Showing posts with label Sandra Mack. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sandra Mack. Show all posts

09 March 2023

Colombo, Colombo, Colombo and so forth...


Back when we should have been dating or did date but didn’t know what it was called, all that mattered was to breathe the same air. Where we were at, what we did, what we talked about must have counted for something, but it was all secondary; necessary or inevitable backdrop to shared air. Something like that, more or less.  

Maybe it’s still the same, only more things have names these days. We must have been traumatised, must have had panic attacks and even suffered depression. Someone must have counselled us, only such people didn’t have titles and didn’t charge a fee. Medicines there must have been, only they didn’t come in tablet form. People came through with or without scars as they do now. Some fell to pieces as some still do.

So there are dates now. Planned as they were in ages past, more or less. But let’s leave dates and dating to daters and would-be-daters. Let’s talk about Colombo.

Years ago, one of the clubs in a prominent university decided to dedicate a periodical they put together to cities in countries such as Sri Lanka. They asked an undergraduate from Sri Lanka to write about Colombo. He hadn’t seen all of Colombo. He hadn’t studied the ways in which the city could be divided along lines of class, commercial activity, residences, communities, places of religious faith, political affiliation etc. He chose to write about what he knew of Colombo’s underside, the things, people and places that don’t come out with placards screaming ‘Here I am, I exist, take notice!’  

Interestingly, the class representative was also from Sri Lanka and he had insisted that he gets space for ‘his’ Colombo. The editors were caught in a dilemma. The ‘Underside Sri Lankan’ offered to concede but the editors, probably feeling bad that he had already been asked to write, decided to carry both pieces. Two Colombos. The underside and what could be called ‘the pretty.’

This was more than three decades ago. Those who Colombos, broadly speaking, still exist. Their faces have changed. Indeed, the profiles, if one constructed them, would be very different to what was sketched in 1990.

The pretty Colombo has got prettier. There are times when there’s a pronounced military presence but we are nothing like we were in the 1980s. Bigger. Higher skyline. Better? Depends who you are talking to. The underside has also changed. Less squalor perhaps, but income disparities have, broadly speaking, got worse. Break it all down to occupations and it’s still a city of stark disparities.

And yet, like all cities, Colombo is made of many other cities, and we are not talking about the ways in which the metropolitan area is separated by numbers, 1 to 15. A lot of time has passed and life sometimes compels one to walk new streets, encounter people and places never seen before, take notice of processes unimagined.

So you get the Colombo of the art galleries, Colombo of One Galle Face, Shangri-La, Galle Face Hotel, Colombo of temples, churches, kovils and mosques, Arcade Colombo and Dutch Hospital Colombo, Issa-Vadai Colombo and Ministry of Crab Colombo, Colombo of streets seemingly dedicated to particular trades and wares, Colombo visible and less visible, highly residential and squalid, Canal Colombo, Park Colombo, Colombo of the Beira Lake, Colombo at street-level and Colombo from a high-rise, Colombo of private and public transport, first class Colombo and Colombo of the third class and below, Colombo of the resident and the commuter, office Colombo, formal economy Colombo and informal Colombo, Colombo of the Galle Road, Duplication Road, Havelock Road, Parliament Road, Baseline Road, Diyatha Uyana Colombo, Walkway Colombo, Colombo of ‘prestigious schools’ and ‘lesser schools,’ Privileged and Underprivileged Colombo, Colombo and dawn and dusk, Midday Colombo and Colombo of intervening hours. And that’s a partial list, obviously.

So many, so many cities within the city, so many places, so many different kinds of people, so many different things to see and do, notice or ignore.

We talked of dates and love and lovers. The things to do, things to see and air breathable together. Endless. Like any city, Colombo, theoretically, lends itself not to one coffee table book of startling and elegant capture but innumerable albums.

Colombo. I’ve seen quite a few cities by that name. So many more to visit, inhabit, breathe in and exchange stories with. So little time left.

['The Morning Inspection' is the title of a column I wrote for the Daily News from 2009 to 2011, one article a day, Monday through Saturday. This is a new series. Links to previous articles in this new series are given below]

Other articles in this series:

The slowest road to Kumarigama, Ampara

Sweeping the clutter away

Some play music, others listen

Completing unfinished texts

Mind and hearts, loquacious and taciturn

I am at Jaga Food, where are you?

On separating the missing from the disappeared

Moments without tenses

And intangible republics will save the day (as they always have)

The world is made of waves

'Sentinelity'

The circuitous logic of Tony Muller

Rohana Kalyanaratne, an unforgettable 'Loku Aiya'

Mowgli, the Greatest Archaeologist

Figures and disfigurement, rocks and roses

Sujith Rathnayake and incarcerations imposed and embraced

Some stories are written on the covers themselves

A poetic enclave in the Republic of Literature

Landcapes of gone-time and going-time 

The best insurance against the loud and repeated lie

So what if the best flutes will not go to the best flautists?

There's dust and words awaiting us at crossroads and crosswords

The books of disquiet

A song of terraced paddy fields

Of ants, bridges and possibilities

From A through Aardvark to Zyzzyva 

World's End

Words, their potency, appropriation and abuse

Street corner stories

Who did not listen, who's not listening still?

The book of layering

If you remember Kobe, visit GOAT Mountain

The world is made for re-colouring

The gift and yoke of bastardy

The 'English Smile'

No 27, Dickman's Road, Colombo 5

Visual cartographers and cartography

Ithaca from a long ago and right now

Lessons written in invisible ink

The amazing quality of 'equal-kindness'

A tea-maker story seldom told

On academic activism

The interchangeability of light and darkness

Back to TRADITIONAL rice

Sisterhood: moments, just moments

Chess is my life and perhaps your too

Reflections on ownership and belonging

The integrity of Nadeesha Rajapaksha

Signatures in the seasons of love

To Maceo Martinet as he flies over rainbows

Sirith, like pirith, persist

Fragrances that will not be bottled 

Colours and textures of living heritage

Countries of the past, present and future

A degree in creative excuses

Books launched and not-yet-launched

The sunrise as viewed from sacred mountains

The ways of the lotus

Isaiah 58: 12-16 and the true meaning of grace

The age of Frederick Algernon Trotteville

Live and tell the tale as you will

Between struggle and cooperation

Of love and other intangibles

Neruda, Sekara and literary dimensions

The universe of smallness

Paul Christopher's heart of many chambers

Calmness gracefully cascades in the Dumbara Hills

Serendipitous amber rules the world

Continents of the heart
  

 



05 February 2023

Of red ants, bridges and possibilities

Photograph: Sandra Mack

No 69, Jambugasmulla Mawatha, Nugegoda is an address I’ve known for more than 40 years. That’s where my friend since 1977, Kanishka Goonewardena, now a professor at the University of Toronto, lived. Classmate and fellow scout in our younger days, we graduated to discussing political and ideological issues once we entered university and ever since. Kanishka studied architecture at Moratuwa University and would later move to city and regional planning, and eventually political philosophy.


