Opinion
Murder of Ehelepola family, Bogambara Wewa and Sightings of Wangediya
Preamble and the Accused
Ehelepola tragedy has twists and turns; I start with the African proverb, “Until lions have their own historians, the history of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.” In this story, hunters are the Kandy king, his first Adigar Ehelepola, and the British colonial government.
Within a few years of becoming king of Kandy in 1798, Sri Wickrama Rajasingha began to feel his unpopularity spread across the country and right under his nose among the Kandyan elites. He murdered captured British soldiers receiving hospital treatment in Kandy and let Major Davie die in captivity. He executed his Prime Minister, Pilima Talawa Sr., in 1812 for suspicion of colluding with the British, and, as John D’oyly revealed, was envious of the former’s alleged schemes to get his son married to the granddaughter of the late King Kirthi Sri Rajasingha (1747-1782) to establish a blood relationship to royalty.
The king then appointed Ehelepola, nephew of Pilima Talawe as the First Adigar. Continuing his wanton execution regime, he touched a nerve in Kandyans with the sacrilegious act of killing Buddhist monk Moratota Paranatala Unnanse, accused of spying for John Doyly, whom Gananath Obeyesekere called “Master Spy.” The King’s reign was an oppressive, oligarchical system consisting of himself, his family, the Chiefs, and some in the Buddhist sacerdotal fraternity in the Kandyan country.
Sri Wickrama Rajasingha was an illegitimate king, with a dubious claim to a direct royal bloodline, which weakened him as a ruler. As we know now, he was ruling the kingdom with borrowed time. Six months after the Ehelepola killings, he was deposed by the British, the empire-builder with its full power, passion, and double dealings.
The King had an irritable and short-tempered demeanour. In 1816, even as a prisoner of the British being conducted on board HMS Cornwallis, in the morning of the 26th day at sea, William Granville, the British Civil Servant heard him screaming with dreadful passion, hacking and hewing into pieces with a hatchet an extra bedstead in front of his cabin kept for him to sit occasionally. The reason for his fury was that one of his attendants had slept on it the previous night, disgracing his honour!
The Murders

Ehelepola Nilame. Los Angeles
County Museum of Art.
The king was accused of Ehelepola murders, and Ehelepola Adigar stands as an accessory by failing to prevent the crime and willfully refusing to help the victims by abandoning the scene.
Headwinds of the crime started when Ehelepola Adigar, Dissave of Sabaragamuwa, was accused of the stabbing deaths of two koralas, under him. When the king ordered him back to Kandy for questioning, he refused. In May of 1814, the Adigar, fully aware of what the king, with his sinister bearing, would do to his family, sealed their fate by throwing away any chance of saving them, and escaped to Colombo seeking British protection.
The enraged king took hostage Adigar’s wife, Kumarihamy, and her four children, along with a few relatives, until the patriarch’s return. After hearing a rumour that the Adigar was planning to spirit away the family from the prison, the king, breaking principles of elemental justice, decided to put his family to death at a public event.
Ehelepola’s misogynist disposition is evident in an old Ola book, recently found in Padiyapelella. In his Mahanuwara Yugaye Aprakata Withthi by historian Chamikara Pilapitiya includes a statement Ehelepola made right before he returned to Kandy with the British army. He bemoaned the loss of his two children, probably the two sons. He added that they were like his two eyes, and, without them, he asked what the use of titles and a good life, referring to rumors that he was planning to get the kingship with British support. He said no word of sorrow for his wife and two daughters, who perished together with the two sons!
In Interior of Ceylon (1821), John Davy, the British Army Doctor (1816–1820), provided the most accurate description with firsthand information of the beheading of the children and the drowning of their mother. The vengeful king summoned Kumarihamy, her four children – two sons, 11 and 9 years old, a daughter, and a nursing baby, and the son of Adigar’s brother and three women to the execution stage near the Natha and Maha Vishnu devale by the palace.
After analyzing contemporary writings, including D’oyly’s Diary, Gananath Obeyesekere has determined the execution date as May 21, 1814. On this day, executioners brought implements of the crime – a wangediya (rice mortar) and a pestle. King then ordered them to decapitate the children first and place the severed heads in the wangediya. When the elder son Lokubanda dithered, his nine-year-old brother Maddumabanda stepped forward and uttered the now legendary words: “Brother, fear not. Let me show you how to die.”
The wadakayo decapitated the children and put their heads into the wangediya and handed the pestle to the agonizing mother. The king ordered her to pound the heads. If she did not, he threatened with an ultimatum – banishment in marriage to Rodiyas, the untouchables in the country, an unfathomable humiliation to her clan. Trusting it would benefit her husband, Kumarihamy declared she would do the unthinkable. With surprising courage, she began to pound the lifeless heads of her children. Some watching this catastrophe wailed, in silence, like driftwood on a deserted shore. A Chief fainted.
