Features
Old Kalutara and Lorenz
By Avishka Mario Senewiratne
“There is an old Sinhalese saying that ‘happy is the man who is born at Matara and bred at Kalutara.’ Lorenz must have been happy that he was born at Matara and had his well-known holiday home at Kalutara.”- E. H. Van der Waal
Kalutara, 28 miles south of Colombo is perhaps one of the most underrated regions in Sri Lanka. One of my first memories of this palm-fringed coastal city from an aerial view was the thousands of coconut trees, the fabulous Kalu Ganga flowing to the ocean, and the mighty Kalutara Bodhiya as well as old Churches built by European missionaries. The Portuguese realized the strategic and military importance of Kalutara (Caltura as it was known then) and built a fort between 1620 and 1623 demolishing the ancient Gangathilaka Vihare. (see Illustrations and Views of Dutch Ceylon, p. 205).
This was an assignment taken by General Jorge d’Alburquerque. The land of the fort was a hillock on the southern bank of Kalu Ganga. After the Portuguese were ousted, the Dutch under General Gerard Hulft captured Kalutara. The Dutch took a greater interest in this Fort and its environs. Christopher Schweitzer, a German working for the VOC, stated in 1682 that he was one of the 30 soldiers involved in adding ramparts to Kalutara in 1677. In 1672, the Dutch predikant Baldeus noted that “… the Fortress of Caltura situated in a most lovely locality lies near the mouth of a large and broad river close by the sea. This defence is strongly built with double earthen walls…”
Governor Ryckloff Van Goens Sr. took Kalutara more seriously and was assigned to build a road from Kalutara to Colombo, “along which eight men could march abreast, taking with them field guns.” In 1744, Dutch traveler J. W. Heydt commented on the great progress of cinnamon cultivation in Kalutara. In 1796, the Kalutara fort was ceded by British troops under General Stuart.
After many years of disuse, the Kalutara Fort premises were used as the residence of the Government Agent of Kalutara in 1915. In the early 1960s, this land was taken over by the Kalutara Bodhi Trust and a dagoba was erected after nearly 400 years. Many British individuals who served and lived in Ceylon during the 18th century wrote a manifold of books initially targeting the English audience, who was known to be curious about the new British colony.
Captain Robert Percival writes a great detail about Kalutara in his An Account of an Island in 1803. He reveals that the old fort was dilapidated by that time. He makes a special note of the hunting of wild animals, especially fox in Kalutara. Percival writes: “From Pantura (Panadura) to Caltura, a distance of ten miles, the whole country may be considered as one delightful grove; and the road has entirely the appearance of a broad walk through a shady garden… the grateful refreshment such a road affords to a traveller in this sultry climate, can only be conceived by those who have passed from Columbo to Caltura”. (pp. 125-126)
Rev. James Cordiner comments on Kalutara in his 1807 Description of Ceylon: “Here is a small fortification raised upon a mount, commanding the banks of a beautiful river… a neat village, chiefly in one street, built of stone on thatched roofs, inhabited by native Cingalese, and black descendants of native Portuguese. The climate is cool, the place is rural and the situation pleasant.” (p. 174)
Engraving of Kalutara by Baldeus, 1672
Major Jonathan Forbes writes in his Eleven Years in Ceylon, on Kalutara on his way to Colombo, “There is considerable variety of ground and scenery.” (1840, part II, p. 167)
Sir James Emerson Tennent wrote: “Caltura has always been regarded as one of the sanitaria of Ceylon, and as it faces the sea breeze from the south-west, the freshness of its position, combined with the beauty and grandeur of the surrounding scenery, rendered it the favourite resort of the Dutch, and afterwards of the British… from the great extent of the coconut groves which surround it, Caltura is one of the principal places for the distillation of Arrack.” (Tennent, part II, p. 659)
One of the first prominent Europeans to build a country residence in Kalutara was John Rodney, the Colonial Secretary.
