About the book: https://www.community.lk/history/442-ravana-s-lanka-sunela-jayawardene-s-quest-to-uncover-sri-lanka-s-ancient-civilizations
The Line of Lanka. Myths & Memories of an Island
Sunela Jayawardene, 2017, Sailfish
Sit back and let yourself be swept along in Sunela Jayewardene’s intrepid journeys across Lanka’s lush countryside. Join her and rediscover myth & legend, history & heritage as she adroitly describes nature’s enduring beauty and oft forgotten traditions that pulse to the beat of an unseen drum. Line of Lanka is a brilliant and unusual portrayal of a country and its people that will change your perceptions of Sri Lanka.
‘Water for Kings’: A poetic tragedy echoing Sri Lanka’s own divides
03 Sep 2024 | By Venessa Anthony
Taking the stage at Kolamba Kamatha over the weekend was ‘Water for Kings’, which captivated audiences with its powerful narrative and evocative performances. The production was staged from 29 August to 1 September, with an extra matinee show on Sunday (1) due to high demand.
The Daily Morning Brunch had the opportunity to witness this profound piece of theatre, and the experience was nothing short of remarkable. Directed by Mind Adventures Theatre Co. founder and Artistic Director Tracy Holsinger and written by Ramya Jirasinghe, ‘Water for Kings’ left us deeply moved, its compelling performances and resonant themes making a mark.
The cast, led by Prof. Saumya Liyanage, Brandon Ingram, Hidaayath Hazeer, Shala Amarasuriya, and Tharusha Kumarasinghe, delivered powerful portrayals that brought this tragic narrative to life. Supporting them were the versatile talents of Dinuli Mendis, Sonali Wanigabaduge, Nabeel Nooramith, and Udula Karawita, with Shala Amarasuriya also contributing as the Music Director, adding an emotive layer to this already impactful production.
In a world where access to water is both a necessity and a luxury, ‘Water for Kings’ masterfully transformed this universal truth into a tragic tale that felt both timeless and eerily relevant. Written in contemporary verse, this play was more than just a theatrical performance – it was a profound commentary on power, inequality, and the high costs of social change.
Set in a mythic land divided into Wet and Dry Zones, ‘Water for Kings’ explored the stark differences between the haves and the have-nots, with water serving as the metaphorical lifeblood that separated them. The Wet Zone thrives, lush and abundant, while the Dry Zone, neglected and parched, becomes a symbol of marginalisation. The play didn’t shy away from drawing parallels to real-world issues, particularly those familiar to Sri Lankan audiences, where geographical and socio-political divisions continue to shape the nation’s landscape.
The power of water as a metaphor
Water, in this play, is more than just a resource; it’s a symbol of power, control, and the inequalities that arise when that power is abused. The deliberate restriction of water to the Dry Zone by the ruling class of the Wet Zone is a clear allegory for how resources are hoarded by those in power, leaving the marginalised to suffer. This is a story that resonates deeply, especially in a country like ours, where similar disparities between regions have historically led to conflict.
The play’s protagonist, Prince Muthukumar, represented the rare figure of a ruler who is not content to let such injustices continue. When he visits the Dry Zone, guided by Rani, a slave girl turned concubine, he is confronted with the harsh reality of the land’s suffering. This moment of revelation is a turning point, not just for the character, but for the entire narrative. The visuals of the Dry Zone, depicted as a wasteland of shrivelled, desperate souls, are haunting and powerful, driving home the severity of their plight.
A chorus of the forgotten
One of the play’s most striking elements was its use of a chorus made up of the dead from the Dry Zone. These spectral figures, embodying the ghosts of those who perished due to the lack of water, served as a powerful reminder of the consequences of neglect. Their presence was a constant, unsettling force that pushed the narrative forward, compelling Prince Muthukumar to confront the failures of his lineage.
Their influence culminates in a scene where they confront the King himself, forcing him to see the devastation his ignorance had caused. This confrontation, and the subsequent change of heart it inspired in the King, marks the beginning of a new era for the Dry Zone, as the King finally begins to take action to rectify the wrongs of the past.
