Features
Sir John becomes PM, the Queen’s visit and the 1956 landslide
(Excerpted from Rendering Unto Caesar, autobiography of Bradman Weerakoon)
(Continued from last week)
The prime minister’s father too had been named John Kotelawela and there was always a whiff of mystery surrounding `John Sr’. There had then been rumours of high intrigue, of family feuds, contract killings and near unassailable alibis. The kavi kola karayas – the wandering minstrels who preceded the radio as purveyors of news in my childhood had sung the story in racy jingles, doubtless embellishing it as time went on. But what was spoken about in whispers was that John Sr had died in prison while awaiting trial after arrest in a foreign land for killing a brother-in-law.
But this could well be the embellishment of an overladen imagination. I would not personally subscribe to its veracity and mention it only to show how the whisper mills grind away in this country. So the son, John Lionel Kotelawela had grown up very much in the care of his dynamic mother Alice. She continued to be a strong influence throughout his life and frequently intervened to help him out of the many sticky situations his reckless tongue got him into.
Alice Kotelawela was one of the three Attygalle sisters of Madapatha who made an important impact on the political history of colonial Ceylon through their dynastic marriages. The eldest, Alice, as we have noted, married John Kotelawela Senior. Leena, the second sister married T F Jayewardene, an uncle of J R Jayewardene, the future president. The youngest, Ellen, married F R Senanayake, the elder brother of D S Senanayake, the first prime minister of independent Ceylon. The Attygalle sisters have been likened to the three Soong sisters of pre-revolutionary China who achieved fame through their marriages to leading political figures.
The Attygalle family network was indeed an impressive one. F R Senanayake’s younger brother D S and D S Senanayake’s son Dudley, were the first and second prime ministers of the country while John Kotelawala’s son Lionel (our Sir John) became the third. These family networks and the way the highest posts rotated among kinsmen led to the UNP being referred to as the ‘Uncle Nephew Party’, a sobriquet not unwarranted by the facts. Political analysts observing this trend being repeated later on in the Sri Lanka Freedom Party (SLFP), and by contagion in the neighbouring countries as well, were to refer to the phenomenon rather grandly, I think, as dynastic democracy, a typically South Asian variant.
Sir John’s entrance to the office of prime minister on October 12, 1953 was according to him delayed and long over-due. As he perceived it, he should by right and by seniority in the Party, have been appointed by the Governor -General Lord Soulbury to fill the vacancy caused by the death of D S on March 22, 1952. t was a climactic moment in the life of the new nation as D S, like other new leaders who had managed the transition from colony to free state, had been like a father figure.
The question before the leading politicians of the government as D S lay dying – and also the choice being theirs, was, “Who will now be prime minister?” S W R D Bandaranaike, a likely successor, had put himself outside contention by his resignation from the government and the UNP on July 12. 1951, a full eight months before D S’ death. What would have been the country’s future had he continued in the UNP of which he had been a founding member in 1946, and been chosen to succeed? This was to become an often-asked question but I always thought it was irrelevant considering the profound differences in policy and direction between himself and D S.
On crossing the floor’ in a memorable speech he had expressed his frustration at not being able to make the regime implement the progressive reform agenda he had submitted. There was no doubt that after much reflection he had left the government to form his own Party since he was convinced that forces within the UNP would never allow him to succeed D S. With S W R D Bandaranaike out of the way the leading contender was Sir John. He had held ministerial rank since 1936, was now deputy leader, held the portfolio of minister of transport and works and was leader of the house. The other possible candidates were Dudley, D S’s son, and J R Jayewardene who was also a distant relative of the Senanayake’s.
Dudley had been in the Cabinet for less than five years and held the important portfolio of Agriculture and Lands. But he was much younger, relatively inexperienced and had shown no great enthusiasm for the rough and tumble of politics. J R Jayewardene was minister of finance and had earned a reputation as a political strategist but his stand on the language issue – official status for Sinhala – and his penchant for the national dress did not commend him to the old guard of the UNP for the leadership position.
It looked obvious to Sir John and his followers that he would be next in line. But it was not to be. Apparently the late prime minister, since he was in poor health, had advised Lord Soulbury that if anything untoward happened to him he should ask Dudley to form a government. Soulbury was out of the country at the time but had flown back on March 26 and with the minimum of consultation invited Dudley to do so. Dudley was then 41 years old and thus became the youngest prime minister in the Commonwealth.
