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Wevas, large and small

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The Dry Zone is my favourite place in Sri Lanka and, I dare add, in the whole wide world. The coasts with the restless or restful sea dashing or serenely washing the sands; the cool of the central hills with their brilliant greens and splashes of colour; even the yellow sands dotted by tall palmyrah palms cannot beat the bright sparkle of early morning in the Dry Zone nor the soft, faintly purple dusk followed by the brilliance of masses of pinpoints of light in the darkening sky; soon to be followed by a huge moon shedding silver. It’s an entirely different air one breathes, and if in one of the ancient cities, or in sight of the rising dagobas and spreading bo trees, the spirit is uplifted and one feels proud to be Sri Lankan.

Of these favourite places, I most love to be near are the wewas – some of them minor seas, others whose boundaries can be discerned and a few which are no more than large ponds, covered with lotus. It is exhilarating to drive or walk along a wewa bund. Just as the wide expanse of softy waved water fascinates, so does the luscious green vegetation on the other side.

I know how, where, when and by whom this love for wewas was bred in me: around age 10 when the brother just older than me and I holidayed with my eldest brother – the Divisional Revenue Officer of Demala Hath Pattu, a Kandyan District. He lived and had his office in Anamaduwa. There was a large wewa on one edge of the very small township of a couple of ‘kades’ and a kerosene shed. We never bathed there; too public, So it was a trudge in the evenings through forest to a small, dark wewa. The initial tentative steps in the water were tremulous and fearful since no bottom was seen. But with two brothers and one strong Haramanis to rush to the rescue, I was soon completely aquatic.

This bathing wewa among the trees and bushes must have been a ‘huluwewa’ or ‘kuluwewa’. I came across the name in a recent newspaper article, but I did not note the name, hence the doubt about it. These small reservoirs tucked in the forests were constructed in ancient times for the use of man and beast thanks to the consideration of our ancient kings for remote villagers and animals of the jungle, while also constructing marvels of irrigation technology.

Input from history

Sir Henry Parker, English engineer who worked in Ceylon in the mid 19th century when the British ruled us, studied the wewas and the marvels of our ancient irrigation system, leaving us much know-how. He said as one whose duties permitted him to gain an intimate acquaintance with the ancient works: “I have never concealed my admiration of the engineering knowledge of the designers of the great irrigation schemes of Ceylon and the skills with which they constructed the works.”

According to him the origin of the wewa was in the Euphrates civilization from where it came to India and then to Ceylon with the Aryans. This is also supposedly in line with the writings of the Mahawamsa. However he commends as a special feat the construction genius of the Sinhalese in the formation of all reservoirs with embankments much higher than those of simple village tanks; great earthen bunds, often some miles in length across many valleys thus intercepting the flow of streams and storing water during the rainy seasons, forming immense sheets of water in reservoirs.

Most of our great kings and leaders (D S Senanayake) are remembered for the gifts of wewas constructed in their day and under their patronage comparable to the patronage they gave Buddhism. “It was the wewa that sustained cultivation which produced enough food for everyone and a healthy population. Some kings have been deified for building wewas, and legend has it that the spirits of others still protect the wewas and anicuts they caused to be built. However it is sad that the wewa civilization degenerated with the foreign conquests and abandonment of the ancient kingdoms.”

There was talk of the revival of ancient wewas but that was not to be. Rather we recently saw the utter sacrilege (I call it this) of some crazy persons constructing jogging paths along the most venerated and largest of ancient wewas – the Polonnaruwa Parakrama Samudra (12th Century), Kala Wewa near Anuradhapua built by King Datusena in 307 BC; the scene of Kassyapa’s crime of patricide. Perhaps the Kantalai Wewa was also targetted by these vandals who definitely endanger the earth bunds with their bulldozers. The bunds as they are can very well serve as jogging paths – so few vehicles use them, even the roads of the ancient cities. So why construct jogging paths?

