Features
Jungles, ruins and shipwrecks
by Somasiri Devendra
Jungles fascinate me. It was a fascination that had been kindled by my father, as well as John Still, both of whom were archaeologists and writers. But, somehow, I never became one who trod the forest ways regularly. The jungle spoke to me in a different idiom – to my heart rather than my head.
Father, a teacher before turning archaeologist, became our teacher in English literature. Our text was John Still’s The jungle tide and, from the beginning, both the teacher and the author held the class spellbound. The slow progress made through the opening chapter describing a rain forest only served to stamp more deeply in my mind the world that was the jungle.
Years later I read Leonard Woolf’s haunting description of the dry zone jungle in Village In The Jungle. I always think of these two kinds of jungle – rain forest described by Still and secondary scrub by Woolf – in their words.
Trips with an archaeologist
Not long after he interpreted Still to us, father joined the Archaeological Survey of Ceylon, as it was then. He loved the work and found every excuse to go on circuit, leaving his desk. Each time he came back, he was brimful of experiences and what we learnt from him round the dining table was more than anything a university could teach.
His interests were eclectic and the tale would flit effortlessly from treasure hunters at a ruined dagoba, to a dung beetle at work, the cult of Aiyanar, a bungalow-keeper’s encounter with a wild elephant, the migrant birds, the gaemi-kavi of village pilgrims seeking male progeny from Kalu Devatha Bandara (the guardian-deity of the Sri Maha Bodhiya), and the man who manufactured sarvagna dhathu.
Being then in the class preparing for an examination, I could go with him only occasionally, but even that was wonderful. Striking inland from Puttalam, on the way to Anuradhapura, the road was, in season, bordered by weera trees in bearing and we would stop to break down the most reachable branches and strip off all the berries. He would nonchalantly remark that this was elephant country and they, too relished these berries.
Passing through the Kurunegala route, we never went past the Aiyanar jungle shrine, a mere tree, without plucking off a twig and offering it to this mysterious deity. The tree-shrine, thankfully, is still there.
Ambitious development schemes were afoot and father went to inspect work at Gal Oya, where bulldozers were turning back the jungle tide. The impact of these behemoths must have made a strong impression on him: I still have his photographs of trees being pulled down. Perhaps, it was this that prompted him to induct us into our fast disappearing cultural and environmental heritage.

Veddha songs
He took us to see the Veddahs, who were old men in the late 1940s. They sang us their songs swaying to a rhythm of their own. It was hardly music to our ears but, definitely, a far cry from what is touted as Veddah music today. Among father’s favourite verses were a gaemi kaviya in praise of Sorabora Wewa (which Seligman attributed to the Veddahs, though this is unlikely).
The verses begin with –
Paalu rata-i Vanni-ye etha-nin oha ta
Golu gene panithi veli-hinniyo aenga ta
Seru avith dive-kelinaa sonde ruwa ta
Yaa-lu thopith giyado horabora weva ta?
“It’s waste land in the Vanni from here onwards, Screaming, the she-bear will pounce on you
And the seruwas sport in the water, pleasing the eye And you, friend, have you, too, been to Sorabora lake?”
and end thus:-
Horabora waevey weva degodey vananrata rey
Kapaa gal kaanu egodata eliya ke ley
Nelaa mal pahan veherata eganthe rey
Horabora wewa n
udutu aes motada pin ke ley?
“Deep in the forest on either bank
Sluices cut in the rock tap the water.
You offer flowers and light lamps at the shrine on the other bank
But of what use is merit to you, you eyes that have not seen Sorabora lake?”
Rantembe
Another jungle trek in Veddah country was from Aluthnuwara, through the jungle to Rantembe. All this must be under water now with the construction of the Rantembe resovoir, but it was thick jungle then and we had to go in single file. If the nade gura or leader found a rock on the path he warned galak (stone), and the one behind him repeated the warning. which went drawn the single file till it reached the last man, our driver, who duly repeated it to whoever was behind him, hoping nobody was!
The rapids of Rantembe were worth every aching muscle to see. The sheer power, the roar of the Mahaveli forced into a narrow gorge was reward enough. You cannot see any of this now: so our induction to the vanishing loveliness of Lanka was something worthwhile.
“Elephant” at Tantirimalai
Another day, we were following a footpath to Tantirimale, a temple in the jungle which was famous for its unfinished reclining Buddha statue, pre-historic drawings in a cave and an ancient bo tree growing out of a crack in a slab of rock.
We were about to climb up an incline, which was really the bund of an abandoned tank, when we suddenly saw a man on a bicycle atop the bund. He was wearing sunglasses in the jungle gloom. Seeing us, he let out a yell, dropped his bike and took to the trees! When we had rescued him still trembling, he had an explanation to offer: “I thought your jeep was an elephant”. Therein lay the moral: do not wear sunglasses in the jungle!
