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
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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