Wewa and dagaba

Kings who got wewas constructed, paying workmen in cash or kind (unlike pyramid building) always built a temple with dagoba close by or on the wewa bund itself. This may have been to propitiate spirits of devathavas whose territory was intruded upon. And for the protection of the wewa itself. A historian I consulted conveyed interesting information, which he had gathered from a research paper of one of his students. He said that the larger wewas were constructed and definite areas earmarked and separated (perhaps by underwater piles of small rocks or whatever) so that no contamination occurred to the water for temple use – no intrusion was permitted to this demarcated area. Next, parts were set aside for villagers’ use and here again separated for drinking and bathing and washing of clothes. Animals, the elephant particularly and farm cattle, were catered to in an entirely different section of the wewa. To enforce this separation and guard the wewa, a man was appointed by the king, residing in the temple or within its premises.

A tale of mystery founded

on a necessity

The most interesting facet was that once a very handsome worker was in a wewa construction team. Women of the village were fascinated, nay hypnotized by him, according to the tale. He was thus named Kalu Kumaraya. (May have been a darky Romeo! Sinhalese of course but dark skinned). When he died or migrated to build another wewa, his spirit was said to haunt the wewa bund. A convenient tall tale grabbed at because of the belief that women are unclean during their monthly periods and so the discomfort and consternation caused by supposing they came to the wewa of an evening to wash soiled clothes. (No disposables then!!). To prevent such, the warning floated around that Kalu Kumaraya’s ghost roamed around at evening beside wewas to capture women he fancied. No details given, none from the historian or his student as to what the consequent fate of the captured was – death or a happy living ever after.

Well, the name of the night ghost continued and I have heard it along with Mohini, a lovely lithesome lass who persistently visits young handsome men who live alone. Maybe another pragmatic myth to discourage bachelorhood and promote marriage!

Personal fascination

My fascination with wewas will never dim though travel is much restricted now and age catches up. Remembered are family picnic lunches on wewa bunds and once napping on a mat with strong Tissa Wewa winds blowing, to get up enervated. A special happening is sitting on the Nuwara Wewa bund near the old rest thouse, now extended and refurbished, to gaze at the distant Mihintale dagoba, soaking in the ambience of sanctity and complete peace. Clearly recalled is an evening bath with husband and son at the edge of the Senanayake Samudra with elephants close on the opposite side. Very recently staying over with six nieces and nephews at the old rest house now named The Lake House, with its dining area jutting into the Parakrama Samudra.

I end with the oft quoted words of wisdom attributed to Parakrama Bahu the Great (1123-1186). “Let not even a drop of water that comes from the rain flow into the ocean without being made useful to man.”

More current from French naval officer, ocean explorer and co-inventor of the Aqua Lung – Jacques-Yves Cousteau: “We forget that the water cycle and the life cycle are one.”



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Combining local resources,traditional knowledge and science to build a food-secure Sri Lanka

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World Food Day 2026: Innovating today for a better food future

by Dr. Kaushalya Wijayasekara

What will be on the Sri Lankan dinner table ten years from now? Will our children be able to get nutritious food at a price their families can afford? Will farmers be able to grow enough despite changing weather and rising costs? And how much of the food we produce will actually reach the consumer, instead of being lost or wasted along the way?

These questions can’t wait. A farmer faces unpredictable weather. A family faces rising food costs. Fruit goes unsold after a good harvest. Some children do not get enough nutrition. The future of food is tied to the future of Sri Lanka itself.

World Food Day 2026 is a chance to look beyond the immediate problems and ask whether we can build a food system that feeds our people well, gives farmers better opportunities, protects the environment and makes better use of what we already have. The answer can be yes, but we will have to think differently.

We are not starting from zero. Sri Lanka has diverse crops, fisheries, traditional food knowledge, indigenous varieties, research institutions, universities and a young generation able to create new solutions. What we need is to bring these together and act. Producing more will not secure our food future on its own. It will depend on how intelligently we produce, process, preserve, distribute and consume food.

Making more of what we already have

Innovation does not always mean inventing something new. Often it means finding better uses for the resources we have.

Sri Lanka grows traditional rice varieties, kurakkan, green gram, cowpea, jackfruit, breadfruit, cassava, sweet potato, coconut and palmyrah. All of them have great potential for modern, nutritious, value-added foods. Jackfruit and breadfruit can be made into flour and other convenient products. Traditional rice varieties can go into new foods that suit changing consumer needs. Palmyrah, with its strong cultural heritage, can create new income through better processing, packaging, quality assurance and market development.