Farewell circuit
The year I graduated from Peradeniya and started work as a teacher at Kegalle father gave me HCP Bell’s Kegalle report to make me get my historical bearings. He also decided that he would retire from the Department – though not archaeology. He set about planning a long circuit, a final good-bye to all his beloved sites, as well as to follow up reports of some new finds. This time, I went with him.
Again, I remember the barely cleared monastic site of Arankele with its long, long sakinan-maluwa (pathway for meditation). On the way we stopped at a living forest hermitage, Ruwangirikanda, where we saw many a hermit and understood what moved a man to seek the solitude of the forest. Near Arankele was Gala-pica-gala (rock-upon-a-rock) where I learnt the principles of wind erosion. And so we went from one jungle ruin to another.
Off Polonnaruwa, we went towards Dimbulagala, which was dubbed Gunner’s Quoin by sailors at sea who used to take their bearings from it. On the way we trekked to a group of boulders entirely surrounded by forest, but not yet excavated. This was Pulligoda Gal-ge (gal-ge = cave). On one of its sides was a beautiful fresco of a group of celestial beings. I was told that these were either the earliest or the only examples – I forget which – of the use of the halo on beings other than the Buddha.
Walking back to where we had parked the car, we came upon a site called Kos-gaha Ulpotha. It was a jungle spring of beautifully clear water.
At Dimbulagala, a man seeking a place for meditation had come to live in a cave. His mission was to destroy the paintings. He would comb the forest for buffalo dung and, in the nights dissolve it in water into a paint-like consistency and using a broomstick as a brush, paint over all the ancient paintings. By the time his act became known, it was impossible to remove the offending layer without destroying the paintings under it. The chemists were yet working on the problem. We saw the damage, but what could one do?
A lucky escape
I had another adventure in those parts. It was twenty years or so later, when I was working in Trincomalee. Kantalai was fully colonized by then. One day, friends visiting my brother, then the Government Agent, offered me a ride to Colombo. Gallantly, they gave me the front seat of the absolutely new car. We had passed Kantalai tank and the light was beginning to fade. There was a wide curve in the road and Joe, who was driving, asked me to switch off the tape-recorder so that he could switch on the lights.
I did not know how to do it, so he leaned over and did it. At that moment, an elephant thundered out of the jungle, where people were clearing a chena, and ran across the road. Joe promptly stood on the brakes but, before he could bring the car to a dead halt, another elephant, only about six6 to seven feet in height, ran in front of us. We hit him broadside, between the front and hind legs.
Caught in mid stride, he fell over; legs rolling up under the impact. Joe did a quick gear change and we took off like a rocket, swerving round the prone animal, just as the rest of the herd ran out of the jungle behind us. We kept going at top speed for about ten minutes, before getting out to assess the damage The radiator grill had caved in but, luckily the headlight and radiator itself were unharmed and we could go on. We reported the incident at the Habarana Police Station and carried on.
Flood relief
In 1958, we had torrential rains and floods in the country, including the least expected areas in the dry zone As was usual in such instances, all and sundry began collecting contributions for the flood victims and we teachers at Ananda College, too collected a sizeable stock. We were advised not to hand over the money but to adopt one of the affected villages and rehabilitate it. Our village was Hiriwadunna, some miles before reaching Habaran from Colombo. Apart from looking after the immediate needs of the villagers, we teachers in the upper forms used the village as a field laboratory, taking groups of student on various surveys that brought to life history, geography, botany, and the way of life in a village. What an experience it turned out to be! Probing old men’s memories turned out to be a great learning adventure.
Something the villagers said would have made eminent sense today. They were able to trace the water that came to their tank from its source: “When a tank overflowed, that water came to another tank, and when that too overflowed, it went to a third” and so on, tracing the route traversed by the water in their own tank from the beginning to the very end.
Decades later, when the cascade system was understood by our irrigation engineers, I related this concept to some of them and they admitted that they had never tapped the villagers’ reservoir of oral history.
When I asked the old folk whether there were ruins in the jungle around them, they undertook to show them to me. So I trekked with them to a thickly forested spot not far away, and came upon the remains of a small monastery. There were columns and slabs pushed aside by the living trees as they grew, and yet untouched by the archaeologist. I could not find any inscription to copy, but came upon a stone cistern, made of four slabs of stone, about waist high. Three of these were still upright, forming three sides of a square, and the fourth was lying flat on the ground. It showed two grooves chiseled for the other slabs to fit in snugly. This fit was good enough to last many centuries. I wonder how many ruins, like this one, are hidden in the forest.
