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MY MOTHER

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(We publish this week another chapter from Falling Leaves, an autobiographical anthology of articles written by L.C. Arulpragasam, among the last surviving members of the old Ceylon Civil Service (CCS) who at over age 95-years lives in Manila following a long career with FAO beginning after he quit the CCS.)

My mother, Bertha Pavalaratnam Chellappah was born in Jaffna on January 18, 1903. She died at the age of 90 years in Colombo, in 1993. Her father was a Hindu until he converted to Christianity to join the Salvation Army. He then married a devout Christian lady, so that my mother was brought up in a deep Christian faith while all her paternal uncles and their families remained staunch, high-caste Hindus.

She grew up in Jaffna, attending the Chundikuli Girls School, an Anglican Mission School, reputed to be among the best in Jaffna. She was given a colonial version of an English ‘boarding school’ education under an English Headmistress, aimed at educating aspiring young ladies of Jaffna for marriage. The curriculum led up to the Senior Cambridge Examination, which my mother passed with distinctions. The students were supposed to speak to each other only in English; they were fined five cents every time that they were caught speaking Tamil. In addition to academics, they were taught the fine arts and social graces expected of girls of the middle class in those days, such as cooking, sewing, playing the piano and playing tennis. My mother also became extremely proficient in English, because she read widely. I remember that when I was 12 years old, she pulled me up for using the passive verb ‘imbibed’ when I should have used the positive verb ‘imbued’.

She was very versatile. She was an accomplished pianist and even learned to play the Hawaiian guitar. She had a small collection of classical music records, which we played on our old gramophone at home. She was also a skilled seamstress, sewing all our clothes when we were young; she continued to make and embroider chair-back and cushion covers until her eyesight failed. Likewise, she would make and decorate all our birthday and Xmas cakes. She was also a good tennis player. In Batticaloa, around 1940, she won the Eastern Province Tennis Championship. I remember her hitching up her sari to execute her powerful forearm drives (but her service was weak!) to beat the former (English) lady champion, who wore a very short skirt, which was magic to my 12-year-old eyes at that time!

My mother had a keen wit and a lively sense of humour, keeping her friends in fits of laughter. She was sociable and loved company, compensating for the reserved ways of my father, with her wit and ready laughter. Our house would always be full of friends and visitors. In fact, since I can ever remember, our house was always treated as an open house, with friends dropping in, or staying over for many days. It must have been very hard for my mother, who reveled in company, to be deprived of all educated company during the long years at Mandapam Camp.

Mum had an enterprising and competitive spirit. I remember that in Batticaloa, where my father served as the District Medical Officer around 1939-44, the exclusive Gymkhana Club had a Treasure Hunt in which participants were given a list of some 30 outlandish things to collect in the course of a given Saturday. I remember that among the odd things to be collected were the ‘wish-bone’ of a chicken and a live hermit crab.

My mother got to work in competitive mode. I heard the squawk of a chicken whose neck was being cut for the needed ‘wish bone’, while our house boy was sent to the sea beach to find a hermit crab. Needless to say, my parents (that is, my mother) won the first prize! She probably imbued us with the same competitive spirit! In my seventh or eighth Grade, when I used to hang out coming about third in my class, she offered me a bicycle if I came first. Needless to say, I obliged.

Our mother became a central figure in our lives. She encouraged us to read widely, emphasizing this more than our studies. She encouraged me to play the piano and even urged me to take piano lessons – which I avoided – to my regret. She encouraged us in our sports too. The only thing that my parents would not allow us to do was to swim in the sea – for fear of drowning. Little did they know that in Colombo during term-time I used to swim in the sea almost daily. This is the only secret that I kept from my parents, since I did not want to cause them unnecessary anxiety.

Since my father was a remote (though indulgent) figure who seldom engaged in conversation, all our discussion was with or through my Mum. If we wanted anything, we would ask Mum: if she needed to consult Dad, she would do so. We had a relaxed non-authoritarian upbringing from our parents, who encouraged us to do whatever we could. It was probably Mum’s competitive spirit and Dad’s high expectations that drove us always to do better!

Since my father was always stationed in the provinces, except for a spell of about four years in Colombo, we saw our parents only during our school or University holidays. This was tough on us all, but especially on my elder brother and me. I was sent off to school and boardings in Colombo at the age of eight years – while my elder brother even at the age of five! I still remember my mother sending me off at the railway station in Batticaloa – where my Dad was stationed at the time. I remember even after 83 years, the sari she was wearing when the train pulled away from the station! I would then look forward to Mum’s weekly letters.

