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The Knuckles Range

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by Dishana H. Uragoda

My first jungle trips were made with the family. The very first, as far as my memory goes, was in the mid 1970s, when we travelled in an Austin A 60 car to Lahugala, Ampara, Batticaloa, Polonnaruva and Sigiriya. I was probably five years old at the time. Since then there were a number of such long trips we made as a family, until 1984 when we joined Mr. Meryl Fernando and his traveling companions on a trip to Rakwana.

It was on this trip that I made my first memorable jungle hike, which was to the famous Waulpane cave. Since that trip, we made a number of trips to Yala where we based ourselves at the Palatupana bungalow run by the Wildlife and Nature Protection Society. We used to make those trips in Uncle Meryl’s Mitsubishi J40 jeep and trailer, driven by the dear driver Simon, whose nephew Wimaladasa was in charge of the bungalow at Palatupana.

During this period, another anchorman to our trips stepped into our lives. He was Senath Abeygunawardena, who was a close friend of my brother. In subsequent years, we made many trips with a group of friends whom he introduced to our family, such as Bimal Perera, Niranjan Perera and Imaran Seneviratne. In fact, we still continue to go on trips with them, together with my sister’s father-in-law, Dr. Walter Gooneratne, Air Vice Marshall Paddy Mendis and the Vernon Edirisinghe family. In between, there was another group with whom I made a number of trips during the early 1990s, and it is one of these that I wish to elaborate on.

It all began when I joined an institute in Colombo to read for a degree in computer science in August 1990 shortly after leaving school. Here I came across a bunch of boys who developed a keen interest in sharing the thrills of traveling in Sri Lanka. Their interest may have been partly created by their seeing my photographs and listening to my narrations of interesting incidents of trips undertaken with my family. The interest so created resulted in altogether five trips being made during end-of-semester holidays to interesting places, namely Adam’s Peak, Horton Plains, Namunukula, Anuradhapura and the Knuckles. These trips were filled with laughter, gossip, bullying and idle talk. They were all budget trips leading a frugal existence, and that made them all the more interesting. After our three years at the institute, almost all of us joined universities in the USA and are now dispersed round the world, yet most of our links and friendships remain as before.

Planning the trip

At the institute we had two weeks holidays in between semesters, and had to squeeze in all the action and relaxation we could think of within that period. On this particular occasion, we decided on the Knuckles region as our destination. I had some experience of the area, having been there twice before on family trips, one of which was a successful attempt at reaching the famous Nitre Cave. The other trip was a total disaster, with heavy rains, strong winds, earthslips, floods and leeches. We planned the present trip in order to avoid the rainy season.

On one of these earlier visits, I happened to obtain the address of the Village Headman of Kumbukgolle off Meemure. He was Heenbanda alias Polgas Seeman Aiya, who was a respectable-looking, small built, lively man in his 50s. My brother and his friends had spent a few nights with him some years earlier on one of their trips; hence I knew we had a chance of spending a few nights with him. After a letter or two of correspondence, we were assured of a place to spend the nights. Our targets were the Nitro Cave and Lakegala Peak of the Knuckles range.

The former could be reached by using Heenbanda’s home as the base, but to get to Lakegala, we had to find accommodation in the more famous village of Meemure. Since we did not have any contacts there, we were considering either the school or the temple as our base. As a backup plan, we were contemplating the possibility of camping out. We had no idea where to camp, but we knew the river Heen Ganga wound through Mimure and it would be practical to camp on its bank.

Six persons agreed to make the trip, and they were Azard Barie, Chandima Wimalasena, Nishantha Nawalage, Tharaka de Silva, Udara Gunawardena and myself. We tried very hard to convince a regular member of our team, Lakshita Surasinghe as well, but he opted out with a trivial excuse. Looking at this list of names today, they have all turned out to be Information Technology professionals of different flavours based around the globe. One sad fact is that our dear friend Azard Barie is no more. He passed away in the UK in January 2003. As would be expected, we were all bachelors then, but now are either fathers, fathers-to-be, separated, fiances, singletons or playboys.