Pooneryn
In the 1960s when I was in the Navy, we were called upon to open a new camp in an area totally unknown to us, but which is familiar to many now. There was an operation on to combat illicit immigration from India to Sri Lanka.
The Navy went to reinforce the Army and the sector allocated to us was Pooneryn, off Vavuniya. It was a forested, sparsely populated area just beyond an old Dutch Fort. The base camp, which was a collection of aluminium sheds, was set up in a clearing. We had a string of small outposts along the seashore to watch for incoming boats. Small groups of men would patrol those lovely, lonely beaches. There was only the main road, but none leading to the outposts until jeeps crashed through the undergrowth making tracks that later became roads.
So little was happening there and game was plentiful, that everyone became a hunter or fisherman. Driving through the open villu, we often came upon jackals, who were not in the least perturbed by us, peacocks and elephants. I remember seeing my first Ceylon magpie. The open stretch near base camp was like a slate on which was freshly written every night the tracks of all kinds of animals which had wandered there.
The outposts had to be visited day and night. During the day, we found it easier to drive along the beach from one point to another. There was no sign of anybody else or animals, but there was plenty of bird life. The most intriguing animals were fish, which swam in the very foam of the waves. As we roared and skidded along the beach, we could see before us fish after fish diving back to the deeper waters as they sensed our approach.
At night we kept to the roads. Driving through patches of arching forest alternating with open villu, one could predict which of the two he was passing through with his eyes shut. The skin was the sensory organ, for one felt warm while traversing forests and cold in the villu. It was exhilarating to go from warmth to coldness, from bright moonlight to “tunnels of green gloom”. As always, it is the sights, sounds, smells and other physical phenomena that spell “jungle” to me.
Elephants were plentiful. We had unknowingly built one post under a large tree the elephants used to scratch their backs on. The entire tree would start shaking in the night and the human inhabitants would seek refuge on the beach! One night I remember driving back along an abandoned tank bund, which was blocked by branches torn down by elephants. There was no way of reversing, so we had to get down and clear the way. Steaming piles of elephant droppings were around us and we could hear the culprits pulling more branches. But they were not worried by our presence and both animal and man went their separate ways peacefully. Pooneryn was a wonderful place then.

Mansions of the sea
The year was 1930. The scene was Dodanduwa, the last home of the traditional three-masted sailing ships of the Sinhalese, the yathra dhoni or maha-oruwa. The occasion was the launching of a ship. Two friends, one an entrepreneur and the other a seaman, had joined forces to build and launch this vessel that, though no one knew it at the time, was fated to be the last of her breed.
Kariyavasam Patuvata Vithanage Don Siyadoris de Silva, land owner, and Punchi Sinno Marakkalaehe, mariner, hoped that their freighter, by now named Amugoda Oruva, would do brisk business with South India and the Maldives. To mark her maiden voyage to Male, verses were composed, among which was:-
Gaman yanna naekatin oruva baa geney
Saman deyiyanta puda panduru baenda geney
Viman sagarey kanu mul soya geney
Apit yamuva haema deviyanta vaenda geney
“Auspiciously have we launched our vessel
And made our offerings to the god of Adam’s Peak
Let us now worship all the gods and go In search of the mansions of the sea.”
No god, alas, heard their pious prayers and the proud ship foundered on the reefs of Male, leaving those left behind in Dodanduwa to sing her dirges:
Metaenin oruva baa laa gati varaayata
Diyamba porn sata divve tharangataya
Kopamana ruval aedalaa divvat sondata
Amugoda oruva tava naeta aave gamata
“From here was the vessel taken to the port
And many a league did she race along under sail,
But however many sails were hoisted, and however fair she sailed
Amugoda Oruva never made home again.”
Sixty years or so later I was in Galle, organizing an international group of maritime archaeologists who were training a clutch of our young archaeology undergraduates and, at the same time, compiling a data base of shipwrecks in Galle Bay. Among the group was Tom Vosmer, an Australian boat ethnographer, with whom I discussed the Amugoda Oruwa and the large 100-year old model of a yathra dhoni at Kumarakanda Pirivena, Dodanduwa, that I had been privileged to photo record.
Tom was enthusiastic, for this was the last of a type of large outrigger-equipped sailing ships which could be traced back to the time of Borobudur. Days were spent in examining the model, and measuring, photographing and making detailed drawings of structural details. Built by the young son of a ship-owner, around 1890, it had been awarded a gold medal by the Governor. Tom considered that its accuracy, both in scale and detail, made it a fairly reliable source for (????????)
