Features

VEDDA TRAILS AND TALES

Published

2 years ago

2024/09/1

Thilina Walpola

(Excerpted from Falling Leaves, an anthology of autobiographical tales by LC Arulpragasam)

Vedda Tales

Elephants (apart from sneaky bears!) were the main danger to the Veddas – since they would ravage and destroy their chenas. Their main fear was that they could be ambushed by elephants when in the ‘talawa’ or tall ‘savannah’ grasslands, interspersed only with small trees that offered no safety from elephants. The danger was even greater from a lone bull elephant, injured or ostracized from the herd, which could attack, even if unprovoked.

The first story is from an isolated chena in the jungle, where a lone Vedda from a flimsy platform built on a sturdy tree, tried to scare away a marauding elephant that was destroying his chena crop. Armed only with an old flint-gun with only one ball cartridge, the frightened Vedda discharged his only shot at the elephant. The latter, although severely wounded, charged repeatedly at the tree to which the Vedda hung for dear life. After several attempts to get at his tormentor, the wounded elephant, roaring with rage, retreated into the jungle. But an elephant never forgets! The next time that the hapless Vedda ventured into the jungle, the elephant was waiting for him. It blocked his path – and smashed him into smithereens!

Another story involves a famed elephant ‘charmer’, who was the leader of his clan at Danigala. Whenever a rogue elephant charged, he was reputed to stand his ground unflinchingly, shouting some chant that would cause the elephant to veer away, lumbering harmlessly past him! This always happened – until he committed a grievous sin. During the maha roghe’ of the 1930s (probably the devastating malaria epidemic of that time), his entire clan and family had been wiped out.

He was left alone in his lonely fastness of the Danigala rock with only his 14-year-old daughter. It is then that he committed the unpardonable sin of co-habiting with his own daughter – for which he paid the ultimate price. The very next time that he was confronted with a charging elephant, he put out his chest as was his wont, and unflinchingly shouted out his famous chant. But the elephant did not waver this time. It hurled him many yards away and proceeded to stamp repeatedly on his lifeless body. Thereby hangs a cautionary tale!

A different story illustrates the Veddas’ tenuous hold on life in their daily struggle with the elements. One night in Henebedde, at the height of the monsoon, a terrifying thunderstorm arose, filling the night with thunderous roar, venting winds and livid lightning, tearing down mighty trees and striking terror among the Veddas. Adding to the chaos, terrified animals were stampeding through the hamlet, including a herd of elephants that rampaged through their pathetic huts.

Unfortunately, a terrified baby elephant, having lost its mother in the storm had found its way into one of their huts. While the terrified occupants cowered in the corner, the baby elephant even more terrified, was trumpeting forlornly to its mother. The angry mother looking for its baby smashed the hut down, killing one of the cowering children. I experience the elemental fear of the Veddas even today, in their thoughts of that terrible night!

There is also the famous story of ‘Wallaha’ (the Bear), the famous head of the Henebedde clan, justly famed for his bravery. One day on a jungle trail, he was suddenly attacked by a bear – probably the most dangerous animal in those jungles. It follows the unsuspecting, attacking them when they are most vulnerable. Taken by surprise, ‘Wallaha’, not being able to use his bow and arrow, had to fight the bear with his bare hands.

The struggle lasted for more than two hours, in which the bear gouged out his eye and tore out his right arm. He did, however, manage to kill the bear with his bare hands – for which he was revered for generations with the name ‘Wallaha’ (the Bear). I showed a photograph of ‘Wallaha’ from Seligmann’s book to Kaira his son, now head of the Henebedda clan. Since he had never seen a photo before, he shouted: ‘Wallaha’ – and proceeded proudly to show it off to his entire clan!

The last story pertains to one that I myself had witnessed – in which I almost shared the Veddas’ superstitions of evil spells and spirits! A feud had erupted between the Henebedde clan and the adjoining one that lived across the rivulet that divided their hunting grounds. Things came to a head when the rival clan hired a ‘kattadiya’ (a dealer in evil spirits) from the South to cast a curse and ‘evil eye’ upon them. I remember even to this day (75 years later!), the night of throbbing, obsessive beat of drums, wafted by the winds across the river, sounding a seeming spell on the terrified Veddas cowering over their fires.

The once-familiar jungle now seemed to be closing in on them from all sides, fraught with their fancied fears of foreboding evil, their strangulated faces framed by their flickering fires – with me too succumbing to their fear of evil afoot! None of the families slept that night: neither did I – for the terrifying drums kept throbbing through the night. The next morning, drugged by deprived sleep, we staggered on our way to our next jungle destination. On the way, we heard loud singing and the sound of much laughter – partly to scare away wild animals. But we found that the jolly songs were emanating from the ‘evil’ kattadiya of the previous night! He was actually a very jolly fellow, whose infectious laughter provided us with companionable company. How easily the terrors of the previous night were dissipated and its expected evils extirpated!