We planned to be out for three nights and hence the food had to be anything that lasted without refrigeration for a few days. We knew we would be provided with food at Heenbanda’s, but we had to stock ourselves with some for the balance period, the easiest being instant noodles, sliced bread, tinned fish, butter, jam and some biscuit packets. We expected to obtain water of pristine purity from the streams found in the Knuckles. While this settled the food problem for me, there were protests from the rest of the boys, who were all heavy eaters and seekers of comfort. They had a notion that I knew somewhat better than they regarding trips and went on with my recommendations, but now I feel they made a mistake!

Backup plan of camping was a favourable option to putting up at a school or temple, and we decided to prepare ourselves for it. We required two tents, a portable kerosene cooker, and at least one kerosene lantern. I had two tents which we regularly used on our family trips. We bought a kerosene cooker, and a few of us obtained lanterns from home.

The next step was to figure out the route to be taken. I obtained some help from my father who knew these areas better than we did. We decided to go to Kandy, and then to Hunasgiriya, where we were to turn towards Looloowatta Estate and reach the beautiful Corbet’s Gap, where the road branched off west to Mimure (3 km) and east to Kumbukgolla (3 km). The next major hurdle was organising transport. In all our previous college trips we used public transport, but this trip required a vehicle. For our good fortune, Chandi’s father allowed us the use of his Toyota Lightace van, and all was set to go.

Trip at last

Departure was set for Wednesday, August 12, 1992, and return was three nights later, on Sunday 15th. The dates were selected to take advantage of the full moon of Nikini poya, which fell on the 13th. All food items, provisions, tents, a large haversack, kettle, kerosene cooker, lamps and other paraphernalia were packed in Chandi’s van the previous night. Early next morning, along with our personal items, we left Colombo. It was a great start despite the short delay and the rather harsh rock music that blared into my ears at the back of the vehicle. The two experts who provided the music were Chandi and Nish. Their preferences were a far cry from the peaceful pop or country music that I appreciated, but for my luck Nish had brought a few cassettes of my flavour.

Many of us had brought sandwiches for breakfast, which we had whilst on the move. The idea was to lose as little time as possible by way of wayside stops. As expected, the van was in an explosive atmosphere with much chattering and laughter. After a while, we began trying out our singing skills. Tharaka knew much of the “Big match” style of Sinhala songs, while Azard and I were somewhat proficient in regular baila songs. Nish was an expert of English pop songs to which we would listen with admiration.

The drive was rather slow and comfortable with Chandi at the wheel. We reached Kandy around 10 am, and we decided to wander around the town and eventually break journey by going to the house of Nish’s aunt for snacks and drinks. After delaying a short time in Kandy, we again took the road. Though the road conditions were not at their best, it was quite a scenic route. We passed the Victoria reservoir, where the water level was low at the time, and reached Hunnasgiriya around 2.30 pm. There, with the help of directions from a wayside villager, we proceeded north towards Looloowatta Estate.

Road conditions became less comfortable and we had to proceed quite slowly, with the van bouncing along. For our luck, there was no rain although it was pretty overcast. By 3.45 pm or so we reached Looloowatta Estate, and though all were now hungry, there was no time to waste as our overall plan of reaching Kumbukgolla in time was of higher priority. With the cloudy sky, it turned out to be slightly chilly.

At the small town of Looloowatta, we stopped for directions once again, and there we were asked if we could give three hefty men a lift to Mimure. We did not think it was a good idea to overload the vehicle. Then two of them explained to us that the third member was the officer in charge of the Police Station at Mimure, and requested us to oblige by giving only him a lift. We agreed and put him in the front seat. Chandi wanted me to take the wheel. One reason was his being tired, and the other was his thinking that I was better at keeping the guest company.