There are lots of stories associated with my friend, his father who taught German and was a diligent student on a wide range of subjects, his mother who treated his friends and their friends as though they were her own sons, his siblings and that household. This is about the gate.

It was an ordinary iron gate, with a latch that held the two parts together. I remember having to open that gate very carefully because there was always a line of red ants going back and forth across the bar at the top. The movement, obviously, would be interrupted whenever the gate was opened. I was always fascinated by the behaviour of these ants. I would watch them after placing the latch back. There was agitation at the interruption, but not for too long. The ants would go back and forth, as before.

What was particularly fascinating was the fact that there was a slight gap between the two parts of the gate. Just too wide for the ants to cross. And, as ants do I suppose, a couple of more of them would form a bridge so others could cross this ‘chasm.’  Myrmecologists, i.e. those who study ants, may know more about such phenomenon, but for me, it was pure fascination at the coordination and solidarity expressed in this simple bridge-making act.  

A few years ago, visiting ‘Kaniya’ I noticed the ants. Probably not the very same ants, I told myself. Kaniya and I had a good laugh: ‘they are still here!’

Apparently the life expectancy of an ant varies from a few weeks to 15 years, depending on the species. I don’t know how long red ants live on average, but clearly several generations had lived and died since I first saw them on that gate.

A few days ago, dropping him off at home, I glanced at the gate. There was no ant-bridge, no line of red ants. There was one ant at one end of the gate, though. Maybe, I told myself, ants do other stuff, as colonies or as individual creatures. Maybe, I told myself, it was the weather. Maybe, I told myself, it was just coincidence that there were ants each time I visited that house.

It was coincidental that Sandra Mack, actor, model, art director, copywriter, archer, martial artist, cat-lover, photographer and maker of ‘homemade pro-veg lava-hot sauces, sweet sauces and toppings under her own label, “Burgher Hottie’s” posted a picture of ants upon a gate. Red ants. A bridge. A gate. A memory-rush.

Sandra called it ‘Possibilities.’ Perfect.

It took me back to an essay I wrote in a sociology class in which I mentioned bees in relation to community, social organization etc. The lecturer took issue with the example with a one-word dismissal - instinct. I have since learned that non-human creatures, insects included, engage in livestock development and have good knowledge of appropriate medicines. I have asked myself, across the many decades that followed that dismissal, ‘how can we know, ever, if it’s instinct, did we ever ask the creatures we pass judgement on, did they ever tell?’

Sandra explained: ‘I stood outside, not going in, scared I’d kill them if they fell, but eventually when I had to, they were so well organised that like gymnasts on either side, they held on. Simply amazing.’

‘Words fail me, I kept looking at this scene in awe,’ she said.

Two gates. Two people. Several decades apart. Same species. Both in awe. A bridge is an overused metaphor. Solidarity too. But ‘possible’? No. We are fixated with its antonym, impossible.

There are red-ant stories all around us. We may not notice, we may choose to brush them all aside. We can stop. And be awed, at and in the universe of the possible. 

 

Other articles in this series:

From A through Aardvark to Zyzzyva 

World's End

Words, their potency, appropriation and abuse

Street corner stories

Who did not listen, who's not listening still?

The book of layering

If you remember Kobe, visit GOAT Mountain

The world is made for re-colouring

The gift and yoke of bastardy

The 'English Smile'

No 27, Dickman's Road, Colombo 5

Visual cartographers and cartography

Ithaca from a long ago and right now

Lessons written in invisible ink

The amazing quality of 'equal-kindness'

A tea-maker story seldom told

On academic activism

The interchangeability of light and darkness

Back to TRADITIONAL rice

Sisterhood: moments, just moments

Chess is my life and perhaps your too

Reflections on ownership and belonging

The integrity of Nadeesha Rajapaksha

Signatures in the seasons of love

To Maceo Martinet as he flies over rainbows

Sirith, like pirith, persist

Fragrances that will not be bottled 

Colours and textures of living heritage

Countries of the past, present and future

A degree in creative excuses

Books launched and not-yet-launched

The sunrise as viewed from sacred mountains

The ways of the lotus

Isaiah 58: 12-16 and the true meaning of grace

The age of Frederick Algernon Trotteville

Live and tell the tale as you will

Between struggle and cooperation

Of love and other intangibles

Neruda, Sekara and literary dimensions

The universe of smallness

Paul Christopher's heart of many chambers

Calmness gracefully cascades in the Dumbara Hills

Serendipitous amber rules the world

Continents of the heart The allegory of the slow road

 

 

05 December 2013

Murali is transparent, accountable and reconciled


Pic by Sandra Mack of Ketikatha Creatives

It was the 22nd day of the month of July in the year 2010.  Galle was the venue of the first test between Sri Lanka and India.  India had avoided innings defeat but was ahead only marginally with 9 wickets down. For fifteen overs and 2 deliveries, much of the cricketing world waited and watched with rising anticipation.  Muttiah Muralitharan had already taken 799 test wickets.  It was his last test.  He had one shot at achieving the numerically satisfying ‘800’ to end an illustrious test cricket career.

Few who watched would forget the 4th delivery of the 116th over.  This is how it was described by the cricinfo commentator: ‘Muralitharan to Ojha, OUT, 800 it is! The wait and the tension is finally over! Tossed up outside off and the four men around the bat wait in anticipation! Ojha lunges forward, edges it and Mahela falls to his left and takes the catch at first slip! No need to look anywhere for confirmation, straightforward and Murali is ecstatic.’

Few would remember two other deliveries, the 4th of the 102nd over and the 2nd deliver of the 106th.   In the first case, Ishant Sharma steered a Lasith Malinga delivery past cover. There was confusion over a second run but in the end the batsmen reached safety. Someone threw the ball.  Muralitharan. 

Then in the 106th over, Pragyan Ojha pushes a Dilshan delivery to mid-off.  Murali picks and has a shy at the stumps.  Ojha just makes his ground.  The disappointment on his face was clearly not for camera.  Murali doesn’t do ‘photo op’, he is not a politician. 