My Personal Travails on the Trail

I need to list some of the hardships that I experienced on this trek, since it is germane to my story. First, we only ate the frugal food that the Veddas shared with us – for we had thrown away our supplies, which weighed a ton after a 12-15 mile walk every other day. Secondly, although we were supposed to boil our drinking water, we could not even find water to boil! In fact, we had to dig deep with our hands in dry riverbeds to collect even a few drops of dirty water.

No wonder, I developed severe dysentery! Moreover, I had to wear the same khaki shirt and trousers for three months in the jungle, able to wash them only when we found any rock pool or watering hole! Fourthly, by walking about 12-15 miles every other day, I was forced to cut big blisters on the soles of my feet every night with an un-boiled blade – only to walk the next morning on the newly-cut blisters! Meanwhile, I had developed severe dysentery (passing blood) by drinking dirty water, with accompanying back aches due to weakness. I had also grown a long beard – which I had not been able to shave for over three months!

Meanwhile, we discovered that we had walked off our maps of the Uva Province and were in fact going farther into the Eastern Province – which had not been our intention! I therefore decided to try to reach Inginiyagala (some 27 miles away) for medical treatment for my debilitating dysentery. But walking into Inginiyagala from the jungle in 1951, we found only massive jungle-clearing by massive machinery and a boom town straight out of the American Wild West – since the dam was under construction by American contractors. We could not even find a town centre or any professional – least of all, a doctor. Not having any money, I had to return to the jungle without treatment.

Our immediate concern, however, was that we had no food to eat, nor any place to sleep – nor any money, which was a necessity in this American boom town! Fortunately, our Vedda led us to a garbage dump where I greedily gobbled down food (we had not eaten all day) thrown away by labourers into the garbage bin; I knew only that my dysentery couldn’t get any worse!! However, I now faced the gruelling prospect of walking back about 90 miles to our original starting point, which was Bibile, in the Badulla District. I gritted my teeth and accomplished this task too, using my rifle as a haramitiya or old man’s stick!

But worse was still to come! I had left all my money with a school teacher in Bibile, since I had no use for it in the jungle. The teacher now apologized that he had spent (gambled) it all away; promising profusely to pay me back in instalments over the next two years! But I needed the money immediately to pay for medical treatment – and to catch a train back to Colombo for hospitalization! Desperate now, I used my last 12 cents to buy a bus ticket to Padiyatalawa (In hindsight, I realize my folly now: I was trying to work my way always towards Colombo, where I needed to get into the hospital).

I had no money – not even to eat. I somehow managed to reach an Apothecary’s clinic, somewhere in the jungle near Padiyatalawa. It was night time now –and the clinic was closed. When I shouted for help, a shuttered window slowly opened, and a double-barrel gun poked out – for it was a lonely place in the jungle. I shouted in English that I was a Lecturer in the University – to show that I was not a bandit! At last, however, Providence smiled upon me.

By an absolute and unbelievable stroke of luck, this Apothecary had worked under my father, a medical doctor, whom he greatly admired. He said that he had never worked under a better boss, nor ever met a more decent gentleman than my father! He welcomed me into his house. After giving me to eat (I had not eaten since morning), he attended to my medical needs. He even advanced me money for a 3^rd Class train ticket to Colombo – as a low-paid Apothecary, he could not afford more. Tears come to my eyes (even after 75 years!) as I write this: for the providence that led me by chance to this forsaken place, where only the merit of my father saved me. I had neither the physical strength nor the financial means to go any farther! This was the lowest and most helpless position that I had reached in my entire life!

However, even more bad news awaited me in Colombo! Whereas I had been promised a post in the Sociology Faculty of the University, I found that the Vice-Chancellor (Sir Ivor Jennings) had now decided not to advertise the post that year. I was thus forced to sit for the Civil Service Examination – which was only two to three months away. Being absolutely sick with dysentery, I was forced despairingly to cram around the clock to face that examination. It is with luck that I managed to pass first in the CCS exam. of that year (1951).

In the Jungles of Wellassa-Bintenne

In 1950/51, when I was still in the University, I undertook a sociological survey of the Veddas living in the jungles of Wellassa and Bintenne in the Badulla District, as part of my University studies in Sociology. Mr. Cuda Bibile, a University colleague, accompanied me. The only authoritative study of the Veddas at that time had been done by Dr. C. Seligmann, a German anthropologist in 1911. In the course of our survey, we covered on foot about 250 miles through savannah-type grasslands in Wellassa and through thick jungles in Bintenne, visiting places where only Seligman and Dr. R.L. Spittel had been before.

We set out with a survey map dating from the 1930s of the scattered Vedda settlements. But the Veddas were hunter-gatherers, and their ‘hamlets’ had migrated over time along with their chena (swidden) fields, which moved every two years. Only sometimes knowing where we were, we ultimately found that we had walked off our maps of Wellassa and Bintenne in the Uva Province to Inginiyagala in the Batticaloa district of the Eastern Province! We trekked over a period of three months during the hottest time of the year, June-August, in the dry zone.