Knuckles

This was the first time I was driving a van, and I took off in the manner of driving the Land Rover back home. However, it did not take long to figure out that the van had much softer suspension as it bounced and oscillated frightfully. I proceeded slowly on the road going northwards towards Corbet’s Gap and admiring the beautiful mountain scenery amidst the coolness of the evening. The vegetation around and the long grass that covered the sides of the road were added attractions. I kept on chatting with the policeman, who gave relevant details of the area and pointed out the various mountain peaks, but the others at the back of the van observed silence, probably induced by hunger. We had proceeded a few kilometres down the road and I was keeping slightly to the left, as there was a deep drop into the ravine below on the right. There was plenty of grass on the roadside to the left. I enjoyed the beautiful view while driving.

Suddenly there was a loud explosion which shook the whole vehicle. I felt it strongly on the steering. There was an eerie rumble as I slowed down the vehicle to a stop. We were in a state of shock and surprise. We got down in a hurry and rushed to check what was wrong. We found the left front tyre deflated with a two-inch gash on it. It was a huge blow to us since we had a long way to go and we could not proceed without a spare wheel. I was upset as it was I who was driving Chandi’s van. We were wondering what caused the gash in the tyre as there was apparently nothing on the surface of the road to account for it. However, on closer inspection, we discovered rocks with jagged edges under the soft carpet of beautiful grass on the roadside. One of them was likely to be responsible for the damage.

It was a rude introduction to the new terrain we were in. The policeman, who was rather calm, had a look at the tyre and declared he would get it repaired so that we could collect it when we visited Mimure a day later. He sounded rather confident, and that gave us some relief. It also made us realise how lucky we were to have given him the lift. He also gave us permission to camp next to the bridge over the river Heen Ganga, a tributary of Mahaweli, that went through Meemure.

I let Chandi take over the wheel since I was feeling rather bad at what had happened. We passed the beautiful Corbet’s Gap and eventually came to the fork on the road. The road up to this point was tarred and very much motorable. But now, both branches of the fork were typical jeep tracks with large rocks on the gravel surface. The time was around 4.30 pm and it was getting late. We took the left branch going to Mimure to drop the policeman. A few of us had to literally walk with the vehicle, moving aside rocks on the road that could damage the tyres and the suspension. Driving was not getting any easier, with the eyes straining to watch out for danger spots.

We proceeded a good two km before we came to the police station, at which point the policeman got down with the damaged wheel in his care. We came back on the same route, and then went down the other branch of the fork, going west to the Kumbukgolla village. The road was no better, and we eventually came to Kumbukgolla around 6 pm.

Heenbanda’s house was only about 100 metres away, yet we had to take the van across a dry tributary of Heen Ganga that was studded with boulders. By this time, word had got round of our arrival and Heenbanda, accompanied by many villagers, was there to greet us. We were accorded a warm welcome and Heenbanda was happy to see me. We talked of our previous trips there, as well as my brother’s. Heenbanda wanted us to take the vehicle to his house and taking command of the operation, he ordered and directed the villagers around who virtually lifted the van across the difficult, large rocks.

The sun had set a good half an hour earlier, yet there was some daylight available. So we rushed into unloading only our bags and a few other essential items, as we knew we had to take off to Mimure the next day. We were getting accommodation in one huge room, which was a good portion of Heenbanda’s house. It had a neatly tiled roof, a cemented unpolished floor, white plastered walls and sufficient furniture for us to sit and make ourselves comfortable.

We were all eagerly waiting to have a wash, when we were informed that it would have to be at the river that we crossed. Since we were all dog-tired, a bathroom would have been most welcome. Now that we had to walk upstream searching for water in the dark and in cold weather, the eagerness to have a bath was somewhat diluted. Heenbanda was sending a guide with us to take us to the bathing spot, and we motivated ourselves to rush with the wash as there was still some light outside. We walked upstream about 100 metres from where we crossed the river, and there it was, water being channeled along strips of banana stems acting as a gutter. The water was quite cold, but after completing the wash with the help of kerosene lamps, it was indeed quite refreshing. We rushed back to our abode shivering and got into warmer clothes.