Henry Marshall, Surgeon of the British Forces (1808–1821), tells of the perfidious role of one Kandyan Chief who was present that day. When the king ordered the mother to pound the heads in the mortar, Kumarihamy first wavered. The Chief, who was a relative of her husband and supervised the execution, asked her to accept the king’s terms and save the family from the disgrace of living with a Rodiya clan. She did not require such encouragement. With her children slaughtered, soon to face the same fate herself, the only thing left to save was her self-serving husband and his malicious treachery for abandoning them, which she was probably not aware of at the time.
After listening to an eyewitness account, Major Forbes (1840) described the “fortitude and propriety of her conduct” by going through the “most awful scene to which any mother was ever subjected.”
Afterward, the wadakayo and slave women in the palace, carrying the remains of the children, led Kumarihamy and three women to the Bogambara Wewa, which the king could see from the palace.
Six months later, Governor Robert Brownrigg would write what happened next. The “woman herself and three more females, whose limbs being bound, and a heavy stone tied round the neck of each, they were thrown into a lake and drowned.”
King’s retributive justice regime crossed the boundaries of the 32-punishment realm under the murky and ancient Laws of Manu and Kandyan Code of Honor. Pounding heads of decapitated children in wangediya was not in those codes. For the king, it was a theater of death to warn anyone who dared to cross his path. In Discipline and Punishment: Birth of Prisons (1977, 1995), Michel Foucault wrote that such exhibitionist punishments as “the theatrical representation of pain.” But the deposed king, while aboard HMS Cornwallis, placed the blame on Kandyan laws in general, asking William Granville, “Did I make those Laws?”
Interestingly, in The Doomed King: A Requiem for Sri Wickrama Rajasingha (2017), Gananath Obeyesekere, with flimsy evidence, rules out Bogambara Wewa as the site of the drowning. He calls it a myth developed in popular stories like Purana Ehelepola Hatana, invented in the low country. He calls some informants of early writers of the Ehelepola story as “inventive mills, overloaded with falsities,” and no British account exists of Bogambara as the lake where the tragedy took place! But two decades before Purana Ehelepola Hatana, L. De Bussche wrote in Letters on Ceylon (1817) that the dead family was cast into the lower lake of Kandy. Davy was more specific. He wrote in 1821 that the women were “led to the little tank in the immediate neighborhood of Kandy called Bogambarawave [sic] and drowned.”
The alternative location Obeyesekere provides is another smaller tank north end of the city, Borawewa, near the present-day Katugastota railway tunnel. It was also closer to the Asgiriya Temple and the Royal Burial grounds, making it unlikely the king would execute prisoners and dump the bodies close to such sacred places. Obeyesekere seems to disregard Adigar himself, and Dissave of Wellassa, other Chiefs and eyewitnesses still living in Kandy who provided firsthand information to Davy and Henry Marshall.
Bogambara Wewa – The Place

Bogambara Wewa (1796–1820). Green Howards Regimental Museum, London, reproduced in Mahanuwara Yugaye Aprakata Vitti (II) by Chamikara Pilapitiya (2018).
This Wewa, also known as Palledeniya Wewa, is believed to have been built by Rajasingha II (1635–1687). Robert Knox wrote in 1681 that the king made a bank of earth across a valley, far above a cable’s length (200m) and four fathoms high. To prevent erosion, builders made a ralapanawa (revetement) along the inner slope of the bund. He had a “banquetting house about a musket-shot from his palace” [sic] on a little hill by this pond.
In the stylish praise poem Parangi Hatana (c.1642), Bogambara Wewa is likened to the Buddhist cosmic lake Anotatta. Although Kandy Lake looks dandy, the former, with a storied past and the memory of its sepulchral encounter with the Ehelepola heartbreak, was entrenched in the public pantheon of city’s aesthetics.
When measured against the Kandy maps of Lt. Col. Henry Evatt (1768–1851) of Royal Engineers in 1816 reproduced in Nihal Karunaratna’s From Governor’s Pavilion to President’s Pavilion, and in Davy’s in 1821, this bund appears to cross the narrow valley separating Bahirawakanda range between the Police Station and a projection of the Hantana range behind the Education Office near the Railway station. Furthermore, the painting Bogambara Wewa (c. 1796–1820) shown in the image clearly shows a man and a boy walking on the bund of the wewa running in the direction where, in the distance, the distinctive summit of Hantana range is visible. The artist drew it looking towards the hospital, standing on the Pushpadana College slope of Bahirawakanda, behind the police station.
In 1817, De Bussche wrote that this Wewa covered about 6 or 8 acres. Contemporary maps show it occupied the general area bordered by sections of present-day streets named Colombo, Dalada, Yatinuwara, and the Police Station, and the elevated land where the now-decommissioned Prison Complex stands, and the Bund of the Kandy Lake. Except for a few ephemeral ponds scattered along the foot of the hills in the west of the valley, this Wewa remained the main source of water for the city until the Kandy Lake came on board in 1812.
