India does not want to be treated as a Dalit Nuclear Weapon State. She is demanding acceptance by the Brahmin Nuclear Club of Five. This is an aspect that does not get highlighted enough in the din of congratulations and denunciations following India's nuclear tests on 11 and 13 May and Pakistan's "reactive tests" on 28 and 30 May.

In fact, there is certain shyness among the smaller South Asian countries in facing up to the long-term security implications of these tests, and the drastic changes in the South Asian security environment the nuclear tests have wrought. Sri Lanka's two responses are a good indication of the dilemmas faced by the smaller countries. The nuclear non-proliferation theologians of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs gave what one can call an institutional response. It managed to put out a statement that didn't mention the word 'India'.

Into the same statement it brought in missile testing, presumably Pakistan's, without mentioning the word 'Pakistan'. Contrary to what the official statement said, Sri Lanka has never previously commented on any of the Indian and Pakistan missile testing that have been taking place over the years. "Sri Lanka notes with deep concern the missile and nuclear testings which have occurred recently in the South Asian region. Sri Lanka continues to reiterate the position it has maintained on previous occasions on such testings".

Basically Sri Lanka took a wishy-washy position. There's nothing wrong with it, if that was the intention. Considering the politically (and, literally, as well) earthshaking impact of the nuclear tests that took place in one's own neighbourhood, the long time taken to issue a statement was noted by political observers.

Sri Lanka's reactions were issued on 14 May. Various sinister interpretations have been sought to be given for this delay. But one has to only remember that 11 and 12 May were Wesak public holidays in Sri Lanka. Obviously, the message of the Foreign Ministry statement was not clear enough. So at a meeting of the Foreign Correspondents Association on 15 May, the Sri Lankan Foreign Minister, Lakshman Kadirgamar, speaking of the Indian tests said: "We are certainly not opposed to India becoming a nuclear power".

On the possibility of Pakistan following suit with its own tests, the Minister said: "We are not opposed to anybody becoming a nuclear power. I don't think the nuclear club should be closed to only five members". On the application of sanctions against India, the Minister replied: "The application of sanctions includes a very judgmental decision, a punishment. World affairs cannot be conducted on that basis because very, very few countries can afford to take a high moral ground on anything at all" ('The Island', Saturday, 16 May 1998).

Well, that was Sri Lanka's second response. In an interview given to two Indian journalists, President Kumaratunga framed the different elements of Sri Lanka's position on India's nuclear tests in the following words: "That (India's nuclear tests) may be a problem between India and Pakistan and the world as a whole, but it does not have any special significance for Indo-Sri Lankan relations." ('The Hindu', 2 August 1998).

As Sri Lanka's reactions show, the smaller countries of South Asia viewed the nuclear tests in the South Asian regional 'power' framework. Hence their muted reactions. And as far as Sri Lanka was concerned, it had also learnt its lesson from the eighties on how relations with India were to be managed.

The US, a few countries of the West, Japan, China and some others were critical of India's nuclear tests. Some Western countries like UK and France remained pragmatically quiet. The US as the only world hegemon feels a responsibility to police the prevailing nuclear non-proliferation regime, whatever its shortcomings be.

Apart from the nuclear non-proliferation angle, there are other angles from which to view the Indian nuclear tests and Pakistan's "reactive tests". There are deeper issues that have to be dealt with. It relates to power, the distribution of power, and the attempts to cartelize it.

India has said that it went ahead with the tests because it "was deeply concerned, as were previous Governments, about the nuclear environment in India's neighbourhood". China hasn't taken kindly to the Indian Defence Minster's references, and to Prime Minister Vajpayee's 11 May 1998 secret letter to President Bill Clinton, that India's nuclear tests had China in mind. Those who disagree with the reasons given by the Indian government point out that the security environment in India's vicinity had, in fact, improved over the years. Improved relations with China had enabled India to reduce its forces along that border. Relations with Pakistan were contained within a framework of negotiations, though not always fruitful.

