Features

The Setting Sun

Published

2 years ago

2023/12/24

Thilina Walpola

Short story

by Ruki Attygalle

Wimal was 15 and only three years older than 1. Yet, he seemed older and was the richest young man in our village. Although most of the time he walked around barefoot like the rest of us, he did actually possess a pair of shoes — not just a pair of slip-ons or sandals, but proper lace-up shoes. ‘What’s more, he did not have to look at the sun, or the length of the shadows cast by the coconut trees to gauge the time. He was the proud possessor of a genuine watch prominently strapped around his left wrist. Yet, he did not swagger around or show off. He kept more and more to himself and somehow seemed to be adult, though still a boy.

Wimal’s family was no different from ours. His father was a fisherman, just like mine had been. In fact, most of the men in our village were fishermen. Ours was a small fishing village about two miles from Bentota. Until the time when his father (along with my father) failed to return from a fishing trip, Wimal’s family had been poor; even worse off than ours. My parents had only Nangi and me to worry about, while Wimal’s parents had five children. Yet, Wimal’s family seemed to have prospered since our fathers disappeared; while our situation worsened –desperately, after Nangi fell ill.

Amma was sweeping our back yard the day I mentioned Wimal’s wristwatch. She stopped sweeping and grabbed me by my hand.

“Don’t talk to me about that boy again. I know how he earns his riches!” she burst out angrily and spat on the sand. “I don’t want you hanging around with him anymore. Do you hear?”

I nodded as I struggled to understand what she meant. Was Wimal a thief? I just couldn’t believe it!

“Do you hear?” she repeated.

“Yes,” I said feebly, still puzzled.

“If I catch you loafing around with him, I’ll break every bone in your body!”

“Understand?” she threatened pointing the broom at me. “Yes,” I said, secretly amused. She had never raised her hand to either of us children.

She wouldn’t even swat a mosquito! But that day she seemed unduly annoyed or concerned. I made excuses for her; she had no time or peace of mind to be sweet, patient and motherly.

Anyway, there was little chance of me loafing around anymore. I hardly ever met the old gang on the beach since Thaththa’s death. I had more important things to do now. I’m glad I learned to mend fishing nets from Thaththa. After school, in the afternoons, I often helped other fishermen – especially old Nomis Mama —mend their nets. I earned a few rupees, for which Amma was grateful. When the catch was hauled in, they would give me a handful of sprats or small salayas. This didn’t happen always, but when it did, Amma, Nangi, and I were very happy because we certainly couldn’t afford to buy fish. Our rice and curry tasted so much better with fish, however small the creature was.

I was upset over Amma’s attitude to Wimal. Was she by any chance envious of him and his family; they were obviously so much better off than us; but that could not be it? Buddhism to Amma was a living religion and she so firmly tried to cultivate the four virtues of metta, karuna, muditha and uppekka.

Equally, it was difficult to believe that Wimal would take to thieving; it was not in his nature. He was honest and we all trusted him. He never even cheated at games. The day Ravi stole my conch shell, Wimal had a real go at him.

“Ballige putha

,” Wimal threw the derogatory insult at him. “That is definitely Suren’s shell. He showed it to me the day he found it. You give it back to him or you are out of our gang. We don’t want thieves with us.”I wondered whether Podihamy, the village gossip, had concocted a vicious story about Wimal, which when whispered to Amma had prejudiced her against my friend. Podihamy of course resented anyone who did better than her sons.

Amma worked in a small-scale factory, about half a mile from where we lived, making coir rope. It wasn’t a great job and she didn’t earn that much money, but we were able to eke out a living on her earnings.

Our hut was almost on the edge of the beach. Except for a few coconut palms and a clump of mangroves, there was nothing between our backyard and the sand – a narrow strip which separated our hut from the sea. The first thing Nangi and I used to do before getting dressed for school was to search around for fallen nuts under the coconut palms that grew along the shoreline.

She was very good at spotting them. When she picked one up, she would spit on it, believing that this would lead her to another nut. It didn’t always work that way of course, but she was full of superstition, often her own extensions or even inventions. Sometimes, if we were lucky, we would gather three or four nuts. At other times we would return empty handed.

But the sambal that Amma made with one coconut lasted for a few days and it was always very tasty. Rice and coconut sambal were more or less our staple diet, with the occasional vegetable or dhal curry, depending on the money situation. We couldn’t grow vegetables in our sandy yard. So, when I came home with a handful of fish, it was a treat.

Nangi was three years younger than I and slightly built. Just a year ago she could run almost as fast as I could; was full of energy and very agile. Amma used to tease her saying that she was like a monkey, and soon would be able to scale up coconut trees and pick fresh nuts for us. Now she lay quietly on her mat looking limp and lifeless.

I remember the day Nangi returned after her stay in hospital,., Amma had said that she had lost weight and was weak. Piyal, our neighbour, agreed to take his handcart (in which he took coconuts to the market) to the railway station that afternoon to bring Nangi home. I knew this would please her enormously as none of us boys had had the nerve to ask Piyal for a ride in his cart as he was not the friendliest of persons.

Nevertheless, he had been kind enough to offer the use of his cart, and for no charge. Nangi would now have something to boast about to the rest of the gang. She was very much a part of it, even though she was the youngest and the only girl among us boys.

Amma left very early that morning. She had to take a train to Colombo, and then two buses to Maharagama where the Cancer Hospital was. It was a long journey and I’d done it only once. Amma said that it was too expensive to take me along every time she went to see Nangi. One person’s fare was bad enough.

I went with Piyal to the station. We were early, so we sat under an araliya tree and waited for the train. Piyal found a piece of ekel with which he started picking his teeth. We were at the Bentota station with many tourist hotels in the vicinity. I watched the white men and women in their shorts, brightly coloured tops and shirts, and sandals, walking around. Most of them seemed to be heading towards the beach or the beach hotels.