Both lakes were fed by streams originating from Dunumadalawa forest on hills bordering the south side of the city and from Udawattakele in the North. It was unlikely the palace used water from the Bogambara Wewa since it was located uphill from the Wewa. However, as Knox wrote 135 years earlier, the king had water brought to the palace in ditches cut on mountain sides in the North and East and stored in “little ponds made with lime and stone and full of fish,” probably a well and a pond near the palace. One such pond is seen east of the Kundasale road, current Malabar Street, east of Maligawa, on the Dutch Map of 1766, reproduced in Aprakata Vitti. The 1816 map signed by Henry Evatt of the Royal Engineers shows a ditch originating from Kandy Lake to the moat in front of the palace. It then curves West, and goes North parallel to Trincomalee Street. On this map, Bogambara Wewa turns to the south and tapers off as a thin strip parallel to Old Colombo Road, the present-day Peradeniya Road.
Kandy was topographically too compact, surrounded by hills and two lakes in the middle. The area occupied by the Bogambara Wewa and fields below was the only direction the city could expand. Thus, after the British occupied it in 1815, one of their first tasks was to drain it to create more land.
The ensuing building boom in the city began soon. When Davy came to Kandy in 1817, Bogambara Wewa had already been drained. So, he wrote the city “standing on the border of an artificial lake made by the last king,” unquestionably referring to Kandy Lake (Kiri Muhuda). A few years later, Governor Edward Barnes (1824–1831) rode with Rev. Reginald Heber in 1825, proudly showing off another construction project a kilometer from the Kandy Lake – the 500-foot-long tunnel through the Aniwatta hills, a shortcut to the ferry at Halloluwa on the Mahaweli River. Building of the Pavilion (Governor’s Mansion) started around 1826 during Governor Barnes’ tenure.
Last Tango of the King and Adigar
On January 10, 1815, Brownrigg declared war on the Kandyan kingdom. On February 11, eight months after the Ehelepola executions, the king fled Kandy. On the 12th, Major Willerman entered the city, followed by Governor Brownrigg on the 14th. Unlike later in 1819, when the Governor, as the new Lord of the land, returned to Kandy with Davy, on this inaugural day of entry, there was no pomp and pageantry with arches of white olas (gokkola) to receive him along the road from Gannoruwa. Immediately after, Ehelepola entered Kandy with Major Hook and joined Lieutenant Mylius and Ekneligoda pursuing the killer of his family. On February 18, they arrested the king and his family in a house near Medamahanuwara. The British escorted the king to Colombo, and 11 months later, banished him and his entourage to Vellore. He died there in 1832, aged 52.
To mollify the feared tempest of emotions in Kandyan people after deposing the king and ending Sinhala sovereignty, Governor Robert Brownrigg wrote in the official declaration to the Chiefs, reminding them of the king’s “bold contempt of every principle of justice, setting at nought all known grounds of punishment, dispensing with the necessity of accusation, and choosing for its victims helpless females uncharged with any offence, and infants incapable of crime.”
Two weeks after signing the Kandyan Convention, even before formal religious services for his family, Ehelepola informed the Governor that he planned to marry Pilima Talawe Jr.’s sister (widow of Migastenna Adigar) and asked for financial assistance for the wedding. Then, in April 1815, with wounded pride after being sidelined by the British, Adigar gave a mataka dana to 20 monks in memory of his family. His fantasy of becoming the “Deveni Rajjuruwo” did not materialize. Instead, the British gave him the feel-good title of “Friend of the British Government.” In 1818, the “friends” took him into custody. He was never charged but kept in confinement in Colombo. In 1825, he was banished to Mauritius and died in 1829.
Gananath Obeyesekere wrote that when Ehelepola was banished to Mauritius, Sinhala power was lost. Six decades after Adigar’s death, Lawrie wrote that the Ehelepola family line was extinct.
But the Adigar left it to history to judge what a cowardly and callous patriarch he was, having intentionally allowed his wife and children to perish at the hands of a roguish king’s executioners.
Sightings of Wangediya
After the bodies and implements used in the executions disappeared in the watery grave, the mood of the thickly knitted social, cultural, and superstition pathologies of Kandyans undoubtedly prevented any chance of naturalizing the wangediya, by saving it as a household item, or relic of the Ehelepola saga. It was a heartbreak and a cultural shock, painful, grisly, to give this object of murder a place within a residential confine.
But nine decades later, the first written account of the rice mortar used in the killings appears in A.C. Lawrie’s 1896 Gazetteer of the Central Province (Vol. I). He refers to the Kandy DC case number 30962, where a Malay named Sadim Kumba had stated to the Temple Land Commissioner that, in 1843, on land close to the new police station, he saw the stone trough used in the Ehelepola killings, and, in 1858, it was in the Kandy Pavilion.