Heenbanda and his wife, a nice quiet and elderly lady served us with an early dinner and we were once again rejuvenated. There was no electricity but a number of kerosene oil lamps were lit, and we were provided with woven mats, one each for the six of us to sleep on. Once bedding was arranged, we had Heenbanda’s permission to take a walk in the night. We stepped out with our torches, and it was a beautiful night with plenty of moonlight. I proudly took a branded American 3-cell torch, which was very effective and not very common at the time. We decided to walk to the riverbed to relax, and then as the ever-so-hungry or thirsty lot wanted to have coffee, I thought it best to test the new kerosene cooker. We took it out of the van with the kettle, cups, coffee, milk and sugar, and took a cool walk to the riverbed.

(To be continued)



Features

Sheer rise of Realpolitik making the world see the brink

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A combined US-Israel attack on Iran.(BBC)

The recent humanly costly torpedoing of an Iranian naval vessel in Sri Lanka’s Exclusive Economic Zone by a US submarine has raised a number of issues of great importance to international political discourse and law that call for elucidation. It is best that enlightened commentary is brought to bear in such discussions because at present misleading and uninformed speculation on questions arising from the incident are being aired by particularly jingoistic politicians of Sri Lanka’s South which could prove deleterious.

As matters stand, there seems to be no credible evidence that the Indian state was aware of the impending torpedoing of the Iranian vessel but these acerbic-tongued politicians of Sri Lanka’s South would have the local public believe that the tragedy was triggered with India’s connivance. Likewise, India is accused of ‘embroiling’ Sri Lanka in the incident on account of seemingly having prior knowledge of it and not warning Sri Lanka about the impending disaster.

It is plain that a process is once again afoot to raise anti-India hysteria in Sri Lanka. An obligation is cast on the Sri Lankan government to ensure that incendiary speculation of the above kind is defeated and India-Sri Lanka relations are prevented from being in any way harmed. Proactive measures are needed by the Sri Lankan government and well meaning quarters to ensure that public discourse in such matters have a factual and rational basis. ‘Knowledge gaps’ could prove hazardous.

Meanwhile, there could be no doubt that Sri Lanka’s sovereignty was violated by the US because the sinking of the Iranian vessel took place in Sri Lanka’s Exclusive Economic Zone. While there is no international decrying of the incident, and this is to be regretted, Sri Lanka’s helplessness and small player status would enable the US to ‘get away with it’.

Could anything be done by the international community to hold the US to account over the act of lawlessness in question? None is the answer at present. This is because in the current ‘Global Disorder’ major powers could commit the gravest international irregularities with impunity. As the threadbare cliché declares, ‘Might is Right’….. or so it seems.

Unfortunately, the UN could only merely verbally denounce any violations of International Law by the world’s foremost powers. It cannot use countervailing force against violators of the law, for example, on account of the divided nature of the UN Security Council, whose permanent members have shown incapability of seeing eye-to-eye on grave matters relating to International Law and order over the decades.

The foregoing considerations could force the conclusion on uncritical sections that Political Realism or Realpolitik has won out in the end. A basic premise of the school of thought known as Political Realism is that power or force wielded by states and international actors determine the shape, direction and substance of international relations. This school stands in marked contrast to political idealists who essentially proclaim that moral norms and values determine the nature of local and international politics.

While, British political scientist Thomas Hobbes, for instance, was a proponent of Political Realism, political idealism has its roots in the teachings of Socrates, Plato and latterly Friedrich Hegel of Germany, to name just few such notables.

On the face of it, therefore, there is no getting way from the conclusion that coercive force is the deciding factor in international politics. If this were not so, US President Donald Trump in collaboration with Israeli Rightist Premier Benjamin Natanyahu could not have wielded the ‘big stick’, so to speak, on Iran, killed its Supreme Head of State, terrorized the Iranian public and gone ‘scot-free’. That is, currently, the US’ impunity seems to be limitless.