Lord Soulbury whose appointment to office had been recommended by D S had paid off his debt, but as far as Sir John was concerned he had gained a mortal foe. Indeed Sir John had written a curt letter6 to Soulbury about the breach of British parliamentary convention to which the governor-general had not deigned to respond. It was soon also apparent that a majority of members of the parliamentary group had favoured Dudley over Sir John, who with his characteristic impulsiveness was more than likely to get them all into trouble.
After some days of sulking and denunciation of all the ‘plotters’ from his home at Kandawala Sir John had been persuaded to serve in Dudley’s cabinet, taking up his old portfolio which had been kept vacant. S W R D Bandaranaike watching these goings on from the sidelines was to describe this in his usual pithy terminology as “the culmination of a long, shabby and discreditable intrigue”.’
However, Sir John’s fury at being, as he perceived it, ‘double crossed’ was not to be pacified by ministerial office alone. He had to get it off his chest and he did so in his usual scathing style in a document widely circulated without any authorship, which gave a blow by blow account of how the deed was done. This was the famous The Premier Stakes . As usual his wayward tongue landed him in a heap of trouble. He was in the US on his way to Canada on an official visit when the story broke. Let me record the sequence of the events in his own words. The extract is from his An Asian Prime Minister’s Story.
‘Premier Dudley was prevailed upon to send me this message by cable: “The publication of the The Premier Stakes in 1952 has created a situation which makes it impossible for me to retain you as a member of my Cabinet. I shall, therefore, be glad if you will hand in your resignation by top secret telegram through our Embassy in Washington.”
‘The message was delivered to me with the utmost formality by an official of the Embassy who was very correctly dressed for the occasion, in tails and black tie. His instructions were that I should read it myself. When I had digested the contents of the cabled message which had been sent in code I asked him whether he would send a reply in plain English signed Kotelawala. He said that he certainly would. The reply I dictated made our uneasy diplomat shrink from its emphatic and rudely specific terms. The prime minister was to be asked to thrust the message he sent me into the place where I thought it belonged. Needless to say no reply was sent to Ceylon in these terms through the prescribed channels.’
However, Sir John was advised by many friends to go back to Ceylon and make up with Dudley. Then followed one of those diplomatic denials sometimes euphemistically described as being ‘economical with the truth’ which I was to encounter again and again in my career with top people. It was agreed, as Sir John later wrote, that everything should be forgiven and forgotten. In writing he solemnly asserted that he had nothing to do with the publication of the The Premier Stakes and denied the truth of the statements attributed to him in the document. Dudley accepted the explanation and all was well that ended well.
Blood in the country’s politics has always been thicker than water. Sir John’s mother Alice and Sir Oliver Goonetilleke, who was also an expert at patching up other peoples’ quarrels, then a cabinet minister and later the next governor-general recommended by Sir John, were said to be the prime actors in this charade.
Overlooked in 1952 for the premiership and now more than ever before the heir-apparent, Sir John did not have to wait too long for the prize he was seeking. Dudley as everyone expected called for an early election influenced by two main considerations. One obviously was to take advantage of the considerable sympathy vote following the death of his father. The other was to pre-empt the rising influence of S W R D Bandaranaike, who after the inauguration of the SLFP in September 1951 was seen to be making strong inroads into the traditional rural vote base of the UNP with a highly populist agenda.
But Dudley’s spell of office, after comfortably winning the elections of 1952, was short. Plagued by ill-health and indecisiveness, Dudley resigned on the October 12, 1953, following the widespread hartal (general strike) in August brought about by the government’s abrupt reduction of the subsidized rice ration. Finally Sir John’s perseverance and tenacity had paid off His reputation for being strong-minded and resolute made him the man of the hour within the Party and there was virtually no opposition to his taking over as prime minister.
There were many urgent things to be done; the pre-eminent need being that of getting the strikers off the streets and back to work. There was also the official visit of the Queen which was pending and which Sir John was determined would be an unqualified success.
Sir John, as usual when he undertook a project, took a very personal interest in planning the Queen’s visit. In addition to the customary address to Parliament by the monarch – she was still the nominal head of the government and appointed the governor-general – there was a grand reception at Temple Trees and a special train assembled to take her to Kandy and then on to Polonnaruwa and Anuradhapura, the popular ‘ruined city’ tour.