I carried a rusty old rifle (abandoned by the British Army after World War II), which I bought for the equivalent of US $ 2 off the Pettah pavement. This was to serve as protection against wild animals, as well as for foraging for food. But we found that it was impractical to shoot any game for food, since we had to carry the animal for the next fifteen miles until we reached our next destination. We also jettisoned our supplies because they weighed a ton by the end of each long day of walking!

We went into the jungle with no money – because there was no use for cash (only barter) in the forest. Since we had nothing to barter, we lived entirely on the charity of the poor Vedda families that we encountered. We would get a Vedda from one hamlet to walk with us for the ten to fifteen miles a day to reach the next little hamlet. These were not even ‘hamlets’ in the true sense of the term, since they consisted of only five to seven pathetic huts made of tree bark and leaves which moved, following the Veddas’ chena (slash and burn) cycle. We would spend about two to three days in each settlement, learning about their way of life and listening to their ancestral stories before moving on to the next settlement. In this manner, we covered the Vedda settlements of Dambana, Danigala, Henebedde, Bingoda and Mullegama over a period of three months.

Elephants were always a problem, especially in the ‘savanna’ grasslands of Wellassa. Sometimes on our walk of 10-20 miles each day, we would encounter a herd of elephants, sometimes up to fifteen or more, right across our way. Since this was open grassland, interspersed only with small trees that could easily be knocked down by elephants, we could not afford to be seen or scented by them. Our Vedda ‘tracker’ would always position us down-wind from the elephants, so that they could not scent us. But this meant lying in the grass sometimes for two hours, baked by the merciless sun, hoping that the herd would move on. We were always apprehensive that we would be benighted in the jungle, unable to reach our next destination before nightfall.

Life Among the Veddas

The Veddas in Seligmann’s time (1911) lived almost entirely on hunting and gathering. They shot game with their bows and arrows, gathered honey from the caves and trees as well as herbs and roots from the forest. By 1950, part of their time was devoted to chena (swidden) cultivation, which involved about four months’ work in felling and burning the forest in the dry season; they sowed their grains (mostly maize and millet) and planted their manioc (cassava) with the first rains. They continued their hunting and gathering at the same time, which continued to define their way of life.

Most of the Vedda settlements consisted of only five to eight households, all of them closely related. The group in Henebedde lived in a small clearing in the jungle, bounded by a perennial stream. Their huts were small, measuring only about 9 x 9 feet, with sides of bark and roofs of leaves. They only had one opening for the entrance, but no door or windows. They shared this limited space with their family, their hearth and their hunting dogs. Since there was no room in Kaira, their leader’s hut, I was allowed to sleep halfway through the door, with the choice of having either my head or my protruding toes being chewed by pesky bears!

Although the Veddas had their own language, which was still in use in Seligmann’s time, it was hardly used at the time of our visit in 1950. Like all the clans living in the area, they spoke Sinhala as their main language, even at home among themselves. However, as we walked eastward into what we later found was Bintenne Pattu of the Batticaloa district, we found that Tamil replaced Sinhalese as the main medium of communication.

We set out with a survey map dating from the 1930s that was supposed to mark the scattered Vedda settlements. But the latter were not to be found where they were supposed to be. The Veddas were hunter-gatherers, who lived partly by chena (slash and burn) cultivation. Hence their ‘hamlets’ had migrated along with their chena fields. We ultimately found that we had walked off our maps of Wellassa and Bintenne Pattus in the Uva Province, finding ourselves at Inginiyagala in the Eastern Province! We must have covered around 250 miles on foot over a period of three months, during the hottest time of the year, July-August, in the dry zone.

I carried a rusty old 303 rifle, which I had bought for the equivalent of US $2 off the pavement from old army surplus, sold as junk after World War II. I found later that it was completely cock-eyed, hitting one coconut tree while I was aiming at another coconut tree! But I reckoned that I could shoot a charging elephant at close range! The rifle was supposed to serve as protection against wild animals and foraging for food.

But we found that we could not shoot any animal for food since we had to carry it for the 12-15 miles to reach our next destination. Since we were supposed to cook our own food, we set out with some rice and dhal and a pan for cooking. However, we jettisoned our supplies within three days because they weighed a ton by the end of each walking day! We were also supposed to boil our water before drinking; but we could not even find water to boil! Since we were at the height of the dry season in the dry zone, we had to dig two to three feet with our bare hands in dry river-beds in order to find even a bit of black-coloured water to drink. No wonder that I got severe dysentery!

We went into the jungle with no money since there was no use for cash, but only barter, in the forest. Hence we lived entirely on the charity of the poor Vedda families that we visited. We would eat only what the Veddas ate – which was a kurrakanthalape (boiled kurakkan ball with a green chillie on top). We would get a ‘tracker’ from one hamlet to walk with us for the 12-15 miles needed to reach the next little hamlet. These were not even hamlets in the true sense of the term, since they consisted of only five to seven pathetic huts made of tree bark and leaves. Thus, we covered the Vedda settlements of Dambana, Danigala, Henebedde, Bingoda and Mullegama, over a period of three months.