“These people come from rich countries,” I said. “They have loads of money.” I was trying to engage Piyal in conversation, but he ignored me and continued to attend to his teeth. He was a man of few words.

“We are lucky that our country is beautiful, and they want to come here for holidays and spend their money,” I continued, repeating what the school mistress had told us the previous day.

“Hmm!” grunted Piyal and spat on the ground. I couldn’t figure out whether this was a sign of agreement or disagreement. “Our country earns a lot of money from the tourist industry,” I persisted.

“Hmm!” he grunted, and after a long pause added “Not all tourists are good. Some are quite evil.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, but he ignored me.

I knew the conversation had terminated, but it didn’t really matter because I heard the train coming in.

As Amma got off the train half supporting, half carrying Nangi, I stared at her in horror. Nangi had shrunk. Her eyes were sunk in their sockets. Her cheeks hollow. Worst of all she had no hair on her head.

Piyal ran forward and carried Nangi. Amma turned towards the carriage and a woman in the train handed her two plastic carrier bags through the window. I relieved Amma of the bags and we walked out of the station to where the cart was parked. I saw Nangi’s eyes light up as Piyal lifted her on to it.

Amma walked alongside Piyal. I offered to help Piyal push the cart, but he said that he could manage. So, I walked alongside Nangi holding on to the side of the cart.

“Why did they cut your hair off?” I asked.

“My hair was not cut off, silly, it just fell off!” Nangi laughed. “It will grow back again when I get better.”

Although she looked dreadful, she seemed to be in good spirits, which was more than could be said of me. From the moment I saw her – changed almost beyond recognition — a cloud of sadness settled on me and its weight seemed to be pressing me down inexorably, suffocatingly.

From a sitting position, Nangi slowly slid on to her side, facing me. As she drew her knees towards her chest and rested her head on one of the plastic bags containing her clothes, I noticed how thin and stick-like her legs now were.

“So, what’s been happening since I went away?” She asked looking at me through sunken eyes.

I didn’t feel like talking; but I knew I had to, to keep her entertained. I racked my brain for a good story.

“Did Amma tell you about an iguana falling into our well?”. I asked.

“No, she didn’t!” She raised herself a little, supported by her elbow. “How did it get out?”

Glad of her excitement, I tried to muster as much enthusiasm as I could to make the story interesting.

“Early one morning when I went to the well to draw water, I heard a peculiar noise. At first, I didn’t know where it came from. Then, I peered down the well, and I could hear something thrashing about in the water; but I couldn’t see clearly because it was dark inside. I ran back home and told Amma that there was something struggling in the well.”

“But Amma usually goes to the well before us,” she interrupted.

“No,” I said, wanting to get on with the story “I woke up early that morning. Amma got worried in case a child had fallen in and she ran for help to Piyadasa Mama’s house. He came running, bringing with him a heavy rope, and started shouting down the well.

“What happened then?”

“He kept shouting so loudly that the whole village seemed to have heard him. `Hoi! Hoi, can you hear me? Can you hear me? I’m lowering a rope. Grab hold of it. I’ll pull you up.”‘

Nangi chuckled with amusement. Encouraged, I continued.

“One by one people started gathering round our well. Within half an hour, I think everyone in the village had turned up.” “So, when did they discover it was an iguana?”

“When the sun came up and light fell down the well shaft, Nomis Mama recognized that the creature inside was an iguana.” I stopped for a breather.

“So how did it get out?” Nangi demanded.

“People came up with all sorts of ideas but none of them worked …”

“Like what?”

I ignored the question and carried on. “In the end, old Gomez suggested that we lower a fishing net into the well. So, we did, and the iguana clung to it and climbed half-way up. After that it would not budge.”

“What happened then?”

“We pulled the net up. The creature must have been very tired swimming round and round inside the well, because once it was hauled out and pushed off the net, it didn’t move for hours. It just stayed motionless as if it was dead. When I came back from school it was still there. It was late afternoon when it finally crawled away.”

Nangi had suddenly gone quiet.

“You’d better sleep if you are tired,” I advised.

“I can’t sleep,” she said. “This ride is very bumpy.” But she did close her eyes and I walked beside her silently.

We walked for about fifteen minutes when Nangi suddenly sat up.

“I am feeling sick. Tell Piyal Mama to stop the cart. I want to vomit.”

We pushed the cart to the side of the road. Piyal lifted Nangi off the cart, and carried her into the shade of a margosa tree by the roadside. Amma held Nangi while she retched. We rested for a while. Amma sat close to the tree trunk leaning against it. Nangi sat by her and rested her head on Amma’s lap. She looked tired and ill. I wished I could do something to make her feel better. But there was nothing I could do.

I picked up some pebbles and started aiming them at the crows perched on the tree. I was sad and angry. Angry because after six weeks of treatment Nangi looked much worse than before she went to hospital. One was supposed to get better after treatment, not worse!

It was late afternoon when we resumed our journey. Although our village was only a few miles from Bentota, we seemed to be walking forever.

“Sunila, you’ll feel much better once we get home,” Amma kept reassuring Nangi.

Nangi crouched inside the cart with her head resting on one of the plastic bags. She didn’t respond.

“Shall I tell you something?” I said. “I am going to give you my big conch shell!”

She sat upright and gazed right into my eyes.

“Don’t tell lies! You’ll never part with it. Even if you do, you’ll grab it back once I get well!”

“No!” I protested. “You can have it for good.” But I did think that ‘lending’ the shell to her for the duration of her illness was a better idea; a much better plan. Maybe we could work something out at a later date.

It was nearly sunset when we arrived home and got Nangi settled on her mat. She was exhausted and looked it. Every bit of her seemed tired, even her eyes which were usually so bright with interest.

“Has the sun set as yet?” Nangi asked.

“No. But it soon will.” I looked out of the window at the sea and the horizon.