Features
When floods strike: How nations keep food on the table
Insights from global adaptation strategies
Sri Lanka has been heavily affected by floods, and extreme flooding is rapidly becoming one of the most disruptive climate hazards worldwide. The consequences extend far beyond damaged infrastructure and displaced communities. The food systems and supply networks are among the hardest hit. Floods disrupt food systems through multiple pathways. Croplands are submerged, livestock are lost, and soils become degraded due to erosion or sediment deposition. Infrastructural facilities like roads, bridges, retail shops, storage warehouses, and sales centres are damaged or rendered inaccessible. Without functioning food supply networks, even unaffected food-producing regions struggle to continue daily lives in such disasters. Poor households, particularly those dependent on farming or informal rural economies, face sharp food price increases and income loss, increasing vulnerability and food insecurity.
Many countries now recognie that traditional emergency responses alone are no longer enough. Instead, they are adopting a combination of short-term stabilisation measures and long-term strategies to strengthen food supply chains against recurrent floods. The most common immediate response is the provision of emergency food and cash assistance. Governments, the World Food Programme, and other humanitarian organisations often deliver food, ready-to-eat rations, livestock feed, and livelihood support to affected communities.
Alongside these immediate measures, some nations are implementing long-term strategic actions. These include technology- and data-driven approaches to improve flood preparedness. Early warning systems, using satellite data, hydrological models, and advanced weather forecasting, allow farmers and supply chain operators to prepare for potential disruptions. Digital platforms provide market intelligence, logistics updates, and risk notifications to producers, wholesalers, and transporters. This article highlights examples of such strategies from countries that experience frequent flooding.
China: Grain Reserves and Strategic Preparedness
China maintains a large strategic grain reserve system for rice, wheat, and maize; managed by NFSRA-National Food and Strategic Reserves Administration and Sinograin (China Grain Reserves Corporation (Sinograin Group), funded by the Chinese government, that underpins national food security and enables macro-control of markets during supply shocks. Moreover, improvements in supply chain digitization and hydrological monitoring, the country has strengthened its ability to maintain stable food availability during extreme weather events.
Bangladesh: Turning Vulnerability into Resilience
In recent years, Bangladesh has stood out as one of the world’s most flood-exposed countries, yet it has successfully turned vulnerability into adaptive resilience. Floating agriculture, flood-tolerant rice varieties, and community-run grain reserves now help stabilise food supplies when farmland is submerged. Investments in early-warning systems and river-basin management have further reduced crop losses and protected rural livelihoods.
Netherlands, Japan: High-Tech Models of Flood Resilience
The Netherlands offers a highly technical model. After catastrophic flooding in 1953, the country completely redesigned its water governance approach. Farmland is protected behind sea barriers, rivers are carefully controlled, and land-use zoning is adaptive. Vertical farming and climate-controlled greenhouses ensure year-round food production, even during extreme events. Japan provides another example of diversified flood resilience. Following repeated typhoon-induced floods, the country shifted toward protected agriculture, insurance-backed farming, and automated logistics systems. Cold storage networks and digital supply tracking ensure that food continues to reach consumers, even when roads are cut off. While these strategies require significant capital and investment, their gradual implementation provides substantial long-term benefits.
Pakistan, Thailand, Indonesia, and Vietnam: Reform in Response to Recurrent Floods
In contrast, Pakistan and Thailand illustrate both the consequences of climate vulnerability and the benefits of proactive reform. The 2022 floods in Pakistan submerged about one-third of the country, destroying crops and disrupting trade networks. In response, the country has placed greater emphasis on climate-resilient farming, water governance reforms, and satellite-based crop monitoring. Pakistan as well as India is promoting crop diversification and adjusting planting schedules to help farmers avoid the peak monsoon flood periods.
Thailand has invested in flood zoning and improved farm infrastructure that keep markets supplied even during severe flooding. Meanwhile, Indonesia and Vietnam are actively advancing flood-adapted land-use planning and climate-resilient agriculture. For instance, In Vietnam’s Mekong Delta, pilot projects integrate flood-risk mapping, adaptive cropping strategies, and ecosystem-based approaches to reduce vulnerability in agricultural and distribution areas. In Indonesia, government-supported initiatives and regional projects are strengthening flood-risk-informed spatial planning, adaptive farming practices, and community-based water management to improve resilience in flood-prone regions. (See Figure 1)
The Global Lesson: Resilience Requires Early Investment
The global evidence is clear: countries that invest early in climate-adaptive agriculture and resilient logistics are better able to feed their populations, even during extreme floods. Building a resilient future depends not only on how we grow food but also on how we protect, store, and transport it. Strengthening infrastructure is therefore central to stabilising food supply chains while maintaining food quality, even during prolonged disruptions. Resilient storage systems, regional grain reserves, efficient cold chains, improved farming infrastructure, and digital supply mapping help reduce panic buying, food waste, and price shocks after floods, while ensuring that production capacity remains secure.