Elephants were always a problem, especially in the savanna-type grasslands of Wellassa. Sometimes on our walk of 12-15 miles each day to a different settlement, we would encounter a herd of elephants (sometimes up to fifteen or more) right across our way. Since this was open grassland, interspersed with small trees that could easily be knocked down by elephants, we could not afford to be seen or scented by them. Since their sense of smell is strong, our vedda ‘tracker’ would always position us down-wind from them. But this meant lying in the grass for two hours or more, baked by the merciless sun, hoping that the herd would move away. We were always apprehensive that we would be benighted in the jungle, leaving us a prey to wild animals.

The Veddas in Seligmann’s time lived almost entirely on hunting and gathering. They shot game with their bows and arrows, gathered honey from the caves and trees, as well as herbs and roots from the forest. By the time of our visit, however, part of their time was devoted to chena cultivation. This involved about three months’ work in felling and burning the forest in the dry season and sowing their grains (mostly maize and millet) and manioc (cassava) with the first rains. They of course continued their hunting and gathering, which still continued to define their way of life.

Most of the Vedda settlements consisted of only five to eight households, all of them closely related. Their huts were small, measuring only about nine by nine feet, with sides of bark and roofs of leaves or talawa/ grass. They only had one opening for the entrance, but no door or windows. They shared this limited space with their family, their hearth and their hunting dogs. In the course of these travels, we spent three days in the settlement of Henebedde.

The group at Henebedde lived in a small clearing in the jungle, bounded by a perennial stream, which provided their water supply. The ‘hamlet’ comprised only seven or eight families, with Kaira as their head. He gave me shelter at night in his own hut, made only of bark and leaves. Since his hut was crowded with his family and hunting dogs; this left me with the choice of leaving either my head or my toes outside the hut – to be possibly nibbled by bears at night! We ate only what the family ate, which was cassava or sometimes kurakkan talappe (moist balls of ground millets), eaten with only a green chillie.

While at Henebedde, I showed Kaira a picture from Seligmann’s book (published in 1911) of the Vedda chief at that time. Kaira, who probably had not seen a photo before, was astounded to see a picture of his own father, the chief at that time: ‘Wallaha’! he cried. His father was named ‘Wallaha’ (‘Bear’) because he had fought and killed a bear with his bare hands, despite the fact that the bear had gouged out his eye and torn out one arm. We depended on Kaira’s protection, food and hospitality for three days, before going on to other Vedda settlements.

Although the Veddas had their own language, which was still in use in Seligmann’s time, it was hardly used at the time of our visit in 1951. Like all the clans living in the area, they spoke Sinhala as their main language, even at home among themselves. However, as we walked eastward into what we later found was Bintenne Pattu of the Eastern Province, we found that Tamil replaced Sinhalese as the main medium of communication. Of course when the Veddas came into town for barter, they used their own language, partly to prevent others from understanding their conversation, but partly as a ‘show’ to get money from strangers who had never seen Veddas before!

(More on the Veddahs next week)

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Features

Power crept into the Sangha and is now tearing it apart

Published

20 hours ago

2026/06/5

Thilina Walpola

A file photo of Buddhist monks engaged in a protest

For more than a century, Sri Lankan society has lived with a quiet contradiction at the heart of its religious life. On the one hand, the Buddhist monk is revered as the embodiment of moral discipline, selfrestraint, and renunciation. On the other, the modern monk has become a public figure, political actor, administrator, media personality, and in some cases power broker whose influence extends far beyond the temple. This contradiction has been tolerated, even celebrated, for decades. But recent events, most notably a widely publicised case involving a senior monk accused of grave moral misconduct, have forced the country to confront a painful truth: the institutional conditions that make such scandals possible are not new. They are the predictable outcome of a long historical process that H. L. Seneviratne described with remarkable clarity in The Work of Kings. The moral deterioration visible today is not an aberration. It is the culmination of a centurylong transformation in the identity, function, and authority of the Sangha.

To understand how we arrived at this moment, it is necessary to revisit the argument Seneviratne made nearly three decades ago. His thesis was simple but profound: the modern Sri Lankan monkhood has taken on the ‘work of kings.’ By this he meant that monks, instead of confining themselves to the renunciant life prescribed by the Vinaya, have assumed the secular responsibilities once associated with precolonial kingship, such as protecting the religion, organising society, guiding the nation, and enforcing moral order. This shift, he argued, was not a natural evolution of Buddhist tradition but a modern invention shaped by colonialism, nationalism, and the anxieties of a society struggling to redefine itself in the face of foreign domination. The monk became a symbol of national identity, a guardian of cultural authenticity, and a leader in the struggle for political autonomy. In the process, the boundaries that once separated the monastic from the worldly began to dissolve.

Transformation

The consequences of this transformation were not immediately visible. For decades, the activist monk was celebrated as a patriot, a reformer, and a moral guide. His involvement in education, social welfare, and nationalist mobilisation was seen as a necessary response to colonial pressures and missionary competition. But beneath the surface, the foundations of monastic discipline were slowly eroding. The Vinaya, which had served for centuries as a rigorous framework for regulating monastic life, was increasingly overshadowed by the demands of public engagement. The communal structures that once ensured accountability, senior supervision, collective confession, and the daily rhythms of monastic routine, were weakened by the pressures of modernity. Monks who travelled constantly, managed institutions, or lived independently in urban temples found themselves outside the traditional systems of oversight that had long protected the integrity of the Sangha.

