Working with Dahanayake – the man, his habits and departure from ‘Temple Trees’

(Excerpted from Rendering Unto Caesar by Bradman Weerakoon)

I began to get used to his unusual ways. Dahanayake was an early riser and insisted on starting work at 7.00 am. I didn’t mind as I lived close by at de Fonseka Place and it was not more than a 10 minute drive at that time in the morning. It wasn’t a matter of a leisurely run-over in sarong or pyjama of the day’s work at the breakfast table, interspersed with asides from the morning’s newspapers, as others were wont to do, but the actual start of an official day with interviews, conferences and files.

Acutely conscious of retaining his good health – in his youth he had indulged heavily in drinking and smoking – Dahanayake was usually up at 4.30 am and would have done his hour’s barefooted perambulation on the lawns of Temple Trees soaking in the early morning dew. As he put it in one of his many expositions on how to stay healthy, walking barefoot on wet grass – especially if there was a patch of convenient indupiyeli around – mightily helped in “clearing the brain”! Another of his favoured recipes, as he mentioned to my very interested wife one day, was how to keep one’s weight down with a diet of raw vetakolu and rice bran aggala spiced with pol kudu, for lunch.

Dahanayake had beautiful handwriting. His official minutes and orders in files in his characteristic purple ink – he always used a fountain pen – were eminently legible, clear and often quite long winded. When I once observed on the clarity and style of his handwriting he replied that it was his diligence with the copybook during his years at the Teacher’s Training College at Maharagama which had endowed him with this facility. He had been taught, he said, ‘the civil service style’ of writing; large well formed letters gently sloping to the right, and as he put it, “once you put pen to paper lift your hand only after you’ve finished your sentence!” Which probably accounted for the length of his minutes and the absolute absence of corrections or erasures.

I found that the prime minister was quick in decision-making, generally based on the first complaint he received. He was also not averse to completely reversing his decision no sooner he received a contrary opinion from one of his officials. So, deciphering his minutes, particularly regarding teachers’ transfers – he had been minister of education earlier – could give one a sense of ‘constant to-ing and fro-ing’.

The circumstances of Mr Bandaranaike’s death and his own elevation to the post of prime minister as a result, led inevitably, but as far as I was convinced unfairly, to some suspicion of Dahanayake’s own conduct in the affair.

Stories began to spread about his seeming reluctance to press charges against the big names who the public quickly associated with the heinous crime. These were the Hon Vimala Wijewardene, minister of health in Mr Bandaranaike’s Cabinet and still one of his ministers, and the Ven Mapitigama Buddharakhita, the high priest of the prominent Kelaniya Temple and one of the most influential of the monks in the Eksath Bhikku Perumuna which had propelled Mr Bandaranaike into power in 1956.

By early 1959, however, both these luminaries had begun to move away from Mr Bandaranaike. Mrs Wijewardene became an important part of the right wing of the SLFP (the Regent Flats group), as the press had begun to term them. The high priest was openly critical of Mr Bandaranaike both on account of the latter’s seeming reluctance to fulfil his radical reform programme of 1956 while the more prosaic reason was that he, the prime minister, had not helped him sufficiently in securing contracts for the shipping business in which the priest was heavily involved. The woman minister and the high priest had already acquired a certain notoriety for conducting an unusually close association.

This, I soon found out, was one of the primary exigencies of holding high office in the country. People are prone to attribute an ulterior motive to whatever you do. The story soon got about that two persons, Kelanitilleke and Michael Baas, had informed Dahanayake on the night of September 26, the day of Mr Bandaranaike’s death, about Buddharakhita’s involvement in the act of murdering Bandaranaike, but upon Dahanayake’s accession to the prime ministership, he had tried to dissuade the informants from proceeding with the matter. Although not proven at the subsequent inquiry before a presidential commission, the story itself gained ground and contributed to Dahanayake’s growing unpopularity in the country.

Through October and November, Dahanayake tried to hold his fractious team together and keep Parliament going. The House elected in 1956 with a five year term could have continued till April 1961, but the raison d’etre for that Parliament had gone with the death of Bandaranaike. Dahanayake was now prime minister in his own right having succeeded to the position through the support of the majority in Parliament but clearly the ministers were not in favour of him continuing. He tried, for a while, to bask in the sunshine of Bandaranaike’s name.

I remember him once telling the foreign press that Bandaranaike had now become a Bosath – a Bodhisatva, a Mahayana Buddhist conception that elevates exemplary virtuosity to the highest level before Buddhahood. He was not alone as S D Bandaranaike, the Imbulgoda veeraya who had stopped J R Jayewardene on his march to Kandy in 1958, also came out at the time with his Bosath Bandaranaike Party, virtually a one-man show of which he was the president.

