An exuberant life: Mala Weerasekera’s graceful commitments

by Prof. Rajiva Wijesinha

I was invited a couple of weeks back by Mala Weerasekera to the launch of a book about her life, her family and her achievements. I must admit to a connection to her, but it is only through marriage, and I am not part of the very distinguished family to which she belongs.

She was a Hewavitharna, the grand-daughter of a brother of Anagarika Dharmapala. I had known this, but not that her grand-father had died a victim of the British after the Sinhala Muslim riots of 1915, for he had been arrested and sent to the Jaffna jail where he contracted enteric fever, received no treatment, and died. His arrest was probably because the authorities could not lay their hands on his brother, who had been in India.

That was perhaps the most dramatic of the glimpses the book gives of our history. But the account also registers the sterling contribution of Sir Ponnambalam Ramanathan to get justice for the Buddhists who were treated so badly, with his efforts leading to Edmund Hewavitharna’s name being cleared and the Governor being recalled.

Unfortunately the book omits the name of the liberal Governor who succeeded Chalmers, Sir John Anderson, and moves straight on to Manning. Anderson did his best to serve the Ceylonese, but died in office, to the delight of the British establishment. Manning, though less oppressive than Chalmers, was insidious, and got his revenge on the Tamils of Colombo by denying them a seat in the Western Province under the first Manning reform of the Legislative Council.

That was remedied under the Manning Devonshire reform, but the damage had been done and Sir Ponnambalam Arunachalam who had been the first President of the Ceylon National Congress died a disappointed man. Sir Ponnambalam Ramanathan, who had done so much for the Sinhalese, retired to the North, the precursor my father would say of a separatist movement, propelled by the selfishness of the Sinhala elite.

This is not however the stuff of Mala’s book, though I do remember fondly the long discussions she had with my father, who told me all this, in his final years when she was a frequent visitor to our home. Both of them were delighted that the sole surviving grandson of his oldest sister, who had married a Ratnatunge, had married Mala’s daughter.

Their eldest daughter has contributed a moving piece to this book, and I recall their great friendship. They both came for the launch at Lunuganga of my book about Ena de Silva, when the Geoffrey Bawa Trust offered a gala dinner and an overnight stay, and it was delightful to have a few relations at the event.

This account is the first of several that record the impact Mala has had on so many, friends from her own social background, employees who register deep appreciation of her kindness (including a Tamil executive to whom she and her husband Sinha Weerasekera gave shelter during the July 1983 riots) and a doctor at the Kurunagala hospital whose work benefited enormously from Mala’s fund-raising capacities.

There, and elsewhere in the book, we have a record of her professional achievements, after she had taken over management of the family firm of Don Carolis, best known for its production of furniture. Her remarkable successes included the furnishing of the grand Bank of Ceylon building and the new Parliament, for which she worked together with Geoffrey Bawa.

Before all these successes, based on a very happy family life of her own, Mala had faced a series of tragedies as a child. Her younger brother died when she was still a child, and her mother soon after as also her aunt, her father’s only sister. And his older brother Neil, who was a role model for Raja Hewavitharna, died when he was just over forty. Neil had six daughters, who figured large in my childhood, for one of them presented me with my first dog, and another married into the Ratnatunga clan which was closely connected to my father.

Raja himself had suffered when his father died while he was at school in England, and remittances were curtailed so he had to work to earn pocket money. But he liked it there, and was sorry that his brother summoned him back, in 1923, when he was 21. His thirst for travel persisted however and there are lovely accounts of family holidays in India, including to the north of India where they met Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay who were shortly afterwards to conquer Everest. Raja died in harness as it were, as our ambassador to Burma, while the book also glances at the wide travels of Mala and Sinha after a detailed account of their honeymoon in Europe.

The book then presents a fascinating glimpse of the varied lifestyle of an elite that was not quite aristocratic, but represented the upper middle classes which were to dominate public life in the first couple of decades after independence. Raja was a cabinet minister in the country’s first cabinet, and his sister’s son Gamani Jayasuriya was a leading figure in the United National Party and was thought the favourite of the old guard to succeed Dudley Senanayake, but he was far too nice for the infighting that preceded the rise of J R Jayewardene.

A particular joy for me was the mention of acquaintances from my own past, such as Janet Vairakiam, a girl guide commissioner who was a good friend of my mother’s, who along with my mother’s predecessor as Chief Commissioner, Sita Rajasooriya took a group of guides to Australia. There was an account of the flowers provided for Mala’s wedding by Trevin’s flower shop, where the best friend of my days at primary school, Graham de Kretser, lived since its owner was the Mr Oorloff who ‘personally decorated the staircase with beautiful arum lilies’.

Mala (circled) with Girl Guide contingent to a Jamboree in Australia. Also in the group are Manouri (de Silva, later Muttetuwegama top row second from right) and Kumari Wickramasuriya (later Abeygunawardene top row second from left).

One of Sinha’s best friends at school was the brilliant Lakshman Kadirgamar, whose sister-in-law Saro I met after ages at the launch, along with other friends of my mother whom I took a moment or two to remember. And I was surprised to find that one of Mala’s friends was former Australian High Commissioner Sir Roden Cutler, who had also been a great friend of Derrick Nugawela, who emigrated to Australia for several years before returning to this country in retirement. Sinha had thought of emigrating in dark days, and Sir Roden had agreed to facilitate this, but Mala had been determined to stay on at home.

These are not really significant coincidences, but they focused my attention to the very different world from that of today in which not only Mala but even I grew up. Her house is beautiful but not ostentatious with the vulgarity that marks many buildings of the recently, not entirely legitimately, rich; the sense of service exuded not only by Mala and the book but by the many others she refers to, including the redoubtable Chandra Selvaratnam who sadly died just a few weeks back; the connections across communal divides, in the text and in the celebrations by Tamils and Muslims, including Razeek Zarook who for many years represented the Maha Bodhi Society as its lawyer; all this is going, it will soon be gone, and though I have no doubt the future too will have its share of memorable people and achievements, the effortless ease with which Mala pursued her many commitments is not something which will recur.