The massive file on Her Majesty’s visit, which I saw soon after I entered the prime minister’s office, attested to the care and attention which the Railway had paid to the decor of the toilets attached to the Royal carriage and the refurbishment of the master bedroom at the picturesque Polonnaruwa Rest-house on the banks of Parakrama Samudraya tank where the Queen spent one night. For years afterwards locals were wont to make a special effort when staying at Polonnaruwa to ask for the Queen’s bedroom and relate with some awe the experience of having slept in the Queen’s bed.
The visit to Sigiriya was a highlight of the journey. It was breezy at the Lion’s Paw and the young queen had quite a time keeping in place the light cotton dress she had chosen for the hot morning climb. As a sudden gust of wind caused a momentary lifting of the Queen’s dress the irrepressible Sir John shouted “ganing yakko ganing’ to his official photographer Rienzie Wijeratne. The shot was not among the carefully selected album of photographs ceremonially presented to the Royal guest on departure.
A few months after I entered the prime minister’s office, the coming general elections in April of 1956 began to dominate all our work. In February of that decisive year, and more than 14 months earlier than was statutorily necessary, Sir John had advised the governor-general, Sir Oliver Goonetilleke, to dissolve the Parliament. The reason for this was not immediately clear to us.
Ceylon was to celebrate the long awaited 2,500th anniversary of the birth of Gautama Buddha at the full moon (Vesak Poya) in the month of May of 1956. This had been termed Buddha Jayanthi –an event of the highest importance to Buddhists not only in the country but all over the world. Preparations were in hand for the historic occasion and an array of leaders of countries where Buddhism was being practised, including King Mahendra of Nepal were to visit the island on and around the event.
Moreover, Ceylon along with some other countries which had been knocking on the door, had been admitted into the United Nations in December 1955 in a package deal and this was deemed a major diplomatic coup. Past efforts had proved fruitless on account of a continuing Soviet veto. It had been alleged that Ceylon with British bases at Trincomalee and Katunayake was not yet an independent nation. However, these seemingly positive factors notwithstanding, the decision had been taken to go for an early election.
We surmised later that the reason may have been to pre-empt the growing popularity of S W R D Bandaranaike and the formidable coalition, the Mahajana Eksath Peramuna (“MEP”) that he had succeeded in mobilizing. There was also the extraordinary rumour that Dudley Senanayake who had apparently resigned from politics completely, was now thinking of forming a ‘third force’ to contest both Sir John and Bandaranaike, taking away from the UNP some of his former loyalists.
So it was that dissolution of Parliament was fixed for February 18 and after due consultations with the then court astrologer, three days in April just before the Sinhalese and Tamil New Year, auspicious to Sir John – the 5th, 7th and 10th were chosen for the general elections. At the time the practice was to conduct the voting over a few days on the ostensible grounds that elections staffing and security considerations – police at polling booths – would not allow for island-wide elections on a single day.
The real reason, however, was different. Staggered elections were expected to provide for the ‘swing’ to take effect. Government campaign managers usually put up all the strong candidates on the first day so that the voters on the subsequent days could be suitably impressed and influenced by how well the government was doing and would vote accordingly. As it turned out, the results of the first day, April 5 belied all the expectations of Sir John and his advisers.
As caretaker prime minister, Sir John embarked on an elaborate and gruelling 18-hours -a- day programme of meetings and election rallies. The concept of `caretaker’ was taken seriously in those days and as far as possible major policy decisions with large financial implications were postponed. However, in a significant change of policy to counter the ‘Sinhala Only in 24 hours’ slogan of Mr Bandaranaike and his hastily assembled coalition, the UNP leadership too decided to fight the election on the language issue.
The UNP departed from its long held position of parity of status for Sinhala and Tamil as official languages and had adopted the proposal that “Sinhalese alone should be the state language of Ceylon and that immediate action be taken to implement the decision”. The effect of this was that seven Tamil MPs who were UNP members resigned in protest. However, the timing of the change of policy gave the show away and it was perceived by the mass of the electorate as an election stunt. Clearly a case of too little, too late.