This episode seems to have continued later with the alleged involvement in it of a T.B. Paranathala. In 1895, he was a Clerk in the Kandy District Court and was appointed as an English-speaking Special Juror (Gov. Gazette of 1895, Part II, p. 43). He probably had come across Kumba’s evidence, and, knowing its historical value, could have related it to Lawrie, who was a judge in Kandy at the time and working on the Gazetteer, which came out a year later.
When the construction of the police station began around 1843, workers moved a lot of earth in and out of the adjoining empty lake bed and its shoreline, and that it is possible to expect the chance of stumbling upon items buried in the former lake floor reappearing.
Sadim Kumba may have been privy to this information for two reasons. He was probably either part of the construction crew on the police station project or, as a boy growing up in the city, may have joined the crowd that followed the Ehelepola ladies on their last journey and saw the spot where wangediya was rolled down the bund.
If what Kumba saw is true, after the way the city cried seeing the executions, and as Brownrigg wrote then that Sinhalese are a “Superstitious Race,” it is incomprehensible that any sane person would take home a bloodied wangediya.
Thus, all physical evidence of the bloody Ehelepola episode, too, remained buried in the watery grave. Therefore, it was not until three decades after the wewa was drained that the British had any contact with what was buried in the lake floor, when wangediya surfaced perforce during grading work on the new police station site.
The British also feared that if remains of his family were to resurface, Ehelepola Adigar, remarried and living comfortably in retirement, but still a formidable character in Kandyan affairs with the title of Maha Nilame, though under a cloud of suspicion, would be upset, and create political instability by regrouping friends to take retribution against the chiefs who sided with the king.
With the scars of the 1818 revolt still in mind, following the 1843 discovery, the British would strategically remove the wangediya to the Pavilion, away from the public eye to prevent rekindling of sentiments among the Kandyans until after 1858, when it disappeared from the pavilion.
However, Chamika Pilapitiya, who inspected ola manuscripts and listened to oral histories in Kandyan country, had shared new insights into the wangediya saga with me. According to him it was found in an Ala Kola Landa (shrub land). A Muhandiram in a Malay soldier phalanx then took possession of it, washed, and used it at his home. His son Cader, who inherited it, sold it to a T. B. Paranathala Nilame. In 1929, it changed hands again, this time to Dr. J. W. Artigala, as stated by M. Malius de Silva.
If this story holds true, in three instances starting from 1843, three generations of Malay families – Kumba, Malay Muhandiram, and his son Cader in Kandy – were in contact with the wangediya in some form or another until early 20th Century, when it changed hands with Paranathala.
In conclusion, I implore scholars at the National Museum, Kandy Museum, and Ehelepola Museum to follow up on this lost trail. Because this wangediya is the only object now existing out here to have had contact with, and heard cries of, the eponymous family 211 years ago at Deva Sanhide, a stone’s throw from Ehelepola residence. If the museum can secure it, it is a solemn and endearing gesture to this family, now only admired as wax figures, standing in silence, unable to tell their story.
Only then can we write the last coda for the Ehelepola Requiem.
Lokubanda Tillakaratne writes about the Ethnography of Nuwarakalaviya.
by Lokubanda
Tillakaratne
Opinion
Defeat of Terrorism and Triumph of Hypocrisy – another view
This is regarding the editorial of The Island on 19 May 2026, titled “Defeat of Terrorism- Triumph of hypocrisy”.
I fully agree with the Editor when he says that Terrorism needs to be eliminated in all its forms and manifestations. Terrorism is generally defined as “massacring innocents to achieve a political aim”. Whether the cause for terrorism is justifiable or not, terrorism per se, cannot be justified and thus, should be eliminated.
However, I have different views with the rest of the editorial.
The editor says what Rajapaksas did to the country was like saving a damsel in distress and abusing her thereafter. Elaborating the same, he says that Rajapaksas have thought leadership to defeat terrorism was a special license to do as they pleased and sought to politicise and monopolise war victory to accelerate their dynasty building projects. He continues to say that the post war Mahinda Rajapaksa (MR) admininstration became a government of Rajapaksas by the Rajapaksas and for Rajapaksas. In short, the implication was that MR, after defeating LTTE, has done nothing except furthering his and his family’s political interests.
MR, even during the critical period in the war against LTTE, handled the economy professionally. There was an upward trend in SL economy from 2005–2009 showing GDP growth from 24.4 billion dollars in 2005 to 42.5 billion dollars in 2009, doubling the 2005 GDP. During 2010–2015 showed Sri Lanka’s strongest economic performance with the economy growing from US $ 56.7 billion to US $ 80.6 billion.
The annual growth rate was over 7.4%, per capita income more than tripled (from US $ 1200 to over US $ 3,600) elevating SL to lower-middle income status. National poverty level declined significantly, dropping from over 15% in 2006 to below 7% by 2012. Unemployment declined to 4 %. Transport and energy sectors received a significant boost. Massive power generation projects such as Norochcholai coal power plant and Upper Kothmale Hydro power plant were completed.