Since we were away from home for most of our growing years, it was Mum who held our family together. I realize in retrospect, however, that we four siblings were not really close to one another. This was probably because we grew up in four different locations, confronting our daily problems alone, meeting only for our vacations in our common parental home.

Looking back, I find that my parents did not have an authoritarian hold over us, like some of my friends’ parents did. Although they showed their love and affection in many ways, I am more aware now that they never expressed it either verbally, or in a physical way. My mother would kiss me each time that we parted to go back to school; but I cannot remember her even touching, hugging me after I was about 12 years old. Their love was not the ‘touchy-feely’ love that one witnesses today.

I think that this is the way they were expected to behave in the traditional Jaffna Tamil culture. It may have been a generational thing too. I remember being surprised when a Sinhalese colleague told me in 1958 that his two daughters knelt and worshipped at his feet every morning before leaving for school! My parents were not authoritarian or inaccessible; but neither did they openly declare or show their love and affection. May be that this was not done in those days in Sri Lanka!

My mother remained a widow for 36 years after my father’s death in 1957. It must have been hard for her during those years. She lived some of those years with me in Bangkok and later in Rome. But for most of the time, she lived in Colombo, under arrangements that I made for her, whereby she had her independence while at the same time being under the caring eye of a relative.

She used to read widely, which is what kept her going. She went on like this until she was around 75 years of age, when she fell and broke her hip, which aged her considerably. She lived thereafter in the loving home of a caring cousin, Mrs. Jeyam Babapulle, who cared for her as if she were her own sister.

My mother was a devout Christian – and she spent the last several years of her life preparing for her death. Even at the age of 90 years and near death, she jokingly and irreverently remarked to me: ‘I am still waiting for the Call: but since I am a bit deaf, maybe I didn’t hear it!’ Since most of her children were living abroad, she would (Mrs. Babapulle told me) wait for my arrival in Sri Lanka in order to die! (I was living in Rome at that time and could only come to Colombo for a few days at a time). Habitually at our parting, she would cry, hug and kiss me, crying that it was the last time that she would be seeing me!

But since she continued to live for many more years, she would when repeating this drama, laugh through her tears, saying that these dramatic partings were becoming a joke! In the end, according to her wishes, she died when I was in Sri Lanka for a short visit. Her funeral was held at Jeyam Akka’s (Mrs. Babapulle’s) loving home, where she had spent the last years of her life. She had wanted to be cremated, so that her ashes could be interred with my Dad’s (this was during the civil war years) in their common grave in Jaffna. Years later, after the end of the war, I was able to restore my parents’ grave and install a new gravestone, engraved with the verse that she herself had chosen.

Thus ended the life of a loving, caring, intelligent, gifted, versatile and laughter-loving woman to whom we all owed so much.



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Combining local resources,traditional knowledge and science to build a food-secure Sri Lanka

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World Food Day 2026: Innovating today for a better food future

by Dr. Kaushalya Wijayasekara

What will be on the Sri Lankan dinner table ten years from now? Will our children be able to get nutritious food at a price their families can afford? Will farmers be able to grow enough despite changing weather and rising costs? And how much of the food we produce will actually reach the consumer, instead of being lost or wasted along the way?

These questions can’t wait. A farmer faces unpredictable weather. A family faces rising food costs. Fruit goes unsold after a good harvest. Some children do not get enough nutrition. The future of food is tied to the future of Sri Lanka itself.

World Food Day 2026 is a chance to look beyond the immediate problems and ask whether we can build a food system that feeds our people well, gives farmers better opportunities, protects the environment and makes better use of what we already have. The answer can be yes, but we will have to think differently.

We are not starting from zero. Sri Lanka has diverse crops, fisheries, traditional food knowledge, indigenous varieties, research institutions, universities and a young generation able to create new solutions. What we need is to bring these together and act. Producing more will not secure our food future on its own. It will depend on how intelligently we produce, process, preserve, distribute and consume food.

Making more of what we already have

Innovation does not always mean inventing something new. Often it means finding better uses for the resources we have.

