Features
Remembering Gamini Dissanayake on his 83rd birth anniversary – March 20, 2025
By Vijaya Chandrasoma
As we approach the 83rd birth anniversary of Gamini Dissanayake, which falls next Thursday, my mind goes back to the days I used to work for him at the Mahaweli Authority, some 40 years ago. Memories of a wonderful human being and a visionary leader who would have made the world of a difference to the fortunes of our beautiful island, had he not been assassinated during a political rally in October 1994.
His assassination came two weeks before the presidential election in October. Dissanayake was the candidate of the United National Party, which had been defeated by the Sri Lanka Freedom Party in the parliamentary elections held in August of that year. He had taken over the leadership of the UNP from former UNP Prime Minister Ranil Wickremasinghe for reasons too obvious to mention here.
The UNP presidential campaign collapsed after Dissanayake’s assassination and Chandrika Bandaranaike defeated the reluctant, most unlikely UNP candidate, Gamini’s wife, Mrs. Srima Dissanayake, a charming lady and a brilliant attorney, but a terrible politician, by a landslide. The rest, as they say, is history.
The fortunes of Sri Lanka fell to the evil machinations of the Rajapakse dynasty, Mahinda, Gotabaya, Namal, Ranil, Chamal et al, who, while bringing about a brutal peace in 2009, reduced the economy of the country to extreme poverty by extreme corruption.
In my opinion, Gamini, had he been alive to win the presidency, would have provided the hope for economic and social development in Sri Lanka that President Anura Kumara Dissanayake presents today. Same last name, similar hopes, nearly three decades too late.
I started this essay only to write about some of the many memories I share with Gamini Dissanayake, first as a friend in the 1960s, then as the junior to Neville Samarakoon, Q.C., later Chief Justice, who provided legal representation for the company I was working for, on a damages case in Badulla in the 1970s; finally, as my boss at the Mahaweli Ministry. He employed me as a “catcher”, as political appointees are contemptuously called, and gave me a chance to make something of a life that I had been assiduously screwing up until then.
I don’t remember how, when and where I met Gamini. He was a year younger than I was. We went to different schools, and we had vastly different interests. He was very much involved in serving the people, while my entire life has been devoted to serving myself. But my ex-wife and I felt that we had always been friends with Gamini and Srima.
I got to know Gamini better during the trips Mr. Samarakoon, Gamini and I spent an evening together at the Bandarawela Hotel, for the aforementioned damages case in Badulla. A few evenings of delightful conversation with two of the smartest men I have met, until the case was settled.
After this, our meetings were sporadic till the UNP won the election in 1977, when I went to his home to congratulate him on his triumph. He was his usual ebullient self, and asked me why I don’t come and see him more often. My answer was that I didn’t feel comfortable in the company of “big shots”; but we were both comfortable in the friendship we shared.
Then in 1985, Gamini met my ex-wife at a St. Bridget’s Convent event. He inquired after me and asked her what I was doing. Seeing that she was too embarrassed to answer that I was playing the horses and doing not much else, he said, “tell him to come and see me”.
Which I did, and he offered me a job in the Mahaweli Program, as an aforementioned catcher, with the lofty title, “Project Manager, Kotmale Project”, a title that sounded good but meant little. My main function was to liaise with tea planters, most of whom were friends, and communicate any complaints they had to the Ministry. The job was not an absolute sinecure. Tea estates were visited, complaints noted, reports filed. But it also involved spending many wonderful evenings with planter friends in their homes or at those beautiful up-country clubs, with quaint English names like Dickson’s Corner.
As time passed, we realized that we had a lot in common, both in our liberal political views and our abiding love of the English language. When he saw that I had above-average skills in written English, he promoted me to an even loftier position as Director, Mahaweli Center, in Green Park, Colombo.
My main function was to run the Mahaweli Center, the publicity arm of the Authority. I also used to accompany the Minister when he visited the Mahaweli settlements and his electorate in the Central Province. The latter trips were made usually by helicopter, and we spent a night or two together in luxurious government residences in Nuwara Eliya or the cottages built for Swedish Skanska personnel in Kotmale, equipped with helipad, clubhouse, swimming pool, squash and tennis courts.