Then, were there other 'unstated' reasons for India coming out of the nuclear closet with these tests, and which could also at the same time explain the discrepancies between the officially stated reasons and actual conditions on the ground? There were. India has for some time now always taken great pains to maintain and publicize a "great power box-score". Here is a sampling of what the Indian national media and official statements proudly highlighted at that time: - India had joined a "select club", comprising hitherto of only the US, USSR, UK, France and China with the induction on February 3, 1988 of the nuclear-powered submarine INS Chakra into the Navy. - On February 25, 1988 India successfully test-fired its first surface-to-surface missile "Prithvi".

The missile has a range-capability of 250 km. It had the best "warhead-to-weight ratio" among the missiles of its class. It was pointed out that hitherto only the US, the Soviet Union, France and China have this class of missile, implying India had now joined the "select club". - On May 22, 1989 India successfully carried out the first test of its long-range missile programme, the missile Agni. India with its Agni launch had joined the "select Intermediate Range Ballistic Missile (IRBM) club", hitherto confined to US, USSR, France, China and Israel.

To the smaller countries of the region the message was easily decoded, especially when this increase in military strength was accompanied by invasive political doctrines like the Indira Doctrine. India's big-power ambitions were explicitly stated by one of India's Strategic Studies gurus, K. Subrahmanyam: "While the neighbours are prepared to recognise China as a great power, they insist on treating India as their equal though India may be ten times or more their size and they find it intolerably pretentious for India to think of equality with China which is only slightly bigger than India. In other words, they can accept a real foreigner - white or yellow nation - being a great power but cannot stomach the thought of one of their brown brethren being considered that" ('Indian and Foreign Review', Vol. 18, No.22, 1-14 Sept. 1981).

This is an important aspect of the present situation that has to be addressed by those wanting to reduce the tensions that have been raised. It is a question of big power status-seeking. This aspect of the problem surfaced once again in the aftermath of the recent nuclear tests. Addressing Parliament on 27 May 1998 Prime Minister Vajpayee had this to say: "India is now a Nuclear Weapon State. This is a reality that cannot be denied. It is not a conferment that we seek; nor is it a status for others to grant...It is India's due, the right of one-sixth of human kind".

In contrast, the US State Department spokesman Mr. James Rubin was quoted ('The Hindu', 5 June 1998) as saying that under international law India could not claim the status of Nuclear Weapon State. Only a state, which had tested its nuclear weapon devices before 1968, would be entitled to the claim. US Secretary of State, Madeline Albright was quoted as saying that India cannot expect to blast its way into the Security Council.

Japan had reportedly ('The Hindu', 4 June 1998) sent an 'urgent message' to the UN Security Council urging it not to recognize India and Pakistan as nuclear powers. Quoting articles from the NPT, a Russian Foreign Ministry spokesman said ('The Hindu', 5 June 1998), Russia does not consider India and Pakistan as Nuclear Powers despite the recent tests carried out by the two countries. India has, however, very clearly indicated she does not want to be treated as a Dalit Nuclear Weapon State. She is demanding acceptance by the Brahmin Nuclear Club of Five. But there is a lot of opposition to it. So will we have a Dalit challenge, and what form will it take? India's attitude towards the other South Asian countries is often referred to as 'hegemonical'.

This word encompasses a wide spectrum of meanings. It is used in a technical sense, where a country plays a leadership role within its area of influence, and the countries in that sphere of influence enjoy certain benefits from the particular hegemon. At the other extreme is where a country is hegemonical in the sense that it wants to dominate the area and the countries within it, with no benefits being extended in return. In the case of India often it is a case of the latter meaning.

In non-nuclear times, Sri Lanka and other smaller countries of the region have faced varying policies from New Delhi. Sometimes policies are associated with the personality of the leader e.g. the invasive hard-line policy during Mrs. Indira Gandhi's incumbency (Indira Doctrine). At other times, regional-party-led coalitions have been frequently forming the government, and their policies have tended to be more neighbourhood-friendly (Gujral Doctrine).