The sky was red but the sun was redder and was about to touch the sea. Streaks of gold shimmered on the water.

“Will you do something for me?” Nangi enquired suddenly.

“What?”

“Run to the beach and make a wish for me.”

There was a belief among the village children that if one made a wish at the exact moment the sun disappeared into the horizon, the wish would come true.

“I can make the wish from here,” I said.

“No, no. You must go to the beach. It’s even better if you can run and sit on the old boat and make the wish sitting on it.” Nangi as usual attached new additions to the old superstition. I was rather doubtful about this superstition. The last time Thaththa sailed was at sunset, and I had watched his boat sail away. As the sun sank into the sea, I had wished that Thaththa and Somapala Mama would return with a large haul of thora and paraw fish. But they never came back at all! Perhaps I didn’t make the wish at the correct moment.

“All right,” I said, not wanting to disappoint Nangi. “What is your wish?”

I was certain that her wish would be to get well quickly.

“Make a wish for me to find a huge conch shell, even bigger than yours when I get well. Then you can have yours back. You’d better hurry or the sun will set before you get to the boat,” she urged.

I ran as if my life depended on getting to the boat before sunset. The old abandoned boat had sat there between two mangrove clumps, half buried in the sand, ever since I could remember. I sat on it and glued my eyes on the fast disappearing red ball. As it went down, I wished with all my heart that Nangi would get well.

Things changed after Nangi came back from hospital. I stopped going to school because she couldn’t be left alone. Amma had to go to work or we would have had no money at all. Food-wise we were not badly off for fish. The fisher folk would take turns to drop by with a few fish for the “little patient”. But Nangi wouldn’t eat it. In fact, she hardly ate anything. If she managed to swallow some food, she would bring it all up. The only thing she could retain was a bit of bread and milk. Even that, if she took too much, it would all come out.

Some days she would feel better. Then we would walk to the beach and sit on the rocks and watch the waves. We had all loved playing in the sea.We used to jump into the rising waves and be carried up and up, till they could rise no more and when they broke, we would come swooping down to the sand.

“I bet I could jump into the highest wave,” or “I am sure that I could swim further out to sea than you,” she bragged; her enthusiasm suddenly ignited.

“Oh yes? In your dreams!” I would retort.

“Not right now silly! When I get well.”

“Not in a hundred years!” I meant it too. I was a strong swimmer and even Wimal couldn’t beat me.

Most of the time however, Nangi would lie down on her mat and sleep or listen to stories that I made up as I went along. Sometimes when I brought her, her medicine, she would start a row. She hated taking her tablets because she said they made her sick. Once she even spat them at me, I would normally have given her a slap, and we would have ended up in a real fight. So, when I did not react, she looked surprised and started to cry. She said she was sorry and swallowed her tablets.

Her ‘good days’ became fewer and far between. It was obvious she was getting weaker by the day. Sometimes Amma stayed at home with Nangi, but of course on those days she had to forego her day’s wages.

We had got into debt since Nangi’s illness. Amma had not only borrowed money from Piyadasa Mama but had been buying milk powder and other groceries on credit and run up a large bill she could not settle. When Amma sent me to buy half a loaf of bread and a quarter pound of sugar, I got shouted at by the mudalali. He said he was not prepared to give us even a crust of bread or a grain of sugar until my mother settled her debt.

He must have felt sorry afterwards, because as I was leaving, he called me back and gave me what I asked for. He also growled that it would be the last time we got anything more on credit. I knew he meant it.

It was to settle our debts and also because she needed money to hire a trishaw to take Nangi back to hospital, that Amma sold her one and only item of jewellery — the gold chain that Thaththa had given her the day they married. She was a practical person And she didn’t seem to mind parting with it. But the money she got for it was not as much as we had hoped for. She settled only part of her debts because she wanted to make sure she would have enough money for the trip to hospital. Amma said that Nangi was too weak to travel by train and bus. They would have to hire a trishaw.

Apart from the kitchen and the front veranda, there was only one room in our hut. All three of us slept in it. Amma left a small lit bottle lamp on the window ledge, in case Nangi got sick during the night. One night I woke from sleep and found the room in darkness. Amma was not on her mat. I saw the light coming from the veranda and thought she had gone outside to the toilet and was on her way back. As she didn’t return, I went to look for her. She was sitting on the front bench, with the lamp beside her, staring out into the darkness. Sufficient light fell on to her face for me to see that she was crying.

Crying from inside, I mean. She never cried like other women, with tears streaming down her face. I often wondered whether her tears had all dried up or something. Anyway, I knew when she cried. Her face took on a strange expression and the veins in her neck and forehead bulged.

“Amma,” I said softly, “is Nangi going to die?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but, changed her mind and just shrugged her shoulders.

“Once she is back in hospital she will get better, won’t she?” I pleaded.

“Maybe,” she said. “But she is so weak!” There were tears in her voice though her eyes were dry.

We were silent for a few minutes. The silhouettes of the coconut palms stood black against the faintly lit sky. Dawn was about to light up the east. My ears filled with the sound of the waves breaking on the shore. I wondered whether one could make a wish at sunrise too.

Amma broke the silence. “The thing is,” she said, “I should have given her more nourishing food. They did tell me at the hospital that Sustagen was a very effective food supplement. But it was so costly, I just couldn’t afford to buy it.” She looked strained and tired. She was still crying inside.

I was shocked to think that Nangi would probably die because we could not afford to give the proper food she needed. I was angry; angry that we were poor. Angry that Nangi was dying. Enraged that we were so helpless.

The morning Amma left with Nangi, I went to see Wimal. I would do anything to earn some money to see us through this crisis. Thieving did not seem so bad after all.

Wimal was outside in their front yard when I arrived. I explained to him our desperate situation and the need to earn some money fast. He listened to me but did not say anything. We walked in silence to the beach.