I made notes of the speeches he made at these various political and social events, and delivered edited copies to the Colombo newspapers. The Minister had total confidence in me that the edited versions of his speeches would be faithful to his actual words and convictions.
One event that sticks in my mind is the night I accompanied Minister Dissanayake for the Dudley Senanayake Memorial Oration at the BMICH in 1987, where British Liberal Party leader in the 1970s, David Steele and Minister Dissanayake were scheduled as the Keynote Speakers. At the end of the event, the minister was chatting with Mr. Steele, and insisted that he spend the following day with him at his electorate in Nuwara Eliya. Mr. Steele gratefully accepted the invitation. On the way home, he asked me to make the necessary arrangements, book the helicopter and inform his people in Nuwara Eliya to take good care of him. As he dropped me at home, he said (and I must confess I saw this coming), “Vicky, I am not feeling too well, you take him, okay.”
I picked Mr. Steele up from his hotel in the morning, and we took the helicopter from the Air Force base in Colombo. Unfortunately, the pilot was unable to make it through Ramboda Pass because of heavy mist (this was in 1987), and we were compelled to turn back. We stopped for lunch at the Kotmale dam site and returned to Colombo. It was a wonderful day for me, chatting with a British political leader whom I had greatly admired.
The most memorable trip I had with the Minister was in October 1987. I dropped in, as was my wont, at his Alfred House Gardens home, after work. The Minister was involved in a lively discussion with his senior advisers about the Indo-Sri Lanka Peace Accord that had been signed between the two nations on July 29, 1987.
The discussion was continuing when I decided to call it a day. I was on my way home, when I decided to stop for a drink and play a little Blackjack at my favorite casino in Kollupitiya. That evening was a rare event for me, in that I had an amazing winning streak right from the get-go; after a mere 30 minutes, I had won far more than I expected. I was also tired after a day’s work, so decided, for a change, to quit while I was ahead, and go home.
When I got home, I was told that Minister Dissanayake had been phoning me, asking me to contact his office as a matter of urgency. The urgent matter being that I had been included in a Sri Lankan delegation to the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting (CHOGM) in Vancouver, under the leadership of Minister Dissanayake; that I should hand over my passport to his secretary immediately, to get a visa to Canada. We were scheduled to leave for Vancouver the following morning! The karmic merit I had earned of leaving the casino and rushing back to the bosom of my loving, if surprised, family had paid immediate dividends.
The Sri Lankan delegation to the CHOGM was led by Foreign Minister, A.C.S. Hameed. Minister Dissanayake was the Special Representative of the President, with the responsibility of seeking the assistance of heads of government, like the host, Canadian Prime Minister Brian Mulroney, and other Prime Ministers of the Commonwealth of Nations, including Margaret Thatcher, Lee Kwan Yew, David Lange, to name a few, to persuade Indian Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi to instruct the Indian Peace Keeping Force (IPKF) to implement the terms of the Indo Sri Lankan Peace Accord, which he had signed in Colombo in July. Which the Indian Peace Keeping Force had been neglecting over the past three months, colluding instead in helping the Tigers to eliminate other, smaller Tamil groups.
The delegations of the member Commonwealth nations had given us the questions their leaders were prepared to answer during their TV interviews. President Jayawardena’s Secretary and I tailored the questions accordingly for the Rupavahini interviewers. PM Lee Kwan Yew was especially supportive, and did not restrict us in any way. But I do remember the Iron Lady, Margaret Thatcher, specified that she would answer one question, and one question only – whether she approves of the Indo Sri Lanka Peace Accord.
Then came the bombshell – for me. Minister Dissanayake, who always had a wry sense of humor, decided that I should interview PM Lee Kwan Yew, on TV! I was dumbstruck. I have a mortal fear of speaking before an audience – I believe the phobia is called stage fright. My imploring objections were summarily dismissed, with that charming and amused smile. I was scheduled to interview the Great Man the following day. I had a dismal night, even contemplating suicide, and had to rush the following morning to buy a decent suit.
