Features
The inexplicable rise of kidney disease in Sri Lanka’s farming communities
In the sleepy, verdant village of Ambagaswewa, in the Polonnaruwa district of Sri Lanka’s North Central province, 63-year-old TMH Gamini Sunil Thennakoon’s life is peaceful for the most part. On the brink of retirement, he still spends most days out working his rice paddies but is also content spending his days playing with his grandchildren and chatting with his wife and two daughters. Since boyhood, Thennakoon has farmed rice here across 2 hectares (20,000sqm). A majority-farming nation, agriculture plays a central role in Sri Lanka’s economy and constitutes 21.7 percent of total exports.
But for more than seven years, Thennakoon has been coping with unexplained kidney problems. The symptoms of his condition – abdominal and back pain – are not bad enough to require dialysis yet, but he does take tablets to keep the pain under control.
“I’m not sure what caused the issue, because the rest of my family seems fine,” he says calmly, his granddaughter straddling his lap. She reaches over to swipe at one of the puppies roaming the front porch of their home, where we’re sitting. Ambagaswewa, proliferated by rice paddies, is otherwise a jungle – birdsong twangs through the already humid morning air, luscious vines and creepers on the verge of overtaking farmers’ homes. It’s a peaceful place.
Every month, Thennakoon makes a round trip of more than 30km to a local government hospital for a check-up; during these trips, he has to hire labourers to work in the rice paddies and cover his absence.
Rice farmer Gamini Sunil Thennakoon, 63, pictured with his granddaughter, suffers from unexplained kidney disease [Al Jazeera]
Thennakoon is not the only one who has been affected in this way, here.
U Subasinha, a 60-year-old former rice farmer, is one of his neighbours. He has had a particularly hard life. One of his three children has been disabled since birth and, now aged 23, cannot walk. Seventeen years ago, Subasinha’s wife, Kamalavathi, now 54, started experiencing pain and was eventually diagnosed with chronic kidney disease.
Subasinha himself has suffered from acute kidney failure for the past eight years. He is so frail that he can barely leave his cramped, hot bedroom most days, let alone work. But for the past seven years, he’s been going for dialysis four times a week at a government hospital, more than 25km away.
He has to find the money for the medicine he needs (16,000 rupees or $54) a month for himself and Kamalavathi), and for the hefty transportation costs – upwards of $16 for the round trip of a bumpy, 45-minute tuk-tuk ride each way to the hospital in Polonnaruwa.
None of this is covered by any sort of government-provided healthcare. It’s a huge sum for a household without an income.
The couple says they have no idea what made them sick and they seem surprised at the question. “No one has ever come to ask us this before,” says Kamalavathi.

The rise of kidney disease ‘hotspots’
According to statistics from the National Kidney Foundation in the United States, 10 percent of the world’s population is affected by chronic kidney disease and it is the 12th most common cause of death. Millions die annually due to a lack of access to affordable treatment.
Furthermore, according to an analysis by the Global Burden of Disease Study in 2019, chronic kidney disease (CKD) has increased by 40 percent over the past 30 years and is one of the fastest-rising major causes of death. Common precursors to CKD include diabetes and hypertension – diseases increasingly endemic to urbanising populations.
But across rural Sri Lanka, there’s a relatively new phenomenon; “chronic kidney disease of unknown aetiology (cause)” (CKDu). A flurry of scientific research studies has provided no concrete reason as to why as many as 22.9 percent of residents in several “hotspot” areas in the north-central districts of Polonnaruwa and Anuradhapura, plus some neighbouring districts, are suffering from acute kidney damage or failure.
On a national level, 10 to 15 percent of Sri Lankans are impacted by kidney diseases, according to Nishad Jayasundara, who is from a farming community in Sri Lanka and now works as an environmental toxicologist at Duke University in Durham, North Carolina, US, and specifically researches the causes of CKDu.
“The disease disproportionately impacts farming communities,” he tells Al Jazeera. “The current estimates indicate that more than 20,000 people [in Sri Lanka] are at end-stage kidney failure, with no alternatives left, while 6 to 10 percent of the population in impacted communities are diagnosed with CDKu.”
Indeed, research published by the US government’s National Library of Medicine in 2016 states: “Geographical mapping indicates a relationship between CKDu and agricultural irrigation water sources in Sri Lanka”

