Features
The path to knowledge: Granduncle helps me to go to Peradeniya
by Jayantha Perera
Nineteen sixty-seven was a momentous year for me. At the age of 47, Thaththa died of a heart attack. He was the sole breadwinner in the family. Overnight, Amma and her four sons found themselves in dire straits, as he did not leave any savings or life insurance. Amma, 40, had never earned an income. My elder brother, Nihal, 18, told me he would become a Catholic priest. My younger brothers, Gamini, 14, and Parakrama, 12, were too young to take over any family responsibility. At the age of 16, I became the head of our family.
We sold our two bicycles. When the mantel of our Aladine lamp burnt out, we lit a small kerosene lamp in the sitting room. The quality and quantity of our food changed rapidly. Breakfast became a slice of bread with a little jam. We could not afford to eat anything for dinner besides a piece of bread dipped in a watery lentil curry. Lunch was rice with a mallum (sauteed green leafy vegetable), half of a boiled egg, lunumiris (crushed chilly with onions), and kirihodi (coconut milk curry). Fortunately, we each got two kilos of rice free weekly from the Co-Operative Store. Occasionally, Amma cooked a fish curry and steamed string hoppers for dinner.
Several relatives and friends advised me to find a job, abandoning my plan to pursue undergraduate studies. They meant well, as there was no breadwinner in our family of five. My granduncle, Aachchi’s brother, promised Amma a monthly stipend of Rs.250 (US$25).
In April 1968, I sat the GCE Advanced Level examination. While trying to overcome the shock of thaththa’s death and financial difficulties, I studied hard for the examination. At the end of the examination, I knew I had done well. The Department of Education took three months to release the examination results. The college clerk told me I had scored the highest in the Arts stream. One month later, the department informed me that I was qualified to join the University of Peradeniya as an undergraduate.
I visited my granduncle, who lived in Kalutara, to tell him about my examination results. His dark blue Austin Cambridge car was parked in front of the house. He was in a white sarong and a short-sleeved vest. His long grey hair fell over his shoulder. He was happy to see me and asked me to sit on a comfortable chair. He sat on a chair with a straight back, complaining about his back pain. His son and daughter joined us. Next to me was a beautiful piano. A large painting of the ‘Last Supper’ decorated the wall behind it. A grandfather clock with a long pendulum announced every second with a constant sound. Every 15 minutes, it chimed a tune that I did not know. The floor was polished like a mirror, and I could inhale the strong smell of ‘Mansion polish.’
Granduncle was happy to hear my examination results and patted my shoulder with a broad smile. He called the housekeeper and told her to kill a chicken and prepare a biriyani meal to celebrate my success. A house helper served me cake and strong milk tea on a silver tray. While sipping tea, I thought about how to broach my university plan.
Granduncle waited until I had tea. He then asked me, “What will you do now?”
“I like to go to university.” I watched his face, unsure how he would react. He thought for a minute or two, started tapping the chair’s armrest with his right-hand fingertips, and then played with his long hair.
“How do you plan to find money to attend the university?” he inquired.
“I don’t know. But I would like to go to the university,” I told my granduncle in tears. I thought he might refuse to help me. Then I told him I had scored the highest marks on the examination. I was one of the youngest students to pass the Advanced Level examination.
“Can’t you get a “schoolship” (scholarship)?” He was interested to know.
“I don’t know,” I said. I thought my granduncle would not agree to help me as he had promised Amma Rs 250 a month for our subsistence. I made up my mind to continue higher studies as an external student at the university, if I could not raise money to go to Peradeniya.
“My businesses aren’t doing well nowadays. Now I need more money as at least one of my children might decide to do higher studies,” he lamented. “How much would it cost at the university for a year?” he queried.
“I guess about Rs 1500 a year,” I informed him. His daughter intervened by saying, “Thaththi, if you don’t help him, who is there to help?” He looked at her, smiled, and said, “Yes, you are right.” After a few seconds, he said, “Hondai (alright), I will give you money to complete your studies.”