Public cynicism had too been growing over the UNP’s alleged misuse of political power. There was a widespread belief that funds were being collected for the Party through the sale of Honours and citizenship rights. Sir John’s impatience with discussion and the image he strove to propagate as a man of action caused irritation.
I personally recalled his peremptory treatment of a body of monks without hearing them out, who had called over at Temple Trees to demand the postponement of the elections. Soon afterwards he threatened to tar-brush the monks who were duseela and took part in politics.
The thoughts of some of us in the prime minister’s office were now turning to the man who was leading the campaign on the other side. The media by and large were hoping for and predicting a UNP victory but there was a low rumble from below that all was not going well with the UNP campaign and that the MEP was gaining ground. Among those who thought so was an American professor of political science whose acquaintance I had made and who seemed confident that Mr Bandaranaike would do very well especially in the rural electorates.
But my feedback to Nadesan and the prime minister was discounted on the grounds that information coming in through police intelligence showed that the UNP was going to win. This total variation between what official intelligence was coming up with – perhaps mostly fulfillment – and the reality on the ground, was something I was to encounter over and over again as I worked with other administrators each time election day, verily the day of reckoning, drew near.
The final nail in Sir John’s coffin was a stunning poster devised by a Bhikku working for the Eksath Bhikku Peramuna (EBP) which was called the “mara yuddhaya.” It depicted Sir John on an elephant (the UNP symbol) at the head of a long parade of girl friends, ballroom dancers, Tamils and champagne drinkers, holding a spear pointed at the heart of a Buddha statue under the Bo tree. The symbolism was plain for all to see. To rescue the religion, the race and the country from the forces of evil, the devil had to be defeated.
Sir John’s supporters, who were quite sure of a UNP victory, had planned a celebratory champagne party for the evening of the last day of polling. Food and drink had been ordered from Victoria’s the official caterers and even the giant flamboyant trees in the beautiful back lawn of Temple Trees, the prime minister’s official residence, were being festooned, as on festive days with myriads of coloured electric bulbs. But as the first night wore on and more and more stalwarts of the UNP bit the dust, Sir John angrily called the ‘victory’ reception off.
Nadesan was quite certain Mr Bandaranaike would not want him to stay on. He had endeared himself to Sir John when the latter was minister of transport in D S Senanayake’s administration and Sir John had brought him in when he himself became prime minister in 1953.
Nadesan was a facile writer and it was reported, had ghost written the An Asian Prime Minister’s Story in addition to compiling an euphoric collection of essays on Sir John entitled ‘This Man Kotelawala’. But what would Mr Bandaranaike do with me? Would it be Siberia for having associated with the enemy? I was ready for anything but I had just got engaged to Damayanthi and our wedding had been planned for August that year.
Features
Revolt in the Temple: Poverty as Structural Control
The underlying issue in Anuradhapura is a struggle between a few families who, for years, have waged a quiet cold war over control of the Udamaluwa. Similar situations exist in Mihintale as well. These places, among others, are treated as treasures of Buddhism but, in practice, function as tightly controlled economic centres. The same pattern repeats in Kandy around the Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic and in Kataragama at the shrine of God Kataragama. Variations of it exist across religious spaces of Islam, Catholicism, and Hinduism too, where institutional authority becomes indistinguishable from localised power networks. What is presented as sacred order often operates as inherited control.
It is indeed devastating to see situations where parents have no alternative but to expose their children to predators in robes for survival. This has nothing to do with religion itself, but with human pathology in the context of survival. These are the questions that demand answers, not superficial responses that treat symptoms while ignoring the conditions that produce them. What is more shocking and disturbing is not the tragedy itself, but the reactions to it. Social media has overwhelmed us, not towards understanding, but towards a fragmented cognitive state with no exit route.
A friend of mine in Nairobi used to keep all his electronic devices at home and go into the forest once a month, spending days there before returning. He called it “detoxification”, but in reality it was an escape from a system that no longer allows uninterrupted thought. Daily life is now saturated with unnecessary content, and attention itself has become a commodity extracted, processed, and sold back to us. This is where we have become unable to understand what really drives certain tragedies we endlessly react to, while remaining blind to the systems that quietly manufacture them.