These wild swings in policy impart a sense of uncertainty to what India's intentions are, and make it an "unreliable hegemon". This trend is accentuated by the prevailing trends in Indian politics - the emergence of regional parties in coalition, and the waning of national parties. Coalition national governments tend to be held hostage by small regional parties e.g. DMK, AIADMK and smaller parties. This helps smaller parties to push their separate agenda at national levels e.g. support for the LTTE. The question now for the smaller countries is how nuclear India will translate its newfound nuclear power in its foreign policies.

The immediate reactions from the Indian government were not encouraging. Mr. Advani, the Home Minister and a very senior BJP member threatened to "nuke" Pakistan over the Kashmir issue. Such rhetoric has been significantly reduced especially after Pakistan's "reactive tests." But the fact remains such threats were made from very high levels of the BJP government.

The questions that the countries of South Asia will be asking themselves are - What will be the new "doctrine" of nuclear India towards its neighbours? Will the Dalit nuclear state be accepted into the Brahmin nuclear club, and what difference will it make for the region either way?

(Courtesy: The Lanka Guardian)

Many times I have had people getting irritated and screaming, and tooting their horns at me for stopping for pedestrians at Zebra Xings.

These cussed, rude uncivilized drivers included heavily made up Colombo 7 type new rich ladies and pompous men driving BMWs and Mercedes, or Pajeros, all the way to policemen, army men and the ubiquitous bulath spitting private bus drivers.

All in a almighty hurry once they get behind that aphrodisiacal wheel it seems!

I saw a little school girl being hit by an errant private bus driver on the Kandy -Colombo highway a few months back in Warakpola, when she was dutifully obeying the law by using the Zebra crossing after school. Who is to pay for this crime?

Before the Police fines jayawalkers, six things must happen:

Educate all drivers on the civilized norms of driving. Which means teaching Drivers that they are not Gods once they are behind the wheel.

Electronic and print media can be used to educate people over a long period of time until our values, and attitudes change.

Driving is a privilege which comes with responsibility. A long term solution has to be based on changing our backward mentality. Most people in Sri Lanka do not have cars, and drivers should be cognizant of that fact.

2) Stop, and fine all drivers who arrogantly violate all norms of civilized behaviour. Do not respect power, fame or authority in imposing fines on errant drivers. 3 such violations and suspend the license. Cops should stop making money on the side.

3) Both drivers and pedestrians should be aware that we are a very small country with an underdeveloped road infrastructure, and too many vehicles.

We have no Motorways, no Autobahns and no Interstates.

So adapt to our situation, and quit blaming the government for everything and be patient on the road; live with it.

4) We must all realize that the road belongs to everybody.

However much we like to pretend we are a developed country, with no overcrowding/population problem riding around in a car is not going to wish the problem away. 96% of our people do not have any automobile.

5) Most drivers are not fit to driver, nor possess a license, and are definitely IQ retarded. Prevent unfit people from obtaining licenses through bribery which is widespread.

6) Have a more thorough driving exam, including a medical drug test, and a road literacy test. Limit the validity of a license to five years such as in developed nations so they can be re-tested.

Continued from yesterday

About the author E.C.T. Candappa was one of Sri Lanka's been feature writers in the mid-fifties till the seventies. He was an outstanding journalist at Lake House and distinguished himself as a reporter and feature writer. He is now domiciled in Australia but still very much interested in his country of origin. He visited Sri Lanka last year and interviewed many of the personalities featured in this book.

He had ushered in a great measure of socialism. He had given some place to the rural people. To the peasant he had given security of tenure and liberated him from the middleman and the landlord. But because of the strident anti-Marxist propaganda against the peasant’s charter, the Paddy Lands Bill, and the consequent rift within his own Cabinet, he had watered down this proposal causing the resignation of two ministers.

Already historians were calling the time by his name, the Bandaranaike era, and were hailing his reforms as a bloodless revolution. No. He scoffed at the idea that anyone would kill him, although it had been hinted at more than once and in more than a few quarters. There was talk of a risk to his life in his horoscope. As one born a Christian, no official horoscope had been cast by his family. But later when he ascended the political firmament, various astrologers had ascertained the time of his birth and cast his horoscope. This was the custom of the country.