Then I hesitantly told him I needed clothes, shoes, and a suitcase. He told me, “Go to Maha Kade (Grand Shop) at Padiyapallela (a bazaar town on the road to Nuwera Eliya from Kandy) and get whatever you want from there. I will tell the manager.” Amma cried when I told her my granduncle agreed to support me. She was sad to hear that I was going to live in Peradeniya. I consoled her by saying that Kandy is only three hours from home and that I would visit them at least once a month.
I travelled about 10 hours by bus to reach my granduncle’s shop at Padiyapelalla. The shop staff warmly welcomed me. The manager told me that my granduncle had informed him about our arrival. He smiled and told me, “You can take anything you want. That was the advice I got from your granduncle.” After a long time, I felt happy and empowered as I could see a clear path that would take me to the university and beyond.
I decided to spend some time at the shop, and at my request, I got the retail branch’s cashier post for two weeks. My job was to check invoices, collect customers’ payments, and, at the end of the day, tally the amount of money received with bills and invoices. I worked from 8.00 am to 8.00 pm with a 30-minute break for lunch. My granduncle heard about my new job and was happy that I offered to stay for two weeks. The smell of dried fish and the ink of newspaper reams engulfed me, but I got used to the odour after a few days.
Amma was elated to see my new clothes and the leather suitcase when I returned home. She went through my new possessions while shedding tears. She told me Thaththa would have bought all my necessities for the university had he been alive.
The day I left for the University of Ceylon, Peradeniya, with Gamini, Amma woke up early and cooked kiribath (milk rice). She wanted me to pray in front of Thaththa’s photo in the sitting room and request him to protect and guide me in my new life. I told him I was leaving home like a hingannek (beggar). Still, one day, I would return as a scholar and look after Amma. She gave me Rs.10. I knew that was all she could give me. She cried and advised me to contact my granduncle if I encountered any trouble. She did not forget to tell me that I should be careful with girls.
My granduncle was waiting for us at his shop. He took us upstairs for lunch. Gamini and I slept a few hours in his room. I felt happy to sleep on a bed after a long time. Uncle got a butter cake from a nearby bakery and came upstairs to have tea with us. He told me that he was proud of me. As my father was no more, he said, he gladly had taken the responsibility to look after his niece and her four children.
I brought a letter from the university that described various payments I should make to the university. For a term, the total cost, including registration, laundry, food, and accommodation, was Rs.267 (US$ 30). I showed the letter to my granduncle. He asked me when I should pay the university fees and how much. I told him I should pay the next day. He gave me Rs. 300. When I returned the balance, he said, “You keep it, and if you want more money, let me know. Please visit us often and don’t forget to tell me about interesting things you learn at the university. I’d love to listen to your stories.”
On the following day, my granduncle awoke early. He spent more than half an hour getting ready to accompany me to the university. He first wore a short, plain cotton sarong and a vest. Over the vest, he wore a long shirt with six buttonholes in its upper portion. He took a gold chain from a small cupboard with six small knob-like buttons and embedded them in the six holes. Then he wrapped a heavy tweed cloth around his waist over the sarong. He tied a long, heavy silver chain around his waist, with a small part of it hanging. Then he combed his hair and tied it in a small knot. Meanwhile, I wore my new clothes and shoes. I thought the shoes were too tight.
Gamini, my granduncle, and I travelled by bus to Kandy. He took us to a hotel in Kandy for breakfast. He was in a reflective mood. I asked him, “Are you okay?” He smiled, held my hand, and said, “I am very happy for you. If you do well in life, your mother and brothers will also do well.”
My granduncle took us to a business associate in Kandy who had a wholesale business outlet known as SK Stores. He introduced me to the businessman, saying, “Look, this is ape lameyek (our lad). Please give him whatever he wants and send me a chit for the total amount I owe you.”
We took a bus from Kandy to the university. The suitcase was heavy, and carrying it on my shoulder had crushed my new shirt. I was sweating and felt hungry. My granduncle decided to go to the university chapel first. At the church, we prayed silently, and after prayers, my granduncle dipped his finger in lamp oil at the altar and dropped a few drops onto my tongue. He said the holy oil would help me in my studies and protect me from evil forces.