On both occasions Murali might very well have won the game for Sri Lanka and denied himself that magic number, 800.  Bradman got out for a duck in his last innings.  Murali would have been ‘stranded’ on 799 but I think would have dabbed that little bit of grace to his immortality to rise (marginally) over the Don in the romantic history of the game. 

That’s Murali. All about team, all about collective even as he recognizes the individual and is conscious of the tasks he has been assigned and the standards he sets himself.  On and off the playing field, one might add.

He is not one to be drawn into political discussion but if asked he would offer, as he has, candid opinion. 

What does Murali know about Sri Lanka, communal conflict, inter-community relations, and depravations generated by war and natural disasters?  He is, ethnically speaking, a Tamil.  He has, along with his family, known of ethnic violence and yet it cannot be said that he belongs to an underclass, ethnic or otherwise.  He is immensely popular and much loved by all communities.  He is a national icon and is internationally recognized as an athlete of rare ability whose achievements of an exceptional character.  What credentials does he possess to assess progress made in post-conflict Sri Lanka?  The Nation asked. Murali responded.

‘We all belong to various communities; we are Tamil, Sinhalese, Muslims. And we all have religious faiths; we are Hindus, Buddhists, Christians.  We can belong to this or that community. What we have to realize is that we have to live together and for this we must respect each other.  There are differences of course, but the main difference is not about being a Tamil or a Christian, but the different ideas and ways of thinking. We all need peace and we all want to live in a peaceful country. All countries have conflicts and that’s natural.  But we have to overcome and live together.’

The above can be read as a homily that is easily drafted.  Anyone can say it. Murali, however, is not a word man.  He is a man of action, on and off the field, intense and focused, pragmatic and disciplined.  No one will dispute this. 

He has not lived in a war zone but this doesn’t mean he is ignorant of war-related realities and depravations.  He has visited these areas when he was a Brand Ambassador of the World Food Programme.  He recalls that time: ‘You can’t imagine how bad things were. I was there and I saw with my own eyes.’ He was speaking of the year 2003, i.e. at a time when the Ceasefire Agreement between the Government and the LTTE was in force. 

This is not the only reason he is qualified to pronounce judgment on progress made post-conflict.  The ‘Foundation of Goodness’ he set up in 1999 to improve the lives of people in rural Sri Lanka, has been working tirelessly in the North and East for the past 36 months, concentrating mostly in the areas that saw the heaviest fighting, Kilinochchi, Mankulam, Mannar and Mullaitivu. 

‘I’ve been there in 2003. It is now 2013, 10 years have passed.  I see the difference. Things are 1000 percent better now.’

He has touched and keeps touching hundreds of thousand lives in a real, practical and tangible manner.  His work covers 30 ‘empowerment sectors’.  He has set up medical centers, dental clinics, implemented projects to empower women, encourage environment management, develop business skills, offered IT training, set up pre-school educational facilities, organized programs to enable young people develop technical skills, provided all kinds of implements, from cooking utensils to sports equipment, and through it all facilitated people-to-people and inter-community interaction and understanding.  All for free. 

This is not the place to showcase Murali’s ‘Foundation of Goodness’.  The point is, he knows.  He visits, talks, smiles, make people feel better and leaves behind that which will support them long after he is gone.  How many among his detractors who question his credentials can claim to have done better? 

‘It is all about people.  Harmony depends on people.  It is about how you take it.’ 

That’s shorthand which describes operational template and subtly takes issue with certain kinds of narratives and interpretations of lived and suffered realities, both then and now.  Murali could have ‘taken’ in a hundred different ways. He could have ‘given’ too, in many ways.  He chose a particular kind of ‘taking’ and a particular kind of ‘giving’.  His way makes for harmony. His way is on-the-ground, people-to-people; there are other ‘ways’ that are not, that are wordy and worse, pit people against one another. Those other ‘ways’ are pernicious also because they are designed and disseminated by those who cannot claim to ‘know’ in the way that Murali knows. 

‘The assistance given to me by the Army is immense.  There was a time when they developed five grounds in just three months.  I don’t think anyone or any organization can do what the Army does and continues to do. They have the human resources and the equipment. They can be counted on at any time to deliver what is needed.’

We didn’t ask, but he said. 

It brought to mind the period following the defeat of the LTTE.  Certain sections of the media castigated the security forces with regard to the way the IDP situation was handled. It was a tough, tough, tough job.  No UN agency or set of UN agencies, no I/NGO collective and no set of state institutions, together or separately, could have managed to feed approximately 300,000 people, take care of their health issues, reunite families and arrange things so that the education of the children would not be totally abandoned, the way that the security forces did.  They had the numbers, the equipment, the discipline, the minds and hearts. 

What Murali sees, then, has to be extension. 

We cannot ask, ‘What do you know, Murali?’  We cannot ask, ‘What right do you have, Murali?’  Few, indeed, can interrogate the man.  He knows the dimensions. First hand.  He knows eye-wash.  He can see through orchestrated demonstrations.  Why? He is a person and he knows people. Different kinds of people. 

He is a man of few words, when it comes to interviews.  He is more about action.  He has tossed unplayable deliveries.  But what he delivers now and what he has been delivering for more than a decade now are different – makes for engagement. Makes for peace. 

On the cricket field he savored of course his personal achievements, but never delighted more than when his team was victorious.  It is the same outside.  He doesn’t talk about his Foundation unless you ask him. He does his bit.  He is accountable.  He is transparent. He is about reconciliation.  He doesn’t use those words.  That’s the difference.  That’s Murali. 

msenevira@gmail.com
  


12 October 2013

Remembering everyday mothers this Mothers’ Day

Pic by Sandra Mack
Today is Mothers’ Day.  Today is everyday mothers’ mothers’ day, mothers’ day of everyday grandmothers and everyday great grandmothers.  Today I remember two mothers, two grandmothers and one great grandmother and the mother, grandmother and great grandmother all rolled into one, 

Joyce Gunatilleka, 82 -years-old, mother of five, grandmother of 11 and great grandmother of 4. 
She passed the SSC and got through the teaching exam.  This would have been in the 1950s. She had been posted to a school in a remote part of the island.  She had to refuse for she was married and pregnant at the time.  And so, she ended up as what would be called ‘unskilled worker’, a necessary add-on but, someone who added much to the company she joined in January 1968 and left 27 years later, Ceylon Biscuits Ltd., better known as ‘Munchee’. 