Scandal

It is within this historical context that the recent scandal must be understood. The case shocked the nation not only because of the severity of the allegations but because it shattered the public’s assumption that the monkhood remains a bastion of moral purity. Yet the shock itself reveals a collective denial. For years, Sri Lankan society has been aware, sometimes quietly, sometimes openly—of the growing gap between the ideal of the monk and the realities of modern monastic life. Stories of misconduct, financial irregularities, political manipulation, and abuse of authority have circulated with increasing frequency. But each incident has been treated as an isolated failure, a personal weakness, or an unfortunate exception. What has been missing is recognition that these incidents are symptoms of a deeper structural problem.

Seneviratne’s analysis helps illuminate this problem. When monks take on the work of kings, they inevitably enter domains of power that expose them to temptations the Vinaya was designed to avoid. Handling money, managing institutions, cultivating political patrons, and exercising authority over laypeople create opportunities for ego, ambition, and moral compromise. The monk who becomes a public figure is no longer shielded by the anonymity and humility of the renunciant life. Instead, he becomes a celebrity, a leader, and in some cases an object of uncritical devotion. This elevation brings with it a dangerous form of immunity. Laypeople who revere a monk for his public achievements may hesitate to question his behaviour. Politicians who rely on monastic support may protect him from scrutiny. The media, which often treats monks as moral authorities, may be reluctant to investigate allegations that challenge the sanctity of the robe.

The recent scandal illustrates how these dynamics can converge. The monk at the centre of the case was not an obscure figure. He was a respected preacher, charismatic leader, and head of a prominent institution. His public image was built on years of service, teaching, and community engagement. Yet it was precisely this public stature that allowed him to operate without meaningful oversight. The institutional structures around him, administrators, lay supporters, and junior monks, were either unwilling or unable to challenge his authority. The very qualities that made him a respected figure in the eyes of the public also made him untouchable within his own institution. When allegations finally emerged, they revealed not only personal wrongdoing but a systemic failure of accountability.

Failure that is not unique

This failure is not unique to one temple or one monk. It reflects a broader pattern within the modern Sangha. As monastic institutions have grown in size, wealth, and influence, their internal governance has struggled to keep pace. Many temples operate as semiautonomous entities controlled by a single monk or a small group of monks. Financial transparency is limited, administrative oversight is weak, and the mechanisms for addressing misconduct are often informal or ineffective. The traditional structures of monastic discipline, such as the Sangharama procedures for adjudicating offences, are rarely used in modern contexts, partly because they require collective participation and partly because they are illsuited to the complexities of contemporary institutional life. In practice, this means that monks who wield significant authority can act with little fear of internal sanction.

The politicisation of the Sangha has further complicated matters. Since the midtwentieth century, monks have played an increasingly prominent role in electoral politics, nationalist movements, and public policy debates. This involvement has given them access to political networks that can be mobilised to protect their interests. It has also created a culture in which monks are valued not for their adherence to the Vinaya but for their ability to influence public opinion, mobilise voters, or lend moral legitimacy to political causes. In such an environment, the monk who is politically useful may be shielded from criticism, while the monk who adheres strictly to the renunciant ideal may find himself marginalised or ignored.

The result is a profound distortion of monastic identity. The monk who once sought liberation from worldly attachments is now encouraged to cultivate influence, authority, and public recognition. The monk who once lived under the strict supervision of senior elders now operates in a world where independence is celebrated and oversight is minimal. The monk who once relied on laypeople for basic sustenance now controls vast resources, manages institutions, and commands the loyalty of thousands of followers. This inversion of traditional roles has created a fertile ground for moral deterioration.

Yet it would be a mistake to interpret this deterioration as evidence that the Sangha as a whole is corrupt. Many monks continue to live lives of remarkable discipline, humility, and spiritual dedication. In remote forest monasteries, small village temples, and meditation centres across the country, monks quietly uphold the ancient ideals of the renunciant life. They are not the ones who appear on television, lead political rallies, or manage large institutions. Their work is invisible, their influence subtle, and their commitment unwavering. The crisis facing the Sangha today is not a crisis of individual morality but a crisis of institutional identity. It is the product of a centurylong transformation that has blurred the boundaries between the monastic and the secular, the spiritual and the political, the renunciant and the worldly.

If Sri Lanka is to address this crisis, it must begin by acknowledging the structural nature of the problem. The temptation to treat each scandal as an isolated incident must be resisted. Instead, the country must confront the uncomfortable reality that the modern configuration of monastic life is fundamentally at odds with the principles of the Vinaya. The Sangha cannot simultaneously function as a political force, a social service provider, a media institution, and a spiritual community without compromising its integrity. The more monks are drawn into the world, the more vulnerable they become to the moral dangers that the Buddha warned against.