The hall of residence — the Marcus Fernando Hall – was on the slope of a hill. We trudged along a winding road to the hall from the chapel. My granduncle was tired, and we had to break our walk several times so that he could catch his breath. While carrying all my possessions in the suitcase, I wondered why my granduncle did not bring his Austin Cambridge car for this journey or hire a private vehicle from Kandy. My father would have hired a car from Kandy to the university. I wondered how my father would have reacted to my joining Peradeniya University. He might have wanted me to join Colombo University so I could stay home and attend lectures as a dayscholar.
Registration at the hall took about 20 minutes. The polished corridors reminded me of my granduncle’s house. I walked to my room, touching the wall because I feared slipping on the polished floor. My granduncle wanted to see the shared facilities at the hall. He checked the toilets and bathing areas.
My assigned room was large and had a wash basin in a narrow passage. The room had three narrow spring beds, two large, heavy tables, three wooden chairs, and two table lamps. I spread my new bedsheet on one of the beds and took out the new pillow. The room’s balcony was spacious and overlooked the jungle behind the hall. There was a poorly maintained volleyball court just below the balcony. Granduncle spent some time on the balcony, viewing the Hantana mountains.
I walked with my granduncle and Gamini to the bus stand. While waiting for the bus, he advised Gamini to study well and enter the university as his brother did. Gamini listened but did not respond. Granduncle wanted to know whether I needed money for my meals. I told him that the university provides all meals. He took his large wallet, picked a one hundred rupees note from its inner pocket, and gave it to me without saying anything. The bus arrived; my granduncle kissed my head and left with Gamini.
When I entered my room, I saw my two roommates, Piyasena from Warakapola and Premaratne from Opanayaka. I was unfamiliar with their names, as all my friends had Christian names at college. We exchanged pleasantries and discussed dividing the room among the three of us. Then we heard a bell, and we went out. It was the invitation for lunch in the dining room. A minor staff member walked up and down the corridor shouting, “Please wear your trousers and shoes before coming to the dining room.”
Students sat on large benches fixed to heavy tables below the High Table. When we sat down, the chairman of the occasion got up from the High Table. He introduced himself as the Warden of the Hall and professor of modern history. He outlined university traditions, expectations from “freshers,” and their privileges. He was in his academic gown, and I was mesmerized by its colours and movements when he addressed us.
Another speaker from the High Table warned us that “ragging is prohibited on campus,” and we were responsible for informing the senior staff if someone tried to rag us. The lunch was like the one I had at my granduncle’s house. I remembered my brothers and mother and wished they were with me to share this experience and good food.
Features
Combining local resources,traditional knowledge and science to build a food-secure Sri Lanka
World Food Day 2026: Innovating today for a better food future
by Dr. Kaushalya Wijayasekara
What will be on the Sri Lankan dinner table ten years from now? Will our children be able to get nutritious food at a price their families can afford? Will farmers be able to grow enough despite changing weather and rising costs? And how much of the food we produce will actually reach the consumer, instead of being lost or wasted along the way?
These questions can’t wait. A farmer faces unpredictable weather. A family faces rising food costs. Fruit goes unsold after a good harvest. Some children do not get enough nutrition. The future of food is tied to the future of Sri Lanka itself.
World Food Day 2026 is a chance to look beyond the immediate problems and ask whether we can build a food system that feeds our people well, gives farmers better opportunities, protects the environment and makes better use of what we already have. The answer can be yes, but we will have to think differently.
We are not starting from zero. Sri Lanka has diverse crops, fisheries, traditional food knowledge, indigenous varieties, research institutions, universities and a young generation able to create new solutions. What we need is to bring these together and act. Producing more will not secure our food future on its own. It will depend on how intelligently we produce, process, preserve, distribute and consume food.
Making more of what we already have
Innovation does not always mean inventing something new. Often it means finding better uses for the resources we have.
Sri Lanka grows traditional rice varieties, kurakkan, green gram, cowpea, jackfruit, breadfruit, cassava, sweet potato, coconut and palmyrah. All of them have great potential for modern, nutritious, value-added foods. Jackfruit and breadfruit can be made into flour and other convenient products. Traditional rice varieties can go into new foods that suit changing consumer needs. Palmyrah, with its strong cultural heritage, can create new income through better processing, packaging, quality assurance and market development.
The aim is to connect our traditional food knowledge with modern consumer needs and technology, while keeping our food heritage.