“Please, Wimal tell me how you make your money? I’m willing to do anything. Please, for my nangi’s sake, she is dying!” I pleaded.

I knew that if I got caught thieving, I would get beaten up real rough, or possibly even sent to Maggona — the home for juvenile delinquents. But that was a risk I was willing to take.

Wimal was reluctant to talk.

“I swear I’ll not tell anyone. It’ll be a secret between us,” I continued to plead.

Wimal didn’t look at me and remained silent for some time. “Did you say that you are willing to do anything?” he asked eventually, still not looking at me.

“Yes,” I replied enthusiastically.

After a long pause, Wimal said: “There is this guy who finds me work.” Wimal was definitely uneasy. “You see, I work in the tourist hotels.” He was still avoiding my eyes. “I’ll introduce you today, if you like,” he said. “I’ll meet you by the old boat round two.”

And, as an afterthought he added, “Make sure you wear a shirt your school shirt would do — and a clean pair of shorts. Mr. Jinasena is very particular.”

I was a little puzzled by this requirement but was too excited o ponder long over it.

Wimal and I met Mr. Jinasena on the beach about a hundred yards from Sea Sands Hotel. He greeted us cordially and lowered his voice as he spoke to Wimal. He handed him an envelope with something written on it. I couldn’t see what it was.

“Blue Waters Hotel. He will be on the beach. Yellow swim-suit, yellow hat.”

Wimal took off without a word, but, did glance at me for a moment. I saw fear in his eyes, maybe a mite of shame too.

“Now Suren,” Mr. Jinadasa said turning to me “That is your name, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said respectfully.

“The first time is always difficult, but you will be okay. There is good money in it if you do as you are told. And, of course, you mustn’t talk about this to anyone. All right?”

I nodded. We walked in silence till we reached the sandbank by Sea Sands Hotel. There were tourists sun-bathing on the beach; and splashing about in the sea. Mr. Jinasena walked ahead, and I followed. He stopped beside a large man, in a deck chair, wearing a pair of red shorts and a brightly coloured shirt. His hair was, the colour of straw and his skin was red with sunburn.

Mr. Jinasena spoke to him in a foreign language. The tourist looked at me and smiled, got up from his chair, and walked towards one of the cabanas. Mr. Jinasena and I followed him. When we reached the cabana, the man went in and shut the door’ behind him, but returned shortly with some money, which he handed over to Mr. Jinasena.

“You will work for this gentleman today. Do as you are told, and he will give you a good tip.” Mr. Jinasena nodded at the man, smiled at me, and walked away.

The man beckoned me, and I went in. He shut the door behind me. The cabana was beautiful. I had never seen anything like this before. There was a large bed with a blue and white cover spread

on it. I was enthralled by the massive mirror on the wall; its thick wooden frame encrusted with sea shells. There must have been thousands of shells on that frame. A polished table by the window had a large bowl of flowers on it.

Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned round and saw the man standing, stark naked. Before I could get over the shock, he started tugging my shorts down.

I don’t know how long I stayed in that room, but to me it seemed a lifetime. When I finally stepped out, my whole body was shivering in spasms and shaking, and I could hardly make out where I was going. I managed to get to the beach before I got violently sick. My head reeled and I started to cry. It was when I tried to wipe my tears that I noticed I was clutching a bundle of currency notes.

Suddenly I wanted to run – to get away from that place as fast its I could. So, I ran all the way home – my lungs burning and heart pounding.

When I got back, Amma had returned and was in the kitchen. There were no signs of Nangi, so I knew she would have been re-admitted to hospital. As I went into the kitchen, Amma turned on me.

“Where were you, Suren?” she demanded angrily. “I have been looking for you all over the village for hours.”

I hung my head and did not answer.

“Suren, what’s happened?” She now seemed more concerned than angry. “Look at me, son,” she said. But I couldn’t.

I simply walked up to the kitchen table, my head still down, and laid the bundle of crumpled notes on it.

I heard her gasp. She picked up the notes. “Where did you get. these from? Two thousand rupees!” There was fear in her voice. It was more than she earned in an entire month of tedious coir rope making.

“I went to a tourist hotel,” I blurted, soft and low, still not looking at her. I knew she would know what that meant.

There was dead silence. She stood quite still. I slowly looked up at her. She had a stunned look on her face. I knew she was trying to take in the full implication of what I had said. I waited for her to get angry, to start shouting at me. I desperately wanted her to. In fact, I wanted her to beat me. Hit me with that broom till she broke every bone in my body. But she stood there as if turned to stone.

I wanted her to say something or do something. I couldn’t bear the silence.

“We can buy Nangi the Sustagen and pay off our debts, can’t we?” I pleaded.

She looked down at the floor but said nothing. I waited for her to speak; when she didn’t, I slowly walked past her, down the kitchen steps and into the back yard. I felt incredibly tired; a fatigue I had never experienced before. Perhaps it was the kind of fatigue felt by old people.

The sun was beginning to sink into the ocean. As I walked slowly towards the beach, something made me look back. I saw Amma on the kitchen steps, her arms entwining her legs, her face buried in her knees, her body jerking in convulsive movements. I carried on walking, staring intently at the setting sun; but I had gone well beyond the point of wanting to make a wish.

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Features

Building a sustainable future for Sri Lanka’s construction industry

Published

1 day ago

2026/05/8

Thilina Walpola

Sri Lanka’s construction industry has long been a central pillar of sustainable development. From roads and bridges to homes, schools, and hospitals, construction shapes the country’s physical landscape and supports economic progress. As the nation continues to rebuild and modernise, the demand for construction materials and infrastructure keeps rising. However, this growth also brings a significant environmental cost. Cement, steel, bricks, aggregates, and timber all require energy, resources, and transportation, contributing to carbon emissions and environmental damage. If Sri Lanka continues with traditional construction practices, the long-term impact on the environment will be severe.