Teak Bungalow
Extending up to nine acres and resting on the banks of Kalu Ganga, this opulent property was originally called ‘Mount Layard’. It belonged to Charles Edward Layard (1787-1852), C.C.S., father of Sir C. P. Layard, Government Agent of the Western Province. Layard married a Dutch Burgher lady called Barbara Bridgetina Mooyart. They bore 26 children of which 21 survived infancy. The Layards occupied this house between the years 1808 and 1814, when Charles Layard was the Collector for Kalutara (See Toussaint, J. R., (1935), Annals of the Ceylon Civil Service, p. 59). While residing in Kalutara, Layard and James Anthony Mooyart attempted to cultivate sugar cane. However, the experiment was futile.
J. W. Bennet comments on this in his monumental 1843 tome Ceylon and its Capabilities as follows: “These gentlemen introduced the culture of the sugar cane, but upon too extensive a scale for a first experiment; and, owing to the quantity of iron with which the soil there is almost everywhere impregnated, were unsuccessful.” (p. 34) When Rev. Reginald Heber, the Anglican Bishop of Calcutta visited Ceylon in 1825 he lodged in this house for a few days. Heber wrote the following in his journal:
“Culture, where in a very pretty bungalow belonging to Mr. Layard, commanding a beautiful view of the river and sea we breakfasted’
Commenting on the view of Kalu Ganga from Mount Layard, J. W. Bennet wrote the following in Ceylon and its Capabilities:
“The view from Mount Layard, the country residence of Charles Edward Layard, Esq., on the left bank of the river, is beautiful; but one scarcely knows which of the two reaches of the river to admire most:—the old fort, an island, and the open sea over the sandy ridge, make the view down the river the finest, but for the Indian impression given by the areka trees and coco-nut topes;—but the mellow richness of the scenery up the river towards Gal-Pata, would, to a Cockney, appear a Richmond Hill style of beauty, and of course be in his eyes the most interesting.” (p. 375)
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- An old Dutch House in Kalutara by H.W. Cave
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- A view of Kalu Ganga from the Teak Bungalow. Photographed by H.W. Cave, 1908
A few years after Layard died in 1852, Lorenz who was by then well-off owing to a sound legal practice purchased “Mount Layard” and re-named it “Teak Bungalow”. This was obviously due to the large number of teak trees on the property. Lorenz bought the adjoining properties bearing coconut trees and paddy fields along with this compound. He named his nephew Edwin Poulier as Superintendent. Poulier was known to have done a good job with the estate. Annually for about six weeks during the Easter recess, Lorenz lodged in Teak Bungalow.
Here he dispensed hospitality and entertained his many friends. Among those friends who visited Lorenz frequently at the Teak Bungalow were two Van Cuylenbergs. One of them, a medical doctor was the father of Sir Hector Van Cuylenberg. Proctor F. S. Thomasz of Kalutara was another frequent visitor. Apart from hosting them, Lorenz would often invite them to shooting parties. In the August 1933 issue of The Ceylon Causerie, E. H. Van der Wall records an interesting statement by an old resident who recalled Lorenz quite well:
“Lorenz frequently visited ‘Teak Bungalow’ for weekends, travelling by stages in his charabanc with two gray horses, and accompanied by a multitude of nephews and nieces. Almost invariably on the day of arrival a lady, who was previously notified, supplied a string-hopper breakfast. This breakfast was served in the large dining room and the guests were seated on mats used for drying paddy. Lorenz also sat on a mat at the head of the party. No knives, spoons or forks were used at the repast, the use of fingers being de rigueur.”