Moreover, the evidence is that the Western bloc is reuniting in the face of Iran’s threats to stymie the flow of oil from West Asia to the rest of the world. The recent G7 summit witnessed a coming together of the foremost powers of the global North to ensure that the West does not suffer grave negative consequences from any future blocking of western oil supplies.

Meanwhile, Israel is having a ‘free run’ of the Middle East, so to speak, picking out perceived adversarial powers, such as Lebanon, and militarily neutralizing them; once again with impunity. On the other hand, Iran has been bringing under assault, with no questions asked, Gulf states that are seen as allying with the US and Israel. West Asia is facing a compounded crisis and International Law seems to be helplessly silent.

Wittingly or unwittingly, matters at the heart of International Law and peace are being obfuscated by some pro-Trump administration commentators meanwhile. For example, retired US Navy Captain Brent Sadler has cited Article 51 of the UN Charter, which provides for the right to self or collective self-defence of UN member states in the face of armed attacks, as justifying the US sinking of the Iranian vessel (See page 2 of The Island of March 10, 2026). But the Article makes it clear that such measures could be resorted to by UN members only ‘ if an armed attack occurs’ against them and under no other circumstances. But no such thing happened in the incident in question and the US acted under a sheer threat perception.

Clearly, the US has violated the Article through its action and has once again demonstrated its tendency to arbitrarily use military might. The general drift of Sadler’s thinking is that in the face of pressing national priorities, obligations of a state under International Law could be side-stepped. This is a sure recipe for international anarchy because in such a policy environment states could pursue their national interests, irrespective of their merits, disregarding in the process their obligations towards the international community.

Moreover, Article 51 repeatedly reiterates the authority of the UN Security Council and the obligation of those states that act in self-defence to report to the Council and be guided by it. Sadler, therefore, could be said to have cited the Article very selectively, whereas, right along member states’ commitments to the UNSC are stressed.

However, it is beyond doubt that international anarchy has strengthened its grip over the world. While the US set destabilizing precedents after the crumbling of the Cold War that paved the way for the current anarchic situation, Russia further aggravated these degenerative trends through its invasion of Ukraine. Stepping back from anarchy has thus emerged as the prime challenge for the world community.

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A Tribute to Professor H. L. Seneviratne – Part II

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A Living Legend of the Peradeniya Tradition:

(First part of this article appeared yesterday)

H.L. Seneviratne’s tenure at the University of Virginia was marked not only by his ethnographic rigour but also by his profound dedication to the preservation and study of South Asian film culture. Recognising that cinema is often the most vital expression of a society’s aspirations and anxieties, he played a central role in curating what is now one of the most significant Indian film collections in the United States. His approach to curation was never merely archival; it was informed by his anthropological work, treating films as primary texts for understanding the ideological shifts within the subcontinent

The collection he helped build at the UVA Library, particularly within the Clemons Library holdings, serves as a comprehensive survey of the Indian ‘Parallel Cinema’ movement and the works of legendary auteurs. This includes the filmographies of directors such as Satyajit Ray, whose nuanced portrayals of the Indian middle class and rural poverty provided a cinematic counterpart to H.L. Seneviratne’s own academic interests in social change. By prioritising the works of figures such as Mrinal Sen and Ritwik Ghatak, H.L. Seneviratne ensured that students and scholars had access to films that wrestled with the complex legacies of colonialism, partition, and the struggle for national identity.

These films represent the ‘Parallel Cinema’ movement of West Bengal rather than the commercial Hindi industry of Mumbai. H.L. Seneviratne’s focus initially cantered on those world-renowned Bengali masters; it eventually broadened to encompass the distinct cinematic languages of the South. These films refer to the specific masterpieces from the Malayalam and Tamil regions—such as the meditative realism of Adoor Gopalakrishnan or the stylistic innovations of Mani Ratnam—which are culturally and linguistically distinct from the Bengali works. Essentially, H.L. Seneviratne is moving from the specific (Bengal) to the panoramic, ensuring that the curatorial work of H.L. Seneviratne was not just a ‘Greatest Hits of Kolkata’ but a truly national representation of Indian artistry. These films were selected for their ability to articulate internal critiques of Indian society, often focusing on issues of caste, gender, and the impact of modernisation on traditional life. Through this collection, H.L. Seneviratne positioned cinema as a tool for exposing the social dynamics that often remain hidden in traditional historical records, much like the hidden political rituals he uncovered in his early research.