Reform, therefore, must focus not only on punishing individual offenders but on rethinking the institutional structures that enable misconduct. This includes strengthening internal governance, enhancing financial transparency, restoring the authority of senior elders, and reestablishing the communal practices that once ensured accountability. It also requires a broader cultural shift in how laypeople relate to monks. Blind devotion must give way to informed respect. Reverence must be balanced with responsibility. The robe must be honoured, but it must not be used as a shield against scrutiny.

Seneviratne’s work offers a valuable starting point for this rethinking. His analysis reminds us that the crisis facing the Sangha is not the result of moral decline alone but of historical forces that reshaped the identity of the monkhood. By tracing the evolution of the activist monk, he shows how the Sangha became entangled in the political and social structures of the modern nationstate. This entanglement has brought both benefits and dangers. It has allowed monks to play important roles in education, social welfare, and national development. But it has also exposed them to the corrupting influences of power, wealth, and public acclaim.

The challenge now is to disentangle the Sangha from these influences without undermining its ability to serve society. This will not be easy. The activist monk has become deeply embedded in the cultural and political fabric of the country. Many laypeople expect monks to be leaders, reformers, and guardians of national identity. Politicians rely on monastic support to legitimise their agendas. Media institutions depend on monks for content, commentary, and moral authority. Reversing this trend will require a collective effort from monks, laypeople, and political leaders alike.

Ultimately, the future of the Sangha depends on its ability to reclaim the renunciant ideal that lies at the heart of Buddhist monasticism. This does not mean withdrawing from society entirely, but it does mean reestablishing the boundaries that protect the monk from the dangers of worldly involvement. It means recognising that the true strength of the Sangha lies not in its political influence or institutional power but in its moral authority, its spiritual discipline, and its commitment to the path of liberation. The recent scandal, painful as it is, may serve as a catalyst for this reevaluation. It has exposed the vulnerabilities of the modern monastic system and forced the country to confront the consequences of a centurylong transformation.

To understand how the Vihara Devalegam Act relates to the perceived moral deformation of the clergy, it is necessary to examine how property management, state law, and monastic discipline intersect in the modern era. Historically stemming from the Buddhist Temporalities Ordinance No. 19 of 1931, this act serves as the primary legal framework governing the ‘temporalities’—meaning the secular wealth, extensive landholdings, and material donations belonging to Buddhist temples and shrines. While ancient kings granted these vast tracts of land to support the monkhood’s spiritual pursuits, the modern codification of this law has inadvertently fostered a system where property rights frequently supersede spiritual accountability.

The core of the crisis lies in the commercialisation of the monastic order that this legal framework enables. By treating temple lands as economic assets and vesting absolute administrative power in individual chief monks or lay trustees, the act has contributed to the rise of what critics term a monastic middle class. Access to vast, unregulated financial resources, rent from lands, and corporate donations has fundamentally shifted the focus of certain segments of the clergy away from the traditional path of worldly renunciation and spiritual guidance. Instead, it has driven a preoccupation with business investments, the accumulation of private capital, and luxury lifestyles, which deeply alienates a public looking to the Sangha for moral leadership.

The institutional flaws embedded in the Vihara Devalegam Act find a stark, real-world manifestation in the recent criminal case involving Venerable Pallegama Hemarathana Thero. As the chief priest of Anuradhapura and the custodian of the Atamasthana—the eight highly venerated Buddhist shrines, including the sacred Jaya Sri Maha Bodhi—Hemarathana Thero occupied one of the most powerful and wealthy positions within the Sri Lankan Sangha. His arrest on charges of sexual abuse of a minor girl perfectly illustrates how the structural defects of the Act facilitate not only moral decay but also the systemic obstruction of justice.

The core of this intersection lies in the vast, unaccountable wealth generated by the temporalities of the Anuradhapura shrines. Under the Vihara Devalegam Act, the chief custodian exercises immense, virtually unchecked control over temple revenues, state-backed land management, and millions of rupees in daily donations from millions of global pilgrims. It is precisely this immense financial liquidity that enabled the alleged deployment of vast sums of money to the victim’s family.

Furthermore, the situation underscores the profound policy failures cited regarding the helplessness of the monastic hierarchy and state enforcement. When child protection authorities initially attempted to act, the National Child Protection Authority noted severe delays and institutional resistance, stating they practically had to force the police to execute the arrest. The monk’s immediate retreat to a private hospital in Colombo upon the advancement of the criminal probe, followed by his release on bail, mirrors the exact loop described where wealthy monastics deploy high-priced legal defence teams funded directly or indirectly by their institutional positions. Because the Vihara Devalegam Act does not provide a mechanism for the immediate, unconditional forfeiture of temporal administrative rights upon a criminal indictment, the accused retains his structural power throughout the legal process. The Pallegama Thero scandal stands as definitive proof that without a fundamental overhaul of how temple wealth is legally governed and disciplined, the material benefits guaranteed by ancient temporalities will continue to shield the worst elements of moral deformation from the rule of law.