The encouraging news is that Sri Lanka has many opportunities to adopt more sustainable construction practices while still maintaining the highest standards of quality and safety. Sustainable construction does not mean weaker buildings or lower standards. It means using sustainable materials, reducing waste, improving design, and choosing methods that protect the environment. Many countries have already moved in this direction, and Sri Lanka has the potential to follow the same path with solutions that are practical, affordable, and suitable for local conditions.

A promising option

One promising option is the use of Compressed Earth Blocks (CEB), which are different from the concrete blocks commonly used in Sri Lanka for the past 25 years. CEBs are made from soil mixed with a small amount of stabiliser and pressed using machines. Unlike traditional fired clay bricks, CEBs do not require high-temperature kilns, which consume large amounts of firewood or fossil fuels. This makes CEBs a low-carbon alternative with a much smaller environmental footprint. In Sri Lanka, CEBs are already used in eco-resorts, community housing projects, and environmentally focused developments. They offer good strength, durability, and thermal comfort, making them suitable for many types of buildings. By expanding the use of CEBs, Sri Lanka can reduce energy consumption, lower emissions, and promote locally sourced materials.

Recycled aggregates also offer significant potential for sustainable construction. These materials are produced by crushing concrete, demolition waste, and construction debris. In Sri Lanka, recycled aggregates are already used in road construction, particularly for base and sub-base layers. They are suitable for non-structural building work such as pathways, garden paving, drainage layers, landscaping, and backfilling. Using recycled aggregates reduces the need for newly quarried rock and aggregates, decreases landfill waste, and lowers transportation emissions. With proper quality control and standards, recycled aggregates can become a reliable and widely accepted material in the construction industry.

Timber and sustainability

Timber is another important area where sustainability can be improved. In the past, timber for construction was often taken from natural forests, leading to deforestation and loss of biodiversity. Today, this approach is no longer sustainable. Instead, the focus must shift to legally sourced timber from managed plantations. Sri Lanka’s plantation-grown teak, jak, and kubuk can provide high-quality, legally sourced timber for construction while protecting natural forests and supporting rural economies. Using plantation timber ensures that harvesting is controlled, trees are replanted, and the supply chain remains legal and ethical.

Beyond materials, sustainable construction also involves better design and planning. Buildings that are designed to maximise natural ventilation, daylight, and energy efficiency can significantly reduce long-term operating costs. Simple design improvements such as proper orientation, shading devices, roof insulation, and efficient window placement can reduce the need for artificial cooling and lighting. These measures not only lower energy consumption but also improve indoor comfort for occupants. Sri Lanka’s tropical climate offers many opportunities to incorporate passive design strategies that reduce environmental impact without increasing construction costs.

Waste reduction is another key component of sustainable construction. Construction sites often generate large amounts of waste, including concrete, timber offcuts, packaging, and soil. By adopting better site management practices, recycling materials, and planning construction sequences more efficiently, contractors can reduce waste and save money. Proper waste segregation and recycling can also reduce the burden on landfills and minimise environmental pollution.

Promoting sustainable construction

Public projects such as schools, hospitals, and government buildings can play a leading role in promoting sustainable construction. When government projects adopt greener materials and designs, the private sector follows. This creates a positive cycle where environmentally responsible choices become the industry standard. Public sector leadership can also encourage local manufacturers to produce sustainable materials, improve quality standards, and invest in new technologies.

Sri Lanka also carries a proud and remarkable history in construction, with achievements that continue to inspire the world. The engineering brilliance behind Sigiriya, the advanced urban planning of Polonnaruwa, the precision of the Aukana Buddha statue, and the sophisticated water management systems of ancient tanks and reservoirs all demonstrate the deep knowledge our ancestors possessed. These historic accomplishments show that innovation is not new to Sri Lanka; it is part of our identity. As the world moves toward 2050 with increasing sustainability challenges, Sri Lanka can draw strength from this heritage while embracing modern technologies and sustainable practices. With the combined efforts of skilled professionals, industry experts, academic researchers, and strong government support, the country can introduce new systems that improve efficiency, reduce environmental impact, and strengthen resilience. By working together with determination and sharing knowledge across generations, Sri Lanka’s construction industry can build a future that honours its past while leading the way in sustainable development.

Foundation of sustainable development

Sri Lanka’s construction industry has always been a foundation of sustainable development. Today, it also has the chance to take a leading role in sustainability. By choosing sustainable materials, reducing waste, improving design, and supporting responsible sourcing, the country can build a future that is both modern and environmentally responsible. Sustainability is essential for Sri Lanka’s long-term goals of reducing carbon emissions and limiting the impacts of global warming. As Sri Lanka moves forward, the construction industry must embrace sustainability not only as an environmental responsibility but also as an opportunity to create stronger, smarter, and more resilient buildings for future generations. Sri Lanka has the talent, the heritage, and the technical capacity to shape a more sustainable future, and with the right national direction, the construction industry can become a model for the region. If professionals, policymakers, and communities work together with a shared vision, the country can transform its construction sector into one that protects the environment while supporting long-term progress.

About the Author: P.G.R.A.C. Gamlath Menike,

BSc (Hons) Quantity Surveying (University of Reading, UK), MSc Quantity Surveying (University College of Estate Management, UK), MCIArb, Doctoral Student, Department of Building and Real Estate, The Hong Kong Polytechnic University, Hong Kong, is a Senior Quantity Surveyor: Last Project (2022 -2025) Hong Kong International Airport Terminal 2 Construction Project, Gammon Engineering Construction (Main Contractor).