According to this grand old lady, ‘Mee-archchie’ to her great grandchildren who mischievously called her ‘Meeya’ (mouse), a notice had been posted asking employees to come up with a name for the company.  Since it was a local company producing an authentically local product, she had suggested ‘Lanka Biscuits’.  The owners went with ‘Ceylon’ but who can tell if that name was not inspired by Joyce’s suggestion? 

She was part of the company from its difficult birthing, through its tense infancy and rocky childhood. She was there in the adolescent years and saw it maturing into splendid adulthood. She was not sole wet-nurse and neither does she claim she was, but Joyce Gunatileka did a lot of mothering, both at home and at work. 

‘Back then there were no cooling mechanisms, so we would go home sometimes with blisters on all ten fingers.  We still came to work the next day.’

She did the had-to-do things, even in the most difficult times when JVP dominated unions ordered the employees not to come to work or march around the company premises carrying placards and shouting slogans.

Twenty-seven years is time enough to have lived and created a history.  Eighty-two is not ‘too old’ to recount it all with surprising clarity.  History is version and is usually written by or writing in ways that privilege the powerful, but there’s a narrative that was indelibly inscribed in Joyce’s mind and this she has put down into words.  It is of the first and last draft kind, neatly written down in an exercise book. 

She read, with no sign of fatigue, for more than an hour, stopping only to respond to questions or to elaborate when felt necessary.  She read with unwavering voice, a smile on her lips, and without glasses.  That history, along with other narratives of ‘Munchee’ will make interesting reading no doubt, but what stood out was her maternity in all things.

She was a friend, a good friend. When co-workers involved with the trade union had to ‘take time off’ to negotiate with the management, Joyce happily agreed to take on their work.  She had it tough, tougher than most of her co-workers.  There were days she went without food, I found out.  During those fun-filled, exciting, taxing and nevertheless hard early years, Joyce had just one sari.  That tells another story, another history.

She is a great grandmother of the everyday kind.  So she is grandmother and mother too.  Like my mother, who passed away exactly four years ago, gone but still an everyday mother to me, an everyday grandmother to her grandchildren.  There were things she readily went without. That’s because she was an everyday mother who thought only about giving everything she could to her children.   

Joyce Gunatilleka must have been a skilled worker.  She was and is full of life, endowed with both clarity of eyesight and clarity of vision.  She has a memory, she knows how to describe.  ‘Mata puthek hamba una (I found a son)’, she said after the interview ended.  And I remembered my mother.
She was full of life. She was an excellent teacher.  She could writer and could teach how to write. She is now unburdened of memory, those fragrant and those eminently forgettable. 

There are days set aside to celebrate peace, love, labor and maternity.  The 13th day of October is a good day as any to remember our everyday mothers, those who still breathe and those who made us breathe.  This mothers’ day, it feels good to think of Joyce Gunatilleka.  My mother would understand.  

[Malinda Seneviratne can be reached at msenevira@gmail.com]

21 September 2013

Lt General Daya Ratnayake


Sportsman.  Fighter.  Thinker. Peace-Maker. Commander.
[Pics from Army archives, the Commander's albums and by Sandra Mack] 

Mahinda Kumara Dalupotha while relating a story about cattle, milk and how multinationals destroyed our dairy industry, mentioned something about Kurunegala.  I asked him if he went to Maliyadeva College.  When he answered in the affirmative, I told him that I had interview an old boy the previous day (for ‘The Nation’ newspaper), Lt. General Daya Ratnayake who had just assumed office as Army Commander.  

‘Ah!  Andy Aiya!’ he said, smiling the smile of someone who remembered someone with affection.

‘Andy?’ I asked him where that nickname (which I was ignorant about) came from.

‘From his initials, I think; there’s an A, an N and a D,’ he said but without conviction.

The name ‘Ratnayake Mudiyanselage Daya Ratnayake’ doesn’t have initials that could be twisted into ‘Andy’.  The Army Commander, when interviewed for ‘Change’, explained with a smile.

‘I was a great cricket fan as a schoolboy. In 1975 I went to watch a match between Sri Lanka and the West Indies.  Andy Roberts was their main strike bowler.  I was impressed. When I came back I imitated or at least tried to imitate his action.  So my friends called me Andy and that name stuck.  All the students, teachers and even the Principal knew me as ‘Andy’. 

Now he is ‘Daya’.  Daya, before he was ‘Andy’, was Daya, naturally, and was born on February 22, 1958 to a farming family living in a small village called Siyambalangamuwa, off Tittawella, which is about 4 km from Kurunegala on the road to Puttalam.

There are those who would say ‘farming family’ does not imply ‘farmers’, but ‘landed proprietors’ and those who might drop ‘farmer’ altogether and go for the relatively grandiose ‘landed proprietor’ and others (these days) who might think that too is goday compared with ‘Agri-Business Entrepreneur’.  Daya opted for ‘farmer’.   He has a story.

‘Those who applied to join the Army were subjected to a mock interview by the teachers.  I was asked, “what is your father?” and I said “farmer”.  I was told not to say “farmer”, but say “landed proprietor”.  I said and still say “farmer” because I believe one should be genuine and because the value of a life’s journey is about how far one has come.’
Head Prefect, Maliyadeva College

‘My father was a farmer.  His name, Muthu Banda. He was very well read.  He kept himself informed about a lot of things, local and global.  University students used to visit him, just to talk, just to learn or clarify.  He had a deep understanding of politics.  He had a bookshelf, he encouraged me to read. He gave me my first book, Amba Yaaluwo.  I still remember him telling me, “You should always take something more than what the writer has put down in the book”. 

‘He brought home all the newspapers, including English papers.  My older sister would read them to us.  Our father told us that there could come a time when we would not go very far without English.  He was convinced that we should have kept the English language when the British left.’

Daya Ratnayake considered his father a visionary, a patriot of the highest order, his greatest inspiration and endowed with a sensitivity that allowed him to appreciate even the ‘small good things’.  

‘My father died at the age of 81.  He had never even consumed a Panadol.  A week before he died, in 2006, he told me to be careful because he had seen a bad dream.  He had never said anything like that.  He had always said, ‘don’t worry….fight….die like a hero, you were born like a lion, so live and die like one’. I was at Welikanda at the time.  I met with an accident.  A bike accident.  Two days after he told me about the dream.’

If there is a sensitive side to Daya Ratnayake’s character he has to thank his mother for it, he says. Ran Menika was from Vadakada and came from a farming family.