A lack of early symptoms
While CKD has identifiable symptoms, such as weight loss and poor appetite, swollen ankles or hands, shortness of breath and itchy skin, early on, CKDu is asymptomatic until the latter stages of the disease, so early detection is nearly impossible, say doctors. By the time a patient receives a diagnosis, the disease is usually untreatable.
Even when symptoms do appear, they usually include back pain, swelling in the arms and legs and “body aches”, not uncommon for farmers and fishermen used to hard manual labour.
Dr S B A M Mujahith is a nephrologist – a doctor who specialises in treating kidney diseases – at Batticaloa Teaching Hospital on Sri Lanka’s eastern coast. He grew up just 50km down the coast from Batticaloa in the town of Nintavur and this played an important role in his career choice: “It was a community investment,” he tells Al Jazeera.
CKDu was first identified as an issue in Sri Lanka in the 1990s. There’s a geographical link, says Mujahith – some parts of the eastern and north-central provinces seemed especially hard hit. Many, like himself, wanted to investigate further and identify the causes.
A World Health Organisation (WHO) team even came to investigate the causes of CKDu in the 2010s, but ultimately the study was inconclusive.

Mujahith likes to use the term “chronic interstitial nephritis in agricultural communities” (CINAC) since the disease is rather specific to the nation’s agricultural workers. It affects mainly men – most patients live and work in poor agricultural communities and may be exposed to toxic agro-chemicals through work, inhalation, and ingesting contaminated water and food, explains Mujahith.
Sri Lanka, a small tropical nation with a population of about 22 million people, is undergoing the fifth year of the worst economic crisis in its history. The result has been limited access to medicine and food which hinders treatment and management of the disease, particularly in remote and under-served places such as Ambagaswewa.
‘Education is key’
Jayasundara, who grew up in a farming village in southern Sri Lanka, is currently working to isolate the factors of CKDu in his research, which examines phenomena such as how agrochemical concentration increases during drought (due to evaporation), or how the economic decline has affected the rest of the country.
Chronic disease in one specific organ of the body – in this case, the kidneys – can be a telltale sign of environmental harm, he says. “Sri Lanka serves as a clear example of how environmental change leads to so many downstream effects that affect people’s lives.”

The confounding cause of CKDu means it’s difficult to prescribe solutions for villagers, although those with the means are switching from drinking groundwater to filtered water.
Filtered water is not an option for many, however.
“If you’re choosing between food and sending your kids to school, you’re not going to be spending money on filtered drinking water,” says Sumuthuni Sivanandarajah, a marine biologist working at Blue Resources Trust, a marine research and consultancy organisation based in Sri Lanka.
Her work focuses on the self-employed fishing communities along the coasts of Sri Lanka, among whom kidney disease is also on the rise.
Sameera Gunasekara is a research scientist at Theme Institute in Sri Lanka exploring how climate change and diverse environmental exposures affect public health – specifically kidney diseases.
He agrees that the economic crisis has made it harder for people in remote farming and fishing communities to buy water filters. “People know, are conscious that clean water helps,” he explains. “But there’s some misunderstanding. [People] think that chlorinated water, or boiling, will help. That does with bacteria, but not the removal of hazardous materials.” The need for more education in these underserved regions is key, says Gunasekara.

Across the afflicted north-central farming provinces, Gunasekara is working to help educate the local population on reducing agrochemical usage, not staying in the sun for a long time, and preventing dehydration.
“Farming and fishing people have a stereotype, they are hard groups to convince,” the researcher continues. To begin with, biomarkers for the initial stages of the disease – back pain and leg swelling – are very subtle; not everyone experiences them. But even those who do experience them may not pay them heed.
“They just take a painkiller and get back to the field – they tend to suffer for a long time without doing proper [kidney] screening.” For many of these households, says Gunasekara, since the father is the only person earning money, the whole family collapses when he falls ill.
An economic crisis and chronic dehydration
Batticaloa on Sri Lanka’s east coast, known for both its aquaculture and agricultural activities, in the form of shrimp farms and rice and fish processing facilities, was the site of a brutal massacre during the nation’s relatively recent, long running civil war between the Sinhalese and Tamils. It is also one of the hotspots identified for the prevalence of CKDu, he says.
The civil war was an ethnic conflict that lasted for 26 years, ending in 2009 after killing more than 100,000 civilians and 50,000 soldiers from both the Tamil and Sinhalese sides.
Christy PL Navil, 58, has been working as a fisherman here for 12 years – before that, he worked as a helper on the boats. Along Pasikuda beach near Batticaloa, a landing site where 106 fishermen work each day, Navil fishes for calamari from 5am, not returning until the afternoon.
“Sometimes it’s many fish, sometimes it’s no fish,” he says. On the boat, they bring very little water considering the conditions – just 5 litres for two people to last for more than nine hours in the tropical heat. “The sun is hot, but we are just used to it. Sometimes fishing is busy, we aren’t drinking water or eating,” the fisherman admits. “We want to catch the fish.”
With the economic crisis, many fishermen also have to cut back on food, only taking one meal a day.

