Opinion

Truth and Reconciliation Commission for Sri Lanka: Issues and challenges

Published

1 year ago

2025/04/1

Sahan Weerasooriya

Minister Herath addressing the UNHRC. (File pic)

D. Phil. (Oxford), Ph. D. (Sri Lanka);

Rhodes Scholar, Quondam Visiting Fellow of the Universities of Oxford, Cambridge and London;

Former Vice-Chancellor and Emeritus Professor of Law of the University of Colombo.

I. The Domestic and International Setting

The establishment of a Truth and Reconciliation Commission is a matter of lively interest across our society at this time. Developments a few days ago at the international level make this issue immediately relevant to the national interest of Sri Lanka.

The Minister of Foreign Affairs, Mr. Vijitha Herath, in his address at the 58th Session of the Human Rights Commission in Geneva in February this year, expressed interest in “the contours of a strong truth and reconciliation framework” and committed his government to “strengthening the work” in this field.

Current preoccupation with this concept has both a domestic and an international impetus. Within the country, the overwhelming confidence placed by the people of the North and East, as part of an Islandwide avalanche, in the current National People Power administration, impels the Government to focus, as a matter of priority, on national healing and reconciliation.

Beyond our shores, the expectation is equally urgent. The United Nations Human Rights Council, over the last decade, has adopted no fewer than 6 Resolutions on Sri Lanka. The pivotal Resolution, co-sponsored by Sri Lanka in 2015, called for a Commission for Truth, Justice, Reconciliation and Non-Recurrence. Subsequent Resolutions, expressing concern over lack of progress and the need for international accountability, introduced a new – and potentially hazardous – dimension. This consisted of the creation of a uniquely intrusive mechanism to gather and analyse evidence relating to Sri Lanka as a launching pad for further action in international tribunals.

Against the backdrop of these initiatives, a series of legislative measures have been taken in Sri Lanka – principally the enactment of the Office of Missing Persons Act of 2016, the Office for Reparations Act of 2018 and the Office of National Unity and Reconciliation Act of 2024. However, a hiatus remains with regard to the overarching mechanism of a Truth and Reconciliation Commission.

In attempting to complete the edifice, it is natural that policy makers in Sri Lanka should seek to derive assistance from the experience of South Africa, the home of probably the best-known Commission of this kind in the world. Inadequately and superficially researched, the proposed Sri Lankan legislation, published in the Gazette of 29 December 2023, suffers by comparison with legislation in other countries: it is marred by glaring omissions, and reflects shallowness of understanding of the aspirations which undergird successful instruments of reconciliation in our time.

II. The South African Experience Compared

The overlapping and contrasting features of Sri Lankan and South African legislation warrant close analysis.

(a) Territorial Application

There is a crucial difference in this regard. The mandate in South Africa embraces the whole nation without qualification (Preamble and section 3 of Act No. 34 of 1995). By contrast, the proposed mandate in Sri Lanka is operative throughout the Island, but only where the atrocities in question “were caused in the course of, or reasonably connected to, or consequent to the conflict which took place in the Northern and Eastern Provinces during the period 1983 to 2009, or its aftermath” (section 12(i)).

This is a limitation which cannot but affect the completeness of the Commission’s work. For instance, among the Commission’s powers is that of applying to a Magistrate “to excavate sites of suspected graves or mass graves and to act as observers at such excavations or exhumations” (section 13 (2c)). This is relevant also to areas outside the Northern and Eastern Provinces, and curtailment of the Commission’s mandate detracts from the overall balance and value of its work.

(b) Structural Framework

The South African legislation envisages 3 Committees specifically established alongside the Commission – the Committee on Human Rights Violations, the Committee on Amnesty and the Committee on Reparation and Rehabilitation. Each of these Committees has a statutory mandate and function, the role of each being clearly defined in relation to the Commission.

The Sri Lankan Bill is much less precise and clear-cut.The corresponding provision empowers the Commission to appoint panels consisting of not less than 3 members, the members being assigned to panels by the Chairperson of the Commission (section 7(2)). Unlike in South Africa, there is no indication of either the number of panels, or the subject matter entrusted to each panel. A tighter conceptual scheme, with explicit definition of identity and scope, is desirable at this conjuncture.