By P.G. R. A. C. Gamlath Menike

Features

Palm leaf manuscripts of Sri Lanka – 1

Published

1 day ago

2026/05/8

Thilina Walpola

Palm leaf manuscripts

Palm leaf manuscripts have been in existence in Sri Lanka since ancient times. The two oldest palm-leaf manuscripts found in Sri Lanka today are the Cullavagga Pâli manuscript of the H. C. P. Bell collection, which is held at the Library of the National Museum, Colombo, and the Mahavagga Pâli manuscript in the University of Kelaniya collection. Photocopies of both are available at the Library of the University of Peradeniya. Both are dated to 13 century. Cullavagga manuscript has wooden covers richly decorated in lac with a design of flowers and foliage.

Karmmavibhâga

However, the oldest known Sinhala palm leaf manuscript in the world is the Karmmavibhâga which was found in a Tibet monastery in 1936 by the Indian scholar Rahul Sankrityayan. Rahul Sankrityayan, (1893–1963) former Kedarnath Pandey, was an Indian polymath, who searched out rare Buddhist manuscripts on his travels abroad. Sankrityayan visited Sri Lanka as well. Vidyalankara Pirivena is mentioned.

Sankrityayan visited Tibet several times to collect manuscripts from the Buddhist monasteries there. In May 1936 on his second visit to Tibet, Sankrityayan visited the Sa-skya monastery. The Chag-pe-lha-khang Library in this monastery was specially opened for Sankrityayan.

He stated in his autobiography that when the clouds of dust which greeted this rare opening of its doors had subsided, they beheld rows of open racks where volume on volume of manuscripts were kept. “After rummaging around, I came across palm-leaf manuscripts. They were not wrapped in cloth, but were tied between two wooden planks with holes through them.” Sankrityayan found several important manuscripts he had been looking for, in that collection.

Sankrityayan catalogued fifty-seven manuscripts bound in thirty-eight volumes. The thirty-seventh volume was written in the Sinhala script. Sankrityayan records that this volume contained ninety-seven palm- leaves each of which measured 18 1/4 by 1 1/4 in. (46 x 3 cm.) and that there were seven lines of writing on each folio.

According to Sankrityayan, these Sinhala texts originally belonged to a Sri Lankan monk called Anantaśrî who had come to Tibet in the time of ŚSrî Kîrttidhvaja (Kirti Sri Rajasinha). Analysts noted that Sankrityayan does not give the source of this information and the manuscript makes no mention of Anantaśrî.

Sankrityayan had taken with him to Tibet, one Abeyasinghe, (Abhayasimha) to help him with copying manuscripts. They made hand-copies of the important manuscripts. Abhayasimha had copied about 250 to 350 strophes each day. But he fell ill due to the extreme cold and was sent home in June. Abeyasinghe had written letters home during his stay in Tibet.

Photographs of the manuscripts found during Sankrityayan’s expeditions in Tibet are preserved at the National Archives in Colombo. There is also a copy in Vidyalankara pirivena library The Historical Manuscripts Commission In its 1960/1961 report, drew attention to this manuscript, known as Sa-skya Codex, describing it as “a unique document.” (Annual Report of the Government Archivist 1960/61, 1963)

Sinhala scholar P.E.E. Fernando examined photographs of the Sa-skya Codex at the request of the Historical Manuscripts Commission and assigned it to the 13th century. The Historical Manuscripts Commission, dated it to either twelfth or the thirteenth century.

The Historical Manuscripts Commission observed that this manuscript was of great value for the study of the development of the Sinhala script. Ven. Meda Uyangoda Vimalakîrtti and Nähinne Sominda in their edition of the Karmmavibhâga published in 1961 agreed that the Sa-skya Codex represented an early stage in the evolution of the Sinhala language.

Mahavamsa

The Mahavamsa is considered a unique historical document. There is nothing like it in South Asia, and probably all Asia, with the exception of China. Mahavamsa provides a historical account of events, with emphasis on chronology and dating. This, it appears, was rare at the time.

However, Mahavamsa is not a political history, though that is the popular perception of it. It is a religious history. It was written to record the introduction and entrenchment of Buddhism in the country. Other Buddhist countries, such as Cambodia, Burma and Thailand value the Mahavamsa for this reason. They held copies of the Mahavamsa and used events from it in their temple frescoes.

But Mahavamsa is also an important reference source for reconstructing the political history of Sri Lanka. Political and social facts are included in the Mahavamsa narrative when describing religious events, and this makes the Mahavamsa important for historians. This tradition of history writing, beginning with the earlier Sihala Attakatha and Dipawamsa, it is suggested, started in Sri Lanka in 2^nd or 3^rd BC.

Today, the Mahavamsa has become a major source of historical information, not only for dating kings, temples and reservoirs, but also for reconstructing ancient Sinhala society. The fact that Kuveni was seated beside a pond, spinning thread has been used to indicate that there was water management and textiles long before Vijaya arrived. Dutugemunu (161-137 BC) paid a salary to the workers building the Maha Thupa. This shows that money was used at the time.

Copies of the Mahavamsa have been treasured and looked after in Sri Lanka for centuries. They have been copied over and over again. The manuscripts were held in temple libraries because the subject of the Mahavamsa was the entrenchment of Buddhism in Sri Lanka.

The Mahavamsa manuscripts did not pop up suddenly during British rule as people seem to think. The British did not ‘discover’ the Mahavamsa. It was there. When the British administration started to take interest in the history of the island, the sangha would have directed them to the Mahavamsa, in the same way that they directed HCP Bell to the ruins in Anuradhapura and the Sigiriya frescoes. HCP Bell did not discover those either.

The British administrators saw the value of the Mahavamsa and copies were sent to libraries abroad. The Bodleian library, Oxford has a well preserved Mahavamsa manuscript, taken from Mulkirigala, which Turner used for his translation. Cambridge has two Mahavamsa manuscripts. The two copies at India Office library, and the copy in East India Library are probably in the British Library today. The Royal Library, Copenhagen, has a copy, consisting of 129 sheets, 12 lines to a leaf, written in good handwriting.