The tragedy of good intentions
But ‘Water for Kings’ is not content to leave its audience with a simple tale of redemption. The second act of the play delved into the complexities of power, showing how even the best intentions can be thwarted by ambition and manipulation. The introduction of the High Priest, a figure who opposes the King’s reforms, added a layer of intrigue and tension to the story. The Priest, portrayed with a chilling intensity by Brandon Ingram, represented the entrenched interests that resist change, preferring to maintain control at any cost.
As the King prepares to abdicate, intending to pass the throne to his two sons, it becomes clear that his vision of joint rule is doomed to fail. The play poignantly illustrated how power struggles, even within a family, can lead to disaster. Prince Asvajith, the weaker of the two brothers, becomes a pawn in the High Priest’s game, manipulated into making decisions that ultimately bring about the kingdom’s downfall.
Muthukumar, the King’s favoured son and the architect of many of the kingdom’s reforms, tragically meets his end in a storm, a symbolic representation of the chaos that ensues when good intentions are not enough to bring about lasting change. His death, while poetic, left the audience with a sense of unfinished business – a reminder that change is often messy and incomplete.
A commentary on modern Sri Lanka
‘Water for Kings’ subtly, yet powerfully, comments on contemporary issues in Sri Lanka. The divide between the Wet and Dry Zones is a thinly veiled reference to the real-world divisions between the country’s north and south, where resources and opportunities are often unevenly distributed. The play’s exploration of how faith leaders can influence political decisions is also particularly relevant, given the country’s history of religious and political entanglements.
The play does not shy away from criticising those who are quick to dismiss the suffering of others simply because they do not share the same geographical or cultural background. The King’s initial ignorance of the Dry Zone’s plight is a stark reminder of how easy it is to turn a blind eye to the suffering of those who are different or distant.
Impressive performances and production
The cast delivered strong performances across the board, with standout moments from Hidaayath Hazeer as Prince Muthukumar and Shala Amarasuriya as Rani. Hazeer captures the complexity of Muthukumar’s character – a ruler torn between his duty and his compassion – while Amarasuriya brings a quiet strength to her role, making Rani the emotional core of the play.
The production itself is minimalist, but this worked to the play’s advantage, allowing the powerful dialogue and verse to take centre stage. The choreography was particularly effective, with the actors doubling as both the background and the set, creating a fluid, dynamic stage that enhanced the storytelling.
Sound design was another highlight, with the use of the venue’s acoustics adding to the overall atmosphere. The original orchestra music, performed by the actors themselves, added a layer of authenticity and emotion to the play, though some moments – particularly the love song between Muthukumar and Rani – felt slightly underdeveloped.
We found ‘Water for Kings’ to be a play that demands attention, both for its poetic craftsmanship and its poignant social commentary. While it is dialogue-heavy, as expected for a piece written in contemporary verse, the play’s message is clear and resonant. It’s a story that, while set in a mythical past, feels all too real in today’s world.
The play’s exploration of the consequences of ignoring expertise, the dangers of misguided opposition, and the relentless pursuit of power makes it a thought-provoking experience that lingers long after the final curtain falls. In a country still grappling with its own divisions, ‘Water for Kings’ serves as a powerful reminder of the costs of inequality and the urgent need for true, meaningful change.
Silence in the jungle is eerie. A man and a woman in their vibrant youthfulness move in silence. The silence of the woman is deafening. The audience eagerly awaits to hear her voice. She does not talk much. In fact, she is silent almost throughout the film as if she has taken a vow of silence. She speaks mainly with her eyes and face expressions. Those emotions embody and speak volumes about the tragedy of her life – a tragedy befallen on her for a crime not committed by her.
She is Tikiri, one out of the two protagonists in Gaadi, the latest film by Prasanna Vithanage.
Set in British Colonial period of Sri Lanka in 1814 Gaadi is a film about complexity of human relations, identity, political upheavals of pre-colonial and colonial Sri Lanka and the subjugation of an outcast community through caste system.
What Prasanna says is useful as an entry point to this review.
“In this historical epic journey, two people from two different social strata are brought together against their will and struggle to co-exist refusing to lose their identity. When pushed to the limits of survival, in order to survive, they finally come to realize that life doesn’t exist on identity itself.
I thought of using this theme as an allegory to question this illusion, in a world where humans constantly wage wars in the name of national or religious identity”.