If Sri Lanka can learn from this moment and if it can recognise the structural roots of the crisis and commit to meaningful reform, then the Sangha may yet emerge stronger, more disciplined, and more faithful to its ancient ideals. But if the country continues to treat each scandal as an isolated failure and if it continues to ignore the deeper institutional problems that Seneviratne identified, then the moral deterioration we see today will only deepen. The work of kings, when performed by monks, carries a heavy price. It is time to decide whether that price is worth paying.

by Professor Amarasiri de Silva

Features

Kondachchi wind farm and battery storage project to boost energy security, says Power Ministry Secretary

Published

21 hours ago

2026/06/5

Thilina Walpola

The Power and Energy Ministry’s drive towards energy security and renewable energy expansion received a major boost yesterday with the signing of a tripartite cooperation agreement for the development of the 150 MW Kondachchi Wind Power Project and an integrated Battery Energy Storage System (BESS) in Mannar.

The agreement was signed at the Ministry of Power auditorium under the patronage of Power Minister Anura Karunatilaka and Deputy Power Minister Arkam Ilyas.

Speaking at the event, Ministry Secretary G. M. R. D. Aponsu described the project as a transformative investment that would strengthen the country’s electricity network while supporting Sri Lanka’s transition towards cleaner energy sources.

“The Kondachchi Wind Power Project represents a significant milestone in Sri Lanka’s renewable energy journey. By combining large-scale wind generation with advanced battery energy storage technology, we are creating a more resilient and reliable power system capable of meeting future energy demands while reducing dependence on imported fossil fuels,” Aponsu said.

The project will be developed at Silavathurai in the Kondachchi area of Mannar on lands owned by the Sri Lanka Cashew Corporation. It is expected to utilise some 31 modern wind turbines with a total installed capacity of at least 150 MW.

Aponsu said the inclusion of an integrated battery storage facility would help address the variability associated with wind power generation and ensure stable electricity supply to the national grid.

“The battery energy storage component is a key feature of this project. It will enable the efficient integration of renewable energy into the grid and enhance overall system stability, which is essential as Sri Lanka increases the share of renewables in its energy mix,” he said.

According to the Ministry, the wind farm is expected to generate nearly 525 gigawatt-hours of electricity annually, significantly reducing the country’s expenditure on imported fuel and strengthening national energy security.

The project is also expected to contribute to Sri Lanka’s climate commitments by reducing carbon dioxide emissions by an estimated 372,750 tonnes annually.

“This investment delivers both economic and environmental benefits. It will reduce greenhouse gas emissions, support sustainable development objectives and help Sri Lanka move closer to achieving its renewable energy and climate targets,” Aponsu noted.

The project will be implemented under a Public-Private Partnership (PPP) arrangement using the Build, Own and Operate (BOO) model. The Asian Development Bank is providing technical and financial advisory support through its Transaction Advisory Services programme.

The signing ceremony was attended by Pradeep Perera, Chairman of the National System Operator (Pvt) Ltd., and Takeyo Koike, Head of Market Development and Public-Private Partnership Division of the ADB, among other distinguished guests.

The Ministry said comprehensive Environmental Impact Assessments and avifaunal studies have been undertaken to ensure minimal impacts on bird populations, nearby communities and agricultural lands. A dedicated 220-kilovolt transmission system will also be constructed to connect the project to the national grid.

“The Kondachchi Wind Farm is a strategic national project that will help secure Sri Lanka’s energy future while accelerating the country’s transition towards sustainable and affordable electricity generation,” Aponsu said.

Energy sector experts view the project as one of the most important renewable energy initiatives currently being pursued in Sri Lanka, combining utility-scale wind generation with modern energy storage technology to enhance grid reliability and long-term energy sustainability.

By Ifham Nizam

Features

Saudi Arabia sets new benchmark in Hajj management as 1.7 million pilgrims complete sacred journey

Published

21 hours ago

2026/06/5

Thilina Walpola

Ambassador Al-Kahtani

Interview with Khalid Hamoud Al-Kahtani, Ambassador of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia to Sri Lanka

Saudi Arabia has once again demonstrated its unparalleled capacity to manage one of the world’s largest annual religious gatherings, with this year’s Hajj pilgrimage concluding successfully despite extreme temperatures and the immense logistical challenge of accommodating more than 1.7 million pilgrims from around the world.

In an exclusive interview with The Island, Khalid Hamoud Al-Kahtani, Ambassador of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia to Sri Lanka, described the 2026 Hajj season as a resounding success, crediting the achievement to the visionary leadership of the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques, His Royal Highness the Crown Prince and Prime Minister, and the coordinated efforts of multiple government agencies working around the clock to serve pilgrims.

The Ambassador noted that nearly 3,500 Sri Lankan pilgrims participated in this year’s Hajj under the quota allocated to Sri Lanka, benefiting from enhanced healthcare services, sophisticated crowd-management systems, expanded shaded areas and cutting-edge digital solutions introduced by the Kingdom.