Persistent Challenges
However, despite these advances, many flood-exposed countries still face significant challenges. Resources are often insufficient to upgrade infrastructure or support vulnerable rural populations. Institutional coordination across the agriculture, disaster management, transport, and environmental sectors remains weak. Moreover, the frequency and scale of climate-driven floods are exceeding the design limits of older disaster-planning frameworks. As a result, the gap between exposure and resilience continues to widen. These challenges are highly relevant to Sri Lanka as well and require deliberate, gradual efforts to phase them out.
The Role of International Trade and global markets
When domestic production falls in such situations, international trade serves as an important buffer. When domestic production is temporarily reduced, imports and regional trade flows can help stabilise food availability. Such examples are available from other countries. For instance, In October 2024, floods in Bangladesh reportedly destroyed about 1.1 million tonnes of rice. In response, the government moved to import large volumes of rice and allowed accelerated or private-sector imports of rice to stabilize supply and curb food price inflation. This demonstrates how, when domestic production fails, international trade/livestock/food imports (from trade partners) acted as a crucial buffer to ensure availability of staple food for the population. However, this approach relies on well-functioning global markets, strong diplomatic relationships, and adequate foreign exchange, making it less reliable for economically fragile nations. For example, importing frozen vegetables to Sri Lanka from other countries can help address supply shortages, but considerations such as affordability, proper storage and selling mechanisms, cooking guidance, and nutritional benefits are essential, especially when these foods are not widely familiar to local populations.
Marketing and Distribution Strategies during Floods
Ensuring that food reaches consumers during floods requires innovative marketing and distribution strategies that address both supply- and demand-side challenges. Short-term interventions often include direct cash or food transfers, mobile markets, and temporary distribution centres in areas where conventional marketplaces become inaccessible. Price stabilisation measures, such as temporary caps or subsidies on staple foods, help prevent sharp inflation and protect vulnerable households. Awareness campaigns also play a role by educating consumers on safe storage, cooking methods, and the nutritional value of unfamiliar imported items, helping sustain effective demand.
Some countries have integrated technology to support these efforts; in this regard, adaptive supply chain strategies are increasingly used. Digital platforms provide farmers, wholesalers, and retailers with real-time market information, logistics updates, and flood-risk alerts, enabling them to reroute deliveries or adjust production schedules. Diversified delivery routes, using alternative roads, river transport, drones, or mobile cold-storage units, have proven essential for maintaining the flow of perishable goods such as vegetables, dairy, and frozen products. A notable example is Japan, where automated logistics systems and advanced cold-storage networks help keep supermarkets stocked even during severe typhoon-induced flooding.
The Importance of Research, Coordination, and Long-Term Commitment
Global experience also shows that research and development, strong institutional coordination, and sustained national commitment are fundamental pillars of flood-resilient food systems. Countries that have successfully reduced the impacts of recurrent floods consistently invest in agricultural innovation, cross-sector collaboration, and long-term planning.
Awareness Leads to Preparedness
As the summary, global evidence shows that countries that act early, plan strategically, and invest in resilience can protect both people and food systems. As Sri Lanka considers long-term strategies for food security under climate change, learning from flood-affected nations can help guide policy, planning, and public understanding. Awareness is the first step which preparedness must follow. These international experiences offer valuable lessons on how to protect food systems through proactive planning and integrated actions.
(Premaratne (BSc, MPhil, LLB) isSenior Lecturer in Agricultural Economics Department of Agricultural Systems, Faculty of Agriculture, Rajarata University. Views are personal.)
Key References·
Cabinet Secretariat, Government of Japan, 2021. Fundamental Plan for National Resilience – Food, Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries / Logistics & Food Supply Chains. Tokyo: Cabinet Secretariat.
· Delta Programme Commissioner, 2022. Delta Programme 2023 (English – Print Version). The Hague: Netherlands Delta Programme.
· Hasanuddin University, 2025. ‘Sustainable resilience in flood-prone rice farming: adaptive strategies and risk-sharing around Tempe Lake, Indonesia’, Sustainability. Available at: https://www.mdpi.com/2071-1050/17/6/2456 [Accessed 3 December 2025].
· Mekong Urban Flood Resilience and Drainage Programme (TUEWAS), 2019–2021. Integrated urban flood and drainage planning for Mekong cities. TUEWAS / MRC initiative.
· Ministry of Agriculture and Rural Affairs, People’s Republic of China, 2025. ‘China’s summer grain procurement surpasses 50 mln tonnes’, English Ministry website, 4 July.