Investigation which the Commission in Sri Lanka is authorised to undertake encompasses a wide range of activity including “extrajudicial killings, assassinations and mass murders” (section 12(g)(i)), “acts of torture” (section 12(g)(ii)) and “abduction, hostage taking and enforced disappearances” (section 12(g)(iv)). These are grave crimes in respect of which proceedings are instituted before the regular courts. In this event, should judicial proceedings, of a civil or criminal nature, be suspended until conclusion of the Commission’s investigations, or vice versa, or should they take place concurrently?

This is a matter of obvious practical importance which receives detailed consideration in South Africa, but not at all in Sri Lanka. For instance, where the person seeking amnesty before the relevant Committee in South Africa has a civil action in court pending against him, he may request suppression of the proceedings pending disposal of the application before the Committee (section 19(6)). The court may, after hearing all relevant parties, accede to this request. Similarly, a criminal action may be postponed in consultation with the Attorney-General of the relevant Province. These provisions serve the salutary purpose of averting the risk of conflicting orders by the courts and a Committee of the Commission in simultaneous proceedings. The Sri Lankan Bill fails to make any provision against this unacceptable contingency.

(d) Protection and Compellability

Discovery of truth requires the compulsory attendance of witnesses and the production of evidence before the Commission or its delegate. There is a the equally critical need, in subsequent proceedings, to protect witnesses against incrimination by testimony obtained through compulsion. These are competing objectives which need to be reconciled equitably.

This is achieved by the South African legislation: a person will be compelled to answer or produce evidentiary material having the potential to incriminate him, only if the Commission is satisfied that this course of action is “reasonable, necessary and justifiable” (section 31(2)). Moreover, the vital proviso is attached that the incriminating answer or evidence is inadmissible in criminal proceedings against the person providing it. This is a satisfactory result.

The position in Sri Lanka is quite otherwise. There is provision for the Commission to summon any person or to procure material (section 13(t) and (u)). This exists side by side with provision empowering the Attorney-General “to institute criminal proceedings in respect of any offence based on material collected in the course of an investigation by the Commission” (section 16(2)). Vulnerability is enhanced by the removal of protection conferred by the Evidence Ordinance (section 13(y)). In stark contrast with the position in South Africa, there is singular absence of any provision against self-incrimination in Sri Lanka.

(e) Amnesty

The basic purpose of Truth and Reconciliation Commissions around the world is to enable victims to come to terms with a deeply scarred past and to face the future with dignity and self-assurance. This is the gist of the Greek concept of Katharsis, or purging of the soul. Through full and candid disclosure, involving unburdening and relief, comes the expiation of guilt.

This is the context in which the idea of amnesty occupies a central place in the scheme of reconciliation. The Committee on Amnesty is the centrepiece of South African legislation. The primacy of its function is underlined by the provision that “No decision, or the process of arriving at such a decision, of the Committee on Amnesty shall be reviewed by the

Commission” (section 5(e)). The status of this Committee is unique, standing as it does apart from, and indeed above, the other Committees. An application for amnesty succeeds in South Africa if there is genuine contrition manifested in complete disclosure of all relevant facts (section 20(i)).

Sri Lankan law takes an entirely different course. Although the proposed Bill postulates, as one of the main objectives of the Commission “providing the people of Sri Lanka with a platform for truth telling” (section 12(d)), no provision whatever is made for conferment of amnesty in consequence of uninhibited disclosure. At the core of the law, there is a policy contradiction, with practical implications.

III. Political Will

Apart from these infirmities, cumulatively worrying, there is a negative factor of far greater importance.