‘Amma fed, nurtured, ran the house.  She was neat and methodical. She was a strong character. Nothing could deter her.  She was sensitive and kind, and balanced things off whenever my father was tough.’

Daya Ratnayake has lots of stories about his childhood and school days. He was the youngest in a family of 5 children, had three sisters and a brother.  Being the youngest had its advantages; he could duck English classes without any punishment apart from the occasional rebuke.  He went to the village school, Siyambalangamuwa Kanishta Vidyalaka, for a couple of years and then attended Udabadalava Sudarshana Maha Vidyalaya up to the 7th Grade; this being where he started junior cadetting.  After entering Maliyadeva College the following year, he continued his cadetting, eventually securing the rank of Sergeant Major and becoming the leader of the Cadet Platoon. 

School was about the outdoors, mainly, although he was a good student, finishing at the top end of the class consistently.  From the age of 10 he had been selected for running, starting with 50m and 100m and then events such as the 200m, 400m and the relays, 4x100 and 4x400.  He had helped his team become to Public Schools Relay Champions and win the Relay Carnival. 

He has the unique distinction of captaining his school in both athletics and rugby.  He still had time, during his school years, to secure a black belt in karate and be at the forefront of many clubs and societies. He had time to do his school work too, obtaining 7 credits at the GCE O/L exam, a rare achievement at the time.

Everyone has stand-out memories of schooldays.  Some are almost indicative of things to come while some are turning points.  Daya Ratnayake recounted many a tale, but there were some which give insights into the soldier, his mind and heart. 

The first was when he was about 12 years old.  He had gone to St. Peter’s College for an athletics meet.  Even before the team had left Kurunegala, the boys had been told, ‘You can’t win because there will be athletes from Royal, Ananda, St Thomas’. 

‘I was expecting giants, literally.  What came to my mind is the character “Yodaya” in the cartoon story published by the children’s newspaper Mihira. I looked for giants but found none.  They were all small boys.  I won the heat.  So ‘big’ never bothered me after that.  From then onwards it was, ‘if he can, why can’t I?’

There was another turning point.  Maliyadeva was to play Royal in an Under 17 rugger match at Reid Avenue.  Daya captained Maliyadeva.  This is how he remembers what happened:

‘When we arrived, the Royal captain welcomed us. He just said, “Hello, how are you?” I lost the match then and there. I was embarrassed.  My father would scold me, I thought.  I would cut classes, I knew. But on the way back, on the train, I decided that I would learn English before the next season began. So, like the Ascetic Siddhartha going from one teacher to another seeking wisdom, I went from one English teacher to another.  

Finally I went to Mr. Jaimon.  “Jema” told me that my problem was that I was scared of the language.   He taught me a few simple words.  He put me on his bike and took me around the town.  He told me that he would ask questions and I would have to answer in English, but loud and clear. He slowed down near crowded places, like bus halts, and fired questions at me.  I blurted out, ‘Yes!’, ‘No!’ and so on.  I lost my fear of the language.  No more stage fright.   
“Jema” told me to speak to everyone in English, the fishmonger, the teacher, the milk-man or anyone else.  If that person didn’t know English, it was his or her problem, not mine, he told me.  He gave me English books to keep on top of my books.  So people thought “Andiya kadu kaaraya” (Andy is good in English).  I had to live up to the reputation. Within 6 months I had achieved a decent level of language competency. 

Losing fear and embarrassment paid off in other ways as well.

Daya Ratnayake was one of the few boys who could control the entire school: ‘There were times when the teachers would seek my help; it was not by bullying or threat of force, but I commanded the respect of the students.’ 

On one occasion, after the Principal had sacked the son of a notorious thug who operated the fish stall in the market, seven or eight nasty looking men had come to Maliyadeva and were hovering nearby, clearly waiting for the principal to walk out.  The principal had called young Andy and explained the situation.

‘He was planning to go out surreptitiously.  I told him not to.  I said, “No Sir, you go out of the main gate, but should walk; don’t worry about anything”.  I managed to convince him.   He walked toward the bus halt.  The gang approached him.  I was ready along with some of my friends.  Within seconds 4 were in the drain and the others fled.  As they ran away, they threatened us, warned us not to come anywhere close to the market.

‘But that evening I went to the market. Alone.  Now when I think back I can’t understand where I got the courage from.  Anyway, I went up to the fish stall and simply state “Mama Aava” (I have come!). I pulled one fellow out and punched him.  No one in the market came to help the thugs.’    

So, for a while at least, thus it was that Daya Ratnayake came to rule Kurunegala.

Of all his teachers, the one who was most respected and remembered with the most affection and sense of gratitude is Mr. D.B. Dissanayake, the principal.

‘He was straightforward.  He was neat in dress, appearance and in the way he carried himself.  There were 5000 students in the school.  He had total control.  There wasn’t a whisper when he was around.  We all learned the importance of these qualities.  He produced many officers, professionals including some 20 generals.’

Daya Ratnayake remembered in particular an incident in 1976 where the principal, by example, taught him how to deal with crises, how to remain calm, employ reason and at all points to do nothing to sully one’s conscience.   

In 1976 a student of Peradeniya University, Weerasooriya, was shot dead.  Students all over the country protested.  The protests spilled into the schools.  Maliyadeva was not spared.  Daya Ratnayake recounts:

‘It was led by students who were probably associated with the JVP.  Some university students had also got into the school. There was a female student and a priest.  The Principal called me and some other prefects.  He said “this school is made of students, teachers and I.  The prost is justified.  I too will protest.  I will lead the way, followed by the teachers and then the students.  We are a disciplined school, so we will do this in a disciplined way”.

‘He said that the protest would be held within the school.  He said posters can be made but there cannot be filth.  When I walked out, someone called Dassanayake was making a speech.  I told him, “Dase, dan navaththanna” (Dase, now stop).  He refused.  I lifted the table and he fell down.  Then I addressed the students, got everyone to fall in according to classrooms, led by monitors and prefects.  A separate team drew posters.  The Principal led us.  He gave guidelines for slogans. The art teachers helped. 