This film is an epic of a particular historical moment in Sri Lanka at one level. At another level, it is not necessarily a story set in the past history of colonial times. We slowly begin to realize it only when we get detached from the story. This film is about the present and the future of Sri Lanka. It is about the identity politics at its worst. Prasanna tells us a story through the lens of history – a history that has not only been constantly repeated in the present times but also descended to an abysmal decay. While watching the film, we sense the uneasy and inevitable connection between the lives of the subaltern in the pre-colonial period and the lives of people living in the despicable conditions in the modern world. This troubling understanding originates from the following perspective of the artist.
“Generally speaking, art is an expression of man’s need for a harmonious and complete life, that is to say, his need for those major benefits of which a society of classes has deprived him. That is why a protest against reality, either conscious or unconscious, active or passive, optimistic or pessimistic, always forms part of a really creative piece of work. Every new tendency in art has begun with rebellion”. – Leon Trotsky’s Art and Politics in Our Epoch (June 1938)
The film wages a very conscious protest against realities of the past and the present times. The protest that Tikiri and Vijaya are waging in the film is not distinctly manifest. It is hidden yet palpable. Beneath that apparently simple storyline, there is the undercurrent of human desire to struggle against class and caste system, discrimination and social injustice. This struggle is not necessarily pronounced through direct presentation of visuals or dialogue. It is hidden deep inside the core of the film.
The Gaadi clan is obviously placed within pre-colonial and colonial times. The audience cannot miss the subjugation of the Gaadi clan within that socio-political context. The film provides a kaleidoscopic view of the subaltern in transformation. They beg; sing; dance; face violence; live in fear of the aristocracy. They are the “human dust” as scornfully pronounced by Ehelapola Adigar, Prime Minister of the kingdom.
But then they protest, not necessarily through a rebellion. Vijaya, the young man representing the clan demonstrates a silent protest. He survives the wrath of the aristocracy together with the woman joining him from the aristocracy.
In essence, Gaadi deals with identity of people. It surreptitiously demonstrates that our society is riddled with a structural crisis beyond the issue of identity. It shows that we are still deeply stuck in the quagmire of racial and religious hatred. People are yet to see the true opponent – the larger system that feeds on such division, inequality and social injustice. All these social realities are embedded in the cinematic language and brilliant artistry.
They say “art brings to our attention the greatest human concerns not in the form of scientific or philosophical reasoning but in pictorial and sensuous form, in concrete images which please or move or trouble or do all three”. (The Sky between the Leaves by David Walsh 2013)
Gaadi for sure does all three, particularly the last.
It is a film dealing with the stifled voice of the subaltern – a community subjugated by the aristocracy. In a larger perspective, it is about all people living in suppressive socio-economic structures looking for their freedom. However, freedom for Gaadi community proud to be Children of the Sun does not come easy. In fact, the price to be paid is heavy.
The last scene of the film with Tikiri and Vijaya standing on the edge of a mountain top and looking at the far away vista is telling. This is where Vijaya is pondering over what both of them should do after seeing mass killing of his clan.
This is where Tikiri speaks to Vijaya for the last time in the film.
“He (the Chief of the Clan) wanted to see you live and continue the clan.”
After two of them slowly vanish into the thick jungle, following postscript appears on the screening.
The British went back on the promise given to the Kandyan leaders. On 15th February 1815 Ceylon became a colony under the British rule. They abolished the influence of the caste system on the specification of professions. The members of the rodiya caste thus gradually changed their identity and integrated themselves with the other lower strata of society.
Truly the Gaadi community integrated themselves to the lower strata of the society and we come to realize that the lower strata of the current society remains at the lower strata fast descending to the lowest.
Deeply etched in to this socio-political setting of the yesteryear, it is also a story of blossoming love. The love that is unspoken throughout the film between an aristocratic woman condemned and a man of the Gaadi community oppressed.
It is a human relation in transformation. From beginning to the end of the film, the audience accompanies two human beings in their journey. The audience witnesses their struggle and critical events that test their patience, endurance and trust. They are confronted with personal as well as socio-political events of the time. They know that they will survive or perish in those circumstances.
There is careful weaving and gradual building of their unspoken love. It is deliberately built up from one visual to the next creating a great deal of curiosity in the spectator. The audience feels that mthe tension between Tikiri and Vijaya is being built up to a crescendo. The conflict between the two creates tension. Tikiri cannot come to terms with the reality that she has become part of an outcast community. Her deep-seated aristocratic roots do not allow her to take on the new identity thrust upon her. At the end, she reached a stage where she goes through a change based on the gradual development of human connection with Vijaya.