In Sri Lanka there are several copies of the Mahavamsa in the Colombo Museum Library. One copy, known as the ‘Cambodian Mahavamsa ‘is in Cambodian script. University of Peradeniya has at least three copies.

It is interesting to note that the Mahavamsa was known to the Sinhala elite and some had copies in their private libraries. The Historical Manuscripts Commission of the 1930s said in its first report that five copies of the Mahavamsa and a 19^th century copy of the Dipawamsa were found in private collections.

The temple libraries had many copies of the Mahavamsa. Some were of very high quality. Wilhelm Geiger had looked at the copies held at Mahamanthinda Pirivena, Matara and Mulkirigala vihara. Asgiriya, Nagolla Vihara and Watagedera Sudarmarama Potgul vihara, Matara, are three of the many libraries that held copies of the Mahavamsa.

Sirancee Gunawardene examined the copy at Mahamanthinda Pirivena, Matara, very closely. She says that it is a very old manuscript. According to its colophon, the manuscript was first copied 400 years ago. It is in a very good state of preservation. It has 232 folios. Each 50 cm long 6.25 wide. Nine lines on each side, in Pali metric verse.

The writer of the manuscripts said that his version was an improvement on the copy. He wrote, “I will recite the Mahavamsa which was compiled by ancient sages. [their version] was too long and had many repetitions. This version is free from such faults, easy to understand and remember. It is handed down from tradition, for arousing serene joy and emotion’ .

The Mahamanthinda manuscript records the continuous history of 23 dynasties from 543 BC to 1758 AD. It refers to the principle of hereditary monarchy as 39 eldest sons of reigning monarch succeeded their fathers to the throne. It highlights the fact that fifteen reigned only for one year, 34 for less than four years, 22 kings were murdered by their successors, 6 were killed during battles, 4 committed suicide, 11 were dethroned.

Mahawansa as a World Heritage document

An ola manuscript of the Mahavamsa, held in the Main Library of the University of Peradeniya has been recognised by UNESCO as a part of World Heritage. UNESCO announced In 2023 that it has included the Mahavamsa as one of the 64 items of documentary heritage inscribed in the UNESCO’s Memory of the World International Register for 2023. The manuscript is dated to the early 19 century.

The certificate declaring the Mahawansa as a world heritage document was handed to the Chancellor of Peradeniya University by UNESCO Director General, who visited the University in 2024 specially to do so. She also unveiled a plaque marking the declaration.

The story began much earlier. The National Library of Sri Lanka and the Ministry of Buddha Sasana had jointly appointed a 6-member committee headed by Prof Malani Endagamage, to find the best preserved copy of the Mahavamsa in Sri Lanka. This would have been in 2000 or so. For two years, this team had examined copies from over 100 temples nationwide.

Temples around the country yielded copies, crumbling to well-preserved, reported Sunday Times. There was one from the Ridi Vihara that almost made the cut, but four other copies were shortlisted. One from the Dalada Maligawa, Kandy and three manuscripts from the Main Library of the University of Peradeniya. Three academics from the University’s History Department, Professors K.M. Rohitha Dasanayaka, Mahinda Somathilake and U.S.Y. Sahan Mahesh examined the three Peradeniya manuscripts

Dasanayaka said, “We poured over the copies together, and it became clear that one copy stood out. While the other two had numerous inconsistencies, this one, written in a curvy hand, was neat and beautiful. After more than two centuries, the manuscript was still very attractive, with a ‘flaming cinnamon orange’ cover and elegant lettering.

The first section of the manuscript ends with Mahasen (274–301 AD), written by the monk Mahanama. The second part ends at 1815. The author is given as Ven. Thibbotuwawe Buddharakkhita but he was dead by 1815. The final part was probably done by an acolyte. He has done a very neat job, seamlessly adding his bit, concluded Dasanayake.

This manuscript was acquired by the Library of University of Peradeniya when K. D. Somadasa, was the Librarian (1964 – 1970). It is held in the Main Library and its Accession Number is 277587.

National Library & Documentation Services Board of Sri Lanka, which administers the National Library of Sri Lanka submitted a nomination to UNESCO on behalf of this manuscript. UNESCO responded positively to the application.

UNESCO said the Mahavamsa was recognized as one of the world’s longest unbroken historical accounts, presenting Sri Lanka’s history in a chronological order from the 6th century BCE. The authenticity of the facts provided in the document has been confirmed through archaeological research conducted in Sri Lanka and India.

It is an important historical source in South Asia, said UNESCO. It was the first of its kind in South Asia, initiating a mature historiographical tradition. It has contributed singularly to the identity of Emperor Asoka in Indian history. The existence of a number of manuscripts of the Mahavamsa in several countries as well as the transliteration and translation of the text to several Southeast Asian and European languages stand testimony to its immense historical, cultural, literal, linguistic and scholarly values, .” UNESCO press release said.

Further, UNESCO found that this manuscript was correctly conserved at the University Library. The university and its library maintained high standards in safeguarding the palm-leaf manuscripts, preventing deterioration, declared UNESCO. (Continued)

REFERENCES

https://archives1.dailynews.lk/2021/02/25/local/242520/ola-leaf-mahavamsa-be-declared-world-heritage

Sirancee Gunawardana Palm leaf manuscripts of Sri Lanka . 1977 p 41,44-47 , 253 290 292, ,

N. E. I. Wijerathne Methods, Techniques and Challenges in Deciphering the Sa-skaya Codex. Vidyodaya Journal of Humanities and Social Sciences (2025), Vol. 10 (01) https://journals.sjp.ac.lk/index.php/vjhss/article/view/8571/6001