‘When it was all done, I was asked to announce that everyone should go back to class.  Meanwhile the JVP had been holding another meeting in an empty classroom.  A few of us were also called.  The hamuduruwo and others spoke.  They wanted to set up something like a cell, they promised to train the members.  I just listened.  Among those who were invited was Ranga Bandara, who was in the debating team.  He argued with the JVPers. He said that politics was not relevant to the school. The hamuduruwo was angry, he argued back.  We realized that Ranga was right. I said, “hamuduruwane karunakarala yanna” (Please leave now, reverend).  And so we chased them all out.  I believe if we didn’t stop them or if we had joined them it would have been disastrous for a lot of people.  We were balanced.  The Principal had a lot to do with that.’

It is as though all factors had conspired to prepare Daya Ratnayake for a career in the security forces.   
‘I remember Mr Wimalasena.  He taught me history when I was in Grade 3 and 4.  Wimalasena Sir taught about kings.  I loved the way he spoke about wars, battles, commanders.   In later years, although I did Biology, I loved it when Mr. Samarakoon came on relief.  He taught Sinhala.  He was well versed in history.  I used to get him to talk about Dutugemunu, the Dasa Maha Yodayo.  He inspired me a lot.  In retrospect these discussions may have got deposited in my mind in some special way.  

Officer Cadet (1980)
‘Cadetting also played a role. I liked the structure, the form, the discipline, the rigor.  From almost every quarter this was the message I got: “Join the Army”.  My family, people from my village, friends, those who read horoscopes, teachers and even the Hamuduruwo in the daham pasala were of the view that I am best suited to be a soldier.  So by the time I was in the A/L class, it was not even an opinion, it was the thing to do.  Maliyadeva, it must be remembered, has a long tradition of sending people to the security forces.  That factor may have also played a role.  I applied to the Navy, Air Force and Police, was selected by all but chose the Army.’ 

It was in 1985 that he received his baptism of fire in real time combat.  He was riding in a convoy of three vehicles from Jaffna to Navathkuli through Ariyalai.  They had run into an LTTE ambush led by Kittu.  Two had died instantly, 4 had been injured. 
 
Lieutenant Ratnayake
We were being fired on.  The truck was on the middle of the road.  We got into the ditch.  For the first time in all our lives we had got caught in a live ambush. It was my first practical test, the first time I was tested as a leader.  Everyone looked to me.  After the first few moments of shock, I sprang into action.  Thirty seven terrorists we killed.  We held for an hour.   This is how I learned what leadership meant.  From that moment onwards I was very confident, I knew I could go anywhere and I did, I knew my men trusted me and they did, they came with me and fought with me.’

He was awarded the Rana Vikrama Padakkama, the highest honor conferred on a soldier at the time.  It was the first gallantry medal awarding ceremony presided over by President J.R. Jayewardena.  Eighteen got lesser medals, but 4 others received the Rana Vikrama Padakkama, all posthumously.  My name was the 5th to be called.  Everyone was surprised when I got up. The President invited me to sit with him at tea.’

The late eighties saw less engagement with the LTTE (this was the time the Indian Peace Keeping Force, IPKF, was engaging the LTTE in combat).  Daya Ratnayake was in the Southern Province, attached to the Intelligence unit.  Let him say it in his own words. 

‘I was doing intelligence work.  On one occasion 20 JVP suspects were caught.  They were treated well and I gave the assurance that none of them would be killed.  Still, none of them divulged any useful information.  Then one day I saw a dead/burning body and I tagged it with the name of the leader.  The leader, one of the 20 suspects, was kept hidden meanwhile.  Posters were put up all over Matara informing everyone that the man was indeed dead.   The man didn’t know either.  Two days later we caught a cell leader. I interrogated him.  He was just 17 years old, brave and defiant.  He was ready to die.  He said “we will all die; even our leader was killed”.  I said “no putha, the leader gave us your name”.   Then we showed him the leader. He was shocked.  He spilled the beans.  We treated him well, got his parents down and handed him to them. I just told him to inform us when the district committee met.  Within 2-3 weeks, they did.  Food had to be provided by his family.  Of the 12 persons who attended, 11 were apprehended.

‘I interrogated the leader of the military wing.  He was sitting across me on the opposite side of the table.  There was no one else in the room.  He spat at me and said “kill me!”  I smiled and said, ‘Spit again malli’.  Within an hour he was in tears.  I believe I learned to become a good interrogator.  It is about using the opponent’s strength against him.   It is about identifying a weak point, using it to leverage an advantage and eventually breaking the opponent. 

‘I was asked by a senior officer to “get rid of” the 11 suspects.  I refused, pointing out that once they are arrested they cannot be killed.  The senior officer said, “I will report you”. I refused to carry out the order.  He said he will give the order in writing. I said that won’t make a difference. 

‘My brother was in the Police at the time.  A couple of his friends urged me not to disobey, saying that I have a great future before me. I told them that I don’t want to build my future by killing innocent people.

‘We managed to obtain key information that was very useful in breaking into the JVP’s network. Two to three months later the insurrection was over.  There was a celebration organized by the Army. The senior officer whom I disobeyed came up to me and embraced me.  He said “Daya, I learned a lesson; only you had character”.’

The nineties saw Daya Ratnayake serving with distinction in all parts of the North and East.  He is the only officer who has received medals for gallantry from all presidents, J.R. Jayewardena, Ranasinghe Premadasa, D.B. Wijetunga, Chandrika Kumaratunga and Mahinda Rajapaksa. He has received 10 in all, making him the recipient of the most number of gallantry medals.

He was involved in all major operations in the nineties.  He remembered the tough days well.
‘In our efforts to liberate Jaffna in 1995 during the Riviresa operation, we came to a point where the LTTE had 3 defence lines, the Neerveli Defence Lines.  We tried hard for many days to break through but didn’t succeed.  Some suggested we wait until we got helicopters from Russia, guns from china.

During 'Riviresa' Operation

‘I got my officers together.  I said I will lead the assault.  Second Lt Kapila Chakravarthi, Second Lt Udaya Konarasinghe and Second Lt Wijesiriwardena, who were all special operations platoon commanders, we given instructions. We went ahead for 4 km. We had 700 troops.  We stopped in Kopai.  Things were critical.  It is the worst day in my life. January 1, 2000.  Around 100 soldiers died.  I lost 24 of my own men.  I was the brigade commander.  We were stuck.  But we rescued the group.’

The media will no doubt have fond recollections of Daya Ratnayake, who was the Military Spokesman 2004-2005. He considers it one of the best experiences.

‘It was a big challenge, it was very interesting and I enjoyed it a lot. The tsunami came while I was Military Spokesman.  The entire world’s media was here. We had to deal directly with civil persons.  I didn’t have the training, was not conditioned adequately, but I just talked my subject, through my experiences.  It was a good exposure.  I learned presentation skills, discovered how people manipulate, that media is not above board or genuine, and figured out ways of how to get through and get our position across.  I learned to be diplomatic, to keep myself informed and the importance of being competent and professional about one’s job. 