The wedding reception of Padikara Mudaliyar in 1910 at the Teak Bungalow
The walls of the Teak Bungalow were adorned by sketches of various people by Lorenz himself. These included District Judge Christoffels de Saram and Dr. Van Cuylenberg. Another interesting story centered around Lorenz is that on one occasion he appeared successfully for a native doctor called Haltota Veda. As a result, the native doctor who was grateful to Lorenz, cultivated his field by the Teak Bungalow for free. On a later occasion, Haltota Veda was made an Arachchi on the recommendation of Lorenz to the Government Agent C. P. Layard. While being lodged here, Lorenz completed his third volume of the Law Reports (Lorenz was the pioneer of writing law reports in Sri Lanka). While suffering various ailments in the latter part of his life, Lorenz came to the Teak Bungalow on several occasions in the belief of recovery from the far-famed climate. Foxes were plentiful around the Teak Bungalow compound and they would often destroy crops and fruit-bearing trees. Observing this Lorenz sketched the following poem:
One Emma and two Alices
Leaving pleasures and palaces,
Are observing Edward Poulier
Shooting at a Vowlia
Teak Bungalow was put on sale after the untimely death of Lorenz in 1872. However, until a buyer was found, this house was rented as the official residence of the Assistant Government Agent of Kalutara. When an attempt by the Government to acquire the Teak Bungalow failed, the Appeal Court held that the property was not required for a public purpose (See The Ceylon Causerie, August 1933, p. 12). Sometime later the business tycoon nicknamed ‘Plumbago King’, N. D. P. Silva purchased the Teak Bungalow and used it as his country house (Twentieth Century Impressions of Ceylon, pp. 591-594). N. D. P. Silva’s son was the Padikara Mudaliyar N. D. Arthur Silva Wijesinghe, who built the Richmond Castle in Kalutara. The reception for his wedding took place at the Teak Bungalow in 1910. This esteemed and popular abode of some of Ceylon’s most celebrated personalities does not exist anymore. In the 1930s the premises of the former Teak Bungalow housed an Excise Warehouse.
In one of India’s coldest and most remote regions, a group of women have taken on an unlikely role: protecting one of Asia’s most elusive predators, the snow leopard.
Snow leopards are found in just 12 countries across Central and South Asia. India is home to one of the world’s largest populations, with a nationwide survey in 2023 – the first comprehensive count ever carried out in the country – estimating more than 700 animals, .
One of the places they roam is around Kibber village in Himachal Pradesh state’s Spiti Valley, a stark, high-altitude cold desert along the Himalayan belt. Here, snow leopards are often called the “ghosts of the mountains”, slipping silently across rocky slopes and rarely revealing themselves.
For generations, the animals were seen largely as a threat, for attacking livestock. But attitudes in Kibber and neighbouring villages are beginning to shift, as people increasingly recognise the snow leopard’s role as a top predator in the food chain and its importance in maintaining the region’s fragile mountain ecosystem.
Nearly a dozen local women are now working alongside the Himachal Pradesh forest department and conservationists to track and protect the species, playing a growing role in conservation efforts.
Locally, the snow leopard is known as Shen and the women call their group “Shenmo”. Trained to install and monitor camera traps, they handle devices fitted with unique IDs and memory cards that automatically photograph snow leopards as they pass.
“Earlier, men used to go and install the cameras and we kept wondering why couldn’t we do it too,” says Lobzang Yangchen, a local coordinator working with a small group supported by the non-profit Nature Conservation Foundation (NCF) in collaboration with the forest department.
Yangchen was among the women who helped collect data for Himachal Pradesh’s snow leopard survey in 2024, which found that the state was home to 83 snow leopards – up from 51 in 2021.
The survey documented snow leopards and 43 other species using camera traps spread across an area of nearly 26,000sq km (10,000sq miles). Individual leopards were identified by the unique rosette patterns on their fur, a standard technique used for spotted big cats. The findings are now feeding into wider conservation and habitat-management plans.
“Their contribution was critical to identifying individual animals,” says Goldy Chhabra, deputy conservator of forests with the Spiti Wildlife Division.
Collecting the data is demanding work. Most of it takes place in winter, when heavy snowfall pushes snow leopards and their prey to lower altitudes, making their routes easier to track.
On survey days, the women wake up early, finish household chores and gather at a base camp before travelling by vehicle as far as the terrain allows. From there, they trek several kilometres to reach camera sites, often at altitudes above 14,000ft (4,300m), where the thin air makes even simple movement exhausting.
The BBC accompanied the group on one such trek in December. After hours of walking in biting cold, the women suddenly stopped on a narrow trail.
Yangchen points to pugmarks in the dust: “This shows the snow leopard has been here recently. These pugmarks are fresh.”
Along with pugmarks, the team looks for other signs, including scrapes and scent‑marking spots, before carefully fixing a camera to a rock along the trail.
One woman then carries out a “walk test”, crawling along the path to check whether the camera’s height and angle will capture a clear image.
The group then moves on to older sites, retrieving memory cards and replacing batteries installed weeks earlier.
By mid-afternoon, they return to camp to log and analyse the images using specialised software – tools many had never encountered before.