When the draft legislation in Sri Lanka was published in January 2024, the response was less than unreservedly enthusiastic. This was mainly because of lingering doubts about the strength of political will underpinning this initiative. By no means the initial overture, this was yet another step in a long and disheartening sequence of events. The Lessons Learnt and Reconciliation Commission, the Udalagama Commission and the Paranagama Commission represented together a sterile endeavour, for well over a decade, to address the salient issues. The Bill impliedly concedes this. What is of particular significance is the inclusion, in Part VIII of the Bill, of a set of provisions entitled “Implementation of the Commission’s Recommendations”. The key provision requires the setting up of a Monitoring Committee (section 39) consisting of the Secretaries of 5 Ministries and 6 others, to submit to the President every 6 months reports which “shall include the reasons for non-implementation” (section 40(9)) by relevant entities. This is hardly likely to engender a high threshold of confidence.

A critical component of political will is commitment to community participation. This was much in evidence in South Africa even before Nelson Mandela’s accession to the Presidency. In my academic career, during visits to the University of the Witwatersrand and the University of Cape Town on lecture tours, I observed at first hand, the sustained efforts by leaders of South African academia to convince the corporate sector that structural change is the preferable alternative to unbridled anarchy.

As Minister of Justice, Ethnic Affairs and National Integration in the Government of President Chandrika Kumaratunga, I interacted closely with my counterparts,Dullah Omar, Minister of Justice and Mandela’s personal lawyer and Valli Moosa, Minister of Constitutional Affairs, who even used pictorial images, rather than the printed word, to convey the central message of reconciliation to the vast mass of the people, especially in the rural hinterland. This was very much the wind beneath the wings, and supplied the thrust for intense community involvement.

IV. Role of an Icon

Rising above all these considerations is a circumstance which was brought home to me vividly during my participation, as Minister of Foreign Affairs, in the Commonwealth Summit in Kigali, Rwanda, in 2022. On the sidelines of this event, I had the benefit of a discussion with my South African counterpart, Ms. Naledi Pandor, at the time Minister of International Relations and Cooperation. She shared with me her perspective that, whatever the South African process accomplished, was in considerable measure attributable to the towering stature of Archbishop Desmond Tutu who enjoyed remarkable prestige across the nation. An emblematic figure as the visible symbol of the process is, therefore, vital, the ideal choice probably being a personality bereft of a prominent political profile. Qualities of leadership are, in practice, of even greater value than the structural characteristics of the Commission.

V. Restorative Justice

The abiding inspiration of reconciliation mechanisms arises from the idea of restorative, as opposed to retributive, justice; but this concept has intrinsic limits. In the South African case, pride of place was given to sincere truth telling which would overcome hatred and the primordial instinct for revenge. The vehicle for giving effect to this was amnesty. Not infrequently, however, this opportunity was spurned. Despite the personal intervention of Mandela, former State President P. W. Botha was adamant in his refusal to appear before the Commission which he denounced as “a fierce unforgiving assault” on Afrikaaners. This sentiment struck a compliant chord in many leaders of the security and military establishment under the apartheid regime. Among them were General Magnus Malan, former Minister of Defence, and General Johan van der Merwe, former Commissioner of the South African Police.

Contemptuous refusal to appear before the Commission led to criminal prosecution. Eugene de Kock, commander of a police death squad, was convicted on multiple counts of murder. An interesting case is that of Security Branch officer, Joao Rodrigues, who was charged with murder 47 years after the death of anti-apartheid activist, Ahmed Timol, in police custody. When repentance and amnesty failed, criminal responsibility took over.

At the heart of the discourse is interplay among the ideas of truth, justice and reconciliation. Search for the right balance is the perennial dilemma. The basic conflict is between amnesty and accountability. A legitimate criticism of the South African experience is that it tended, on occasion, to give disproportionate attention to the former at the expense of the latter. It did happen that grave crimes went unpunished, leaving victims, after the trauma of reliving the past, profoundly unfulfilled.

Diverse cultures offer an array of choices. In Argentina, the power to grant amnesty was withheld from the Commission. In Colombia, disclosure resulted not in total exoneration but in mitigation of sentence. In Chile, prosecutions were feasible only after a prolonged interval since the dismantling of Augusto Pinochet’s dictatorship. In Peru, individual sanctions were studiedly relegated to major economic and societal transformation in the wake of the ravaging conflict with Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path).

An eclectic approach, affording the fullest scope for selection and imaginative adaptation, is the way forward. There is no size that fits all.