The aim is to connect our traditional food knowledge with modern consumer needs and technology, while keeping our food heritage.

Stop wasting the food we produce

Reducing food loss and waste should be a major priority. Seasonal fruits such as mango, banana, papaya and pineapple can be lost in large quantities when production exceeds demand or when storage, transport and processing facilities are inadequate. With suitable technology, these fruits can become dried products, pulps, powders, beverages and other shelf-stable foods.

Agricultural and fisheries by-products are resources too. They could be turned into food ingredients, animal feed, bio-based products and other useful materials, which would move us toward a more circular food economy.

Technology alone is not enough. We need stronger local processing facilities, cold storage, efficient transport, collection centres and market information systems, especially close to where food is produced. Cutting food loss raises the value of what our farmers and fishers already produce.

Nutrition and food safety come first

Food security means more than having enough food. People also need food that is safe and nutritious.

Sri Lanka can develop affordable, nutritious foods from local pulses, grains, vegetables, fruits and fish. Children and other vulnerable groups should get particular attention. Schoolchildren in particular deserve a focus: safe, nutritious, locally sourced products for school feeding programs would support child nutrition, local farmers and domestic food industries at the same time.

Food safety must stay at the centre of food innovation. Good hygiene, quality control, laboratory testing, traceability and appropriate food safety systems are what make new products safe as well as attractive and nutritious.

A food system that can cope with climate change

Climate change is already affecting agricultural production, water availability, crop yields and food prices. We need food systems that can handle changing conditions. That means climate-resilient crops, efficient water use, soil and water conservation, better storage and resource-efficient food processing.

Traditional knowledge matters here. Generations of Sri Lankan farmers have developed practices suited to local climates and ecosystems. Combining that experience with modern science can give us solutions that fit local conditions and are sustainable. Technology alone will not build the future of food. Science, experience and local knowledge together can.

Give young people a bigger role

Sri Lanka’s universities have an important part to play in shaping our food future. Young people should be encouraged to identify real problems in the food system and work on practical solutions in areas such as food waste, sustainable packaging, nutrition, food safety, modernising traditional foods and digital technologies.

A good research project should not always end as a research paper. Where appropriate, research should be supported to move on to products, technologies, enterprises and community solutions. That needs stronger partnerships between universities and industry, along with mentoring, research funding, business support and market connections. If young researchers and entrepreneurs can turn their ideas into viable food innovations, both consumers and producers will benefit.

A pathway designed for Sri Lanka

We do not need to copy food-system models from other countries. We can build a pathway that suits our own resources, culture and needs. It would bring together local resources, traditional knowledge, scientific research, appropriate technology and entrepreneurship, with farmers, fishers, universities, research institutions, food industries, entrepreneurs and policymakers working side by side.

The goal goes beyond selling raw materials. We need to create more value, reduce waste, improve nutrition, generate jobs and strengthen rural livelihoods. This matters especially for small and medium-scale food enterprises, which can drive local economic development when they get the right technical, financial and market support.

The choices we make today

The food future will not create itself. It will be shaped by what we grow, what we research, what we process, what we consume and what we choose not to waste.

So, the question for World Food Day 2026 is this: what can we do today so that every Sri Lankan has safe, nutritious, affordable and sustainable food tomorrow?

The answers are already around us, in our farms, fisheries, food businesses, universities, laboratories and communities. We have the resources, the traditional knowledge, the scientific expertise and talented young people. What we need now is to connect them and act.

A better food future begins with the choices we make today.

Dr. Kaushalya Wijayasekara

Senior Lecturer, Department of Biosystems Technology, Faculty of Technology, University of Ruhuna

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20th Anniversary of Digampathana blast – the day Sri Lanka Navy cried

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Aftermath of the terror attack

By Admiral Ravindra C Wijegunaratne
WV, RWP and Bar, RSP, VSV, USP, NI (M) (Pakistan), ndc, psn, Bsc
(Hons) (War Studies) (Karachi) MPhil (Madras)
Former Navy Commander and Former Chief of Defence Staff
Former Chairman, Trincomalee Petroleum Terminals Ltd
Former Managing Director Ceylon Petroleum Corporation
Former High Commissioner to Pakistan

The Digampathana suicide truck attack on 16th October 2006 remains the deadliest single strike in Sri Lanka Navy history, leaving scars that time cannot erase.