Multi-dimensional poverty
Poverty is structural, poverty is political, and poverty is functional; it is a tool and a manoeuvring force of power. The question is no longer whether poverty exists, but who benefits from its persistence, and who is forced to survive within it. From education to medicine to basic food supply chains, countries like Sri Lanka are not simply mismanaged; they are structurally captured by a small number of actors who remain stable regardless of who is formally in power. Small-scale enterprises and NGO circuits that circulate foreign funding to “solve structural issues” often operate as hollow administrative performances, producing reports rather than transformation.
Poverty is not merely the absence of money. It is the absence of bandwidth, absence of protection, absence of time, and absence of cognitive stability. As Sendhil Mullainathan and Eldar Shafir state, “Scarcity captures the mind. Just as the starving subjects had food on their mind, when we experience scarcity of any kind, we become absorbed by it.” This is a description of how human cognition is structurally reorganized under constraint. Scarcity does not sit outside the person; it occupies them.
They also state, “Scarcity leads us to borrow and pushes us deeper into scarcity.” That is the mechanism that must be confronted without euphemism. Poverty is not only deprivation; it is a self-reinforcing trap in which survival decisions generate the next layer of crisis. Once a society crosses a certain threshold of scarcity, it stops producing long-term reasoning as a default condition. It produces short-term survival logic, often mistaken by outsiders for irrationality.
It is precisely here that public discourse becomes intellectually dishonest. Everything is translated into moral language because moral language is easier than structural analysis. But morality without structure becomes theatre. It produces outrage, not understanding, and repetition, not reform.
It is indeed brutal when an individual wearing religious insignia—whether robe, symbol, or institutional identity—is accused of acts that fundamentally contradict the moral authority attached to that position. It is equally brutal when institutions that depend entirely on trust begin to function as shields rather than safeguards. But the deeper question is not shock. The deeper question is what kind of social condition produces families who see placement within such institutions not only as devotion, but as a survival strategy under constraint.
Ethical decision-making
That is where the argument collapses into its most uncomfortable form. Poverty does not produce ethical decision-making environments. It produces constrained optimization under pressure. When food insecurity, debt, and social instability converge, institutional spaces that appear stable become transactional destinations for survival rather than moral choices. To interpret this as purely cultural failure is to deliberately ignore the structural compression of options.
Mullainathan and Shafir describe this clearly: “Instead of saying that scarcity ‘focuses,’ we could just as easily say that scarcity causes us to tunnel: to focus single-mindedly on managing the scarcity at hand.” That tunnelling effect is not abstract. It is visible wherever long-term planning collapses under immediate pressure. Systems then misread this as irresponsibility, when it is in fact cognitive overload produced by structure.
What is rarely acknowledged is how deeply this extends into governance itself. Institutions increasingly operate as if they are managing rational, unconstrained individuals. In reality, they are interacting with populations whose cognitive bandwidth is already structurally taxed. The result is policy failure interpreted as public non-compliance, enforcement interpreted as moral correction, and reform interpreted as communication failure rather than design failure.
Social media has intensified this distortion. It does not merely spread information; it destroys sequencing. Structural problems require temporal depth. Social media removes that depth and replaces it with instantaneous judgment. Every event becomes a surface object, detached from causality. The outcome is a society permanently reacting and never diagnosing.
Poverty, in this environment, becomes invisible in its real form. It is not seen as a continuous structural condition but as episodic failure. A scandal appears, is consumed, and disappears. Another replaces it. Nothing accumulates into understanding because attention itself is exhausted before synthesis can occur.
Modern Condition
The modern condition reflects a reversal of earlier social organization, where human relationships are embedded within abstract systems of finance, law, and administration that often fail to recognize the lived constraints of those they govern. In this disembedded state, institutions increasingly misinterpret human behaviour as their capacity for structural understanding weakens. At the same time, attempts to resolve systemic failures through expanding administrative complexity produce diminishing returns: more regulation, oversight, and reporting generate less coherence. Over time, institutions shift from functional effectiveness to symbolic performance, maintaining the appearance of control rather than achieving it.
This is why public outrage repeatedly fails to translate into structural change. Outrage is not a tool of reconstruction. It is a signal of system fatigue. It circulates, intensifies, and dissipates without altering the underlying architecture. Meanwhile, the conditions that produce repetition remain intact.
The most persistent illusion is that these are separate problems: poverty here, institutional misuse there, media distortion elsewhere. They are not separate. They are expressions of a single condition in which scarcity, complexity, symbolic authority, and fragmented enforcement interact without coordination. The system does not fail in one place; it fails in the gaps between these layers.