I am getting ahead of myself. I had the great good fortune to be in the same room while Sri Lankan TV interviewed world leaders, a highlight of my life. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, until it was the Iron Lady’s turn. She walked into the room with a commanding presence, followed at a respectful distance by her formidable bodyguard. I was in the presence of a lady I was immediately in awe, even fearful, of. A fear that most men reserve only for their wives.
Then came my moment of doom, the interview with PM Lee Kwan Yew, a leader I had always admired, though from a great distance. I had never imagined that I would have the honor of shaking his hand and sitting next to him. While the TV crew were doing their preparatory work, my interviewee saw that I was agitated, pretty obvious because I was sweating profusely. I managed to stutter to him, “please forgive me, sir, I have never interviewed anyone before in my life.” He smiled, put me completely at my ease, and after my first question, took over the interview. A most impressive and persuasive performance in support of the Sri Lankan position; and, more importantly to me, one that saved me from making an absolute ass of myself before a worldwide TV audience.
Minister Dissanayake had an annoying habit of waking up, fresh as a daisy, at four o’clock in the morning, and assuming that us mere mortals were equally self-disciplined. In Colombo, he used to call me at such unearthly hours, saying that he was picking me up in a few minutes for an early morning walk on Galle Face Green. In Vancouver, I had to suffer similar telephone calls at those early hours, waking me up and summoning me to his hotel suite to discuss the programme for the following day.
We had quite a lot of free time during the Conference, especially in the evenings. Many of us visited Vancouver’s watering holes to indulge in our favorite pastime. I was pleasantly amazed that just about every tavern in Vancouver had an attraction I had never come across in other parts of the world, a beautiful young lady who shed her clothes in three enticing stages, details of which I will leave to your imagination. Suffice to say that my favorite Scotch tasted maltier. But marital fidelity prevented me from occupying the seats directly below the stage, appropriately named the Gynecologist’s Row.
Our Vancouver mission was a complete success. The IPKF began their offensive against the Tigers within a month of our return from Vancouver. An offensive which led to the two darkest decades of violence and tragedy in Sri Lanka’s history. Which also led to the tragedy of Gamini Dissanayake’s assassination.
There are many more memories I shared with a man who was a true leader of our country, but I have already occupied too much space.
I was in the US at the time of his assassination. Just as many Americans never forget where they were when Kennedy was shot, I will never forget two such moments in my life. One, when my father came home one night in 1948, with the news that “they had shot Gandhi”, a lifelong hero; and two, the moment my then-wife called me from our home in Los Angeles in October, 1994, with tears in her voice, that Gamini had been killed.
I lost a friend that day, the best boss I could have ever dreamed of working for, and the man who gave me an opportunity to salvage a semblance of self-respect.
Features
Quandary of Dengue: Some roving perspectives
Sri Lanka is currently well and truly trapped in the strangling grip of a devastating and severely enhanced dengue outbreak. The numbers alone are staggering; over 44,000 cases have been recorded across the island so far this year, with the highest concentration systematically suffocating the Western, Southern, and Central provinces. Hospitals and healthcare providers are under extreme pressure, but the cold metrics of morbidity do not capture the true implications and dismay of this current wave. What has profoundly shaken the public consciousness and even sent a shudder through the medical community is a grim shift in the implications for the populace.
Dengue has always been quite a threat, looming over our Motherland from time to time. Yet for all that, historically, child deaths due to the virus were relatively rare in Sri Lanka, thanks to scrupulously adhering to robust clinical guidelines, as well as exceptional paediatric monitoring and management. This year, that safety net seems to be straining quite a bit at the edges and among the reported fatalities are a tragic number of children. The virus is moving faster, hitting harder, and exposing a terrifying reality, even stressing that our existing defence mechanisms are perhaps no longer totally sufficient to deal with the problem.
In response, public health authorities have deployed their traditional arsenal. Teams are busy with intensive surveillance, conducting house-to-house inspections, enforcing strict penalties for standing and stagnant water, and sending fogging machinery through the streets to blanket neighbourhoods in chemical mists. Yet, as case counts climb by nearly 50% week over week, an uncomfortable question must be asked: Are these traditional measures sufficient, or are they bordering on an exercise in futility?