The air was full of talk of conspiracies and plots and coups in the days that followed Bandaranaike’s death. Dahanayake ordered the (Temple Trees) wall skirting Duplication Road raised by four feet. This was considered by the press to be a major security measure and Collette retaliated with a cartoon in the Observer, with Jim Munasinghe and Stanley de Zoysa, two of his more loyal ministers standing guard duty. There was no Prime Minister’s Security Division (PMSD) in those days but only an inspector, or at most an ASP as personal security officer and a small contingent of men on duty.

Dahanayake ordered more police security men to be moved in, and also tightened entry procedures for the public. He also created a new ministry of internal security and had Sydney de Zoyza who was then one of the four DIGS appointed to the position of secretary. Two votes of no confidence in Parliament against Dahanayake’s government, one against him personally and the other against the minister of justice, for not being more forceful in bringing to book those responsible for the assassination, were narrowly defeated.

On December 3, 1959 the emergency lapsed and Dahanayake, now tired out with all the machinations against him, decided to recommend to Sir Oliver the dissolution of Parliament. Elections were called for March 19, 1960. Dahanayake was now head of a caretaker government and took some major strategic decisions. He first announced his resignation from the SLFP but this was refused by the executive committee who proceeded in turn to sack him from the party. Dahanayake retaliated by sacking five ministers, the letters being delivered to them at midnight. Some of them read of their dismissal in the morning’s Daily News.

I had a busy time until all the ministers were dismissed and five new ones appointed to assist Dahanayake until the elections. Among them were M M Mustapha from Nintavur in the Eastern Province as minister of finance and R E Jayatilleke from Nawalapitiya. The Soulbury constitution permitted a non-parliamentarian to be in the Cabinet for a maximum period of three months and that gave Dahanayake sufficient time.

To fight the elections Dahanayake formed a new party which he called the Lanka Prajatantra Party — the Lanka Democratic Party. He cobbled it together from a few former SLFP members who yet remained loyal to him and an odd assortment of people from all walks of life, many of them with absolutely no previous experience of politics. Some were literally picked off the street like one ‘never do well’ from Welimada whom I knew as a habitual drunkard from my teaching days at St Thomas’ College in Gurutalawa during the university vacations.

Temple Trees was a party office in those days with Dahanayake presiding over ‘walk-in’ interviews for MP aspirants. Those who took the trouble to present themselves were usually rewarded with a letter of appointment as candidate of the LPP, personally signed by the prime minister, and a sum of Rs 25,000 as election expenses. I am sure my friend from Welimada must have got rip-roaring drunk that night.

The LPP put forward 101 candidates, just a few less than the SLFP’s 113 for the March elections. Ninety-four of Dahanayake’s candidates lost their deposits, including of course my Welimada friend, and only four were returned to Parliament. Dahanayake himself lost narrowly by 400 votes in Galle. He was still immensely popular there but he had over-stretched himself attempting to campaign all over the country single-handed, and leaving Galle, to be handled by friends. This was proved by his winning back Galle in the July ’60 election, again narrowly by 444 votes, where he contested again as an LPP candidate.

At election time, although I could well have had myself excused from election duty as secretary to the prime minister, I had made it a habit to volunteer for duty. The only special favour I sought from the Elections Commissioner, the highly efficient and affable Felix Dias Abeysinghe, was that of being posted to one of the more remote parts of the country. The chief reason for that was that officers could take their wives along. Damayanthi too could be on duty as the Lady Presiding Officer dealing with the women voters who were provided with a separate ballot box.

The traveling allowance, at 35 cents per mile could also give one a sizable bonus when one returned home. In addition it gave one a chance to see a part of the island one would normally not have gone to, and meet rural people. Felix gave us the polling station at Lahugalle, ten miles west of Arugam Bay, which had a very nice rest-house, for the night. The returning office was at Batticaloa, to which we would have to take the sealed ballot boxes in the evening for the counting.

It was a fascinating day and we encountered in the election registers a phenomenon I was not aware of earlier. This was the existence of some wonderful combined names where Sinhala and Tamil came together, a reflection of life in the transitional zones in the country and the intermixing that must have gone on from former times. The people were fluent in both languages and bore names like `Somasunderam Banda’ and Ariyawathie Kanagaratnam’. On my questioning how they came by their names some would venture the explanation that it was due to the Tamil Registrar of Births writing down whatever he felt would be proper as a surname. I was however more inclined to the view that there had been considerable intermarriage in these parts of the country.

As we travelled back to Colombo, the radio was announcing the results of Dahanayake’s heavy defeat. His loss at Galle surprised me as I knew how popular he was with ordinary people like the betel-seller on the pavement, those who patronized the local tea boutiques, shops, the bus stand and the sellers of gram. When I arrived at Temple Trees late in the evening he was sitting in an arm chair in the long verandah with his two faithful suitcases by his side.