‘Someone would start saying “there’s a rumor…” and I cannot say, “I don’t know”.  I would keep to what is known, I would say “Yes, but it is only a rumor”.  You have to be smart, give solid answers without leaving room for further query.  It is not easy.  Journalists try to antagonize, surprise and annoy’. 

He had started compiling a military data base when he took on the challenging job of Media Spokesperson. He monitored all the news, monitored all media just so he was better equipped to respond to particular media institutions and particular journalists.  He studied the Western media too, because he had to deal with foreign correspondents frequently. 

Things changed in 2005.  Ratnayake, at the time holding the rank of Brigadier, was sent to Welikanda as the 23 Division Commander. The entire Army was aware of the change. 

‘The Army understands, as it always should, the pulse of the political leadership. There was an immediate change after the Presidential Election in November 2005.  I felt there was a huge transformation in attitudes, that there was new hope.  We were, at that point, pretty desperate.  Our dignity and self-respect had suffered a lot of damage.  Morale was at rock bottom.  But it felt like rain after a long drought.  The Secretary, Defence Ministry, Gotabhaya Rajapaksa took some bold decisions. He hand-picked right people for the right job.  He conceptualized the overall strategy. 

‘With respect to the men under my command, I realized that I had to do a lot of confidence-building.  To do this, we had to fine tune structures, intensify training, upgrade and adequately equip ourselves with weapons, skill, knowledge etc.  We had to improve the force multipliers, i.e. intelligence, psychological operations, civil affairs and communications.

‘I drew a lot from the theories of Sun Tsu, i.e. from his classic work ‘The Art of War’.  The best form of attack is to attack the strategy of the enemy.  Next, it is imperative that we break his alliances.  Third, we have to isolate the enemy in the battlefield.  Fourth, we never attack walled cities or strong points; the best form of winning a war is winning it without fighting.’ 

The Secretary gave a strategy.  That’s what ‘The art of war’ is all about.  Ratnayake recalled how the ‘small group’ concept was developed, or rather transformed with personnel re-equipped, trained and empowered with immense reserves of self-belief. 

He pointed out that the breakaway of what came to be called the Karuna Faction was important because they were able to see what kind of people they were fighting against.

‘They were not soldiers.  We asked ourselves, ‘LTTE kiyanne muntada (Are these fellows what the LTTE is made of)?’   

He distinctly remembered the operation to liberate Vakarai in late 2006 and early 2007.  After Sampur was liberated, Vakarai was the last sea-land link with the North.  If the LTTE lost Vakarai, its cadres would have been isolated in Thoppigala.

‘They kept the civilians because they knew they couldn’t keep the army at bay.  We used the small group concept. Threatened important points.  Drew the enemy out.   Then we sent smaller groups inside. We are talking about a 700 sq km of jungle.  The LTTE had 3000 cadres.  There were 40,000 civilians in the Vakarai-Kadiraveli stretch.  We sent groups of 30-40 men, attacking their movements.  Their transportation system came to a standstill. We targeted the junior level leadership.  In the case of the LTTE everything revolved around leaders.  When we picked the leaders, the followers didn’t know what to do because leaders were not being replaced. 

‘It was a matter of time before the civilians came out.  So we got ready.  We built campsites to receive the people.  These included study rooms, playgrounds and toilets; there was water supply and sanitation, TVs and telephone facilities.  All this without any support from organizations such as the ICRC, mind you.’

How were the people drawn out though?  Ratnayake said that here too there was a well thought out strategy. 

‘We got the message in.  There were certain groups that could go in, for example clergy, ICRC, SLMM etc.  From the beginning, even as we targeted the LTTE leadership, we deliberately fought a defensive battle, one that had as objective the rescue of the civilians held hostage by the LTTE. 

‘A total of 69 people came through in the first instance. They walked through the jungle to get into the cleared areas.  We had set up 5 ‘reception centres’.  It was like a carnival.  They were all welcomed with a cool drink in long glasses.  First aid was administered to the wounded, the doctors screened them all.  There was hot coffee and hot tea.  Buffet.  Large plates.  A Tamil film on a mega screen was played.  They were in fact greeted with Tamil songs. Everything was done to make them comfortable and to put them at ease. 

‘There was just one male in the group.  They couldn’t believe what they were seeing and experiencing. Our soldiers were friendly.  They all wanted to go back and tell the others to come.  We finally selected 39 and sent them back with the SLMM and within 5-6 days, 15,000 people came. 
‘Everyone received the same treatment.  The villagers took on the task of serving them food.  The Hamuduruwos took charge of that aspect. There was a woman who was in labor.  A tractor was hastily converted into a delivery room.  There was no obstetrician.  All buses were stopped. We looked for and found a labor room nurse going home on leave.  One of the lady officers, who was about to get married, had some hand-me-down nappies given to her by her sister.  Powder, cologne and other baby things were collected. The baby was delivered without any complications.’

Then the others had come.  A total of 718 LTTE cadres and 36 soldiers died in the battle.  About a 100 LTTE cadres surrendered.  One soldier, captured by the LTTE, was rescued.

After the Vakarai operation, Daya Ratnayake was sent to China for a special course of study.  When he returned in 2008 he was made Commissioner General of Rehabilitation, a post he held until February 2010 when he was appointed Army Chief of Staff.

Like always, the man approached this new task with caution, taking the trouble to educate himself about things he was unfamiliar with.  Prof Rohan Gunaratne had put him in touch with a rehabilitation expert in Singapore. 
 
As Commissioner General of Rehabilitation
‘I figured out that the best rehabilitation lesson available was the story of the subduing of the murderer Angulimala (Angulimala Dhamanaya).  As for taking care of those in utter despair, what better example, I thought to myself, than that of Patachara?  Rehabilitation is something that is inside of us.  We can draw it out and put it into practice. 

‘What had really happened?  Well, Velupillai Prabhakaran had taken one of the most innocent, intelligent, cultured, and disciplined communities that prioritized education and religion, and transformed significant sections of it, especially the youth, into the most dangerous terrorists in the world.  To do this, Prabhakaran had to lock their hearts.  Once this is accomplished, they can be used for anything. He wanted only mind and skill.  We needed to unlock the heart and reintroduce values into their hearts – the worth of a human life, dignity, value of a mother and father, the worth of the collective etc.’ 