Stop wasting the food we produce
Reducing food loss and waste should be a major priority. Seasonal fruits such as mango, banana, papaya and pineapple can be lost in large quantities when production exceeds demand or when storage, transport and processing facilities are inadequate. With suitable technology, these fruits can become dried products, pulps, powders, beverages and other shelf-stable foods.
Agricultural and fisheries by-products are resources too. They could be turned into food ingredients, animal feed, bio-based products and other useful materials, which would move us toward a more circular food economy.
Technology alone is not enough. We need stronger local processing facilities, cold storage, efficient transport, collection centres and market information systems, especially close to where food is produced. Cutting food loss raises the value of what our farmers and fishers already produce.
Nutrition and food safety come first
Food security means more than having enough food. People also need food that is safe and nutritious.
Sri Lanka can develop affordable, nutritious foods from local pulses, grains, vegetables, fruits and fish. Children and other vulnerable groups should get particular attention. Schoolchildren in particular deserve a focus: safe, nutritious, locally sourced products for school feeding programs would support child nutrition, local farmers and domestic food industries at the same time.
Food safety must stay at the centre of food innovation. Good hygiene, quality control, laboratory testing, traceability and appropriate food safety systems are what make new products safe as well as attractive and nutritious.
A food system that can cope with climate change
Climate change is already affecting agricultural production, water availability, crop yields and food prices. We need food systems that can handle changing conditions. That means climate-resilient crops, efficient water use, soil and water conservation, better storage and resource-efficient food processing.
Traditional knowledge matters here. Generations of Sri Lankan farmers have developed practices suited to local climates and ecosystems. Combining that experience with modern science can give us solutions that fit local conditions and are sustainable. Technology alone will not build the future of food. Science, experience and local knowledge together can.
Give young people a bigger role
Sri Lanka’s universities have an important part to play in shaping our food future. Young people should be encouraged to identify real problems in the food system and work on practical solutions in areas such as food waste, sustainable packaging, nutrition, food safety, modernising traditional foods and digital technologies.
A good research project should not always end as a research paper. Where appropriate, research should be supported to move on to products, technologies, enterprises and community solutions. That needs stronger partnerships between universities and industry, along with mentoring, research funding, business support and market connections. If young researchers and entrepreneurs can turn their ideas into viable food innovations, both consumers and producers will benefit.
A pathway designed for Sri Lanka
We do not need to copy food-system models from other countries. We can build a pathway that suits our own resources, culture and needs. It would bring together local resources, traditional knowledge, scientific research, appropriate technology and entrepreneurship, with farmers, fishers, universities, research institutions, food industries, entrepreneurs and policymakers working side by side.
The goal goes beyond selling raw materials. We need to create more value, reduce waste, improve nutrition, generate jobs and strengthen rural livelihoods. This matters especially for small and medium-scale food enterprises, which can drive local economic development when they get the right technical, financial and market support.
The choices we make today
The food future will not create itself. It will be shaped by what we grow, what we research, what we process, what we consume and what we choose not to waste.
So, the question for World Food Day 2026 is this: what can we do today so that every Sri Lankan has safe, nutritious, affordable and sustainable food tomorrow?
The answers are already around us, in our farms, fisheries, food businesses, universities, laboratories and communities. We have the resources, the traditional knowledge, the scientific expertise and talented young people. What we need now is to connect them and act.
A better food future begins with the choices we make today.
Dr. Kaushalya Wijayasekara
Senior Lecturer, Department of Biosystems Technology, Faculty of Technology, University of Ruhuna
Features
20th Anniversary of Digampathana blast – the day Sri Lanka Navy cried
By Admiral Ravindra C Wijegunaratne
WV, RWP and Bar, RSP, VSV, USP, NI (M) (Pakistan), ndc, psn, Bsc
(Hons) (War Studies) (Karachi) MPhil (Madras)
Former Navy Commander and Former Chief of Defence Staff
Former Chairman, Trincomalee Petroleum Terminals Ltd
Former Managing Director Ceylon Petroleum Corporation
Former High Commissioner to Pakistan
The Digampathana suicide truck attack on 16th October 2006 remains the deadliest single strike in Sri Lanka Navy history, leaving scars that time cannot erase.