The resulting chronic dehydration is a major problem, says Sivanandarajah. She points to a combination of hereditary issues, water sources and pollution, toxins in agro-chemicals, anthropogenic factors (for example improper pesticide container disposal), and lifestyle issues as possible CKDu causes.
Some fishermen are accustomed to drinking local “arrack” – a form of liquor – to help manage seasickness, she adds. “This is wearing on the body, the kidneys. And with the rising temperatures, it may not be a root cause, but it’s definitely a stressor.”
The lack of formal fishing collectives or societies, the marine researcher continues, means that little is known about the impact of ocean resource depletion on these self-employed communities – or the subsequent health ramifications.
“Government officials lack the knowledge on how to communicate [with fishermen,] they don’t like being out in the field,” says Sivanandarajah. “Sri Lanka’s fisheries sector depends on politics, what the admin implements. No one knows about the fishermen’s income or situation on the ground. It’s very top down, and no one is actually doing anything with the data.”
Food scarcity is a major issue – particularly during the off-season and especially with the ongoing economic crisis, Sivanandarajah says.

There is also the high use of tube wells, inserted deep into the ground – deeper than wells – which extract very hard water as they break past phosphorus barriers in the earth which would normally act as a water softener, making the water easier on the human kidneys. “These became popular during the tsunami and monsoon seasons since ground wells are destroyed and contaminated by seawater,” Sivanandarajah explains.
Geological shifts linked to climate change can also increase the likelihood of earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, which in turn heighten the risk of tsunamis, say scientists. It is estimated that by the end of the 21st century, the global mean sea level will rise by at least 0.3 meters given current greenhouse gas emission rates, which would further inundate coastal communities with brackish water.
Crippling debt
Nadaraja Pereatambi, 62, has been working as a fisherman from Pasikuda beach since his youth. Two years ago, he was suffering from unexpected, acute kidney pain, culminating in an emergency operation and a 50-day hospital stay.
The treatment was largely successful – Pereatambi is cautiously back at work on the fishing boats. However, he had little choice but to take a 2 lakh loan (200,000 rupees, nearly $675 – an unthinkable sum for someone who makes as little as $4 a day, depending on the catch) to pay off the hospital bill.
“Six other fishermen working on this beach also have issues with kidneys,” he says. “Most have no money for hospital, even when suffering from kidney stones.”
It could be a water problem, he surmises. In the Pasikuda area, he continues, it is common knowledge that the water quality is poor: there’s too much calcium and fluoride, among other minerals: “It’s all very hard.”

Outside the government-funded District General Hospital in Negombo along Sri Lanka’s western coast, a little north of the capital city of Colombo, 48-year-old W Sirani Silva is easing into a tuk-tuk that her husband will drive her home in.
Two years ago, she found out she had acute kidney damage – with less than 10 percent function remaining – after experiencing nauseating back and stomach pain.
Each week, Silva makes the 20km journey twice for dialysis sessions in hospital, and is on the waiting list for a transplant. She is far too sick to take care of the house or her three children but is grateful that they are healthy. Since the onset of her illness, the family has switched to drinking filtered water, but still uses well water for cooking and other household needs.
Since Silva is so weak, her husband, K Usdesangar, 51, accompanies her to every dialysis visit, which means he loses income from working as a tuk-tuk driver – he was previously a fisherman – on those days.
“We have no idea where this comes from,” he says, since Silva had an otherwise clean medical history and never suffered from hypertension or diabetes, the main precursors for most kidney disease patients. “Perhaps, it just comes with the family.”
(Aljazeera)
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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