It was a seemingly ordinary Monday morning on 16 October 2006, but the calm of that day would soon be shattered in a way none of us could have imagined. As the Commandant of the Naval and Maritime Academy and Flag Officer Commanding Naval Fleet at Trincomalee, I was aware that a number of my cadets were travelling that morning, part of a convoy of fifteen buses carrying naval personnel from Trincomalee, Colombo, and other bases, heading toward Dambulla to rendezvous with another group. The convoy also included trucks and escort vehicles, a routine movement planned and coordinated with the army to ensure the roads were clear. The morning started quietly. Some personnel greeted friends, handed over their weapons, or strolled to a nearby tea shop. It all seemed so ordinary—too ordinary for what would come next.

Sri Lanka Navy sunk LTTE Ships carrying arms, ammunition and warlike materials thousand miles away from Sri Lanka in Indian Ocean in September and October 2007.

By late morning, both convoys had reached the small ground at Digampathana, near the Sigiriya junction, and personnel mingled briefly, unaware that a carefully orchestrated act of terror was waiting. Then, suddenly, an empty half-truck veered directly into the convoy. It exploded with a ferocity I can still recall as if it were yesterday. Nuts, bolts, and high explosives tore through the air. Pandemonium erupted instantly. I later learned that 107 of our naval personnel were killed on the spot and another 153 critically injured. The scene was indescribable—bodies scattered, vehicles mangled, personal effects strewn across the ground. I remember later hearing that the head of the suicide bomber was recovered more than 100 meters away from the blast, a grim testament to the sheer force of the explosion.

I was in my office at the Naval and Maritime Academy when my mobile phone rang. A young midshipman from the 21st intake called, his voice trembling: “Sir, there was a huge explosion at the convoy point! Many are dead … my batch mate Wijesundara is among them.” I immediately jumped into my jeep with my escort Chief Petty Officer and driver and rushed to Digampathana, relying on every ounce of my driving skill to reach the scene. The journey, which usually took little more than an hour, felt endless that day, each passing mile weighed down by dread.

When I arrived, I was confronted with a sight that no training can prepare you for. The injured were being rushed to Dambulla Hospital, where doctors and nurses worked tirelessly, improvising in ways that saved lives despite the overwhelming chaos. I went back to the site after visiting the hospital. The remains of our naval personnel were scattered across the ground, and someone had begun collecting weapons and protective gear. I immediately contacted Surgeon Rear Admiral Nico Jayasekara and received his instructions: collect all body parts in separate bags and transport them to the Trincomalee Naval Hospital mortuary. This gruesome work had to be done with care and dignity, and it filled the icebox in my vehicle. Through DNA testing initiated by Rear Admiral Nico, we were able to identify every naval personnel lost that day, bringing some closure to grieving families.

The Navy Commander at the time, Vice Admiral Wasantha Karannagoda, was devastated. I had worked closely with him and knew how deeply he cared for his men. He ensured that the fallen were honoured with full ceremonial naval funerals at Welisara Naval Base, attended by families and comrades. Sixty-seven funerals were conducted in a single day—a number that still haunts me.

The Digampathana attack remains the largest single loss of naval life in our history. It was a day of sorrow, but also a day that reinforced our resolve. The tragedy galvanized the Navy to target the LTTE Sea Tiger wing with renewed determination and reshaped our maritime operations forever. Every time I think of that day, I remember not just the lives lost, but the courage, professionalism, and dedication of those who survived, those who treated the injured, and those who ensured the fallen were honored properly. May the souls of our naval hero’s rest in peace, their sacrifice guiding us and inspiring generations of naval personnel to come.

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‘Murder at Whitby Abbey’

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Tales of Mystery and Suspense – 24

I was intrigued by the title of a book I found in a book drop at the condominium of a friend, Murder at Whitby Abbey, and I brought it home with me though I will not be able to return it in the near future. It was described on the cover page as ‘a standout in the crowded medieval mystery field’, though I fear I do not know of other books in this field, apart from the Cadfael series, which I have dealt with earlier.