One of the unique characteristics of this film is its simplicity.
The film maker adopts linear story telling technique. The film maker does not allow the form to override the content. The form is an integral part of the content. There is no enigmatic and unfathomable film technique or flashbacks. It does not mean such techniques are essentially bad. But this film does not seem to require them. At one level, it is simply historical story retold with an interpretation of film makers’ imagination and creativity.
There is one distinct characteristic or signature of Prasanna’s films. He adheres to minimalism religiously. If there is dialogue in this film, it is because the film cannot exist without it. Frugality is his forte. One ideal example to prove this point is his use of music in the film. We find only three instances where he decides to play background music. And when he does that, it creates the ultimate impact. When Vijaya and Tikiri run for their life through the jungle, they emerge on a rock with an expansive view of mountainous range. Then we hear a sobering music piece with a violin expressing its love and affection. This is the expression of Vijaya’s love for Tikiri. This music piece takes us to the heart of Vijaya filled with love and affection for Tikiri..
He relies heavily on the visual and character development. He allows characters wander freely in relation to their particular circumstances. He lets them encounter life experiences and present them to the audience visually. The audience slowly comes to grips with gradual development of the characters from skeletal forms to fully enriched human beings. These human beings are compassionate, loving, empathetic, violent and egoistic and full of contradictions.
Special mention should be made to the quality of cinematography and editing. Editing of the film by Sreekar Prasad, the Indian film editor seems seamless. When the soldiers of the King’s army ride on horseback to capture the family of Bulathgama Adigar, we hear the pounding on the door of the house by the soldiers. We do not see them. We only see the family members running for cover. When they hear the breaking of the door, the camera is zooming on the close-up of family members’ faces. Mortal fear is written on their faces. This is a marvelous moment of cinematography and editing. The audience never sees the soldiers entering the house.
We frequently encounter close-up shots in the film. When the women march towards their death one after the other, camera is zooming on the faces of the women with full of anxieties. Face of Iragani Serasinghe, one of the women, has nothing but pride. She is proud to be retaining her honour before she jumps into her death. The camera focuses on the anxieties of other crying women as well.
What Sreekar Prasad says in general about editing makes a great deal of sense and applies very much to Gaadi.
“The selection of shots and their duration on screen is crucial to create the desired impact in the given scene. When you string various shots together while sustaining a certain emotional level you are invariably setting the momentum of the entire film. The more seamless a film appears the better it has been edited. When a performer is doing a fabulous job, you cannot interrupt him or her with cuts, even though you may have the option to do so. If an actor is fabulous in a long uninterrupted take, the editor should not intervene. The cardinal rule is to strike a balance between the narrative pace and the performance.
Eventually it all boils down to a good sense of judgement. For example, if a shot in a film has a girl crying you can keep it on for 10, 20 or even 40 seconds, but as an editor you should be able to gauge the film’s impact on the audience”.
Careful casting of the actors and actresses has positively contributed to the above depiction. Dinara Punchihewa’s debut into the film world as an actress is unique. In her role of Tikiri, she has the challenge of conveying complex human emotions mainly through face expressions. She truly embodies the transformation of her character from being stubborn and relentless to a compassionate and empathetic woman in the film. Sajitha Anuththara playing the role of Vijaya exudes an ebullient and captivating presence with an impish smile on his face and some antics when his character demands such behaviour. He tries his best to enchant Tikiri. But it takes him to the end of the film to break through the barrier to her heart. Ravindra Randeniya as Ehellapola Adigar establishes his overarching power within the short period of his acting in the film. He gives life to that character of authoritative aristocrat. Shyam Fernando as seemingly loving husband of Tikiri later discarding her for self-grandeur lithely demonstrates the transformation of his role.
When we step away from the storyline, we may start reflecting on some of the following questions.
What is identity? How is this concept being interpreted and misused over the years in theory and practice? How do we understand identities claimed by the diverse communities living in Sri Lanka or elsewhere? To what extent should we treat identity as an important social phenomenon? How do we deal with the question of integration of diverse identities (forced in certain cases) to supposedly create a common identity? What is the connection between pluralism and identity? How does question of identity play in the societal and inter-personal human relations? How do we understand nationalism and identity in a class society?