The Illusion of the Fog: Why Our Current Strategy May Be Failing?
To understand why Sri Lanka might be in a tight corner, one must look closely at the enemy. Dengue is transmitted primarily by the Aedes aegypti mosquito, a highly adapted, urbanised insect. While Aedes aegypti is widely considered the primary culprit, Aedes albopictus (commonly known as the Asian tiger mosquito) plays a massive, highly dangerous role in Sri Lanka’s dengue transmission as well. In fact, the interplay between these two species is one of the biggest reasons why controlling dengue on the island is so incredibly difficult. These two vectors behave differently, breed in different places, and require distinct strategies to combat their well-recognised roles in the propagation of the disease that is dengue. Understanding how these two mosquito species split the territory could explain why a single controlling method might not always work across the board.
Aedes aegypti mosquitoes are strictly urban and indoor creatures. They live alongside humans inside houses, apartments, and in heavily built-up commercial areas. They rest on dark clothes in closets, under furniture, and behind curtains. They breed in artificial containers, clear, stagnant water in flower vases, plastic cups, concrete sumps, and overhead tanks. They prefer human blood almost exclusively and bite multiple people to get one full meal, thereby spreading the dengue virus rapidly within even a single household.
In contrast, Aedes albopictus is semi-urban and rural, thrives in vegetations, gardens, rubber plantations, and peri-urban areas where green spaces meet houses. The creature rests in shaded bushes, high grass, and low canopy foliage, as well as holes in trees, leaf axils, coconut shells, discarded tyres and trash. The biting behaviour of these mosquitoes is opportunistic. They bite humans but also feed on birds and domestic mammals, indicating that they can survive easily even when human density is low.
The traditional responses we rely on, most notably thermal fogging, are largely cosmetic public relations exercises rather than a totally effective vector control mechanism. Such fogging misses indoor resting sites, drives resistance, and stagnant water elimination fails against cryptic, microscopic breeding sites.
Fogging utilises “adulticides“, chemical sprays meant to kill flying mosquitoes. However, Aedes aegypti is a domestic creature; it rests indoors, hidden in the dark recesses of closets, under beds, and behind curtains. A fogging process achieves very little penetration into these indoor sanctuaries. Furthermore, over-reliance on these pyrethroid-based chemical sprays has accelerated insecticide resistance, effectively rendering the chemicals useless over time.
Similarly, while the National Dengue Control Unit (NDCU), to their eternal credit, aggressively pursues the elimination of visible standing water, the sheer adaptability of the mosquito outpaces manual human labour in trying to eliminate the breeding places of the vectors. Aedes eggs can remain dormant in dry containers for months, hatching the moment a drop of water touches them. In dense, urbanised areas like Colombo and Gampaha, microscopic breeding sites, from the rim of a discarded plastic bottle cap to the base of an indoor potted plant, are impossible to completely police.
If we continue to rely solely on manual cleaning and chemical fogging, we are fighting a twenty-first-century climate-driven crisis with mid-twentieth-century tools. We must look beyond our borders to see how global science is shifting the paradigm of mosquito control.
The Biological Frontier: Insects fighting Mosquitoes
When searching for international alternatives, many look towards the United States, where vector control districts manage complex mosquito populations across diverse ecosystems. A common point of curiosity is the historical use of “mosquito-eating insects.”
In the US, biological control has long featured predatory species. While some point to insects like dragonfly nymphs or giant non-biting mosquito larvae (Toxorhynchites, which actively prey on other mosquito larvae), the most widely used traditional biological agent in American municipal water systems is actually the Gambusia affinis, commonly known as the “mosquitofish.” A single one of these surface-feeding fish can devour hundreds of mosquito larvae a day.
However, American vector management has largely evolved past simply dumping predatory fish into ponds. The true modern frontier in global mosquito control relies on advanced biological and genetic interventions that turn the mosquitoes against themselves.