Beyond the films themselves, H.L. Seneviratne integrated these visual resources into his curriculum, fostering a generation of scholars who understood the power of the image in South Asian politics. He frequently used these screenings to illustrate the conflation of past and present, showing how modern cinema often reworks ancient myths to serve contemporary political agendas. His legacy at the University of Virginia therefore encompasses both a rigorous body of writing that deconstructed the work of the kings and a vivid archive of films that continues to document the work of culture in a rapidly changing world.

In his lectures on Sri Lankan cinema, H.L. Seneviratne has frequently championed Lester James Peries as the ‘father of authentic Sinhala cinema.’ He views Peries’s 1956 film Rekava (Line of Destiny) as a watershed moment that liberated the local industry from the formulaic influence of South Indian commercial films. For H.L. Seneviratne, Peries was not just a filmmaker but an ethnographer of the screen. He often points to Peries’s ability to capture the subtle rhythms of rural life and the decline of the feudal elite, most notably in his masterpiece Gamperaliya, as a visual parallel to his own research into the transformation of traditional authority. H.L. Seneviratne argues that Peries provided a realistic way of seeing for the nation, one that eschewed nationalist caricature in favour of complex human emotion.

However, H.L. Seneviratne’s praise for Peries is often tempered by a critique of the broader visual nationalism that followed. He has expressed concern that later filmmakers sometimes misappropriated Peries’s indigenous style to promote a narrow, majoritarian view of history. In his view, while Peries opened the door to an authentic Sri Lankan identity, the state and subsequent commercial interests often used that same door to usher in a simplified, heroic past. This critique aligns with his broader academic stance against the rationalization of culture for political ends.

Constitutional Governance:

H.L. Seneviratne’s support for independent commissions is best described as a hopeful pragmatism; he views them as essential, albeit fragile, instruments for diffusing the hyper-concentration of executive power. Writing to Colombo Page and several news tabloids, H.L. Seneviratne addresses the democratic deficit by creating a structural buffer between partisan interests and public institutions, theoretically ensuring that the judiciary, police, and civil service operate on merit rather than political whim. However, he remains deeply aware that these commissions are not a panacea and are indeed inherently susceptible to the ‘politics of patronage.’

In cultures where power is traditionally exercised through personal loyalties, there is a constant risk that these bodies will be subverted through the appointment of hidden partisans or rendered toothless through administrative sabotage. Thus, while H.L. Seneviratne advocates for them as a means to transition a state from a patron-client culture to a rule-of-law framework, his anthropological lens suggests that the success of such commissions depends less on the law itself and more on the sustained pressure of civil society to keep them honest.

Whether discussing the nuances of a film’s narrative or the complexities of a constitutional clause, H.L. Seneviratne’s approach remains consistent in its focus on the spirit behind the institution. He maintains that a healthy democracy requires more than just the right laws or the right symbols; it requires a citizenry and a clergy capable of critical self-reflection. His career at the University of Virginia and his continued engagement with Sri Lankan public life stand as a testament to the idea that the intellectual’s work is never truly finished until the work of the people is fully realized.

In the context of H.L. Seneviratne’s philosophy, as discussed in his work of the kings ‘the work of the people’ is far more than a populist catchphrase; it represents the practical application of critical consciousness within a democracy. Rather than defining ‘work’ as labour or voting, H.L. Seneviratne views it as the transition of a population from passive subjects to an active, self-reflective citizenry. This means that a democracy is only truly ‘realized’ when the public possesses the intellectual autonomy to look beyond the ‘right laws’ or ‘right symbols’ and instead engage with the underlying spirit of their institutions. For H.L. Seneviratne, this work is specifically tied to the ability of the people—including influential groups like the clergy—to perform rigorous self-critique, ensuring that they are not merely following tradition or authority, but are actively sustaining the ethical health of the nation. It is a perpetual process of civic education and moral vigilance that moves a society from the ‘paper’ democracy of a constitution to a lived reality of accountability and insight.