This film does not directly raise these questions. It does not also provide any answers and there is no need for it. However, the film provides the space and inspiration to reflect on those questions.
“Stories matter. Many stories matter. Stories have been used to dispossess and to malign, but stories can also be used to empower and to humanize. Stories can break the dignity of a people, but stories can also repair that broken dignity.” – Chimamanda Nģozi Adichie
Herstories project is based on the idea that generally, women and children are the most affected by war and peace. Yet, women’s voices are the least heard mostly because they are oral histories, and are hardly ever recorded. As it passes from their memory and ours, it will also vanish from history.
HERSTORIES attempts to address this gap, by collecting mothers’ narratives from the ground (South, East and North Sri Lanka). Primarily because mothers are guardians of memory – narrating stories, collecting photographs and keeping the family history alive – when a mother is asked her story, she speaks not only of herself but of her family, neighbours and village. As a result she creates a composite view of a time period, a place and a set of identities that is truly unique. Together, these lives of others even though very personal individual stories, create a collective set of narratives that add faces, names, places, character, hopes, dreams, challenges, strength, courage and ‘flesh’ to an era in Sri Lankan history that must not be forgotten.
A mother of three from Kilinochchi speaks of her struggle to survive and wishes for a better future
English: I have three children. We had a terrible time during the war, no food, no water. We were in Manukulam when a shell struck my husband. I was 22 when he died. We lived in a refugee camp in Chettikulum for about a year after that. When their father died I told my children that they should not worry because I will take care of them. I always do my best to provide them with what they need.
Tamil: எனக்கு மூன்று பிள்ளைகள். போர்நடந்த காலத்தில் உண்ண உணவோ குடிநீரோ இல்லாது நாம் மிகக் கஷ்டத்தை அனுபவித்தோம். நாம் மாங்குளத்தில் இருந்தபோது எனது கணவர் செல்லடிபட்டார். அவர் இறக்கும்போது எனக்கு 22 வயது. அதன் பின்னர் ஒரு வருட காலமாக நாம் செட்டிகுளத்திலுள்ள அகதி முகாமில் வசித்தோம். தகப்பன் இறந்தபோது எனது பிள்ளைகள் எதற்கும் கவலைப்படக்கூடாதெனவும் நான் அவர்களைப் பராமரிப்பேன் எனவும் கூறினேன். அவர்களுக்குத் தேவையானவற்றை வழங்குவதற்கு நான எப்போதும் என்னாலானதைச் செய்வேன்.
InCaste and its multiple manifestations. A study of the Caste System in Northern Sri Lanka (2021, Baby Owl Press, Sri Lanka), Selvy Thiruchandran studies how language structures go hand-in-hand with caste structures:
“A question raised by a low caste person to an upper caste person mainly the Vellalar takes an interesting form. It is considered rude or impolite to ask a question or make a statement on equal terms or with an equal status with a Vellalar. For example, questions like “are you going?” or “what do you say?” have to add a phrase akum in order to sound respectful. Instead of directly asking poreenkala (Are you going?), “akum is added at the end, thus saying poreenkalakum\ Or, instead of asking ennasollureenka (What do you say?) they say “ennavaakum sollureengal The interrogative marker has supposedly made the address polite and dispels the status of being equal in the conversation. Etymologically aakum cannot be explained or broken into syllables to signify a meaning other than a derived contextual meaning as it appears or it seems expressing a sense of uncertainty like, maybe’. Unlike other forms of speech formation aakum was a Panchamar construction. How it originated and why it originated remains a mystery ” (p 63).
Forms of respect as well as derogatory comments can be conveyed through the use of specific language structures. People belonging to low-castes could be referred to in the adu (it / animal or object form): “A person of high caste, when he wants to ask the question “Where are they?” phrases it as “atukal enge?”(thus referring to them as inanimate objects) instead of “avarkal enge” Where are they?)” (p 64).