The expansion of Colombo port, development of Hambantota port, Mattala International Airport and building of expressways (Southern and Colombo-Katunayake) greatly improved the country’s transportation capacity and brought SL clear to a goal of being a dynamic Maritime and Aviation Hub.
The above statistics of the Central Bank does not prove the fact that Rajapaksas only looked after their interests after the war. Hence the proverbial “Damsel” that the editor was referring to, was not abused as he claimed, but had been looked after very well.
Excesses may have happened and it happens everywhere in every field. But the fact remains that MR defeated the most ruthless terrorist organisation in the world and developed the country with roads, rails, ports, airports, expressways, bridges, power plants, stadiums etc. which deserves appreciation.
The editor then says MR suffered a humiliating electoral defeat in 2015, again came to power in 2019, but mismanaged the economy, indulged in corruption and bankrupted the country. That too is far from the truth.
The foreign exchange crisis that culminated in 2002 was not due to mismanagement /corruption of Gotabaya Rajapaksa (GR) government but mainly due to excessive foreign borrowings during 2015-2019. By 2019 Nov, the economy was already in a precarious state, with the IMF itself warning that SL was highly vulnerable to external shocks.
The editorial never mentions Covid 19, the worst global pandemic the GR government had to face. During this period the government revenue fell by approx. Rs 534 billion. (revenue lost from import restriction of motor vehicles, Covid lockdown and closure of liquor shops were Rs 136 billion, 323 billion and 75 billion respectively.) At the end of the MR regime in 2014, the outstanding ISBs were US $ 5.3 billion and the reserves were US $ 8.2 billion. By the time GR came to power, the outstanding ISBs were US $ 15.2 billion and the reserves were US $ 7.6 billion. In 2020-2021, the GR government did not issue any ISBs but settled them in time.
The decision to maintain debt servicing was not just about protecting the country’s image in financial markets but to ensure critical health and humanitarian support including vaccines, medicines, and essential supplies continued to flow into the country during the worst global health crisis in the country.
It’s a pity that the public who remained silent when foreign debt was piling up, launched an Aragalaya to expel the leader who settled the debts without obtaining fresh loans. Was it hypocrisy or treason?
The claim that the tax reduction implemented in Dec 2019 caused a significant loss of revenue was also not correct. When economic activity is deliberately halted by a global pandemic, with borders shut, businesses closed, citizens confined to their residences, production at the lowest, no tax rate high or low, can generate revenue from transactions that are simply not occurring.
The economic downfall was not due to mismanagement or corruption but due to the promulgation of bankruptcy (debt standstill) by Central Bank (CB) on the advice of former CB governor Dr. Indrajth Coomaraswamy and consultant Prof. Shantha Devaraja. That decision undermined the on-going efforts to stabilise the economy. I consider allowing such an announcement was a mistake done by GR. It halted IMF staff level already agreed loan, Indian Credit Line of US $ 3 billion and suspended WB and ADB loans. Also, China had to halt the loans already requested as China Secure (the government insurance company) could not insure loans to a bankrupt country.
The reserves were carefully used by GR to buy vaccines giving priority to human lives, and due to lack of foreign exchange, procurement of gas and fuel was critically effected. In the final stages there was an organised campaign by saboteurs to steal and hoard fuel. The JVP members publicly appealed to Sri Lankans abroad not to send any dollars to the country. A hate campaign was carried out against the Rajapaksas.
A protest called Aragalaya was held at Galle face. The entire episode was a grand conspiracy to oust GR, who was sworn in as the President at Ruwanwelisaya, the great symbol of Sinhalese Buddhist culture. Black Vesak lanterns, ridiculing Buddhist sacred symbols, insulting the Mahanayakas, anti-unitary slogans and glorifying federalism and free biriyani for the entire crowd by “unknown” sponsors were ample evidence of its hidden agenda.
Aragalaya, which forcibly took over the Presidential Secretariat, was obviously illegal. The other mistake done by GR was to allow protesters to operate without chasing them away using force if necessary. Finally, GR, the Commander in Chief of the three forces, left the country without hurting anyone.
The editor says that Rajapaksas squandered an opportunity that presented itself after the war to bring about national reconciliation and defeat LTTE ideology politically. He says reconciliation has become a victim of hypocrisy.
MR, after the war, launched a large number of development projects in the North constructing roads, bridges, grounds, schools, hospitals, etc. All the roads were carpeted. During the period 2010-2012 the growth rate in Jaffna was 22% compared to 7% in the rest of the country. That was the first step he took towards reconciliation.
Reconciliation needs an equal contribution from both sides. Unfortunately, the goodwill shown and the enormous economic support provided by MR were never reciprocated by the Tamil politicians. MR held PC elections (without abolishing 13A even with two-thirds majority in parliament) and allowed them to elect their own leaders. That was the second step towards reconciliation.