“I studied only until grade five,” says Chhering Lanzom. “At first, I was scared to use the computer. But slowly, we learned how to use the keyboard and mouse.”
The women joined the camera-trapping programme in 2023. Initially, conservation was not their motivation. But winters in the Spiti Valley are long and quiet, with little agricultural work to fall back on.
“At first, this work on snow leopards didn’t interest us,” Lobzang says. “We joined because we were curious and we could earn a small income.”
The women earn between 500 ($5.46; £4) and 700 rupees a day.
But beyond the money, the work has helped transform how the community views the animal.
“Earlier, we thought the snow leopard was our enemy,” says Dolma Zangmo, a local resident. “Now we think their conservation is important.”
Alongside survey work, the women help villagers access government insurance schemes for their livestock and promote the use of predator‑proof corrals – stone or mesh enclosures that protect animals at night.
Their efforts come at a time of growing recognition for the region. Spiti Valley has recently been included in the Cold Desert Biosphere Reserve, a Unesco-recognised network aimed at conserving fragile ecosystems while supporting local livelihoods.
As climate change reshapes the fragile trans-Himalayan landscape, conservationists say such community participation will be crucial to safeguarding species like the snow leopard.
“Once communities are involved, conservation becomes more sustainable,” says Deepshikha Sharma, programme manager with NCF’s High Altitudes initiative.
“These women are not just assisting, they are becoming practitioners of wildlife conservation and monitoring,” she adds.
As for the women, their work makes them feel closer to their home, the village and the mountains that raised them, they say.
“We were born here, this is all we know,” Lobzang says. “Sometimes we feel afraid because these snow leopards are after all predatory animals, but this is where we belong.”
[BBC]
If elephants are truly to be given “freedom” in Udawalawe, the solution is not simply to open gates or redraw park boundaries. The map itself tells the real story — a story of shrinking habitats, broken corridors, and more than a decade of silent but relentless ecological destruction.
“Look at Udawalawe today and compare it with satellite maps from ten years ago,” says Sameera Weerathunga, one of Sri Lanka’s most consistent and vocal elephant conservation activists. “You don’t need complicated science. You can literally see what we have done to them.”
What we commonly describe as the human–elephant conflict (HEC) is, in reality, a land-use conflict driven by development policies that ignore ecological realities. Elephants are not invading villages; villages, farms, highways and megaprojects have steadily invaded elephant landscapes.
Udawalawe: From Landscape to Island
Udawalawe National Park was once part of a vast ecological network connecting the southern dry zone to the central highlands and eastern forests. Elephants moved freely between Udawalawe, Lunugamvehera, Bundala, Gal Oya and even parts of the Walawe river basin, following seasonal water and food availability.
Today, Udawalawe appears on the map as a shrinking green island surrounded by human settlements, monoculture plantations, reservoirs, electric fences and asphalt.
“For elephants, Udawalawe is like a prison surrounded by invisible walls,” Sameera explains. “We expect animals that evolved to roam hundreds of square nationakilometres to survive inside a box created by humans.”
Elephants are ecosystem engineers. They shape forests by dispersing seeds, opening pathways, and regulating vegetation. Their survival depends on movement — not containment. But in Udawalawa, movement is precisely what has been taken away.
Over the past decade, ancient elephant corridors have been blocked or erased by:
Irrigation and agricultural expansion
Tourism resorts and safari infrastructure
New roads, highways and power lines
Human settlements inside former forest reserves
Sameera
“The destruction didn’t happen overnight,” Sameera says. “It happened project by project, fence by fence, without anyone looking at the cumulative impact.”
The Illusion of Protection
Sri Lanka prides itself on its protected area network. Yet most national parks function as ecological islands rather than connected systems.
“We think declaring land as a ‘national park’ is enough,” Sameera argues. “But protection without connectivity is just slow extinction.”
Udawalawe currently holds far more elephants than it can sustainably support. The result is habitat degradation inside the park, increased competition for resources, and escalating conflict along the boundaries.
“When elephants cannot move naturally, they turn to crops, tanks and villages,” Sameera says. “And then we blame the elephant for being a problem.”