In When I Hit You, Meena Kandasamy reflects on how language shapes her identity or rather how she can see herself:
“Language determines who you are, but also who you are shapes the language you use “English makes me a lover, a beloved, a poet. Tamil makes me a word huntress, it makes me a love goddess. There is a linguistic theory that the structures of languages determine the mode of thought and behaviours of the cultures in which they are spoken. In an effort to understand my life at the moment, I have come up with its far-fetched corollary, a distant cousin of this theory: I think what you know in a language shows what you are in relation to that language. Not an instance of language shaping your worldview but its obtuse inverse, where your worldview shapes what parts of the language you pick up. Not just: your language makes you, your language holds you prisoner to a particular way of looking at the world. But also: who you are determines what language you inhabit, the prison-house of your existence permits you only to access and wield some parts of a language. Now in Mangalore, I know the Kannada words eshtu: how much; haalu: milk; aanda: eggs; namaskaram: greetings; neerulli: onions; hendathi: wife; illi: here; aadu: that one; illa: no; saaku: enough; naanu naandigudda hogabekku: I want to go to Naandigudda” (p 92).
Identities beyond a single language
What happens then when one moves from one language to another and faces what Yaa Gyasi has eloquently phrasely: (speaking of her mother from Ghana, who moved to America) “I think, rather, that she just never figured out how to translate who she really was into this new language” (Transcendent Kingdom, Yaa Gyassi).
Despite the inevitable sense of loss in this process of translating identities, there is also the possibility of creating new ones, as Lauren Collins brings out in When In French. Love in a Second language:
“ Bilinguals overwhelmingly report that they feel like different people in different languages. They do so for a multitude of reasons, some of which are less attributable to any language in particular than to having a new language itself. A person may be a loan shark in his new language when he was an opthalmologist in his native tongue. Perhaps he spoke Polish to his first wife but speaks Portuguese with the second. He may have scaled or slid down the ladder of class. He may have changed his politics, or his name.”
“It is often assumed that the mother tongue is the language of the true self. And in many ways it remains the primal vehicle, the first and most effective responder in moments of celebration or crisis. A person who has spoken English most of her life is always going to speak English when she stubs her toe. But if first languages are reservoirs of emotion, second languages can be rivers undammed”, and even “A fresh language can be a solvent to heartache.”
Beyond Check-points: Stories of Human Resilience in troubled Sri Lanka by Duleep de Chickera.The Diocese of Colombo, 2023.
Extracts:
Counting shells – How plantation Tamils joined the LTTE controlled areas “The daily lives of these twice oppressed humans redefined human desperation. They were on their own, among their own and in need of protection from their own. Their presence served the cause of those near and far. They had to be there to churn out cadres with no questions asked; just as they produced the best tea in the world for the lowest possible wages with no questions asked. Decades of suppression had conditioned them to passively obey. They were the idea ingredients for a fascist regimes; the ‘indispensable-dispensable’, dressed in rubber slippers and fed with layers of indoctrination.”
People of conscience “As several like Fr. Clifford were learning, it was daily doses of restrictions and not carefully clichée statements in impressive assembly halls that stimulated these conscience corners of human resilience. All the UN’s motions and all the parliaments of the world brought little relief when tyranny strode down lonely byways in the darkness of night.”
“If you happened to be the Tamil from beyond the border, you had to be Tiger on this side. This is the plain message I got again and again,” he sobbed. Hell, for the young Tamil fleeing the LTTE, was a place that moved with you.”
Beyond Checkpoints “The check point culture was much, much more than the visible or the moment. Those who met there carried heavy baggage that had to be unpacked in a matter of moments. For the few who stood there through the day, the ability to observe, question, screen and ensure all was well with courtesy, a thousand times over, was commendable. For the many who passed through, the ability to be patient and understanding when questioned or searched several times a day, was equally commendable. That these interactions occurred without incident through the day and night, spoke volumes about the goodwill and co-operation between those who stood and those who moved.”
“But for now this is our life, looking into peoples’ bags and getting scolded by everyone. What to do, this is our fate.”
It is unfair to attribute a “racist” dimension to the Tamil vote in Sri Lanka’s presidential election, according to senior Tamil leader R. Sampanthan.
His remark comes a day after the results of the country’s biggest election were declared. The winner — newly elected President Gotabaya Rajapaksa — garnered his 52.25% vote share almost entirely from areas where the majority Sinhalese community is concentrated.