With Saudi Arabia continuing to invest heavily in infrastructure, technology and pilgrim services under Vision 2030, Ambassador Al-Kahtani said the Kingdom remains committed to ensuring that pilgrims from around the world perform their religious duties in safety, comfort and tranquility.

The Saudi envoy also highlighted the growing partnership between Saudi Arabia and Sri Lanka, emphasising expanding cooperation not only in Hajj affairs but also in trade, investment, education, culture and institutional exchanges.

Following are excerpts of the interview:

Q: How do you assess this year’s Hajj season?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: This year’s Hajj season was a resounding success, thanks to the Almighty Allah and the integrated efforts of the government of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, led by the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques and His Royal Highness the Crown Prince and Prime Minister. This success was reflected in the efficiency of crowd management, the quality of services provided to the Hajj pilgrims and the effective coordination among the various relevant authorities, which enabled pilgrims to perform their rituals in an atmosphere of security, tranquility and ease.

Q: How many Sri Lankan pilgrims performed Hajj this year?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: The number of Hajj pilgrims from the Democratic Socialist Republic of Sri Lanka reached approximately 3,500, within the quota allocated to Sri Lanka for this season.

Q: Are there any discussions regarding increasing Sri Lanka’s quota in the future?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani:Hajj quotas are determined according to approved regulatory mechanisms that take into account a range of considerations. The relevant authorities in the Kingdom continue to study various aspects related to developing Hajj services and accommodating the allocated numbers for all countries, in coordination with the concerned parties.

Q: What were the most prominent special arrangements implemented this year?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: The operational plans for this season focused on enhancing the safety and comfort of the Hajj pilgrims, especially given the climatic conditions and high temperatures. Measures included expanding shaded areas, increasing water distribution points and enhancing health and ambulance services, in addition to developing the transportation system and traffic management within the holy sites.

Q: What are the most prominent digital systems and smart services that were provided?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani:The Kingdom continues to implement its digital transformation objectives for the Hajj and Umrah system. The scope of electronic services offered through the Nusuk platform and application has been expanded, along with the development of digital systems for issuing permits, managing crowds, guidance and health services. This contributes to increasing the efficiency of services and improving the pilgrim’s experience at all stages of their journey.

Q: How were the challenges of overcrowding and heat addressed?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: The relevant authorities adopted an integrated crowd-management system based on modern technologies and real-time data analysis. This was coupled with intensified health-awareness campaigns, expanded organised movement routes and increased deployment of field, medical and emergency teams. These measures support the safety of the Hajj pilgrims and reduce the risks associated with crowd density and climatic conditions.

Q: Were there special services for the elderly and sick?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: Yes. The Kingdom paid special attention to the elderly and people with special health needs by providing specialized medical services, assistive transportation and facilities equipped to meet their needs, in addition to field teams working to provide humanitarian support and necessary healthcare throughout the Hajj period.

Q: How successful was the Kingdom in combating irregular Hajj permits?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: The relevant authorities in the Kingdom continued to rigorously implement the regulations and instructions governing Hajj, utilising modern technologies and advanced monitoring procedures to reduce violations related to irregular Hajj. These efforts contributed to enhancing the safety of pilgrims, improving crowd-management efficiency and maintaining the smooth flow of movement within the holy sites.

Q: How would you describe Saudi-Sri Lankan cooperation in organising Hajj?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: Cooperation between the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and the Republic of Sri Lanka is characterised by continuous and constructive coordination in all matters related to Hajj. The relevant authorities in both countries work jointly to ensure the provision of the best services for Sri Lankan pilgrims and enable them to perform their rituals with ease and peace of mind.

Q: How many Hajj pilgrims were there globally, and what were the main challenges?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: According to official statistics, the number of Hajj pilgrims this year reached 1,707,301 from various countries around the world. The main challenges included managing large crowds, ensuring public safety and providing health, transportation and accommodation services within a specific geographical and temporal scope. These challenges were addressed through advanced and integrated operational plans, which contributed to the smooth and successful completion of the Hajj season.

Q: Are there any future expansion projects?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: The Kingdom continues to implement strategic development projects within the framework of Vision 2030, including developing the infrastructure in Makkah and the Holy Sites, and enhancing transportation networks and smart services. This contributes to raising the quality of services provided to pilgrims and Umrah performers and improving their long-term experience.

Q: How are Saudi-Sri Lankan relations strengthened outside the context of Hajj?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: Relations between the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and the Republic of Sri Lanka are witnessing continuous development in many areas, including political, economic, trade, cultural and educational cooperation, in addition to developing exchanges between institutions and the private sector. This reflects the two countries’ keenness to strengthen the bilateral partnership and achieve common interests.

Q: What message would you like to convey to Sri Lankan Muslims?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: We extend our sincere congratulations to the Hajj pilgrims who have completed their Hajj rituals, and we ask Almighty Allah to accept their pilgrimage. We also assure Muslims in Sri Lanka that the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia places serving the Two Holy Mosques and the guests of Almighty Allah at the forefront of its priorities and continues to develop the Hajj and Umrah system to achieve the highest standards of quality and safety.

By Ifham Nizam