Mr. C. V. Vigneswaran studied at Royal college and Colombo Law College, became a Magistrate, High Court judge, a judge in the Court of Appeal and in the Supreme Court. Having lived among Sinhalese for more than 65 years, after being elected as the Chief Minister in the Northern Province, he declared that the Sinhalese had no right to live in Jaffna. Every year he returned most of the funds allocated for Northern development back to the Treasury without utilising it fully, to indicate that there was no support from the government. That was how Tamil politicians contributed towards reconciliation.
After 2009, hundreds of Tamil students in the North have become doctors, engineers, lawyers, top government officials, etc., due to unhindered education. The civilians who suffered under LTTE facing abductions, paying ransom, etc., now live in peace without any fear. Most of the Tamils have migrated to areas outside the North and the East. More than 52% of the Tamils are now living among Sinhalese without any problem. Main businesses in Colombo are dominated by the Tamils. What else is required Mr. Editor for the so-called reconciliation? Granting a separate state on a platter?
With all the above, the Tamils in the North annually commemorate the very person who made their lives miserable for 30 years. How would the Sinhalese feel when they see the terrorists who killed pregnant women, monks, infants, devotees being garlanded and felicitated in the North every year?
Yes, the editor was correct. Reconciliation has become a victim of hypocrisy.
Retired Rear admiral (Dr) Sarath Weerasekera VSV RWP USP
Former Public Security Minister
Opinion
IMF’s failure to tackle corruption in Sri Lanka
Anti-corruption and governance reforms are central pillars of Sri Lanka’s $2.9 billion bailout agreement with the International Monetary Fund (IMF). This was the first time in Asia that an IMF programme was explicitly linked to a comprehensive anti-corruption diagnostic and specific legislative measures.
At the press conference announcing the deal, Senior Mission Chief Peter Breuer said that the IMF had emphasised that anti-corruption and governance reforms are central pillars of the programme. He added that the IMF would subject Sri Lanka to a comprehensive governance diagnostic exercise, making it the first Asian economy to undergo such an exercise, which will assess corruption and governance vulnerabilities in Sri Lanka and provide prioritised and sequenced recommendations. “Sri Lanka will be the first country in Asia to undergo a governance diagnostic exercise by the IMF. We look forward to further engagement and collaboration with stakeholders and civil society organisations on this critical reform area,” the IMF official said.
An extract from the Technical Assistance Report on Governance Diagnostic Assessment, Sri Lanka (September 30, 2023) is as follows; “The report highlights immediate and short-term measures to address key corruption issues, as well as structural reforms that require more time and resources but are essential to strengthen governance and initiate lasting change. The recommendations are designed as a coherent approach to improving governance through a focus on: clarity of authority and responsibility for core functions; financial and operational independence of essential accountability and law enforcement institutions; transparency in government practices and performance, especially relating to the planning, spending, and accounting for the use of public funds and assets; inclusive, accessible, and rule-based means to enforce private agreements and challenge official behaviour; and efficient mechanisms for making information public and holding organisations and individuals to account for their performance and behaviour”.
Further, the agreement required Sri Lanka to implement several specific, actionable measures to curb corruption vulnerabilities:
New Anti-Corruption Legislation: The government passed the landmark Anti-Corruption Act in 2023, which expanded the powers of the Commission to Investigate Allegations of Bribery or Corruption (CIABOC), required electoral candidates and officials to declare their assets, and introduced protections for whistleblowers.
Fiscal and Procurement Reforms: The IMF programme included commitments to improve public financial management, increase tax transparency, and advance public procurement laws to eliminate political interference and cronyism in government contracts.
The IMF Executive Board is supposed to continuously track these anti-corruption and governance benchmarks during its periodic programme reviews to ensure compliance. The IMF officials’ last visit to Sri Lanka was from March 26th to April 9th when they reviewed the progress of the programme, decided that it was going well and approved the release of the final tranche. Their statement did not carry any reference to the activities of the government regarding control of corruption.
The Letter of Intent submitted by the government at the conclusion of the review becomes relevant under these circumstances. It was officially released on May 29, 2026. One of the critical undertakings by the government, according to the Letter of Intent, relates to cost-recovery pricing, the government has reaffirmed its commitment to maintaining cost-recovery pricing for fuel and electricity.
Going by available communications, apparently the IMF has not inquired into what caused the increase of cost of production of electricity. Cost of electricity production has gone up due to increased use of diesel, as low quality coal is not producing the required amounts. The coal that has been recently imported has been found to be of low quality and the government has said the losses due to this misadventure will not be shifted to the people. The irregularities in the coal procurement process that has happened recently is no secret, the Auditor General’s report has pointed out the flaws in the said procedure. Ironically, the IMF programme highlights the need to have fool proof procurement and tender procedures, and emphasises “holding organisations and individuals to account for their performance and behaviour” as the above quoted Technical Assistance Report mentions, yet it is silent on this matter showing its lack of responsibility. And it wants cost-recovery pricing for electricity! This may be taken as proof that the IMF is not very much concerned about the plight of the poor.