Symbolic systems
What makes this condition more severe is that symbolic systems continue to operate at full strength even when structural systems degrade. Religious identity remains powerful. Political rhetoric remains strong. Cultural symbolism remains intact. But enforcement capacity, institutional coherence, and social trust degrade beneath them. That gap is where instability grows. Until that gap is addressed at the level of structure rather than sentiment, repetition remains inevitable. New scandals will emerge, new interpretations will circulate, and new cycles of outrage will follow. Nothing resolves because nothing is being reconstructed beneath the surface of reaction.
This is no longer repairable through adjustment or rhetoric. It is a form of decay that persists until it exhausts itself, because the mechanisms meant to correct it are now part of the same failure. It continues until rupture, not reform. At that point, instability ceases to be episodic and becomes structural. Pressure will accumulate into breakdown, and what follows will not be managed transition but forced reversal. The responsibility lies with those who govern these institutions to prevent that trajectory, not through language, but through change. The drama is ending; farce is over; what we are witnessing is tragedy unfolding with unprecedented consequences.
by Nilantha Ilangamuwa
Features
Are threats to Buddha Sasana external or from within?
As Sri Lanka celebrates the birth, Enlightenment and the Parinibbana of the Buddha, almost a month after the rest of the Buddhist-world did so, there is widespread discussion about threats to Buddha Sasana provoked by some recent incidents. Regarding the views expressed about postponing Vesak celebrations in my article ‘May Day and postponement Vesak 2026’ (The Island, 25 May), my very good friend Dr Upali Abeysiri has sent me the following comments: “The Mahanayakas have a good reason to postpone Vesak. The dawning of the full moon has to be on the same constellation (nekatha) as when the Buddha was born and attained enlightenment. Although Adhi Poya is reckoned as the second full moon arising in the same calendar month, this is supposed to be an odd exception.” Though it would have been ideal if a consensus could have been reached prior to the split of celebrations, perhaps, it does not matter very much as celebrations occur on a symbolic rather than an actual date, there being no historical or archaeological evidence confirming exact dates.
Whilst there are no direct threats to Buddha Dhamma, as the expanding horizons of science continue to confirm the fundamentals of Buddha Dhamma, there is no doubt whatsoever that there are threats to Buddha Sasana. However, these threats become important as the Buddha Sasana performs the pivotal role in protecting and propagating the Dhamma and, hence, become an indirect threat to Dhamma itself. Therefore, it should be the concern of all Buddhists and it is in this spirit I am making some comments which some may interpret as disrespectful to the Maha Sangha. I can reassure that my intentions are entirely directed towards the preservation of the Buddha Dhamma and Sasana. Though the Buddha proclaimed that the Sasana consists of Bhikkhu, Bhikkhuni, Upasaka and Upasika, for all practical purposes Sasana had been led by Bhikkhus, often at the expense of others.
There is hardly any doubt that there are external forces at play in Sri Lanka and even some Buddhists seem to object to Sri Lanka being called a Buddhist country. Interestingly, no one seems to object to countries like the UK and the USA being called Christian counties. I
There is no registration or baptism in Buddhism and there are no rewards for Buddhists for conversions. As I pointed out in a previous article, ‘How does the Buddha differ’ (The Island, 1 May) unlike most other religions, Buddhism is not a ‘high-demand’ religion, nor ‘law-based’ religion and is not exclusivist. Perhaps, it is this liberalism, pacifism and gentleness, which are the real strengths, that are being exploited as weaknesses by others.
There will always be external threats and the Buddha too faced many during his lifetime. Before addressing those, is it not more important to address the threats within? One of the most important problems seems to be the breakdown of discipline. Bhikkhus are bound by Vinaya rules, laid down by the Buddha and some recent incidents highlight total deviations. Though there were many previous incidents like unsubstantiated claims of Arahanthood, Bhikkhus attacking each other on YouTube and Bhikkhus conducting YouTube channels, not for the propagation of the Dhamma but for the accumulation of rupees, attention was focused after the detection of 22 young monks carrying narcotic drugs.