By Professor G. L. Peiris

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Opinion

“Pot calling the kettle black?” A response

Published

3 days ago

2026/05/15

Thilina Walpola

I was taken aback by the response of the well-known academic Uswatte-Aratchi (U-A) to my article “Achievements of the Hunduwa”, which appeared in The Island on 15 March. In his piece, titled “Pot calling the kettle black?” (The Island, 23 April) U-A accuses me of belittling Sri Lanka in just the same way President Anura Kumara Dissanayake (AKD) did with his reference to Sri Lanka as a hunduwa. Being an academic of repute, U-A’s comments cannot be ignored and before I proceed further to explain, let me state that I am very sorry if what I stated appeared in any way to be derogatory; my intentions were otherwise.

U-A states, “Most sensible people, even uneducated, judge that the volume of a little drop (of whatever) is smaller than that of a hunduwa; so is weight. When the learned doctor emphatically maintains ‘we are not a hunduwa’ but ‘a little drop in the ocean’, is the pot calling the kettle black or worse?” He implies that my ‘insult’ is worse. Whilst conceding that a drop is smaller than a hunduwa, what baffles me is how an academic overlooked the fact that comparisons should be made based on context. Whereas AKD used hunduwa in the parliament to belittle the country, I used the term ‘little drop’ to highlight our achievements, which are disproportionate to our size. In contrast, AKD used hunduwa to trifle with the country.

“Surely, this little drop in the Indian ocean performed well beyond its size to have gained international recognition way back in history,” I said in my article. This cannot in any way be considered derogatory. In fact, what U-A stated in his article about the achievements of countries, either smaller or with populations smaller than ours, only supports my view that there is no correlation between a country’s size and its achievements.

U-A casts doubt on the assertion that Sri Lanka was once the ‘Granary of the East’; he cites instances of drought and famine. There may have been bad periods, as we are at the mercy of nature, but it does not negate the fact that there were periods of plenty too. Our rulers in days of yore did everything possible to feed the populace by building tanks and extensive irrigation systems. In addition to major works, there were networks of small projects, Uva being referred to as ‘Wellassa’; the land of one hundred thousand paddy fields fed by small tanks. What has the present government done to ease farmers’ burden? Absolutely nothing! Whilst farmers are struggling to eke out a living, rice millers are importing super-luxury vehicles and even helicopters!

I agree with U-A that unfortunately the contribution of the ordinary people is not well recorded in history. This is a universal problem, not limited to Sri Lanka. When one watches some of Prof. Raj Somadeva’s programmes, it becomes clear how ordinary people helped complete gigantic projects. Although there are many documentaries on how the pyramids were built, no one seems interested in exploring how Great Stupas in Anuradhapura were built with millions of bricks.

AKD is doing just the opposite of what he preached whilst in Opposition and does not seem to have any sense of shame. His hunduwa reference, possibly, makes him the only President to have demeaned the country.

by Dr Upul Wijayawardhana

Opinion

Openness, not isolation, is the bedrock of the West

Published

3 days ago

2026/05/15

Thilina Walpola

Recent statements from Washington show how global politics is being increasingly framed along civilisational terms. The U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio has referred to the idea of a shared “Western civilisation,” describing the U.S. and Europe as bound by common history, cultural heritage, and institutional traditions. At the same time, U.S. President Donald Trump has amplified comments about countries such as India, China, and Iran in the context of migration and geopolitical competition that reinforce a tendency to interpret global politics in civilisational terms. Taken together, these statements point to a broader shift: global affairs are being interpreted not only through the language of power and interest, but also through civilisational identities.

The appeal of such framing is understandable. It offers a sense of clarity in an era of rapid technological disruption, demographic change, and geopolitical uncertainty. But apparent clarity is not the same as analytical accuracy. Moreover, it is not an entirely new framing either. As early as the 1990s, political scientist Samuel Huntington had argued that global politics would evolve into a “clash of civilisations,” where cultural and religious identities would become the principal fault lines of international relations.