He looked at the palm of his left hand and studied the lines on it.

He knew that the word horoscope derived from the Greek word ‘horoscopos’ literally meaning "I watch that which is rising." But that did not refer to the ascendance of persons but to the ascendancy sign which referred to the planet rising on the horizon at the time of the subject’s birth.

It was from India that astrology had come to Ceylon. Astrology had come from the Greeks, who had received it from the Babylonians, to India after the Greek Invasion of India in 327 BC, and, of course, in India it was absorbed by Hinduism.

The Prime Minister had been aware of the Indian publication, The Astrological Magazine, founded in 1895. In its June 1956 issue, a month after his resounding success, this magazine had cast a horoscope for him on the basis that he had been born around 9 am on the eighth of January 1899.

In the article referring to his career and future there had been a prediction that his "exit from power would be sudden and unexpected." The Prime Minister had scoffed at that too.

That surely was how most politicians made their exit.

His own intellectual perception of Buddhism did not permit him to believe in the prophecies made by astrology but the customs of local statecraft obliged him to conform with certain practices. Nothing important was ever scheduled without consulting astrologers and auspicious times. Times for opening ceremonies, even of the Opening of Parliament, and the time of leaving the residence for formal occasions, was thus arranged. It was amusing that he had, for all that, chosen the palm of a hand as the symbol for his new political party. What did that hand hold for the future? he wondered idly.

According to the official astrologers it was found to be highly advisable for the Prime Minister to be out of the country in September, three months away.

Well, that suited him. He was going to New York to attend a meeting of the United Nations. He would address that august assembly and his voice would be heard there.

Once again the sound of his oratory would be acclaimed.

He permitted himself a slight smile.

He would make that occasion one of the prominent highlights of his career. He wanted very much to speak from that forum.

If he had to leave the stage after that, it would be a good time to bring down the curtain.

What would he do then?

Why, he would write. He would start with his memoirs. He would never find the time for that sort of luxury while in office. How much he had to say of the contemporary scene. There was no doubt he could make a significant contribution to an understanding of his period of history. It would certainly be a great contribution to English literature as well. He could write. He knew that. He had written a short novel – a penny dreadful in a way, called the Horror of Mahahena. It was a good piece of writing.

But he had his mind also set on a larger work, a long social novel along the lines, as he conceived it, of War and Peace. A great saga of the aristocracy as he had known it from the inside, set against the dying days of the British Raj.

The idea pleased him.

The sound of the dinner gong broke in on his long, long reverie. It was an ancient gong which in days gone by had summoned even Royalty to dinner.

He looked forward to the rare occasions when he could have a meal with his family; with his fair, attractive wife Sirima, also of a noble house, and his three young children, Sunetra, Chandrika and Anura. He had married late in life, when he was forty one. He savoured family life and would have more time even for that after politics.

He walked slowly towards the elegant dining room.

Chapter 2
Shortly after seven one morning, the telephone rang at the residence of Dr P R Anthonis. The well-known surgeon answered it himself.

"Doctor, this is S W R D Bandaranaike speaking."

"Yes, sir."

"I have a pain which I believe is in the region of the kidneys. I have been taking some Ayurvedic treatment for some time but I have received only temporary relief. I would like to make an appointment..."

"No sir, I will come and see you."

"I will not hear of it."

"Sir, you are very busy. I can come and see you before my patients arrive."

"In that case, doctor, I will be ready in an hour. By nine. I have to meet a delegation before that."

"Very well, sir."

Dr Anthonis was touched by the Prime Minister’s courtesy. Had he wanted, he could have requested him to come to his residence without any preliminaries. He was sure that the Prime Minister had genuinely wished to come and visit the surgeon.

Then he remembered another time when the circumstances were different.

After an exceptionally exhausting spell of work, Dr Anthonis had felt a pressing need for a break, even a short holiday.

He was a successful and busy surgeon sought after by rich and poor. As consultant at the country’s premier General Hospital and as visiting surgeon at several private hospitals he had little leisure.