It was a seemingly ordinary Monday morning on 16 October 2006, but the calm of that day would soon be shattered in a way none of us could have imagined. As the Commandant of the Naval and Maritime Academy and Flag Officer Commanding Naval Fleet at Trincomalee, I was aware that a number of my cadets were travelling that morning, part of a convoy of fifteen buses carrying naval personnel from Trincomalee, Colombo, and other bases, heading toward Dambulla to rendezvous with another group. The convoy also included trucks and escort vehicles, a routine movement planned and coordinated with the army to ensure the roads were clear. The morning started quietly. Some personnel greeted friends, handed over their weapons, or strolled to a nearby tea shop. It all seemed so ordinary—too ordinary for what would come next.

Sri Lanka Navy sunk LTTE Ships carrying arms, ammunition and warlike materials thousand miles away from Sri Lanka in Indian Ocean in September and October 2007.
By late morning, both convoys had reached the small ground at Digampathana, near the Sigiriya junction, and personnel mingled briefly, unaware that a carefully orchestrated act of terror was waiting. Then, suddenly, an empty half-truck veered directly into the convoy. It exploded with a ferocity I can still recall as if it were yesterday. Nuts, bolts, and high explosives tore through the air. Pandemonium erupted instantly. I later learned that 107 of our naval personnel were killed on the spot and another 153 critically injured. The scene was indescribable—bodies scattered, vehicles mangled, personal effects strewn across the ground. I remember later hearing that the head of the suicide bomber was recovered more than 100 meters away from the blast, a grim testament to the sheer force of the explosion.
I was in my office at the Naval and Maritime Academy when my mobile phone rang. A young midshipman from the 21st intake called, his voice trembling: “Sir, there was a huge explosion at the convoy point! Many are dead … my batch mate Wijesundara is among them.” I immediately jumped into my jeep with my escort Chief Petty Officer and driver and rushed to Digampathana, relying on every ounce of my driving skill to reach the scene. The journey, which usually took little more than an hour, felt endless that day, each passing mile weighed down by dread.
When I arrived, I was confronted with a sight that no training can prepare you for. The injured were being rushed to Dambulla Hospital, where doctors and nurses worked tirelessly, improvising in ways that saved lives despite the overwhelming chaos. I went back to the site after visiting the hospital. The remains of our naval personnel were scattered across the ground, and someone had begun collecting weapons and protective gear. I immediately contacted Surgeon Rear Admiral Nico Jayasekara and received his instructions: collect all body parts in separate bags and transport them to the Trincomalee Naval Hospital mortuary. This gruesome work had to be done with care and dignity, and it filled the icebox in my vehicle. Through DNA testing initiated by Rear Admiral Nico, we were able to identify every naval personnel lost that day, bringing some closure to grieving families.
The Navy Commander at the time, Vice Admiral Wasantha Karannagoda, was devastated. I had worked closely with him and knew how deeply he cared for his men. He ensured that the fallen were honoured with full ceremonial naval funerals at Welisara Naval Base, attended by families and comrades. Sixty-seven funerals were conducted in a single day—a number that still haunts me.
The Digampathana attack remains the largest single loss of naval life in our history. It was a day of sorrow, but also a day that reinforced our resolve. The tragedy galvanized the Navy to target the LTTE Sea Tiger wing with renewed determination and reshaped our maritime operations forever. Every time I think of that day, I remember not just the lives lost, but the courage, professionalism, and dedication of those who survived, those who treated the injured, and those who ensured the fallen were honored properly. May the souls of our naval hero’s rest in peace, their sacrifice guiding us and inspiring generations of naval personnel to come.
Features
‘Murder at Whitby Abbey’
Tales of Mystery and Suspense – 24
I was intrigued by the title of a book I found in a book drop at the condominium of a friend, Murder at Whitby Abbey, and I brought it home with me though I will not be able to return it in the near future. It was described on the cover page as ‘a standout in the crowded medieval mystery field’, though I fear I do not know of other books in this field, apart from the Cadfael series, which I have dealt with earlier.