1. The Wolbachia Revolution
Perhaps the most successful international intervention against dengue is the introduction of Wolbachia-infected mosquitoes. Wolbachia is a naturally occurring bacterium found in up to sixty per cent of all insect species, but crucially, not naturally present in Aedes aegypti.
When scientists introduce Wolbachia into Aedes mosquitoes in a laboratory and release them into the wild, two extraordinary things happen: –
· Viral Suppression: The bacterium competes with viruses like dengue, Zika, and chikungunya inside the mosquito’s body, making it incredibly difficult for the virus to replicate. If the virus cannot replicate, the mosquito cannot transmit it to a human.
· Population Replacement:
Through a mechanism called cytoplasmic incompatibility, when a Wolbachia-carrying male mates with a wild female that does not carry the bacteria, her eggs do not hatch. If a Wolbachia female mates with a wild male, her offspring will carry the bacteria. Over time, the local mosquito population is entirely replaced by harmless, non-transmission-capable mosquitoes.
In comprehensive global trials, such as those conducted by the World Mosquito Programme in Yogyakarta, Indonesia, the introduction of Wolbachia mosquitoes led to a staggering 77% reduction in dengue incidence and an 86% reduction in dengue-related hospitalisations.
2. Sterile Insect Technique (SIT) and Genetic Modifications
Other countries, including parts of the US (such as the Florida Keys) and Brazil, have turned to genetic engineering. Using the Sterile Insect Technique (SIT) or advanced genetic variants (like those developed by Oxitec), millions of bio-engineered male mosquitoes are released into the wild. Because male mosquitoes do not bite humans, and they feed exclusively on nectar, thereby posing zero risk to the public. These males mate with wild females, but pass on a self-limiting gene that causes the female offspring to die in the larval stage before they can ever mature, bite, or transmit disease. This results in a drastic collapse of the localised vector population without the use of even a single drop of toxic chemical pesticide.
Moving beyond the Status Quo: A Blueprint for Sri Lanka
The current dilemma in Sri Lanka is a classical gridlock: we are deploying immense physical effort and economic capital into vector control measures that yield diminishing returns, while our clinical wards fill with critically ill patients. If we are to break this cycle, our public health policy must undergo a rapid structural evolution
We cannot instantly replicate the multimillion-dollar genetic laboratories of the West, but we can modernise our strategy immediately by adopting a highly targeted, multi-tiered approach.
Comprehensive Vector Management Strategy
The following are some thoughts that need to be carefully evaluated in a venture towards getting things under control.
· Shift from Adulticides to Target Microbial Larvicides Immediate Phase
Cease the reliance on sweeping chemical thermal fogging. Instead, deploy specialised microbial larvicides such as Bacillus thuringiensis israelensis (Bti). Bti is a naturally occurring soil bacterium that, when ingested by mosquito larvae, destroys their digestive tracts. It is completely non-toxic to humans, pets, and other aquatic life, and can be distributed via localised backpack sprayers or drones into inaccessible urban sumps.
· Scale Up Localised Wolbachia Trials Intermediate Phase
Sri Lanka has previously initiated small-scale, localised pilot releases of Wolbachia mosquitoes in select urban pockets. Given the severity of the 2026 outbreak, these programmes must be aggressively scaled up into an industrial-level national initiative. Public-private partnerships must be leveraged to establish sustainable, high-capacity mosquito-rearing facilities locally.
· Implement Digital Ovitrap Surveillance Continuous Integration
Replace manual, retroactive searching with predictive digital mapping. Deploy networks of smart “ovitraps” (oviposition traps) across high-burden provinces. These traps monitor egg-laying rates in real-time, allowing automated data systems to predict a spike in the adult mosquito population weeks before an actual clinical outbreak occurs, enabling preventative targeting.
The Cost of Inaction
Maintaining our current trajectory is not a neutral choice; it is an endorsement of escalating mortality. The 2026 outbreak has proven that the ecological dynamics of dengue have changed, fuelled by changing weather patterns and urban density. Our public health response must change with it.