Sri Lanka grows traditional rice varieties, kurakkan, green gram, cowpea, jackfruit, breadfruit, cassava, sweet potato, coconut and palmyrah. All of them have great potential for modern, nutritious, value-added foods. Jackfruit and breadfruit can be made into flour and other convenient products. Traditional rice varieties can go into new foods that suit changing consumer needs. Palmyrah, with its strong cultural heritage, can create new income through better processing, packaging, quality assurance and market development.

The aim is to connect our traditional food knowledge with modern consumer needs and technology, while keeping our food heritage.

Stop wasting the food we produce

Reducing food loss and waste should be a major priority. Seasonal fruits such as mango, banana, papaya and pineapple can be lost in large quantities when production exceeds demand or when storage, transport and processing facilities are inadequate. With suitable technology, these fruits can become dried products, pulps, powders, beverages and other shelf-stable foods.

Agricultural and fisheries by-products are resources too. They could be turned into food ingredients, animal feed, bio-based products and other useful materials, which would move us toward a more circular food economy.

Technology alone is not enough. We need stronger local processing facilities, cold storage, efficient transport, collection centres and market information systems, especially close to where food is produced. Cutting food loss raises the value of what our farmers and fishers already produce.

Nutrition and food safety come first

Food security means more than having enough food. People also need food that is safe and nutritious.

Sri Lanka can develop affordable, nutritious foods from local pulses, grains, vegetables, fruits and fish. Children and other vulnerable groups should get particular attention. Schoolchildren in particular deserve a focus: safe, nutritious, locally sourced products for school feeding programs would support child nutrition, local farmers and domestic food industries at the same time.

Food safety must stay at the centre of food innovation. Good hygiene, quality control, laboratory testing, traceability and appropriate food safety systems are what make new products safe as well as attractive and nutritious.

A food system that can cope with climate change

Climate change is already affecting agricultural production, water availability, crop yields and food prices. We need food systems that can handle changing conditions. That means climate-resilient crops, efficient water use, soil and water conservation, better storage and resource-efficient food processing.

Traditional knowledge matters here. Generations of Sri Lankan farmers have developed practices suited to local climates and ecosystems. Combining that experience with modern science can give us solutions that fit local conditions and are sustainable. Technology alone will not build the future of food. Science, experience and local knowledge together can.

Give young people a bigger role

Sri Lanka’s universities have an important part to play in shaping our food future. Young people should be encouraged to identify real problems in the food system and work on practical solutions in areas such as food waste, sustainable packaging, nutrition, food safety, modernising traditional foods and digital technologies.

A good research project should not always end as a research paper. Where appropriate, research should be supported to move on to products, technologies, enterprises and community solutions. That needs stronger partnerships between universities and industry, along with mentoring, research funding, business support and market connections. If young researchers and entrepreneurs can turn their ideas into viable food innovations, both consumers and producers will benefit.

A pathway designed for Sri Lanka

We do not need to copy food-system models from other countries. We can build a pathway that suits our own resources, culture and needs. It would bring together local resources, traditional knowledge, scientific research, appropriate technology and entrepreneurship, with farmers, fishers, universities, research institutions, food industries, entrepreneurs and policymakers working side by side.

The goal goes beyond selling raw materials. We need to create more value, reduce waste, improve nutrition, generate jobs and strengthen rural livelihoods. This matters especially for small and medium-scale food enterprises, which can drive local economic development when they get the right technical, financial and market support.

The choices we make today

The food future will not create itself. It will be shaped by what we grow, what we research, what we process, what we consume and what we choose not to waste.

So, the question for World Food Day 2026 is this: what can we do today so that every Sri Lankan has safe, nutritious, affordable and sustainable food tomorrow?

The answers are already around us, in our farms, fisheries, food businesses, universities, laboratories and communities. We have the resources, the traditional knowledge, the scientific expertise and talented young people. What we need now is to connect them and act.

A better food future begins with the choices we make today.

Dr. Kaushalya Wijayasekara

Senior Lecturer, Department of Biosystems Technology, Faculty of Technology, University of Ruhuna

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20th Anniversary of Digampathana blast – the day Sri Lanka Navy cried

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Aftermath of the terror attack

By Admiral Ravindra C Wijegunaratne
WV, RWP and Bar, RSP, VSV, USP, NI (M) (Pakistan), ndc, psn, Bsc
(Hons) (War Studies) (Karachi) MPhil (Madras)
Former Navy Commander and Former Chief of Defence Staff
Former Chairman, Trincomalee Petroleum Terminals Ltd
Former Managing Director Ceylon Petroleum Corporation
Former High Commissioner to Pakistan

The Digampathana suicide truck attack on 16th October 2006 remains the deadliest single strike in Sri Lanka Navy history, leaving scars that time cannot erase.