Further, these policies and recommendations of the IMF may substantiate the accusations made by left oriented organisations that the IMF insists on austerity measures, often at the expense of welfare expenditure, in order to serve neoliberalism. The clauses on corruption control in its agreement with the government appear to be mere lip service and window dressing. If no follow-up action is taken on these requirements, such clauses have no meaning and serve no useful purpose. If it is a responsible organisation, the IMF should have called for an impartial inquiry into the coal procurement procedure, for it is mandated to ensure transparency and integrity in these procedures. Moreover, if it is concerned about the welfare of the public it should not have asked for cost-recovery pricing of electricity when the reason for the increased cost could be corruption. Instead of going into the matter of corruption the IMF asks the government to recover the losses from the people. Cannot it think of a fairer means of recovering these losses instead of burdening the already impoverished people?
Thus, the question arises whether the IMF is a tool of imperialism. Many critics, particularly in the Global South, argue that the IMF functions as an instrument of financial imperialism or neo-colonialism. Structural Adjustment Programmes of the IMF ties its emergency loans to strict conditions like austerity, privatisation, and deregulation. Critics argue these demands dismantle local welfare systems, strip developing nations of their sovereignty, and open their markets to exploitation by multinational corporations. Further, the wealthy nations, particularly the United States and European powers, hold the majority of voting shares and effectively control the institution, dictating economic policy to weaker states. Critics claim that IMF-mandated currency devaluations artificially lower the cost of raw materials and natural resources in developing countries, benefiting wealthy creditor nations which amount to resource extraction.
Another matter of concern is that the interest rate for IMF loans to Sri Lanka, contrary to common belief that it is concessionary, is 5% which is pretty high and may be unbearable to a poor country like Sri Lanka. The country was in a woeful state in 2022 and was forced to declare bankruptcy, and seek IMF assistance. If we seriously examine the cause of this economic disaster, we will see that it was due to the economic policies the country had been following since independence. We import more than we export and take loans to meet the shortfall. This practice has gone on and on and is continued at present. No government, including the present one, despite its left leaning claims, had attempted to correct this colossal mistake. Our debt burden is frightening, less said about it the better.
The obvious solution to this problem would have been to achieve self-sufficiency in our essential needs, like food, and reduce reliance on imports. Most of our needs in food and other essentials could be locally produced. The IMF may not recommend such a course of action. It would want us to remain a poor country, struggling in the vicious cycle of import-export-debt quagmire.
by N. A. de S. Amaratunga
Opinion
When the decisive vote changes hands: Sri Lanka’s next electoral shift may already be underway
In the summer of 1789, as the French Revolution gathered momentum, delegates of the National Assembly assembled in Versailles to debate the future of France. The seating arrangement inside the chamber was not planned to shape political vocabulary for centuries to come. Yet it did. Those who favoured sweeping political change, greater equality, and the dismantling of inherited privilege gravitated to the left side of the hall. Those who defended the monarchy, established institutions, and traditional social hierarchies took their seats on the right. What began as a matter of convenience soon became a political metaphor. More than two centuries later, we still speak of the “left” and the “right” to describe competing visions of society.
Since then, the terms have evolved and acquired different meanings across countries and historical periods. Yet, the broad distinction remains remarkably durable. Ideologies associated with the left generally place greater emphasis on social, political, and economic equality, often advocating a more active role for the state in addressing disparities and expanding collective welfare. Ideologies associated with the right tend to place greater value on tradition, market mechanisms, authority, and various forms of social hierarchy, arguing that stability and prosperity emerge from preserving established institutions and incentives. Most political movements, of course, occupy positions somewhere between these poles, combining elements of both traditions in different proportions.
Few elections have altered the course of Sri Lankan politics as dramatically as the general election of 1977. Sweeping to power with an unprecedented five-sixths majority in Parliament, the United National Party ushered in a new political and economic era under the leadership of J. R. Jayewardene. He would later become the country’s first Executive President under a constitutional framework that vested extensive powers in the office. The changes that followed reflected a decisive move towards market-oriented reforms and a political outlook that leaned more to the right than anything Sri Lanka had previously experienced.
Yet even a political machine as formidable as the UNP’s could not hold power indefinitely. After nearly seventeen years of dominance, its grip on the electorate weakened. In 1994, the pendulum swung once again, bringing Chandrika Bandaranaike Kumaratunga. The victory was widely interpreted as a return to a more socially conscious and centre-left political vision.