He had a request to make of me, that I permit the use of one of the two official Humber Hawks the prime minister’s office had to be used for dropping him at his home in Galle. It was sad to see him leave alone that evening only accompanied by his bags. The staff came together to see him off, gathered around the portico as the car drove off, and gave him a spontaneous cheer of good wishes and farewell.

Yet, you could not keep this good man down for long and he continued for years to make news in the political history of the country. He was back in Parliament in July 1966 and continued to be a thorn in Sirimavo Bandaranaike’s side throughout that session of Parliament. I met him again in 1965 when he joined Dudley Senanayake in his seven-party National Government. Dudley appointed him minister of home affairs and we had a lot to do with each other. I was also secretary of the committee consisting of representatives of the seven parties trying to determine what subjects and functions we could delegate to the district councils – another attempt at devolution and part of the Dudley-Chelvanayakam agreement – and what should be left to the Centre.

Dahanayake had obviously thought about the issue seriously and I got the impression that he, like most southerners was for a strong Centre. In the 1970 election which Sirimavo won with a United Front administration, and Dudley and the UNP were reduced to 17 seats, Dahanayake retained his seat with a greatly reduced majority. He had by now moved to the UNP but when the party refused his request to enjoy a free vote on the new 1972 Constitution, he resigned. He remained an independent thereafter opposing with vigour Sirimavo’s move to extend the life of Parliament by two years from 1975.

Nevertheless Parliament went on till 1977 when, at the elections, the swing to the UNP was so great that the SLFP was annihilated and reduced to eight seats while J R secured a five-sixths majority. Dahanayake, too, contesting as an independent candidate against his old rival Albert Silva of the UNP lost. But the old soldier was not yet down and out. He filed a petition against Silva in the Galle High Court against Albert Silva. Preliminary objections were raised by the other party, and on the High Court judge accepting the objections, Dahanayake’s petition was dismissed.

He next filed an appeal in the Supreme Court. The five judge bench divided four to one, set aside the order of the High Court and ordered re-trial. In this appeal Dahanayake appeared on his own behalf without any legal assistance. Dahanayake’s appeal was taken up by a bench comprising the Chief Justice Neville Samarakoon, and Justices G T Samarawickrama and R S Wanasundara. Despite his advanced age, he was then 77, he submitted some powerful arguments before the Court. People followed the case with great interest as Dahanayake was not a lawyer and the only job he had done other than politics had been teaching. In September 1979 the Supreme Court announced their unanimous decision, depriving Albert Silva of his seat.

Dahanayake next presented J R with a most perplexing problem when he sought nomination from the UNP at the upcoming by-elections. Disregarding all the objections by the Galle UNP members J R gave him the nomination having found another safe seat for the rival Albert Silva. Five candidates contested the by-election. Dahanayake won Galle by a majority of 13,012 votes, one of his best-ever victories. The young Lionel Bopage, one of the main accused in the 1971 insurrection, contested the by-election as an independent candidate since the JVP had not as yet obtained registration as a political party. Bopage addressing an election meeting, referring to Dahanayake’s renowned political somersaulting reminded the voters, correctly, that the only parties Dahanayake had not been part of, in his fabulous political career, were the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna and the Tamil United Liberation Front.

Dahanayake remained a back bench MP for a few years in the J R Jayewardene Government of 1977. In March of 1986, mirabile dictu, at the age of 84, Wijayananda Dahanayake was once again appointed to the Cabinet, this time as minister of cooperatives. He was not yet finished. When in 1989 Premadasa was readying himself for the general election which took place in January in the midst of the JVP violence, Dahanayake solicited nomination for the Galle district under the changed proportional representation system from the UNP. He had no intention of contesting but hoped he could get into Parliament through the National List. The UNP won a majority at the election but the old war horse was left out.

A long and eventful tenure in the legislature commencing from the days of the State Council had come to an end. He was 86. There was one other goal he could not reach. He had hoped to complete his 100th year but at 95 he fell ill at his home in Richmond Hill, Galle, and died soon after. During his short retirement he started work on an autobiography which he could not complete and indulged in his favourite recreation composing little parodies about his political contemporaries. Here is a typical effort of one in homespun Lewis. Carrol nursery-rhyme metre about his favourite bete noire Sir John Kotelawela.

Twinkle, twinkle, good Sir john

How you’ve fooled our fair Ceylon

Looking young in spite of age

Like an actor on the stage

When the girls at ‘Temple Trees’ crowd and dance like buzzing bees,

Then you sing your sweetest song, Twinkle, twinkle, all night long!

But if you care to see the woe

Of starving men who come and go,

Then you’ll sing a sadder song

And twinkle like a wiser John.