· National Food and Strategic Reserves Administration (China) 2024, ‘China purchases over 400 mln tonnes of grain in 2023’, GOV.cn, 9 January. Available at: https://english.www.gov.cn/archive/statistics/202401/09/content_WS659d1020c6d0868f4e8e2e46.html
· Pakistan: 2022 Floods Response Plan, 2022. United Nations / Government of Pakistan, UN Digital Library.
· Shigemitsu, M. & Gray, E., 2021. ‘Building the resilience of Japan’s agricultural sector to typhoons and heavy rain’, OECD Food, Agriculture and Fisheries Papers, No. 159. Paris: OECD Publishing.
· UNDP & GCF, 2023. Enhancing Climate Resilience in Thailand through Effective Water Management and Sustainable Agriculture (E WMSA): Project Factsheet. UNDP, Bangkok.
· United Nations Development Programme (UNDP), 2025. ‘Rice Bank revives hope in flood hit hill tracts, Bangladesh’, UNDP, 19 June.
· World Bank, 2022. ‘Bangladesh: World Bank supports food security and higher incomes of farmers vulnerable to climate change’, World Bank press release, 15 March.
Features
Can we forecast weather precisely?
Weather forecasts are useful. People attentively listen to them but complain that they go wrong or are not taken seriously. Forecasts today are more probabilistically reliable than decades ago. The advancement of atmospheric science, satellite imaging, radar maps and instantly updated databases has improved the art of predicting weather.
Yet can we predict weather patterns precisely? A branch of mathematics known as chaos theory says that weather can never be foretold with certainty.
The classical mechanics of Issac Newton governing the motion of all forms of matter, solid, liquid or gaseous, is a deterministic theory. If the initial conditions are known, the behaviour of the system at later instants of time can be precisely predicted. Based on this theory, occurrences of solar eclipses a century later have been predicted to an accuracy of minutes and seconds.
The thinking that the mechanical behaviour of systems in nature could always be accurately predicted based on their state at a previous instant of time was shaken by the work of the genius French Mathematician Henri Poincare (1864- 1902).
Eclipses are predicted with pinpoint accuracy based on analysis of a two-body system (Earth- Moon) governed by Newton’s laws. Poincare found that the equivalent problem of three astronomical bodies cannot be solved exactly – sometimes even the slightest variation of an initial condition yields a drastically different solution.
A profound conclusion was that the behaviour of physical systems governed by deterministic laws does not always allow practically meaningful predictions because even a minute unaccountable change of parameters leads to completely different results.
Until recent times, physicists overlooked Poincare’s work and continued to believe that the determinism of the laws of classical physics would allow them to analyse complex problems and derive future happenings, provided necessary computations are facilitated. When computers became available, the meteorologists conducted simulations aiming for accurate weather forecasting. The American mathematician Edward Lorenz, who turned into a reputed meteorologist, carried out such studies in the early 1960s, arrived at an unexpected result. His equations describing atmospheric dynamics demonstrated a strange behaviour. He found that even a minute change (even one part in a million) in initial parameters leads to a completely different weather pattern in the atmosphere. Lorenz announced his finding saying, A flap of a butterfly wing in one corner of the world could cause a cyclone in a far distant location weeks later! Lorenz’s work opened the way for the development branch of mathematics referred to as chaos theory – an expansion of the idea first disclosed by Henri Poincare.
We understand the dynamics of a cyclone as a giant whirlpool in the atmosphere, how it evolves and the conditions favourable for their origination. They are created as unpredictable thermodynamically favourable relaxation of instabilities in the atmosphere. The fundamental limitations dictated by chaos theory forbid accurate forecasting of the time and point of its appearance and the intensity. Once a cyclone forms, it can be tracked and the path of movement can be grossly ascertained by frequent observations. However, absolutely certain predictions are impossible.
A peculiarity of weather is that the chaotic nature of atmospheric dynamics does not permit ‘long – term’ forecasting with a high degree of certainty. The ‘long-term’ in this context, depending on situation, could be hours, days or weeks. Nonetheless, weather forecasts are invaluable for preparedness and avoiding unlikely, unfortunate events that might befall. A massive reaction to every unlikely event envisaged is also not warranted. Such an attitude leads to social chaos. The society far more complex than weather is heavily susceptible to chaotic phenomena.
by Prof. Kirthi Tennakone (ktenna@yahoo.co.uk)
Features
When the Waters Rise: Floods, Fear and the ancient survivors of Sri Lanka
The water came quietly at first, a steady rise along the riverbanks, familiar to communities who have lived beside Sri Lanka’s great waterways for generations. But within hours, these same rivers had swollen into raging, unpredictable forces. The Kelani Ganga overflowed. The Nilwala broke its margins. The Bentara, Kalu, and Mahaweli formed churning, chocolate-brown channels cutting through thousands of homes.