Civilisational explanations can obscure more than they reveal, particularly when they imply that cultural cohesion, rather than institutional adaptability, is the primary source of national strength. A historical record of the modem West suggests otherwise.

A look at history

Much of the West’s post-Cold War dynamism has rested not on homogeneity, but on openness — to talent, ideas, capital, and global competitive pressures. Its advantage has been institutional: the capacity to absorb diversity and convert it into innovation within rules-based systems.

Nowhere is this more evident than in today’s innovation economy. AI, in particular, has become the defining frontier of global competition, shaped by deeply international talent flows and research ecosystems. Companies such as Microsoft, Open Al, and NVIDIA exemplify systems in which breakthroughs depend on globally sourced expertise, cross-border collaboration, and the ability to attract the most capable minds regardless of origin.

The COVID-19 pandemic underscored this complementary reality: innovation now operates through globally distributed production systems. Rapid vaccine development and distribution, by firms such as Modema and AstraZeneca, depended on international research networks and global manufacturing ecosystems. In the case of AstraZeneca, large-scale production through partnerships such as that with the Serum Institute of India illustrated how innovation and industrial capacity now operate across borders.

This is not an argument against immigration control. Immigration must be governed effectively, and civic norms must be upheld. But managing diversity is fundamentally different from retreating from it.

In an era of intensifying geopolitical competition, openness remains a critical strategic asset. The West’s advantage lies not only in military alliances or economic scale, but in institutional resilience and its capacity to attract, integrate, and retain talent. Civilisational framing, by contrast, risks misdiagnosing this advantage —privileging identity over capability and boundaries over performance. Demographic realities reinforce this point. Many advanced economies face ageing populations. In this context, immigration is not simply a cultural or political issue, but an economic necessity.

Without sustained inflows of sldlled labour and human capital, growth slows, fiscal pressures increase, and innovation ecosystems weaken.

Openness as an advantage

The defining challenges of the 21st century —including AI governance and climate change —further highlight the limits of civilisational thinking. These are problems that cannot be addressed within cultural silos. Against this backdrop, framing global politics in terms of civilisational hierarchy carries risks. It encourages a narrowing of identity at precisely the moment when cooperation and adaptability are essential.

The question, therefore, is not whether identity matters. It dearly does. Societies require shared norms, institutional trust, and continuity. The more important question is whether democracies can manage change without losing confidence in the openness that has sustained their development. The strength of the West has historically rested on its ability to combine stability with adaptation — to absorb new influences while preserving core principles such as the rule of law, individual liberty, and accountable governance.

Therefore, the policy challenge ahead is not to retreat into notions of cultural purity, but to govern openness with clarity and purpose. This requires strengthening integration frameworks and reinforcing institutional trust. It also requires recognising that engagement with other civilisational spaces is not a concession, but a necessity in a globally interconnected world.

In a world of intensifying geopolitical rivalry, it may be tempting to define strength in narrower terms. But doing so risks undertnining one of the West’s most important strategic assets. Openness — disciplined, governed, and anchored in strong institutions — is not a vulnerability. It is a source of sustained advantage.

(Milinda Moragoda –Former Sri Lankan Cabinet Minister, diplomat and the Founder of the Pathfinder Foundation, a strategic affairs think tank. The Hindu – 08, May 2026)

By Milinda Moragoda

Opinion

Palm leaf manuscripts of Sri Lanka – 2

Published

3 days ago

2026/05/15

Thilina Walpola

Ola leaves

Palm leaf manuscripts are now valued as historical documents and collections of palm leaf manuscripts are carefully preserved in libraries, in Sri Lanka and abroad. Most of the palm leaf manuscripts available in these collections date only from the 18th and 19th century. The palm leaf is a perishable item. Manuscripts of an earlier period are rare and are greatly valued.

Sri Lanka has the greatest number of these palm leaf manuscript collections. This indicates the value placed on palm leaf manuscripts in this country. The largest collection in Sri Lanka and possibly in the world, is in the National Museum Library, Colombo. The collection exceeds 5000. It includes the collections of H.C.P. Bell, W.A. de Silva, Ananda Coomaraswamy and E.B Gunaratne as well as the poetry section of the Hugh Neville collection. In 1938, W.A. de Silva prepared a “Catalogue of palm leaf manuscripts in the Library of the Colombo Museum.” This was published by the Museum.