It was a seemingly ordinary Monday morning on 16 October 2006, but the calm of that day would soon be shattered in a way none of us could have imagined. As the Commandant of the Naval and Maritime Academy and Flag Officer Commanding Naval Fleet at Trincomalee, I was aware that a number of my cadets were travelling that morning, part of a convoy of fifteen buses carrying naval personnel from Trincomalee, Colombo, and other bases, heading toward Dambulla to rendezvous with another group. The convoy also included trucks and escort vehicles, a routine movement planned and coordinated with the army to ensure the roads were clear. The morning started quietly. Some personnel greeted friends, handed over their weapons, or strolled to a nearby tea shop. It all seemed so ordinary—too ordinary for what would come next.

Sri Lanka Navy sunk LTTE Ships carrying arms, ammunition and warlike materials thousand miles away from Sri Lanka in Indian Ocean in September and October 2007.

By late morning, both convoys had reached the small ground at Digampathana, near the Sigiriya junction, and personnel mingled briefly, unaware that a carefully orchestrated act of terror was waiting. Then, suddenly, an empty half-truck veered directly into the convoy. It exploded with a ferocity I can still recall as if it were yesterday. Nuts, bolts, and high explosives tore through the air. Pandemonium erupted instantly. I later learned that 107 of our naval personnel were killed on the spot and another 153 critically injured. The scene was indescribable—bodies scattered, vehicles mangled, personal effects strewn across the ground. I remember later hearing that the head of the suicide bomber was recovered more than 100 meters away from the blast, a grim testament to the sheer force of the explosion.

I was in my office at the Naval and Maritime Academy when my mobile phone rang. A young midshipman from the 21st intake called, his voice trembling: “Sir, there was a huge explosion at the convoy point! Many are dead … my batch mate Wijesundara is among them.” I immediately jumped into my jeep with my escort Chief Petty Officer and driver and rushed to Digampathana, relying on every ounce of my driving skill to reach the scene. The journey, which usually took little more than an hour, felt endless that day, each passing mile weighed down by dread.

When I arrived, I was confronted with a sight that no training can prepare you for. The injured were being rushed to Dambulla Hospital, where doctors and nurses worked tirelessly, improvising in ways that saved lives despite the overwhelming chaos. I went back to the site after visiting the hospital. The remains of our naval personnel were scattered across the ground, and someone had begun collecting weapons and protective gear. I immediately contacted Surgeon Rear Admiral Nico Jayasekara and received his instructions: collect all body parts in separate bags and transport them to the Trincomalee Naval Hospital mortuary. This gruesome work had to be done with care and dignity, and it filled the icebox in my vehicle. Through DNA testing initiated by Rear Admiral Nico, we were able to identify every naval personnel lost that day, bringing some closure to grieving families.

The Navy Commander at the time, Vice Admiral Wasantha Karannagoda, was devastated. I had worked closely with him and knew how deeply he cared for his men. He ensured that the fallen were honoured with full ceremonial naval funerals at Welisara Naval Base, attended by families and comrades. Sixty-seven funerals were conducted in a single day—a number that still haunts me.

The Digampathana attack remains the largest single loss of naval life in our history. It was a day of sorrow, but also a day that reinforced our resolve. The tragedy galvanized the Navy to target the LTTE Sea Tiger wing with renewed determination and reshaped our maritime operations forever. Every time I think of that day, I remember not just the lives lost, but the courage, professionalism, and dedication of those who survived, those who treated the injured, and those who ensured the fallen were honored properly. May the souls of our naval hero’s rest in peace, their sacrifice guiding us and inspiring generations of naval personnel to come.

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‘Murder at Whitby Abbey’

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Tales of Mystery and Suspense – 24

I was intrigued by the title of a book I found in a book drop at the condominium of a friend, Murder at Whitby Abbey, and I brought it home with me though I will not be able to return it in the near future. It was described on the cover page as ‘a standout in the crowded medieval mystery field’, though I fear I do not know of other books in this field, apart from the Cadfael series, which I have dealt with earlier.