The book, by Cassandra Clark, is set during the reign of Richard II and has as a backdrop his precarious position, which led to his being replaced, and murdered, by his cousin Henry, who reigned as Henry IV. It is a gloomy book, the action taking place in the twelve days of Christmas leading up to the Epiphany. And the gloom is pervasive, even though this is supposed to be a time of festivity, with mummers performing, and many of those in the guest house where the heroine stays going to town to enjoy themselves, with much drinking and much music, which also fills the guesthouse.
The heroine Hildegarde is a nun, sent to try to acquire a relic being sold by Whitby Abbey, though this was also a penance set by the Abbot of the monastery that governed her abbess because she had had sex with a man. Soon after she and her companions reach the Abbey set high on a cliff, she finds that there are other bidders, and soon suspects that the hierarchy, not perhaps the Abbot who seems a weakling, but his rapacious bursar, is determined to make money, and not above creating false relics to sell to several aspirants.
After Hildegarde and her Cistercian companions – Whitby is a Benedictine Foundation – two monks, Gregory and Egbert, and a young priest Mark, reach the abbey, they find that Aelwyn, a monk they had met on their way to the guesthouse had died. This was in the apple store, and they realize, when they find the surplices of novices stuffed into the air vents, that he had been left to suffocate in the overwhelming scent of apples.
The Cistercians are asked to look into the death, perhaps because they are likely to get no cooperation from the Abbey folk, but perhaps because those in charge are keen to know what happened. And the infirmarer, an old monk, suggests Hildegarde talk to a man called Edred who worked for the bursar, and had been a friend of Aelwyn’s. But Edred too is killed, before he can keep an appointment he had made with Hildegarde, drowned in a pool near the farmhouse of the Abbey.
Meanwhile tensions arise between the fisherfolk and the abbey for the bursar wants to charge them for using the beach that technically belongs to the abbey to dry their fish and their nets. This leads to physical battles, when the guards used by the abbey, under the command it seems of the bursar whose determination to make money is not resisted by the abbot and the prior, try to storm the area where the fishermen live.
Hildegard finds out more about what had happened through two youngsters, one of whom Torold is the son of Aelwyn by a woman who worked as a prostitute for a cartel, and with whom Mark fell in love. The other works on the farm and had seen Edred meet someone near the pool, after which that someone left the place by himself. And the boy had also found in the pool a sort of dagger with the seal of the abbey.
He and his dog, and Torold who follows her, rescue Hildegarde from a man at arms who has waylaid her and tries to rape her earlier. Escaping into the abbey she was nearly been raped then by the bursar, but she managed to escape, in the process setting fire to him and the muniments room, which led, when he was rescued, to the discovery of a box with the money he said had been stolen, blame being cast on both Aelwyn and Edred.
Matters come to a head when the fisherfolk try to storm the abbey, being resisted by the men at arms stationed on the towers. But then Hildegarde realizes that behind the murders was the bursar’s clerk, whom she pursued to the cathedral. There is great drama then as she escapes from him when he tries to kill her, and then from the man at arms who had tried to both rape and kill her, but they both fall from the scaffolding she had climbed, the latter coming from a tower where he had been stationed.
Both of them think they run the rapacity of the abbey, the latter claiming to work for the nobles opposed to Richard, who is presented throughout the book as devoted to his subjects, not to power or money. But though the villains die, the bursar continues, having got over the hysteria the fire had caused and his acknowledgment then of guilt – and though the abbot and the prior seem less vicious, whether they will be able to assert themselves is questionable.
Before the climax, when the others in the guesthouse were leaving, Hildegarde found that two of them were in possession of the relic, for which they seem to have paid well. Hildegarde herself had made a derisory offer, but before she leaves the abbot gives her the relic, perhaps in gratitude for what she and her fellow Cistercians had discovered, the abbey having made as much money as it needed and more from the gullible other buyers.
Mark’s inamorata is saved from the stews because she moves in with Edred’s widow whom the bursar had thrown out of the rooms he occupied when her husband was found dead. Hildegarde had paid for lodgings, in a house run by the man who ran the brothels, but he had a kindly side and was going to finance them to make nets for the fishermen.
So, the Cistercians set off for their home as swiftly as they can to get there on the day of the Epiphany, having stopped en route to pray for King Richard whose birthday it was.
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