The book, by Cassandra Clark, is set during the reign of Richard II and has as a backdrop his precarious position, which led to his being replaced, and murdered, by his cousin Henry, who reigned as Henry IV. It is a gloomy book, the action taking place in the twelve days of Christmas leading up to the Epiphany. And the gloom is pervasive, even though this is supposed to be a time of festivity, with mummers performing, and many of those in the guest house where the heroine stays going to town to enjoy themselves, with much drinking and much music, which also fills the guesthouse.

The heroine Hildegarde is a nun, sent to try to acquire a relic being sold by Whitby Abbey, though this was also a penance set by the Abbot of the monastery that governed her abbess because she had had sex with a man. Soon after she and her companions reach the Abbey set high on a cliff, she finds that there are other bidders, and soon suspects that the hierarchy, not perhaps the Abbot who seems a weakling, but his rapacious bursar, is determined to make money, and not above creating false relics to sell to several aspirants.

After Hildegarde and her Cistercian companions – Whitby is a Benedictine Foundation – two monks, Gregory and Egbert, and a young priest Mark, reach the abbey, they find that Aelwyn, a monk they had met on their way to the guesthouse had died. This was in the apple store, and they realize, when they find the surplices of novices stuffed into the air vents, that he had been left to suffocate in the overwhelming scent of apples.

Clark

The Cistercians are asked to look into the death, perhaps because they are likely to get no cooperation from the Abbey folk, but perhaps because those in charge are keen to know what happened. And the infirmarer, an old monk, suggests Hildegarde talk to a man called Edred who worked for the bursar, and had been a friend of Aelwyn’s. But Edred too is killed, before he can keep an appointment he had made with Hildegarde, drowned in a pool near the farmhouse of the Abbey.

Meanwhile tensions arise between the fisherfolk and the abbey for the bursar wants to charge them for using the beach that technically belongs to the abbey to dry their fish and their nets. This leads to physical battles, when the guards used by the abbey, under the command it seems of the bursar whose determination to make money is not resisted by the abbot and the prior, try to storm the area where the fishermen live.

Hildegard finds out more about what had happened through two youngsters, one of whom Torold is the son of Aelwyn by a woman who worked as a prostitute for a cartel, and with whom Mark fell in love. The other works on the farm and had seen Edred meet someone near the pool, after which that someone left the place by himself. And the boy had also found in the pool a sort of dagger with the seal of the abbey.

He and his dog, and Torold who follows her, rescue Hildegarde from a man at arms who has waylaid her and tries to rape her earlier. Escaping into the abbey she was nearly been raped then by the bursar, but she managed to escape, in the process setting fire to him and the muniments room, which led, when he was rescued, to the discovery of a box with the money he said had been stolen, blame being cast on both Aelwyn and Edred.

Matters come to a head when the fisherfolk try to storm the abbey, being resisted by the men at arms stationed on the towers. But then Hildegarde realizes that behind the murders was the bursar’s clerk, whom she pursued to the cathedral. There is great drama then as she escapes from him when he tries to kill her, and then from the man at arms who had tried to both rape and kill her, but they both fall from the scaffolding she had climbed, the latter coming from a tower where he had been stationed.

Both of them think they run the rapacity of the abbey, the latter claiming to work for the nobles opposed to Richard, who is presented throughout the book as devoted to his subjects, not to power or money. But though the villains die, the bursar continues, having got over the hysteria the fire had caused and his acknowledgment then of guilt – and though the abbot and the prior seem less vicious, whether they will be able to assert themselves is questionable.

Before the climax, when the others in the guesthouse were leaving, Hildegarde found that two of them were in possession of the relic, for which they seem to have paid well. Hildegarde herself had made a derisory offer, but before she leaves the abbot gives her the relic, perhaps in gratitude for what she and her fellow Cistercians had discovered, the abbey having made as much money as it needed and more from the gullible other buyers.

Mark’s inamorata is saved from the stews because she moves in with Edred’s widow whom the bursar had thrown out of the rooms he occupied when her husband was found dead. Hildegarde had paid for lodgings, in a house run by the man who ran the brothels, but he had a kindly side and was going to finance them to make nets for the fishermen.

So, the Cistercians set off for their home as swiftly as they can to get there on the day of the Epiphany, having stopped en route to pray for King Richard whose birthday it was.

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