The heart-breaking loss of young lives in this current surge must serve as a stark wake-up call. We must look at the international landscape, embrace the biological innovations that have saved lives across the globe, and transition from a policy of panic-driven reaction to one of scientific eradication. It is no longer just a matter of cleaning our drains; it is a matter of upgrading our science.
Why Aedes albopictus Makes the Sri Lankan Crisis Harder
In Sri Lanka, the geographic landscape transitions quickly from dense concrete cities to lush, tropical vegetation. This creates the perfect environment for both species to thrive simultaneously.
· The Surveillance Blindspot: When health authorities focus heavily on checking indoor water storage and concrete drains in cities, they can completely miss the massive Aedes albopictus populations breeding in the surrounding vegetation, suburban gardens, and rural homesteads of the Southern and Central provinces.
· The Failure of Indoor Fogging:
While indoor residual spraying or targeted indoor fogging might hit Aedes aegypti, it has virtually no effect on Aedes albopictus, which spends its life cycle outdoors in the bushes.
· Climate Resilience:
Aedes albopictus eggs are remarkably tolerant of colder temperatures and varied environments. This allows the vector to push higher into the mountainous terrains of the Central Province, bringing dengue to areas that historically saw very few cases.
To truly bring down the case numbers in a severely enhanced outbreak, public health interventions must be dual-targeted: addressing the indoor, urban threat of Aedes aegypti while simultaneously tackling the outdoor, ecological stronghold of Aedes albopictus. We cannot sit back on our laurels of the past. We need to move forward resolutely.
Features
ANURADHAPURA ANTHEM c.1893
R. W. Ievers, who wrote this poem, was the Government Agent of the North Central Province during 1884, 1886, and 1890. He is the author of the Manual of the North Central Province (1899) and a half dozen published reports on the life and practices in the Province. Before his death, he shared it with his good friend H.C.P. Bell, the Archaeological Commissioner of Ceylon at the time. In 1917, Bell had it published in the Times of Ceylon – Christmas Number. Since then, it remained unknown for 109 years, until Ievers’s great-grandson, Turtle Bunbury, historian and author of Living in Sri Lanka (2006) with James Fennell, tipped me off about its source – H.C.P. Bell: Archaeologist of Ceylon and the Maldives (1993), written by Bell’s granddaughters Bethia N. Bell and Heather M. Bell.
THE ANTHEM
Anuradhapura! City grand and vast,
Lanka’s famous Capital, in ages of the past:
In the Mahawansa the story has been told
Of thy palaces, and temples, and pinnacles of gold.
Hail! then hail! to the worth of a bygone day,
Hail! all hail! to the relics of kingly sway
Hail to thee, Fair City, glorious in decay,
Hail! thrice hail! Forever and for aye!
Si monumentum quaeris
– cast your gaze around
Ruined fanes and dagobas everywhere abound
Alas! for glory faded, for erstwhile beauty sped
For hierarchs and heroes, long numbered with the dead
Hail! then hail!…
Great Ruwanaveli Seya, once fairest of the fair,
The splendour of thy palmy days has melted into air;
And like Imperial Caesar now ‘dead and turned into clay’,
Thy sacred bricks ‘may stop a hole to keep the wind away.’
Note by Tillakaratne:
Since 1873, Bhikku Naranvita Sumanasara has been doing conservation work on this stupa. In 1876, Governor William Gregory, after visiting the work site, wrote that its conservation was not just a religious work but a great National Monument.
See ‘Bayagiri’ massive – ‘Fearless Mount’ forsooth – Centre once of schism rank, from ‘Great Vihara’ truth.
Patched up by prison labour, anew it flaunts on high
A ‘hideous excrescence’ athwart a tranquil sky.
Note by H. C. P. Bell
: T. N. Christie, Planting Member at the time protested in the Legislative Council against the abortive “restoration” by prison labour of the Abhayagiri Dagaba, dubbing its truncated pinnacle, half restored, a “hideous excrescence”.
Jetawanarama, Great Sena’s priestly boon
Comely shape and giddy height will crumble all too soon;
Where forest trees and chequered shade a peaceful picture lend,
From cruel axe and ruthless spade, may gracious Heaven defend.