Though many commentators were quick to condemn the Sangha on this account, we need to go deeper. Narcotic menace has become a huge problem in Sri Lanka and it looks as if the drug lords would resort to anything to achieve their objectives. Though it looks as if some gullible young monks had been duped by drug lords, we need to question why it was possible. Is it due to the lack of supervision of these novices by their seniors that allowed them to accept a request in a WhatsApp group? Should there be checks and balances on foreign travel by Bhikkhus?
What shocked Buddhists was what followed next; the arrest of the Nayaka of Atamasthana for allegedly having sex with a minor. Anuradhapura was our first capital and Sri Maha Bodhi is the longest surviving authenticated tree in the world. Ruwanweliseya and Jetawanaramaya were among the ten tallest man-made structures in the ancient world, Jetawanaramaya still holding the Guiness record for the largest stupa in the world. Cyberspace is full of theories. Whilst some have condemned the Nayaka Thero even before the conclusion of inquiries whilst others claim that this was a coup by another Nayaka Thera in an attempt of succession.
I was intrigued, reading in a Sri Lankan newspaper about the 80th birthday celebrations of a Nayaka priest, who was convicted in London in 2012 of historical child sex abuse and sentenced to seven years in prison. I remember the case very well as he was the head of the Vihara, we had our first contact on relocating to the UK. I also remember his devotees, who believed that he was wrongly accused, collecting over £50,000 for an appeal. In spite of being represented by one of the top Barristers in the UK, the conviction was upheld but the jail-term was reduced by a year. His name is still on the sex-offenders register in the UK and he is permanently prevented from association with children. One can argue that as he has served the sentence and not reoffended, this should not be held against him but what baffled me is that he is still being referred to as the Chief Sangha Nayaka. Should a person on the sex-offenders register be the Chief Sangha Nayaka?
It is high time we put our own house in order before fighting the external enemies. It is reported that the former president CBK has written to the Mahanayakas requesting urgent reform and we should be obliged to her for taking the lead.
There are many aspects that need urgent reform, the first being removal of caste barriers practiced by some Nikayas, which is the greatest insult to the Buddha who promoted equality. The second is the active encouragement of Bhikkhuni Sasana which has not happened in spite of the landmark ruling by the supreme court. The third is the establishment of proper disciplinary processes under a single Adhikarana Sangha Nayaka with powers and support than allowing the government to take over the control of even non-criminal Vinaya matters.
There are many other issues that need settlement like the controversy of the land of Buddha’s birth which seems to linger on. An expert committee should hear all evidence and settle this issue once and for all.
As I have pointed out on many occasions in these columns, it is high time a Dhamma Sangayana was held, as the last one was 70 years ago. Ideally, it should be different with active participation of lay experts as well. It is the duty of us Buddhists to ensure that the words of wisdom of the Buddha continue to enlighten generations to come.
By Dr Upul Wijayawardhana
Features
Vijaya Kumar: Academic, Activist & Genial Fellow-Traveller
The University of Ceylon, Peradeniya, was in our time, a less-crowded residential university, where everybody knew everybody else or at least knew of everybody else.
I knew of Emeritus Professor Vijaya Kumar of the Department of Chemistry at Peradeniya, or Kumar, as we referred to him fondly, before I got to know him. His dear wife Savitri, also a member of the academic staff of the Department of Chemistry, was nicknamed Kumee, by some of their students (of which vintage is unknown to me) and the duo were thereafter referred to affectionately as Kumar and Kumee.
The Faculty of Science became a regular haunt of mine as I would go there in the company of my batchmates to attend lectures on Basic Mathematics given by Professor Maheswaran, as it was a requirement for our General Arts Qualifying Examinations. I would also go there to listen to some excellent talks under a programme that was held in the auditorium of the Science Faculty referred to as “Popular Science Gossip”. The “gossip” at these talks were not confined solely to science but were broad enough to include Literature, History and other branches of knowledge as well. I would often spot Kumar in the audience at these talks or bump into him in the corridors of the Science Faculty. But I got to know him personally only after he became the Warden of Arunachalam, my hall of residence, during my undergraduate years initially, and later, as a member of the academic staff of the Department of English.