From New Delhi, the picture on the Rajapaksas is mixed. There is lingering bitterness over friction in bilateral ties during the last few years of his elder brother, Mahinda Rajapaksa’s tenure. But those memories have now been superseded with the difficulty faced with Maithripala Sirisena in pushing flagship Indian projects forward
Meanwhile, the pressures of big electoral victories are such that the new president and his family members, who will constitute the core of the new regime, might find it difficult to resist the temptation of giving into the wishes of their Sinhalese nationalist constituency. This is particularly so in view of the ethnic polarisation of the electoral verdict.
“For nearly ten years the Rajapaksa family ran Sri Lanka. Now, after a five-year hiatus and a bit of a reshuffle, they are back. On November 16th an unprecedented 84% of voters turned out to crown Gotabaya Rajapaksa president, handing him well over half the votes in a crowded field of 35 candidates. Mr Rajapaksa had served as defence chief during the 2005-15 reign of his brother Mahinda. The latter, blocked by the constitution from becoming head of state again, is likely to serve as his younger brother’s prime minister.”
The BBS announces that it is dissolving. After Gota’s election, Gnanasara says, “there will be nothing for us to struggle for. We can get involved in our other work and help to work for the betterment of this Sinhala Buddhist country. Now we have the full assurance after electing the new President. The ‘One country one law concept’ in his manifesto gave an assurance to our country.”
“What the Chinese offered to a regime that was being chastised for its human rights record… was international diplomatic protection as well the funds for development,” analyst Paikiasothy Saravanamuttu told AFP.
With a slightly different outlook towards the days and weeks to follow, Centre for Policy Alternatives (CPA) Executive Director Dr. Paikiasothy Saravanamuttu was of the opinion that instability will not come about if the appointment of a Prime Minister and Cabinet and the dissolution of Parliament can be resolved amicably.
He added that ideally, anyone elected as the Executive President has the power to reconcile the North and the South. “As you know, the Election results have split the country in two, with the minorities going one way and the rest of the country going another,” Dr. Saravanamuttu said, adding that, “If we cannot agree with each other, we will never be able to pursue the path of prosperity that we all say we deserve. We need to have that reconciliation and unity. It cannot become a majoritarian democracy.” Dr. Saravanamuttu added that he hopes President-elect Gotabaya Rajapaksa will recognise the need for reconciliation and unity and take necessary steps to ensure he is the President of all Sri Lankans. Echoing his views, Office on Missing Persons (OMP) Chairman Saliya Pieris said: “The President is the President of the entire country, and whether one supported him or opposed him at the Election, he must be constructively supported in the implementation of his vision for the country, as long as he does so in terms of the spirit of the Constitution.”
Representing the Sportsperson: Television Advertisements and the Evolution of Sports Discourse in India, by Sonal Jha
Sexual Nationalism, Masculinity and the Cultural Politics of Cricket in Bangladesh, by Adnan Hossain
‘An Evil Thing’: Gandhi and Indian Indentured Labour in South Africa, 1893–1914, by Goolam Vahed
Nehru’s Non-Alignment Dilemma: Tibetan Refugees in India, by Ria Kapoor
‘To Shock the Conscience’: Rhetoric in Death Penalty Judgements of the Supreme Court of India, by Rajgopal Saikumar
Priceless Enthusiasm: The Pursuit of Shauk in South Asia, by Kirin Narayan and Muhammad Kavesh
Special Section: Lankapura: Sri Lanka and the Ramayana in Historical Perspective
Guest Editors: Sree Padma and Justin Henry
Introduction. Lankapura: The Legacy of the Ramayana in Sri Lanka, by Sree Padma and Justin Henry
Articles
Explorations in the Transmission of the Ramayana in Sri Lanka, by Justin W. Henry
Borders Crossed: Vibhishana in the Ramayana and Beyond, by Sree Padma
Mapping Lanka’s Moral Boundaries: Representations of Socio-Political Difference in the Ravana Rajavaliya,by Jonathan Young and Philip Friedrich
Ravana’s Sri Lanka: Redefining the Sinhala Nation, by Dileepa Witharana
Reclaiming Ravana in Sri Lanka: Ravana’s Sinhala Buddhist Apotheosis and Tamil Responses, by Pathmanesan Sanmugeswaran, Krishantha Fedricks and Justin Henry