In the opinion, especially of his rivals, he chose to be busy because the practice was lucrative.

He was wealthy already and did not pursue riches with avarice. Indeed, as a profoundly devout Buddhist well versed in Buddhist scriptures, he would have distanced himself from such a desire. He was impelled to serve wherever needed, even at great personal cost. He accepted any fee that was offered and was known to offer his services free where it was merited.

His academic and professional background was legendary.

He had been outstanding at the private Catholic school, St Peter’s, where he had studied. One year the national English language newspaper reported that he carried away five prizes, for General Proficiency, English, Latin, Mathematics and Science. He bettered that the following year by winning all nine prizes available, this time adding Chemistry, Geography and History.

At medical college he had won Gold Medals for Pathology, Forensic Medicine, and Surgery. He had gone on to England where he obtained an FRCS.

Medical students held him in awe and affection for his vast knowledge which extended beyond the healing arts to the eastern and western classics. He could quote with equal facility from Homer, Virgil and Shakespeare, the Bhagavad Gita and the Dhammapada, and speak with erudition of Greek and Roman mythology or Chinese and Indian philosophy.

His daily routine usually took in five operations, a short break for a light lunch, more surgery at private hospitals at night, more visits, a trail of successes with an occasional death, the crimson blot which even the long years of practice could not quite mitigate.

Ah, the patient had come too late, had been too old, had a weak heart, post-operative complications had set in, neglect by the nursing staff, a surgical misadventure, he had done his best but yet...

Up by six, to bed by eleven if he was lucky, usually after midnight, very little or no time for socialising.

And yet he had managed to be true to himself. He had taken time to meditate for a few minutes before retiring, achieved what Buddhism called right-mindfulness to remain serene. Everyone noted his cultured manner and friendliness. He had not been consciously rude to anyone though severe provocation had not been lacking.

He always maintained good control of his temper and of time whenever it had been within his power to do so.

He had a passion for getting things right, for accuracy, and so he had found time for scholarship long after his academic career had ended.

But one day he had wilted beyond belief. There had been a weariness in the bone, and he felt, too, a weariness in the mind, a weariness in the tissues of his flesh, in his hands, fingers, his eyes, his brain; all the years of wearing the surgical mask and the surgical gown and entering the sterile world of the operating theatre, of the ether in his nostrils, the cold rattle of instruments on metal plates in his ears, the effort to control the mind and the body, of having the scalpel in his hand poised over the prostrate body on the table, strong light above turning the stark whiteness of the sheet into a dazzling brightness, the exposed flesh waiting to be violated, the first firm incision, the trickle of blood and then the unrelenting order and discipline that held the team in thrall; he wanted to get away, away from Colombo, from the ambit of labour.

He had suddenly known where to go, where he would spend his time. He knew the District Medical Officer of the eastern coastal town of Batticaloa. He was Dr Suppiah, a Tamil. They had been together at medical college. As a bonus Dr Anthonis’ wife and Mrs Suppiah had been schoolmates in a convent school in Colombo. The couple had also lived with the Anthonises for two years while Dr Suppiah was doing his postgraduate studies. They had to be great friends in very deed to be able to stand each other for that length of time.

Dr Anthonis had telephoned Dr Suppiah and within a couple of days all arrangements had been completed. They had arrived in Batticaloa for the long and much-needed holiday.

The Suppiahs had come out beaming to receive their cherished guests. Even while they were being greeted affectionately the telephone rang in the interior of the house.

"Bother," said Dr Suppiah. "Let it ring."

"No, no," Dr Anthonis said. "Go and attend to the phone."

"It can’t be important," Dr Suppiah said, evidently irritated by the untimely interruption, " whoever it is will ring again."

But Dr Anthonis insisted. A surgeon, perhaps intuitively, realises that a phone call can be an emergency.

Dr Suppiah went in and returned hastily.

"It’s for you," he said.

Dr Anthonis heard the familiar voice across two hundred miles.

