

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)

Features

Thailand’s biggest new global star …

Published

20 hours ago

2026/09/29

Sahan Weerasooriya

The entertainment scene, globally, is agog with excitement, and, why not!

Yes, a new global star has emerged … from Thailand, and she hit the headlines by winning America’s Got Talent.

Rattikarn Amloy, known to millions by her stage name Nene Royal, was crowned the winner of America’s Got Talent (AGT) Season 21 at the live finale at Pasadena Civic Auditorium, California, taking home the USD 1 million grand prize.

The 16-year-old rocker, from the holiday island of Phuket (I’ve been to Phuket, courtesy Tourism Authority of Thailand), has struck a power chord around the world, and is the first Thai national ever to win the hit NBC show.

She beat nine other finalists, including runner-up magician Geno Ploeger, after a blistering final performance.

Nene’s story is pure rock and roll fairy-tale. She says she picked up a guitar at age seven, fell in love at the first chord, and taught herself mostly by watching videos online. That dedication earned her a music scholarship to Kajonkiet International School Phuket.

Her audition at America’s Got Talent — a swaggering, shredding rendition of The Cranberries’ classic ‘Zombie’ — exploded online, amassing over 200 million views across AGT’s platforms, more than any act this season.

She kept wowing: ‘Hysteria’ by Muse, then ‘Black Hole Sun’ by Soundgarden which earned her Spice Girl Mel B’s Golden Buzzer, sending her straight to the live shows.

For the final, she unleashed ‘Seven Nation Army’ by The White Stripes. Judge Howie Mandel shouted: “You should win. Give her the million, America.” Mel B praised her “mysterious, mystical stage presence”.

And for the grand finale, she lived every teen rocker’s dream — performing on stage, alongside US rock giants Linkin Park.

When host Terry Crews announced her as winner, the teenager collapsed to the stage floor in tears. “I’m very happy and you know I’m emotional right now,” she said.

And Thailand erupted. Her school held watch parties, posting: “You did it, congratulations, champion. We are so proud of you.”

Even Prime Minister Anutin Charnvirakul sent a personal congratulation. He had earlier hosted Nene at Government House in July, where she played guitar while he sang a Thai rock song. His office said her talent “brought pride to Thai people.”

Corporate Thailand also rallied behind her — Charoen Pokphand Foods, owned by billionaire Dhanin Chearavanont, even rented a giant billboard in Times Square, New York, to cheer her on.

With her blistering guitar solos, rock-ballad shrieks and fearless spirit, little Nene Royal has just become Thailand’s biggest new global star.

What’s more, this amazing teenager will be bringing her powerful vocals, guitar skills and signature rock-metal style to the stage, as opening act, before one of the world’s biggest rock bands, America’s Avenged Sevenfold, in Singapore, on 13 October.

Unfortunately, we are still to see a local artiste, grab the spotlight, on a global scale … like Thailand’s Nene.

Yes, they do shine, but mostly on social media, and that, too, with the aid of AI (Artificial Intellegence).