Note by H. C. P. Bell:
Two decades after these poems were written, the surrounding area of the Jetawanarama was still covered in forest, and the Atamasthana Committee conditionally allowed a monk to clear a limited number of trees. But not a tree remained unfelled, contrary to what the monk was authorized to do.
Thuparama graceful, in outline clear and bold,
Begirt with column chaste and slim, a gem in the ring of gold
To thee pertains high honour a pious people gave – The tomb of Sanghamitta, and Prince Mahinda’s grave.
Note by
H. C. P. Bell: The ruins are pointed out, wrongly, as the tradional tombs of Arahat Mahinda and Sanghamitta Theranee.
With bricks and mortar bolstered up, behold the Sacred Bo;
To some – misguided mortals – ‘tis but a ‘bo-gas’ show.
Where humble Mirisveti a monarch’s fad recalls,
Lo! Royal Siam’s silver now builds its futile walls.
Note by H. C. P. Bell:
According to Mahawansa, Mirisavetiya was so named after King Dutugemunu’s compunction at forgetting chillies (miris) in his alms giving to monks on one occasion. The restoration work on the Mirisavetiya began under the Ceylon Government, with funds provided by the King of Siam. When the money flow began to cease, work also ceased, and bats began to frequent the holed structure.
- Ruwanveli Seya in the background. Murage in the front c. 1900 From Sacred City of Anuradhapura (1908)
- Bhayagriya (Abhayagiriya) c. 1900 From: Sacred City of Anuradhapura (1908)
- Jetawanaramaya c. 1900. From Sacred City of Anuradhapura (1908)
What need to tell of sculptures, of ‘pokunas’ galore,
Of balustrades and Yogi stones and half a hundred more,
Of Brazen Palace spacious, with gilt-roofed storeys dight –
A modern race more ‘brazen’ would desecrate each site.
For midst these sacred ruins of shrines and cloistered hall,
A reckless generation disports with little balls,
Whilst ‘Parliamentary language’ and imprecations deep
Disturb the peaceful solitude where saintly Rahats sleep.
Note by H. C. P. Bell:
After European residents, old city Anuradhapura in the late 19th century, the area still being cleared between Ruwanveli Seya and Thuparama, was used a ‘golf links’. Ievers did not like the area used as a playground:
Iconoclasts and vandals have had their little day;
No more shall ancient pillars to culverts find their way.
No more a watchful Government such sacrilege condones –
One may not meddle with the gods, nor tamper with the stones.
Anuradhapura! Thy glory shall revive;
Yhu [sic] sons shall swarm within thee like bees about a hive.
The effort of the present for past neglect atones;
New breath of life resuscitates this vale of driest bones.
Composed by R. W. Ievers
(1850-1905)
Introduced by Lokubanda Tillakaratne
Features
Meththa Rehabilitation Foundation: Restoring Mobility, Dignity and Hope Across Sri Lanka
For thousands of Sri Lankans living with limb loss and physical disabilities, access to quality rehabilitation services remains a significant challenge. Yet, for more than three decades, our organisation has quietly transformed lives through innovation, compassion and community-based care. The Meththa Rehabilitation Foundation Guarantee Limited (MRFGL), supported by the Meththa Foundation-UK and in partnership with the Manitha Neyam Trust, the LEBARA Foundation and the Oblates of Mary Immaculate in Jaffna, emerged as one of Sri Lanka’s most effective voluntary rehabilitation service providers, restoring mobility, independence and dignity to some of the country’s most vulnerable citizens.
The Foundation’s roots stretch back to 1994, when a group of expatriate Sri Lankan professionals in the United Kingdom recognised the severe shortage of rehabilitation services available to disabled persons in Sri Lanka. Drawing upon their expertise in rehabilitation medicine and allied healthcare professions, they established the Meththa Foundation-UK with a simple but powerful vision: to provide affordable, high-quality prosthetic and rehabilitation services to those who needed them most.
What began as an effort to recycle and repurpose high-quality prosthetic components donated by the UK’s National Health Service has evolved into a comprehensive rehabilitation network serving communities across the island.