"This is Bandaranaike, Prime Minister speaking, doctor. I realise you have taken a holiday after a long time. I am sorry to ask you to interrupt it. I want you to do me a favour. My father-in-law, Barnes Ratwatte, has been rushed to hospital. He is unable to pass urine. Would you be able to come back? I would like you to operate on him."

Hosts and guests exchanged glances. Not a word was spoken.

Later, while tea was being served, Dr Anthonis offered excuses and apologies. There was keen disappointment on both sides. They parted gloomily and returned to Colombo where the requested favour was granted.

The telephone jangled again and cut into his reverie. It was the Prime Minister’s secretary on the telephone requesting Dr Anthonis to await a further call as the deputation had not left yet.

Dr Anthonis cancelled his appointments for the rest of the morning. By eleven he was requested to attend.

The Prime Minister came to the living room to receive him and escorted him to the family living room upstairs.

"That delegation was from the Federal Party, " the Prime Minister said, "Chelvanayakam was also with them. They exceeded their time. What could I do, these fellows are so touchy."

When they were seated, as though he wished to discuss the matter with the surgeon, he said that the delegation had come to talk about the proposed opening of a paper factory at Valaichchenai. They had requested that only people of the area, predominantly Tamils and Muslims, should be employed in the factory.

"You see the Federal Party is against colonisation and they want to look after their people, the nammada aals." He chuckled at the way he had anticipated them.

"That’s good," I told them. "It’s a good idea. I will make it a principle right throughout the country. Only people from the particular area in which a new venture is located should be employed in it."

The delegation had been stricken silent, especially Chelvanayakam.

I for my part began to gather my papers and made as though to leave, having concluded the business at hand. Then Chelvanayakam spoke, his soft, almost inaudible voice.

"No, I do not want this."

"I did not enquire for any explanation for his turning back on his own proposal. But we both knew why. If that principle were to be extended all over the island, it will be the Tamils who suffer as the Tamils would not be able to seek employment in new projects located outside their own areas, predominantly in the north and east. And they don’t want that."

While the surgeon was later examining the Prime Minister in his bedroom, he marvelled at the skill with which he had out-manoeuvred the other side.

Chapter 3

Theodore H Manley, South Asian Bureau Chief of the New York Times reclined languidly on a canvas deck chair on the sunlit terrace of the Mount Lavinia Hotel. His long limbs hung awkwardly about him, his arms were broiled red outside the short sleeves of the beige bush-shirt he wore. Manley dressed for comfort at all times, except when strict protocol determined otherwise.

Between the stone colonnades of the low parapet he could see the Indian Ocean, a deep turquoise under the brilliant morning sun. And on one side the beach of sheer gold dazzled, already speckled by swimmers and sun bathers.

This was Manley’s third visit to the island. Since it had gained Independence from the British barely seven years earlier it has been consistently in the news with happenings good enough to merit headlines across the world and find lavish TV footage. The whole region was immersed in a cauldron of change and "rampant nationalism," as he chose to term it, in the newly emerging independent nations was newsworthy in itself and quite adequately covered by local correspondents. But since Bandaranaike came into power American interests in the island, particularly in the oil industry, had been under threat of nationalisation.

The safety of US citizens was also causing concern.

The local Marxists, a motley mob, were clamouring for rapid change, for a revolution.

With Bandaranaike’s imminent visit to New York to attend the meeting of the UN General Assembly in view, Manley had been directed to do a comprehensive backgrounder on Ceylon.

The local correspondent was Wijesinghe, political correspondent of the Clarion, whose weekly column was syndicated by the other papers of the group. He had been the Clarion correspondent in Washington a couple of years earlier and was invaluable whenever Manley came out to Ceylon. Wijesinghe had recommended the Mount Lavinia Hotel and Manley found his judgment sound even in the matter of choosing accommodation.

The hotel was located ten miles out of the City of Colombo and even then hidden from the main, arterial, Galle Road. Manley relished the idea of finishing his interviews in Colombo or elsewhere, and dropping the fatigue and the heat and the bustle of the city when he got back to this remarkably restful and elegant hotel.