The Other Side of the Map: Wanni and Hambantota
Sameera often points to the irony visible on the very same map. While elephants are squeezed into overcrowded parks in the south, large landscapes remain in the Wanni, parts of Hambantota and the eastern dry zone where elephant density is naturally lower and ecological space still exists.
“We keep talking about Udawalawe as if it’s the only place elephants exist,” he says. “But the real question is why we are not restoring and reconnecting landscapes elsewhere.”
The Hambantota MER (Managed Elephant Reserve), for instance, was originally designed as a landscape-level solution. The idea was not to trap elephants inside fences, but to manage land use so that people and elephants could coexist through zoning, seasonal access, and corridor protection.
“But what happened?” Sameera asks. “Instead of managing land, we managed elephants. We translocated them, fenced them, chased them, tranquilised them. And the conflict only got worse.”
The Failure of Translocation
For decades, Sri Lanka relied heavily on elephant translocation as a conflict management tool. Hundreds of elephants were captured from conflict zones and released into national parks like Udawalawa, Yala and Wilpattu.
Elephant deaths
The logic was simple: remove the elephant, remove the problem.
The reality was tragic.
“Most translocated elephants try to return home,” Sameera explains. “They walk hundreds of kilometres, crossing highways, railway lines and villages. Many die from exhaustion, accidents or gunshots. Others become even more aggressive.”
Scientific studies now confirm what conservationists warned from the beginning: translocation increases stress, mortality, and conflict. Displaced elephants often lose social structures, familiar landscapes, and access to traditional water sources.
“You cannot solve a spatial problem with a transport solution,” Sameera says bluntly.
In many cases, the same elephant is captured and moved multiple times — a process that only deepens trauma and behavioural change.
Freedom Is Not About Removing Fences
The popular slogan “give elephants freedom” has become emotionally powerful but scientifically misleading. Elephants do not need symbolic freedom; they need functional landscapes.
Real solutions lie in:
Restoring elephant corridors
Preventing development in key migratory routes
Creating buffer zones with elephant-friendly crops
Community-based land-use planning
Landscape-level conservation instead of park-based thinking
“We must stop treating national parks like wildlife prisons and villages like war zones,” Sameera insists. “The real battlefield is land policy.”
Electric fences, for instance, are often promoted as a solution. But fences merely shift conflict from one village to another.
“A fence does not create peace,” Sameera says. “It just moves the problem down the line.”
A Crisis Created by Humans
Sri Lanka loses more than 400 elephants and nearly 100 humans every year due to HEC — one of the highest rates globally.
Yet Sameera refuses to call it a wildlife problem.
“This is a human-created crisis,” he says. “Elephants are only responding to what we’ve done to their world.”
From expressways cutting through forests to solar farms replacing scrublands, development continues without ecological memory or long-term planning.
“We plan five-year political cycles,” Sameera notes. “Elephants plan in centuries.”
The tragedy is not just ecological. It is moral.
“We are destroying a species that is central to our culture, religion, tourism and identity,” Sameera says. “And then we act surprised when they fight back.”
The Question We Avoid Asking
If Udawalawe is overcrowded, if Yala is saturated, if Wilpattu is bursting — then the real question is not where to put elephants.
The real question is: Where have we left space for wildness in Sri Lanka?
Sameera believes the future lies not in more fences or more parks, but in reimagining land itself.
“Conservation cannot survive as an island inside a development ocean,” he says. “Either we redesign Sri Lanka to include elephants, or one day we’ll only see them in logos, statues and children’s books.”
And the map will show nothing but empty green patches — places where giants once walked, and humans chose. roads instead.
By Ifham Nizam
SAARC or the South Asian Association for Regional Cooperation has been declared ‘dead’ by some sections in South Asia and the idea seems to be catching on. Over the years the evidence seems to have been building that this is so, but a matter that requires thorough probing is whether the media in South Asia, given the vital part it could play in fostering regional amity, has had a role too in bringing about SAARC’s apparent demise.
That South Asian governments have had a hand in the ‘SAARC debacle’ is plain to see. For example, it is beyond doubt that the India-Pakistan rivalry has invariably got in the way, particularly over the past 15 years or thereabouts, of the Indian and Pakistani governments sitting at the negotiating table and in a spirit of reconciliation resolving the vexatious issues growing out of the SAARC exercise. The inaction had a paralyzing effect on the organization.