What followed was not merely a change of government but the emergence of a recurring pattern in Sri Lankan political landscape. Since 1994, governments of varying compositions and personalities have risen to power with crucial support from parties and constituencies positioned on the left of the political spectrum. Whether through formal coalitions, strategic alliances, or ideological influence, the left has often provided the decisive electoral weight needed to secure victory. In many cases, without that support, the arithmetic of power would have looked very different.
Yet it is equally important to recognise what Sri Lanka has not become. Despite the enduring influence of left-wing thought, the country has never embraced an uncompromising far-left political project. Instead, successive governments have largely occupied a centre-left space, balancing market economics with welfare commitments, nationalism with social reform, and political pragmatism with egalitarian aspirations. The result has been a political landscape where power changes hands, parties rise and fall, and personalities dominate headlines, but the centre of gravity remains remarkably leftist. Sri Lanka’s electorate has repeatedly rewarded those who speak the language of social justice, even while stopping short of endorsing political extremes.
One possible explanation for this enduring centre-left tendency lies not in political parties themselves, but in the cultural formation of the electorate. For much of the period between the 1960s and the liberalisation of the economy in 1977–78, Russian literature occupied a prominent place in Sri Lanka’s reading culture. Affordable translations of the works of writers such as Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Gorky, Chekhov and Pushkin circulated widely among students, teachers and ordinary readers. Alongside their literary value, these works exposed generations of Sri Lankans to questions of social justice, class inequality, collective responsibility and the moral obligations of society toward the vulnerable.
By the early 1990s, the generation that had grown up reading this literature had come of age politically. As they entered the electorate in larger numbers, they helped shape the contours of public opinion. Their voting preferences did not necessarily favour revolutionary socialism or radical left-wing politics. Rather, they appeared to support governments that combined commitments to welfare, social protection and egalitarian ideals with the practical realities of governing a developing nation. In this sense, the centre-left orientation that has characterised much of Sri Lanka’s political landscape since 1994 may owe as much to the country’s literary and intellectual culture as to the strategies of political parties themselves.
Yet there is an apparent paradox at the heart of this story. While successive governments often drew legitimacy from centre-left political ideals, their economic policies frequently moved in a different direction. Confronted by fiscal constraints, global economic pressures and shifting geopolitical realities, they operated within an international economic order largely shaped by market-oriented principles. Institutions such as the International Monetary Fund exerted considerable influence over economic policymaking, encouraging reforms associated more closely with liberalisation, fiscal discipline and market efficiency than with traditional left-wing economics.
It was thus a balancing act that defined Sri Lankan governance for decades after 1994: governments elected on promises of social justice and collective welfare, yet compelled to pursue economic strategies shaped by the imperatives of a global market economy. Politically, the country remained centre-left. Economically, it often travelled along a more market-oriented path.
Sri Lanka may have settled its political direction for the next few years, but the next truly decisive moment may arrive closer to 2030. By then, the composition of the electorate will have changed once again. A growing share of voters will belong to Generation Z and Generation Alpha, generations whose intellectual and cultural worlds differ markedly from those that came before them.
If the electorate that emerged in the 1990s was shaped, in part, by the values encountered in Russian literature and a reading culture that emphasised questions of social responsibility, collective welfare and inequality, the generations now entering political maturity have been formed by a different landscape altogether. Their influences are increasingly digital, global and instantaneous, are shaped more by algorithms and by social media feeds, content creators and transnational cultural currents. Many have grown up in a world where entrepreneurship, individual success, innovation and market-driven solutions occupy a far more visible place in public discourse.
This generational shift is unfolding alongside broader transformations in global politics. Across much of the world, including major powers such as the United Kingdom and the United States, contemporary political movements that emphasise markets, national interests, economic competitiveness, and stronger state authority have gained momentum. Whether these trends will find a lasting echo in Sri Lanka remains a question that deserves careful attention, not merely as an electoral matter, but as one intertwined with some of the defining challenges of our time.
Today, concerns of national sovereignty, security, strategic influence and even soft power are increasingly mediated through economic strength and market performance. Nations are judged not only by their political ideals but also by their ability to compete, innovate and secure their place within an interconnected global economy. Sri Lanka, still navigating the aftermath of economic crisis and charting its future development path, finds itself at the centre of these debates.
Against this backdrop, if the decisive vote is gradually passing from a generation shaped by the books that once filled the nation’s shelves to one shaped by the screens that now fill its hands, the question therefore does not simply become who will win the next election. It is whether the intellectual and cultural influences that shaped Sri Lanka’s centre-left political consensus can retain their hold on a new electorate formed by different experiences, different technologies, and different aspirations.
If every era is ultimately defined by the stories it tells itself, what story is the next generation of Sri Lankan voters already beginning to write? Will it move the centre of gravity towards a more market-oriented, centre-right vision? The answer may well determine not only the outcome of future elections, but the ideological direction of Sri Lanka itself.
By Viran Maddumage PhD (Reading), Macquarie University,
and Sanduni Rathnayake, AAL
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