First report of the Historical Manuscripts Commision.1933 SP 9 of 1933. p . 53, 95, 96

https://journals.sjp.ac.lk/index.php/vjhss/article/view/8571/6001https://www.austriaca.at/0xc1aa5572%200x00314cc3.pdf

https://leftword.com/creator/rahul-sankrityayan/

https://www.reddit.com/r/IndianHistory/comments/1oc5tc2/in_his_autobiography_meri_jeevan_yatra_rahul/

https://www.sundaytimes.lk/230910/plus/in-search-of-the-perfect-mahavamsa-531513.html

https://www.dailymirror.lk/breaking-news/Mahawansa-declared-a-world-heritage/108-287528

https://mfa.gov.lk/en/visit-of-unesco-dg/

https://sundaytimes.lk/online/education/UNESCO-ready-to-support-digitalisation-of-Ola-leaf-books/290-1146314

https://media.unesco.org/sites/default/files/webform/mow001/53_131%252B.pdf

by KAMALIKA PIERIS

Features

A new Sherlock Holmes novel

Published

1 day ago

2026/05/8

Thilina Walpola

Tales of Mystery and Suspense – 1

“The House of Silk” is set in a grim Victorian winter, and moves from Baker Street to a luxurious suburban villa, from dingy pubs to elegant London clubs, from a correction school for boys high on a hill to Dr Silkin’s House of Wonders, which provided noisy low life entertainment. Holmes and Watson went there in search of the House of Silk, a name they had heard when looking into the death of one of Holmes’ Baker Street irregulars (slum children who ferreted out information for him) .

I do not think highly of sequels to books written by highly regarded writers, though I must admit that this dislike is based on just a few samples. But while in England I was given by my former Dean, with a forceful recommendation, a book about a Sherlock Holmes mystery, supposedly written by Dr Watson. I began on it soon after I got back home, and found it difficult to put down, so I suppose I will not look on Anthony Horowitz as an exception to my rule. I may even look out for his efforts at continuing the adventures of James Bond, though I suspect Fleming’s laconic style will be less easy to emulate.

“The House of Silk” is set in a grim Victorian winter, and moves from Baker Street to a luxurious suburban villa, from dingy pubs to elegant London clubs, from a correction school for boys high on a hill to Dr Silkin’s House of Wonders, which provided noisy low life entertainment. Holmes and Watson went there in search of the House of Silk, a name they had heard when looking into the death of one of Holmes’ Baker Street irregulars (slum children who ferreted out information for him). They had asked Holmes’ brother Mycroft for help in finding what and where this was, but he had warned them off, having been himself told by someone very senior in government that it might involve those in very high positions, and further inquiries might prove dangerous.

Needless to say, Holmes does seek further, and is lured to an opium den where he is drugged, to be found outside with a gun in his hand and the body of a girl beside him, the sister of the murdered boy Ross. A passer-by swears he had seen Holmes fire the shot, and the owner of the opium den and a customer swear that Holmes had taken too much opium and left the den in a demented condition. A police inspector who had been passing promptly arrests Holmes and Watson, and even their old acquaintance Inspector Lestrade finds it difficult to get access to him.

Watson eventually gets to see him when he is in the infirmary, after he has been told by a mysterious man that Holmes was going to be murdered before his case could be taken up. The man said he had earlier tried to get Holmes to investigate the House of Silk by sending him a white silk ribbon, such as had later been found tied round the hand of the murdered boy. But, as a criminal himself, he said, he could not reveal more, though he himself was horrified by the business of the House of Silk, which gave criminality a bad name, which is why he wanted it all stopped.

Holmes escapes from the infirmary, with a little help from the doctor whom he had once assisted earlier, right under the nose of the nasty Inspector Harriman. He then joins up with Watson, and having with the help of Lestrade overcome the men designed to kill him at Dr Silkin’s House of Wonders, he sets off, with an even large posse of policemen, to the House of Silk.

After much suspense, the habitues of the House of Silk are arrested, the Inspector having broken his neck in the course of a chase downhill, having fled when his misdeeds were exposed. The mastermind claims that he will not face a trial because of the important people involved, but instead falls down a staircase while in prison and breaks his neck. One of the noblemen involved commits suicide, but another, and the medical man who had sworn he saw Holmes kill the young lady, get off without charge.

But then we revert to the original story, which had involved an art dealer who came to Holmes because he was being followed by someone he thought was an American gangster out for revenge. This was because he had shipped some pictures to an American buyer, and these had been destroyed when a train was held up by an Irish gang and the coach with the safe in it dynamited. The buyer and the dealer had got a private agency to investigate, and this had ended with the gang being killed in a shootout, though one of the twins who led it had escaped. The buyer had subsequently been killed, and Mr Carstairs feared that the twin who survived had followed him to England.

Holmes and Watson went to Carstairs’ house, where they met his wife, whom he had met on the boat back from America, and his sister. Their mother had died some months earlier, when gas had filled her room after the flame had gone out. It transpired that there had been a break in, and some money and a necklace stolen from a safe, and it was in tracing these, through a pawnbroker, that Holmes and Watson had found the American murdered in the hotel where he had been staying.

The leader of the irregulars had come to tell Holmes that they had traced the man to the hotel, and Ross had been left on guard. He seemed terrified when Holmes and Watson and Carstairs turned up, but said he had seen nothing. When the boys had been dismissed, and the room opened up, the man was found dead, the murderer obviously having gained entrance through a window.

Holmes assumed the boy had seen someone he recognized, but he could not be traced, until he was found dead, horribly tortured. The silk band around his wrist then led Holmes to pursue the House of Silk. One of the boys at the school where Ross had been mentioned that he had a sister at a pub, and she, when confronted, asked in fear if they were from the House of Silk and then, having lunged at Watson with a knife, ran off – herself only to be found dead outside the opium den, which prompted the arrest of Holmes.

After the drama at the House of Silk, Holmes and Watson go to the Carstairs household, where he explains exactly what had taken place, identifying the murdered man as not a member of the gang but the head of the private agency which had investigated them. As my Dean told me, Horowitz then ties up all the loose ends with consummate skill, connecting with a fine thread all the malefactors, of various kinds.