When the floods finally began to recede, villagers emerged to assess the damage, only to be confronted by another challenge: crocodiles. From Panadura’s back lanes to the suburbs of Colombo, and from the lagoons around Kalutara to the paddy fields of the dry zone, reports poured in of crocodiles resting on bunds, climbing over fences, or drifting silently into garden wells.
For many, these encounters were terrifying. But to Sri Lanka’s top herpetologists, the message was clear: this is what happens when climate extremes collide with shrinking habitats.
“Crocodiles are not invading us … we are invading floodplains”
Sri Lanka’s foremost crocodile expert, Dr. Anslem de Silva, Regional Chairman for South Asia and Iran of the IUCN/SSC Crocodile Specialist Group, has been studying crocodiles for over half a century. His warning is blunt.
“When rivers turn into violent torrents, crocodiles simply seek safety,” he says. “They avoid fast-moving water the same way humans do. During floods, they climb onto land or move into calm backwaters. People must understand this behaviour is natural, not aggressive.”
In the past week alone, Saltwater crocodiles have been sighted entering the Wellawatte Canal, drifting into the Panadura estuary, and appearing unexpectedly along Bolgoda Lake.
“Saltwater crocodiles often get washed out to sea during big floods,” Dr. de Silva explains. “Once the current weakens, they re-enter through the nearest lagoon or canal system. With rapid urbanisation along these waterways, these interactions are now far more visible.”
- An adult Salt Water Crocodile (Crocodylus porosus) (Photo -Madura de Silva)
- Adult Mugger (Crocodylus plaustris) Photo -Laxhman Nadaraja
- A Warning sign board
- A Mugger holding a a large Russell ’s viper (Photo- R. M. Gunasinghe)
- Anslem de Silva
- Suranjan Karunarathna
This clash between wildlife instinct and human expansion forms the backdrop of a crisis now unfolding across the island.
A conflict centuries old—now reshaped by climate change
Sri Lanka’s relationship with crocodiles is older than most of its kingdoms. The Cūḷavaṃsa describes armies halted by “flesh-eating crocodiles.” Ancient medical texts explain crocodile bite treatments. Fishermen and farmers around the Nilwala, Walawe, Maduganga, Batticaloa Lagoon, and Kalu Ganga have long accepted kimbula as part of their environment.
But the modern conflict has intensified dramatically.
A comprehensive countrywide survey by Dr. de Silva recorded 150 human–crocodile attacks, with 50 fatal, between 2008 and 2010. Over 52 percent occurred when people were bathing, and 83 percent of victims were men engaged in routine activities—washing, fishing, or walking along shallow margins.
Researchers consistently emphasise: most attacks happen not because crocodiles are unpredictable, but because humans underestimate them.
Yet this year’s flooding has magnified risks in new ways.
“Floods change everything” — Dr. Nimal D. Rathnayake
Herpetologist Dr. Nimal Rathnayake says the recent deluge cannot be understood in isolation.
“Floodwaters temporarily expand the crocodile’s world,” he says. “Areas people consider safe—paddy boundaries, footpaths, canal edges, abandoned land—suddenly become waterways.”
Once the water retreats, displaced crocodiles may end up in surprising places.
“We’ve documented crocodiles stranded in garden wells, drainage channels, unused culverts and even construction pits. These are not animals trying to attack. They are animals trying to survive.”
According to him, the real crisis is not the crocodile—it is the loss of wetlands, the destruction of natural river buffers, and the pollution of river systems.
“When you fill a marsh, block a canal, or replace vegetation with concrete, you force wildlife into narrower corridors. During floods, these become conflict hotspots.”
Past research by the Crocodile Specialist Group shows that more than 300 crocodiles have been killed in retaliation or for meat over the past decade. Such killings spike after major floods, when fear and misunderstanding are highest.
“Not monsters—ecosystem engineers” — Suranjan Karunaratne
On social media, flood-displaced crocodiles often go viral as “rogue beasts.” But conservationist Suranjan Karunaratne, also of the IUCN/SSC Crocodile Specialist Group, says such narratives are misleading.
“Crocodiles are apex predators shaped by millions of years of evolution,” he says. “They are shy, intelligent animals. The problem is predictable human behaviour.”
In countless attack investigations, Karunaratne and colleagues found a repeated pattern: the Three Sames—the same place, the same time, the same activity.
“People use the same bathing spot every single day. Crocodiles watch, learn, and plan. They hunt with extraordinary patience. When an attack occurs, it’s rarely random. It is the culmination of observation.”
He stresses that crocodiles are indispensable to healthy wetlands. They: control destructive catfish populations, recycle nutrients, clean carcasses and diseased fish, maintain biodiversity, create drought refuges through burrows used by amphibians and reptiles.