The Museum library has the oldest palm leaf manuscript in the country, the Cullavagga, dated to 13 century. Cullavagga gives an account of the religious life of the sangha and the legal confines of their conduct. The last chapter carries the earliest known account of the Buddhist Great Council at Rajagaha.

The library has a copy of Buddhaghosa’s commentary on Digha nikaya. The cover is of silver embossed with white sapphires. The library has a copy of Sumangala Vilasini , one of the Bodhiwamsa (Ref No 1823) in Sinhala giving the history of the Sri Maha Bodhi, and the Mahavagga, copied by the Peramuna rala of Siyambalapitiya Galboda korale, completed on October 1802 and offered to Malwatte.

The Museum library has approximately 300 medical manuscripts Saddharmaratnavaliya manuscript says that doctors had to be paid for their services and travelling expenses. It said that physicians jealously guarded their knowledge of medicine and kept their prescriptions for medical remedies in safe custody.

University of Peradeniya has the next largest collection of 4000 items. Peradeniya has the UNESCO recognised copy of the Mahavamsa and the 13 century Visuddhi Magga Tika. The library has the de Saram and Hettiarachchy collections and several collections of palm leaf manuscripts donated to it.When I was studying at Peradeniya in the 1960s, the Main Library displayed palm leaf manuscripts and their decorative covers, in a case, upstairs, by the staircase, where the readers would not miss it. That was our introduction to palm leaf manuscripts.

The National Library of Sri Lanka (est. 1990) has a small but distinctive collection of 523 items which include Sinhala vedakam, Sinhala bana katha and Yantra mantra gurukam . It has a rare literary manuscript, Diya Savol Sandeshaya, dated April 26, 1904. It begins with the evocative phrase “Sarada Sarada Somi Paharusamu.” It provides a unique glimpse into the late-modern period of Sinhala literature. The manuscript is in good condition, with beginning and end intact. It measures 50 cm in length.

Other state institutes also have collections. The Institute of Indigenous Medicine, Rajagiriya has 700 palm leaf manuscripts. The collection includes Besajja Manjusa , the oldest medical manuscript in Sri Lanka . The collection also has a very old, valuable manuscript on acupuncture, written in Sinhala. The manuscript is reproduced in full in the book “Palm leaf manuscripts of Sri Lanka” by Sirancee Gunawardana. She comments, it is well illustrated. The human form is drawn clearly and acupuncture points indicated.

There are valuable private collections of palm leaf manuscripts, acquired by knowledgeable collectors. University of Kelaniya has digitised and made available the manuscripts of 13 private collections. The Danton Obeyesekera collection includes an ath-veda-pota containing prescriptions. James D Alwis collection has a copy of the Jataka Atuwa getapadaya. L.S.D Pieris has an extensive collection of Yantra manuscripts and medical manuscripts as well as a copy of the Rajavaliya. It was noted that SWRD Bandaranaike also had a collection of palm leaf manuscripts .

Private collectors seem to have been specially interested in the pansiya panas jataka. K.V.J. de Silva’s collection had a magnificent pansiya panas jataka. The collection assembled by Rohan de Silva and Jacques Soulie at the Suriyakantha Centre for Art & Culture, Handessa, also has on display a palm leaf manuscript of the Jataka stories, dated to late Kandyan period, in exceptional condition. Its clarity of script, leaf preparation, and intact binding show the highest standards of Sri Lankan scribal craftsmanship, the Centre said.

The largest collection in a foreign library (western) is probably the collection in the British Library, London, which has around 2464 Sinhala palm leaf manuscripts . The major portion of this collection is the Hugh Neville collection of 2227 palm leaf manuscripts. Everybody has heard of the Hugh Neville collection and most think that this is the only collection of Sri Lanka palm leaf manuscripts in the world and that we must be grateful to Hugh Neville for collecting them. Some probably think he wrote them. They do not know of the much larger collections in Colombo and Peradeniya.