Unfortunately the rest of South Asian governments too have not seen it to be in the collective interest of the region to explore ways of jump-starting the SAARC process and sustaining it. That is, a lack of statesmanship on the part of the SAARC Eight is clearly in evidence. Narrow national interests have been allowed to hijack and derail the cooperative process that ought to be at the heart of the SAARC initiative.
However, a dimension that has hitherto gone comparatively unaddressed is the largely negative role sections of the media in the SAARC region could play in debilitating regional cooperation and amity. We had some thought-provoking ‘takes’ on this question recently from Roman Gautam, the editor of ‘Himal Southasian’.
Gautam was delivering the third of talks on February 2nd in the RCSS Strategic Dialogue Series under the aegis of the Regional Centre for Strategic Studies, Colombo, at the latter’s conference hall. The forum was ably presided over by RCSS Executive Director and Ambassador (Retd.) Ravinatha Aryasinha who, among other things, ensured lively participation on the part of the attendees at the Q&A which followed the main presentation. The talk was titled, ‘Where does the media stand in connecting (or dividing) Southasia?’.
Gautam singled out those sections of the Indian media that are tamely subservient to Indian governments, including those that are professedly independent, for the glaring lack of, among other things, regionalism or collective amity within South Asia. These sections of the media, it was pointed out, pander easily to the narratives framed by the Indian centre on developments in the region and fall easy prey, as it were, to the nationalist forces that are supportive of the latter. Consequently, divisive forces within the region receive a boost which is hugely detrimental to regional cooperation.
Two cases in point, Gautam pointed out, were the recent political upheavals in Nepal and Bangladesh. In each of these cases stray opinions favorable to India voiced by a few participants in the relevant protests were clung on to by sections of the Indian media covering these trouble spots. In the case of Nepal, to consider one example, a young protester’s single comment to the effect that Nepal too needed a firm leader like Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi was seized upon by the Indian media and fed to audiences at home in a sensational, exaggerated fashion. No effort was made by the Indian media to canvass more opinions on this matter or to extensively research the issue.
In the case of Bangladesh, widely held rumours that the Hindus in the country were being hunted and killed, pogrom fashion, and that the crisis was all about this was propagated by the relevant sections of the Indian media. This was a clear pandering to religious extremist sentiment in India. Once again, essentially hearsay stories were given prominence with hardly any effort at understanding what the crisis was really all about. There is no doubt that anti-Muslim sentiment in India would have been further fueled.
Gautam was of the view that, in the main, it is fear of victimization of the relevant sections of the media by the Indian centre and anxiety over financial reprisals and like punitive measures by the latter that prompted the media to frame their narratives in these terms. It is important to keep in mind these ‘structures’ within which the Indian media works, we were told. The issue in other words, is a question of the media completely subjugating themselves to the ruling powers.
Basically, the need for financial survival on the part of the Indian media, it was pointed out, prompted it to subscribe to the prejudices and partialities of the Indian centre. A failure to abide by the official line could spell financial ruin for the media.
A principal question that occurred to this columnist was whether the ‘Indian media’ referred to by Gautam referred to the totality of the Indian media or whether he had in mind some divisive, chauvinistic and narrow-based elements within it. If the latter is the case it would not be fair to generalize one’s comments to cover the entirety of the Indian media. Nevertheless, it is a matter for further research.
However, an overall point made by the speaker that as a result of the above referred to negative media practices South Asian regionalism has suffered badly needs to be taken. Certainly, as matters stand currently, there is a very real information gap about South Asian realities among South Asian publics and harmful media practices account considerably for such ignorance which gets in the way of South Asian cooperation and amity.
Moreover, divisive, chauvinistic media are widespread and active in South Asia. Sri Lanka has a fair share of this species of media and the latter are not doing the country any good, leave alone the region. All in all, the democratic spirit has gone well into decline all over the region.
The above is a huge problem that needs to be managed reflectively by democratic rulers and their allied publics in South Asia and the region’s more enlightened media could play a constructive role in taking up this challenge. The latter need to take the initiative to come together and deliberate on the questions at hand. To succeed in such efforts they do not need the backing of governments. What is of paramount importance is the vision and grit to go the extra mile.
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