“Removing crocodiles destroys an entire chain of ecological services. They are not expendable.”
Karunaratne notes that after the civil conflict, Mugger populations in the north rebounded—proof that crocodiles recover when given space, solitude, and habitat.
Floods expose a neglected truth: CEEs save lives—if maintained In high-risk communities, Crocodile Exclusion Enclosures (CEEs) are often the only physical barrier between people and crocodiles. Built along riverbanks or tanks, these enclosures allow families to bathe, wash, and collect water safely.
Yet Dr. de Silva recounts a tragic incident along the Nilwala River where a girl was killed inside a poorly maintained enclosure. A rusted iron panel had created a hole just large enough for a crocodile to enter.
“CEEs are a life-saving intervention,” he says. “But they must be maintained. A neglected enclosure is worse than none at all.”
Despite their proven effectiveness, many CEEs remain abandoned, broken or unused.
Climate change is reshaping crocodile behaviour—and ours
Sri Lanka’s floods are no longer “cycles” as described in folklore. They are increasingly intense, unpredictable and climate-driven. The warming atmosphere delivers heavier rainfall in short bursts. Deforested hillsides and filled wetlands cannot absorb it.
Rivers swell rapidly and empty violently.
Crocodiles respond as they have always done: by moving to calmer water, by climbing onto land, by using drainage channels, by shifting between lagoons and canals, by following the shape of the water.
But human expansion has filled, blocked, or polluted these escape routes.
What once were crocodile flood refuges—marshes, mangroves, oxbow wetlands and abandoned river channels—are now housing schemes, fisheries, roads, and dumpsites.
Garbage, sand mining and invasive species worsen the crisis
The research contained in the uploaded reports paints a grim but accurate picture. Crocodiles are increasingly seen around garbage dumps, where invasive plants and waste accumulate. Polluted water attracts fish, which in turn draw crocodiles.
Excessive sand mining in river mouths and salinity intrusion expose crocodile nesting habitats. In some areas, agricultural chemicals contaminate wetlands beyond their natural capacity to recover.
In Borupana Ela, a short study found 29 Saltwater crocodiles killed in fishing gear within just 37 days.
Such numbers suggest a structural crisis—not a series of accidents.
Unplanned translocations: a dangerous human mistake
For years, local authorities attempted to reduce conflict by capturing crocodiles and releasing them elsewhere. Experts say this was misguided.
“Most Saltwater crocodiles have homing instincts,” explains Karunaratne. “Australian studies show many return to their original site—even if released dozens of kilometres away.”
Over the past decade, at least 26 Saltwater crocodiles have been released into inland freshwater bodies—home to the Mugger crocodile. This disrupts natural distribution, increases competition, and creates new conflict zones.
Living with crocodiles: a national strategy long overdue
All three experts—Dr. de Silva, Dr. Rathnayake and Karunaratne—agree that Sri Lanka urgently needs a coordinated, national-level mitigation plan.
* Protect natural buffers
Replant mangroves, restore riverine forests, enforce river margin laws.
* Maintain CEEs
They must be inspected, repaired and used regularly.
* Public education
Villagers should learn crocodile behaviour just as they learn about monsoons and tides.
* End harmful translocations
Let crocodiles remain in their natural ranges.
* Improve waste management
Dumps attract crocodiles and invasive species.
* Incentivise community monitoring
Trained local volunteers can track sightings and alert authorities early.
* Integrate crocodile safety into disaster management
Flood briefings should include alerts on reptile movement.
“The floods will come again. Our response must change.”
As the island cleans up and rebuilds, the deeper lesson lies beneath the brown floodwaters. Crocodiles are not new to Sri Lanka—but the conditions we are creating are.
Rivers once buffered by mangroves now rush through concrete channels. Tanks once supporting Mugger populations are choked with invasive plants. Wetlands once absorbing floodwaters are now levelled for construction.
Crocodiles move because the water moves. And the water moves differently today.
Dr. Rathnayake puts it simply:”We cannot treat every flooded crocodile as a threat to be eliminated. These animals are displaced, stressed, and trying to survive.”
Dr. de Silva adds:”Saving humans and saving crocodiles are not competing goals. Both depend on understanding behaviour—ours and theirs.”
And in a closing reflection, Suranjan Karunaratne says:”Crocodiles have survived 250 million years, outliving dinosaurs. Whether they survive the next 50 years in Sri Lanka depends entirely on us.”
For now, as the waters recede and the scars of the floods remain, Sri Lanka faces a choice: coexist with the ancient guardians of its waterways, or push them into extinction through fear, misunderstanding and neglect.
By Ifham Nizam
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