He is convinced that the broader cultural ethos of the citizens, especially its Buddhist foundations, was a very important factor in winning the war. 


‘Most of our soldiers were from humble backgrounds where people respected parents, teachers and elders.  Kin names are used not only for kin, indicating a social order and a cultural tendency to see “relation” and “relationship” wherever one goes.  They were disciplined yes, but were endowed with a broader understanding about human beings, nature, society and the human condition. 

‘They would fight the most intense battle, but if the next moment they see a child coming out, the weapon is dropped, the child is carried to safety, an elderly person is supported, a mother is calmed down.  Sympathy, compassion, respect, kindness etc., all factor in to produce such momentary transformations and this is remarkable.  I can only attribute it to fidelity a largely Buddhism upbringing.’ 

Perhaps the best testimony to the strategy adopted and the best endorsement of Ratnayake’s faith in the soldiers to deliver is the fact that over 12,000 LTTE suspects and surrendees were rehabilitated and reintegrated with society: ‘There’s not a single complaint so far to the Police about any criminal activity!’

Daya Ratnayake is a thinking soldier.  He is an avid reader of Buddhist philosophy, history (especially military history), military philosophy and western theories of war, especially Vom Kriege (On War) by Carl von Clausewitz.  And yet, nothing compares with Sun Tzu.  Not for Daya Ratnayake. He seems to have taken his father’s advice to heart: done his best to take something more than what is in the books he reads.

He has his definition of the ideal soldier. ‘Balance’ is all important, he believes.

‘There should be balance of head, heart and hand. These should be synchronized.  All five senses have to be alert and used to the maximum.  Mind is about knowledge. Hand symbolizes skill.  Heart is about love, sympathy and compassion.’

It is not always the case of course, but as far as the optimal is considered it is certainly an ideal to aspire to.   

Lt. General Daya Ratnayake is now the Commander of the Sri Lanka Army.  He is tough. He is simple in his ways.  He left his village many years ago, but the village never left him.  The stories he heard as a little child remained with him and inspired him. 

This writer remember the first time he met this exceptional soldier, i.e. when Ratnayake was in Welikanda. He was friendly and courteous.  He enjoyed a good joke.  He was utterly unassuming.  There were no frills about this man.  His ‘office’ at the time was a construction made totally of ammunition boxes in which multibarrel rocket launchers had been transported.  The walls and even the furniture was made of the same material.  There was a painting that was hung on one of the walls, a painting that depicted the way Keerthi Vijayabahu fought the Cholas.  Three columns of forces, one to isolate the enemy in Mannar, one to distract the enemy from a different direction (Digamadulla, Madakalapuwa, Thoppigala with the attack launched from Welikanda) and the main assault on Polonnaruwa from Matale-Mahanuwara-Kurunegala.

He knew his men and he knew his superiors.  He is known to have been at odds with the then Army Commander, Lt General Sarath Fonseka, but he has always acknowledged that there was no one better suited to lead the Army at the time: ‘If I disagreed, I would speak up, I would criticize and this is because that is my responsibility during discussions on strategy, but I followed orders and respected his authority.’

He is a post-conflict Army Commander, having to contend with a set of challenges which includes a complex reality to contend with in terms of recovery, a need to move on but with sensitivity to emotions frayed by thirty years of conflict. 

‘Naturally, after the end of the conflict, the focus had to be on rehabilitation, resettlement, reconstruction and recovery.  This had to be done in an environment of devastation where physical infrastructure was almost non-existent and civil administrative structures crippled.  Thirty years took away a lot.  The rest of the world had gone ahead. We had a huge backlog to clear. 

‘First of all we had to attend to de-mining and resettlement.  We had to rehabilitate LTTE cadres, provide them with skills necessary to lead productive lives and reintegrate them into society.  These were all achieved at record speed. No other country saddled with a post-conflict situation comparable to ours has achieved as much or at such a short period.  

‘Livelihood recovery and the full restoration and enhancement of infrastructure takes longer, but even in this, we have shown a lot of progress.’

Lt. General Ratnayake is not unaware of impatience and accusations of neglect, after all there were people who directly or indirectly supported the LTTE demanding that the Army dismantle all military camps and such immediately after the LTTE military leadership was vanquished. 

‘We have to understand that everyone sacrificed a lot; people of all communities suffered, both the peace-loving and those who invested in terrorism, the patriots and the not so patriotic.  Thirty years is a long time to wait for peace. So when the LTTE was defeated it was like opening the sluice gates.  Everyone wanted everything right now!  And whenever something is achieved, they want more, and if more is done they ask for better quality. This is not wrong.  We need to be clear about what can be done, about what we plan to do, what can be expected and when. 

‘The aspirations and impatience have to be taken note of and managed.  A lot of education needs to happen and this includes countering pernicious and politically motivated mis-education, not only of people in the conflict zone but others in the country as well as the international community.

‘We need to understand that as a country and a society we had traveled a long distance on the road to agathiya, the extreme. Coming back is easier said than done.  Reason must prevail over emotion. Discipline is vital.’ 

Daya Ratnayake is a leader. He has always been one.  For him leadership is only one of two elements associated with ‘command’, the other being management.  He contends that leadership is basically about direct influence employed on subordinates, whereas management is made of indirect impact.  A young officer’s work is 90% leadership, he said, adding that as you move up the ranks, management becomes as important.
 
The Commander with his family
He is a fighter when in uniform, a thinker at all times, and at home a loving husband and father. His son Yasas, a sportsman like his father and again like his father given to philosophical reflection, is reading for a degree in Sociology in Minnesota.  The younger son Vinura studies Logistic Management at the Kotelawala Defence University.  The youngest, Minaya, just 9 years old appears to be his immediate superior and probably listens only to the Commander’s wife Dammi.

Lt. General Daya Ratnayake, youngest son of Muthu Banda and Ran Menika, hails from a farming community in a small village called Siyambalangamuwa, off Tittawella, about 4 km from Kurunegala on the road to Puttalam.  He was ‘Daya’ as a child and then he was ‘Andy’.  He recovered his name after he left school.  He got a title recently, ‘Army Commander’.  Through it all, it is clear, he loved the map of a country called Sri Lanka.  He did much to recover that torn cartography and stitch it together, in the name of his ancestors and for the protection of generations yet to walk the length and breadth of this land.  He is a commander of soldiers, yes, but no less worthy of salute from the general citizenry.