Hugh Neville (1869 – 1886) came to Sri Lanka during the British period as private secretary to the Chief Justice. He later became an Assistant Government Agent. He travelled across the country collecting palm leaf manuscripts. They were mainly 19 century manuscripts. Hugh Nevill observed that just one in his collection may be 100 years old. I have no copy over 200 years old, he said.[1]

Hugh Neville died in France, but London acquired the palm leaf collection at the instigation of D.M de Z. Wickremasinghe. They were catalogued by K.D. Somadasa and published in seven volumes, titled ‘Catalogue of the Hugh Nevill Collection of Sinhalese manuscripts in the British Library”. The British Library, in 2021, digitized and made freely available online, four Sinhalese palm leaf manuscripts from the Hugh Nevill collections, namely Dighanikaya, Majjhimanikaya and two copies of Mahavamsa.

The libraries of Cambridge and Oxford Universities have Sri Lanka palm leaf manuscripts. Bodleian Library in Oxford has the Mahavamsa manuscript which was used by Turner for his English translation. Jinadasa Liyanaratana has examined some of the manuscripts in Cambridge and has catagloued 24 Sinhala manuscripts of which 6 were medical texts, others were on Buddhism. This was published in Journal of the Pali Text Society, Vol. XVIII, 1993, pp. 131-47[2]

The John Rylands Library, University of Manchester holds over seventy manuscripts from Sri Lanka, “mostly on Theravada in the Pali language in Sinhalese script” . They are probably from the Rhys Davids collection. The manuscripts date from the 17th-19th centuries and include copies made in Sri Lanka for T.W. Rhys Davis. There are complete manuscripts of the Paṭṭhāna-Pakaraṇa and Nettipakaraṇa, which are rare even in Sri Lanka.

There are palm leaf manuscripts at Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, the Azistische Kjust Museum, Amsterdam, and Bavarian State Library in Munich . Paris has the Talapata sent from the Udarata chiefs to Dutch governor Falck. Jinadasa Liyanaratne examined and wrote on the “Sinhalese Medical Manuscripts in Paris” for Bulletin de l’École française d’Extrême-Orient Année 1987 pp. 185-199[3] The Netherlands collection included 135 medical manuscripts.

The palm leaf manuscript collection in the Royal Library, Copenhagen is well known. It was obtained by Rasmus Rask who came to Sri Lanka in 1822 in search of them. The collection was catalogued by C.E. Godakumbure. The catalogue is available in Gunawardene’s “Palm leaf manuscripts of Sri Lanka”(p 339). This collection contains the manuscripts collected by Ven. Kapugama Dharmachandra who lived in Dadalla, Galle. He converted to Christianity and his extensive collection, went to Denmark, said Gunawardana.[4]

Small collections of palm leaf manuscripts are held in various other foreign libraries in the west. Casey Wood, (b 1856) an American ophthalmologist who had in interest in medical research, toured the world after retirement. In Sri Lanka he connected with Andreas Nell, also an eye surgeon, obtained palm leaf manuscripts, mainly medical, which he then donated to institutions and individuals all over North America. At least 50 different recipients have been identified.[5]McGill University has a collection of 27 palm leaf manuscripts gifted by him.[6] The Metropolitan Museum of Art, in New York has one manuscript on display[7]. (To be continued)

[1] Stephne C Berkwitz. Buddhist history in the vernacular. P . 115..

[2] https://hasp.ub.uni-heidelberg.de/journals/jpts/article/view/28096/27490

[3] https://www.persee.fr/doc/befeo_0336-1519_1987_num_76_1_1723

[4] Sirancee Gunawardana Palm leaf manuscripts of Sri Lanka . (1977 )p 1-9, 35,41-43,50,127,129,140-146,248,286-292,339-,

[5] https://findingaids.library.northwestern.edu/repositories/8/resources/1303

[6] https://hiddenhands.ca/sri-lanka-essays/

[7] ps://libmma.contentdm.oclc.org/digital/collection/p16028coll4/id/47247/.

by KAMALIKA PIERIS