This decline of the ‘intellectual monk’ had a catastrophic impact on the political landscape, particularly surrounding the watershed moment of 1956 and the ‘Sinhala Only’ movement. H.L. Seneviratne posits that when the Sangha exchanged their role as impartial moral advisors for that of political kingmakers, they became the primary obstacle to ethnic reconciliation. He suggests that politicians, fearing the immense grassroots influence of the monks, entered a state of monachophobia, where they felt unable to propose pluralistic or fair policies toward minority communities for fear of being branded as traitors to the faith. In H.L. Seneviratne’s framework, the monk’s transition from a social servant to a political vanguard effectively trapped the state in a cycle of majoritarian nationalism from which it has yet to escape.

H.L. Seneviratne’s work serves as a multifaceted critique of the modern Sri Lankan state and its cultural foundations. Whether he is dissecting what he sees as the betrayal of the monastic ideal or celebrating the humanistic vision of an Indian filmmaker, his goal remains the same: to champion a world where intellect and compassion are not sacrificed on the altar of political power. His legacy at the University of Virginia and his continued voice in Sri Lankan discourse remind us that the work of the intellectual is to provide a moral compass even, indeed especially, when the nation has lost its way.

(Concluded)

by Professor
M. W. Amarasiri de Silva

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Musical journey of Nilanka Anjalee …

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Nilanka Anjalee Wickramasinghe is, in fact, a reputed doctor, but the plus factor is that she has an awesome singing voice, as well., which stands as a reminder that music and intellect can harmonise beautifully.

Well, our spotlight today is on ‘Nilanka – the Singer,’ and not ‘Nilanka – the Singing Doctor!’

Nilanka’s journey in music began at an early age, nurtured by an ear finely tuned to nuance and a heart that sought expression beyond words.

Under the tutelage of her singing teachers, she went on to achieve the A.T.C.L. Diploma in Piano and the L.T.C.L. Diploma in Vocals from Trinity College, London – qualifications recognised internationally for their rigor and artistry.

These achievements formally certified her as a teacher and performer in both opera singing and piano music, while her Performer’s Certificate for singing attested to her flair on stage.

Nilanka believes that music must move the listener, not merely impress them, emphasising that “technique is a language, but emotion is the message,” and that conviction shines through in her stage presence –serene yet powerful, intimate yet commanding.

Her YouTube channel, Facebook and Instagram pages, “Nilanka Anjalee,” have become a window into her evolving artistry.

Here, audiences find not only her elegant renditions of local and international pieces but also her original songs, which reveal a reflective and modern voice with a timeless sensibility.

Each performance – whether a haunting ballad or a jubilant interpretation of a traditional hymn – carries her signature blend of technical finesse and emotional depth.

Beyond the concert hall and digital stage, Nilanka’s music is driven by a deep commitment to meaning.

Her work often reflects her belief in empathy, inner balance, and the beauty of simplicity—values that give her performances their quiet strength.

She says she continues to collaborate with musicians across genres, composing and performing pieces that reflect both her classical discipline and her contemporary outlook.

Widely acclaimed for her ability to adapt to both formal and modern stages, with equal grace, and with her growing repertoire, Nilanka has become a sought-after soloist at concerts and special events,

For those who seek to experience her artistry, firsthand, Nilanka Anjalee says she can be contacted for live performances and collaborations through her official channels.

Her voice – refined, resonant, and resolutely her own – reminds us that music, at its core, is not about perfection, but truth.

Dr. Nilanka Anjalee Wickramasinghe also indicated that her newest single, an original, titled ‘Koloba Ahasa Yata,’ with lyrics, melody and singing all done by her, is scheduled for release this month (March)

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