Once the residence of a British governor, the sprawling mansion served well as a high class hotel. It had 200 bedrooms and facilities for holding conventions and wedding receptions.

Manley appreciated its old world charm. He was sick of the swanky, slick, sky-scraper lodgings of the West, and even in some cities of the developing world.

This was comfortable. And there was the beach. He may have to wait a little longer for service, but what the heck. It was worth it.

He did not realise that Wijesinghe had arrived until the tall man was standing opposite him.

Dapper as always, he thought.

When on assignment, regardless of the weather, Wijesinghe always wore light rayon suits, with silk ties and polished shoes. He brought with him a whiff of strong after-shave and the aroma of cigarettes, an unfiltered brand known as Capstan Navy Cut. He must smoke a tin of fifty a day, Manley reflected.

"Hi," he called out, "you surprised me. Bit early aren’t you?"

"Better than late," Wijesinghe smiled and gave a cheerful laugh.

He sat on a high chair and looked across the wide expanse of the Indian Ocean.

"Have you breakfasted?" he asked Manley.

"No, as a matter of fact," he said, "I was waiting for you."

"Then I’d better order. The usual is it?"

"Continental is fine," he said.

Breakfast was served on another terrace, higher than from where they were seated earlier. The vista of sea and beach deepened and disappeared into a hazy mist of sea spray at the end of which the sea was barely visible.

Breakfast was served by dark-skinned waiters in white tunic coats buttoned up to the neck, and white cloth wrapped around the waist and held in place with leather belts. Manley was glad that continuity was maintained in local custom. That was why he preferred to come here.

The orange juice was chilled just so, the croissants were oven-fresh and the coffee was brewed to perfection. The two men savoured all this and enjoyed the mood before they talked business.

"What time’s the appointment?"

"I made it eleven," said Wijesinghe. "A good time to catch the monk. Quite satisfied after a good breakfast and looking forward to meeting the lady at lunch."

Manley had keenly anticipated meeting the Venerable Buddharakkita Thero, the chief incumbent of the Kelaniya Raja Maha Vihara, the biggest and wealthiest temple after the Temple of the Tooth in Kandy.

He had heard of the monk’s political importance as a power broker and of his liaison with the first and only woman to gain Cabinet status in the Ceylonese Government, Mrs Vimala Wijewardene. Indeed, even before he arrived in Ceylon he had heard of the particular relationship the monk had with the lady.

Wijesinghe lit his third cigarette. Manley, a non-smoker, was accustomed to the smoke-filled environment of journalists.

"If you want to make some sense of politics in Ceylon," Wijesinghe began, (and Manley read that as ‘in Asia’) "you must understand the part that religion plays. You will also have to fathom a wide range of behaviour which can come under ‘local customs.’ You have to make a distinction between appearance and reality, between what ought to be done and what in fact is done.

"The monk, Buddharakkita, is a good example of all this. As a monk he ought to represent all that is good and admirable in Buddhism. He has renounced the world and wealth and donned the garb of a mendicant in order to purge himself of all desire to attain a higher form of life. But as the chief monk of an important temple he has access to large sums of money. As a Buddhist monk he is forbidden to handle money, but he does. With money he touches power. He also seeks more and more power."

"It’s what people want to do with money, it’s not money itself, is it, that corrupts people?" Manley intervened.

"Precisely. Buddharakkita wants to be the power behind the throne. He has a strong power base in the organisation of Buddhist monks the Eskath Bhikku Peramuna, of which he is a leading light."

"Is that a political organisation?"

"Ah, that’s another matter. There is a strong opinion among the people that just as monks should not handle money, they should not take an active part in politics, at least not in party politics. But throughout history, at least after the introduction of Buddhism here, monks have been given an exalted place. Statecraft and priestcraft, shall we say, have become fused along the way.

"Nothing takes place without the blessings of the Sangha, the ‘brotherhood of monks.’ They are consulted by kings and leaders, and they in turn advise rulers when necessary. They have been known to intervene in politics as, for instance, when they felt the Buddhist religion or the Sangha was threatened.

"But Buddharakkita’s involvement is patently personal and for material gain.