The book, by Cassandra Clark, is set during the reign of Richard II and has as a backdrop his precarious position, which led to his being replaced, and murdered, by his cousin Henry, who reigned as Henry IV. It is a gloomy book, the action taking place in the twelve days of Christmas leading up to the Epiphany. And the gloom is pervasive, even though this is supposed to be a time of festivity, with mummers performing, and many of those in the guest house where the heroine stays going to town to enjoy themselves, with much drinking and much music, which also fills the guesthouse.

The heroine Hildegarde is a nun, sent to try to acquire a relic being sold by Whitby Abbey, though this was also a penance set by the Abbot of the monastery that governed her abbess because she had had sex with a man. Soon after she and her companions reach the Abbey set high on a cliff, she finds that there are other bidders, and soon suspects that the hierarchy, not perhaps the Abbot who seems a weakling, but his rapacious bursar, is determined to make money, and not above creating false relics to sell to several aspirants.

After Hildegarde and her Cistercian companions – Whitby is a Benedictine Foundation – two monks, Gregory and Egbert, and a young priest Mark, reach the abbey, they find that Aelwyn, a monk they had met on their way to the guesthouse had died. This was in the apple store, and they realize, when they find the surplices of novices stuffed into the air vents, that he had been left to suffocate in the overwhelming scent of apples.

Clark

The Cistercians are asked to look into the death, perhaps because they are likely to get no cooperation from the Abbey folk, but perhaps because those in charge are keen to know what happened. And the infirmarer, an old monk, suggests Hildegarde talk to a man called Edred who worked for the bursar, and had been a friend of Aelwyn’s. But Edred too is killed, before he can keep an appointment he had made with Hildegarde, drowned in a pool near the farmhouse of the Abbey.

Meanwhile tensions arise between the fisherfolk and the abbey for the bursar wants to charge them for using the beach that technically belongs to the abbey to dry their fish and their nets. This leads to physical battles, when the guards used by the abbey, under the command it seems of the bursar whose determination to make money is not resisted by the abbot and the prior, try to storm the area where the fishermen live.

Hildegard finds out more about what had happened through two youngsters, one of whom Torold is the son of Aelwyn by a woman who worked as a prostitute for a cartel, and with whom Mark fell in love. The other works on the farm and had seen Edred meet someone near the pool, after which that someone left the place by himself. And the boy had also found in the pool a sort of dagger with the seal of the abbey.

He and his dog, and Torold who follows her, rescue Hildegarde from a man at arms who has waylaid her and tries to rape her earlier. Escaping into the abbey she was nearly been raped then by the bursar, but she managed to escape, in the process setting fire to him and the muniments room, which led, when he was rescued, to the discovery of a box with the money he said had been stolen, blame being cast on both Aelwyn and Edred.

Matters come to a head when the fisherfolk try to storm the abbey, being resisted by the men at arms stationed on the towers. But then Hildegarde realizes that behind the murders was the bursar’s clerk, whom she pursued to the cathedral. There is great drama then as she escapes from him when he tries to kill her, and then from the man at arms who had tried to both rape and kill her, but they both fall from the scaffolding she had climbed, the latter coming from a tower where he had been stationed.

Both of them think they run the rapacity of the abbey, the latter claiming to work for the nobles opposed to Richard, who is presented throughout the book as devoted to his subjects, not to power or money. But though the villains die, the bursar continues, having got over the hysteria the fire had caused and his acknowledgment then of guilt – and though the abbot and the prior seem less vicious, whether they will be able to assert themselves is questionable.

Before the climax, when the others in the guesthouse were leaving, Hildegarde found that two of them were in possession of the relic, for which they seem to have paid well. Hildegarde herself had made a derisory offer, but before she leaves the abbot gives her the relic, perhaps in gratitude for what she and her fellow Cistercians had discovered, the abbey having made as much money as it needed and more from the gullible other buyers.

Mark’s inamorata is saved from the stews because she moves in with Edred’s widow whom the bursar had thrown out of the rooms he occupied when her husband was found dead. Hildegarde had paid for lodgings, in a house run by the man who ran the brothels, but he had a kindly side and was going to finance them to make nets for the fishermen.

So, the Cistercians set off for their home as swiftly as they can to get there on the day of the Epiphany, having stopped en route to pray for King Richard whose birthday it was.

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