Our Science Faculty undergraduate contemporaries, especially those at Arunachalam Hall and its immediate neighbour, Jayatilaka Hall, both within a stone’s throw away from the Science Faculty, shared many an anecdote about Kumar and their other lecturers. One of these anecdotes, had to do with a spectacular (motor car) driving feat of Kumar’s. Legend has it that he drove from his university bungalow-home to the Faculty of Science deploying only the reverse gear of his car! Kumar, on hearing of this, had told certain of his student friends, including some who became his colleagues later on, that this story is one of the biggest yarns he had heard in his life!
Some of his one-time younger colleagues, now in retirement like Kumar, tell me that Kumar exuded warmth and friendliness in all of his professional and administrative interactions with others in the wider university community. But there was no warmth or mercy for those who indulged in the unsavoury pastime of student ‘ragging’. He was a very strong proponent of the need to ensure to all freshers an environment free of the menace of ‘ragging’. He remained ever-vigilant during the ‘ragging’ season. There are stories of his chasing ‘raggers’ and catching them. Professor Maheswaran, who later became an intimate friend and remains so after more than half a century, was another who was fiercely opposed to ‘ragging’. I was a personal witness to Mahes chasing a ‘ragger’ up and down the stairs of the main library to nab him. Yet another of his students has noted that Kumar’s office room in the Faculty was a total mess at all times. It had tables, piled so high with books and documents that one could not easily spot Kumar at his desk. He, however, had the knack of pulling out from amidst the clutter, any document that he needed at any given time. If anybody were to volunteer to help tidy his desk, Kumar would respond firmly with “Don’t you touch my desk!”.
Kumar, like several of his colleagues in the other faculties as well, had his own eccentricities. According to information received from reliable sources, Kumar who taught Organic Chemistry used to carry his lecture notes in his shirt or trouser pocket with ‘the entire lecture condensed in point form on a half-sheet or half of a half-sheet of paper’. The way he rummaged through his sling bag filled to the brim with stuff to find an item that he needed was another ritual that amused onlookers.
Kumar, interestingly enough is a Royal-cum-Thomian product, in that he had his primary education at S.Thomas’ Prep School, Kollupitiya and the entirety of his secondary education at Royal College, which he entered in 1953. In a note written by Kumar himself, he notes that despite having had excellent teachers at Royal, his was not a notable school career. He goes on to say that “the only achievement I could boast of was my being the joint-winner of the school General Knowledge Prize”. However, he had been active in a Scout Group outside of school (1st Port of Colombo, Sea Scouts) where he “was Queen’s Scout, Patrol leader, and later, Assistant Scout Master”.
Kumar entered the Faculty of Science of the University of Ceylon in 1961 and secured from it an honours degree in Chemistry in 1965. He joined the academic staff of the Department of Chemistry in the Faculty of Science, University of Ceylon, Peradeniya in 1965 and left the following year for Magdalen College at Oxford University, from which institution he obtained his doctorate in Chemistry. His entire teaching career was at Peradeniya, where in the period 2003-2006 he served as the Dean of the Faculty of Science, a position that his late father-in-law had held a few decades earlier.
Among the other highlights of his career are: Chairman of the Industrial Technology Institute (formerly the Ceylon Institute of Scientific and Industrial Research, CISIR); Member (representing Sri Lanka) of the Geneva-based UN Commission on Science and Technology from 1999 to 2007 and its President from 2001-2003; President of the Sri Lanka Estate Workers Union from 1989 onwards; Member of the Politburo of the Lanka Sama Samaja Party from 1988 to 2014 and currently, a member of the Executive Committee of the National People’s Power (NPP).
Vijaya and Savitri Kumar are parents of daughters Shamala and Ramya, who are following in the footsteps of their parents: with the former teaching in the Department of Agricultural Economics in the Faculty of Agriculture, University of Peradeniya and the latter, in the Department of Community Medicine at the University of Jaffna.
(I wish to thank the following who assisted me in the writing of this brief essay: Mr. Bandula Warnakulasuriya, Emeritus Professor Ratnayake Bandara, Professor Mahinda Wickramaratne, Professor Swarna Wimalasiri and Mr. Manik de Silva).
*Editor’s note: Prof. Vijaya Kumar, a member of the NPP’s National Executive Committee and is still active in politics turns 84 today. This article by Tissa Jayatilaka, former Executive Director of the United States – Sri Lanka Fulbright Commission for Mutual Academic Exchange, was written for an upcoming collection of essays on Kumar’s life by his friends.
(Colombo Telegraph)
By Tissa Jayatilaka
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