Clinical services commenced in Sri Lanka in 1995 through a mobile outreach programme that initially supported injured soldiers and later expanded to civilians affected by conflict and disability. The majority of them were victims of land mines. In 2010, the Sri Lankan arm of the organisation was formally registered as the Meththa Rehabilitation Foundation Guarantee Limited, strengthening its ability to deliver sustainable services nationwide.
Today, the Foundation operates four modern rehabilitation centres located in Mahawa, Mankulam, Balapitiya and Kilinochchi. These centres provide prosthetic and orthotic services, posture and mobility support, limb repairs, and rehabilitation assistance to patients from diverse social and economic backgrounds.
Recognising that many disabled individuals live in remote areas with limited access to healthcare, Meththa Foundation also established a mobile outreach service in 2011. Through a successful “Hub and Spoke” model, rehabilitation teams travel regularly to underserved communities, ensuring that patients are not denied care simply because of distance or financial hardship.
The scale of the Foundation’s work is impressive. During 2025 alone, the organisation recorded approximately 2,000 patient contacts, including the provision of 350 new artificial limbs, 850 limb repairs and around 800 other rehabilitation devices. For many beneficiaries, these interventions represent far more than medical treatment; they offer a pathway back to employment, education and social participation.
Innovation has become a hallmark of the Foundation’s approach. Through an active research and development programme, MRFGL has developed affordable prosthetic technologies specifically suited to Sri Lankan conditions. Among its achievements is the development of a modular below-knee artificial limb system manufactured largely from locally sourced materials. The Foundation has also designed low-cost prosthetic knee components that significantly reduce the financial burden on patients while maintaining quality and functionality. These developments are funded by generous International Grants facilitated by affluent members of the Meththa Foundation-UK. Service users are encouraged to donate whatever they can but for those who cannot, which is a majority the services are entirely free.
These innovations not only make rehabilitation more affordable but also strengthen local manufacturing capabilities and reduce dependence on imported components.
Equally important is the Foundation’s commitment for building local expertise. Recognising the shortage of trained rehabilitation professionals in Sri Lanka, Meththa Foundation
established an apprentice-based vocational training programme that recruits and trains young people as prosthetists, orthotists and rehabilitation technicians. Several locally trained staff members are now employed across the Foundation’s centres, helping to create a sustainable workforce for the future.
The organisation’s work has attracted growing recognition within the healthcare sector. Discussions have already taken place with health authorities regarding the potential use of Meththa-designed prosthetic components within Government hospitals. Such collaboration could significantly expand access to affordable rehabilitation services throughout the country.
Beyond its clinical achievements, the Foundation’s impact is measured in restored confidence and renewed independence. Surveys conducted among beneficiaries indicate that many educated amputees successfully return to productive lives after receiving rehabilitation support. However, the findings also highlight an ongoing challenge among poorer and less educated amputees, many of whom struggle to access follow-up care due to transportation difficulties and financial constraints.
To address this issue, the organisation hopes to -expand its mobile services and community outreach programmes. Additional funding would allow rehabilitation teams to reach isolated communities more frequently, ensuring that vulnerable patients continue to receive the support they need.
Operating on an annual expenditure of approximately Rs. 30 million in Sri Lanka, supplemented by overseas fundraising and donations, the Foundation remains heavily reliant on the partnership of charitable trusts such as the Manitha Neyam Trust and LEBARA Foundation and generosity of individual well-wishers. Every contribution directly supports the provision of artificial limbs, mobility devices, training programmes and outreach services for those who might otherwise be left behind.
As Sri Lanka continues to strengthen its healthcare and social welfare systems, organisations such as the Meththa Foundation demonstrate how innovation, volunteerism and dedication can create lasting social
By helping individuals regain mobility and independence, the Foundation is not merely providing artificial limbs—it is rebuilding lives and restoring hope.
For many “beneficiaries, every step they take is a testament to the life-changing work of the Meththa foundation
www.meththafoundation-sl-uk.org
Chairman’s WhatsApp contact number +94 77 788 6119
Prof S P Lamabadusurira, Chairman and Dr B Panagamuwa, ✍️
First Trustee
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