"Most people enter politics for personal gain and to advance the interests of their friends. The Prime Minister, Bandaranaike, whatever his faults may be, is not one of them. He is a totally upright man and has, in fact, given up much to enter and remain in politics. So the monk and Bandaranaike are on what Americans call, a collision course.

"One of the election promises of Bandaranaike was to develop the system of Ayurveda..."

"Are you what?"

"Ayurveda, that’s an ancient system of indigenous medicine. There are thousands upon thousands of people who practise it and not a few of them are unqualified quacks who give the system a bad name.

"It was Bandaranaike’s intention to get rid of such and foster the genuine thing.

"Here I must introduce the lady in question. Vimala Wijewardene, the Minister of Health, is a protege of Buddharakkita. That, too, is by a quirk of history. She and her husband were the lay leaders of the Kelaniya Temple, and they had been charged by a dying incumbent to look after the prospective successor, Buddharakkita. This they did and thus came into a close association with Buddharakkita.

"Then the wires got crossed. When he became the chief monk and had control over the temple funds, he became ambitious for power and hitched his wagon to Vimala Wijewardene. He admired the lady, who was ten years his senior, and considered her a potential queen. It was his intention to remain somewhat in the background and use her to wield power, even unlimited power.

"He spent large sums of money to support her candidature to Parliament, and it was largely through his influence that she attained Cabinet level. After the new government of Bandaranaike came into power, the earliest battlefield commanded by ‘General’ Buddharakkita happened over the College of Indigenous Medicine.

"He tried to use the Minister of Health to change the administration of the college, removing in the process two highly qualified and respected heads, and replacing the board with their own stooges regardless of their ability to discharge their duties. They hoped to be able to extend their power base across the country to the practitioners of the Ayurveda system – the vedamahatmayas as they are known. They succeeded for a while, after employing thugs to wreak violence on their opponents, but had to concede defeat when a new Minister of Health was appointed. He was A P Jayasuriya, a close associate of Bandaranaike, so Buddharakkita and company had that against Bandaranaike as well.

"In the campaign against the Board of the College they found an unexpected ally in another Buddhist monk, a chap called Somarama from a village called Talduwe. He, too, is a political monk and is a member of the Sri Lanka Freedom Party, the ruling party, at least the main component of the Government. He is a great admirer of Buddharakkita and they meet often, either at his own temple or in Kelaniya.

"He is also a supporter of Vimala and through her intervention obtained a post as an eye specialist at the College of Indigenous Medicine. He’s a hard card. He helped to wreck a meeting at the Town Hall, is said to live a life hardly in keeping with the rule for Buddhist monks, is rumoured to take hard liquor and opium, and is known to carry a revolver..."

"Well, for crying out loud!" interjected Manley, who thought he had seen it all before.

"Oh, yes," said Wijesinghe, "and he makes no secret of it. He has told one or two persons, and, of course, they told three or four persons, that he carries one for his personal safety...Ah, but I digress too far. To return to Buddharakkita.

"He was also interested in promoting various business ventures so that he could rake in some of the profits.

"He helped, financially as well, to float a shipping company, no pun intended, and one of the first ventures was to seek rights to transport 200,000 tons of rice from Burma to Ceylon. This was in rivalry with the government-sponsored shipping line. Another of Buddharakkita’s henchmen, Jayawardene, was made chairman of the new company. They hoped to carry flour and railway sleepers from Australia to Ceylon, sugar from Cuba, coal from England.

"They spent large sums of money to get the project going: Buddharakkita himself spent about 100,000 rupees, and after very positive reaction from the government, Bandaranaike himself frustrated their plans on advice that they were not very stable. This enraged Buddharakkita.

"Another factor that stood in the way of Buddharakkita’s ambition was the presence in the Cabinet of two Marxist ministers, Philip Gunawardene and William Silva. Vimala hated them because it was their intention to give a better deal to the rice farmers by undermining the position of the proprietors who paid a pittance to those who labour."

(c) E.C.T. Candappa

(Continued tomorrow)