Thursday, May 7, 2026

Riverstone: A Haunting Journey Through Sri Lanka's Dark Past: A Film By Lalith Ratnayake

 



A Film by Lalith Rathnayake


Historical Context: The Shadows Behind the Story

The politicians who received state security protection during the political unrest that deepened since 1980s soon established their own private security apparatus, arming themselves beyond official protection. In the process, they deployed these private armies to settle personal scores and eliminate opponents—actions their official security personnel could not legitimately fulfil.

The irony was stark and disturbing: it was the state-controlled police who found themselves battling underworld gangs that unofficially represented the very politicians who financed them. The brutal struggle between armed officials and criminal figures became a shadow war, both sides receiving patronage from the same political establishment. This was the brutal reality of power in Sri Lanka that continued for decades—a time when the lines between law enforcement, political violence, and organised crime dissolved into a terrifying moral chaos.

Through Riverstone, award winning director Lalith Rathnayake brings this period of terror back to the silver screen, offering contemporary audiences a haunting reminder of that dark chapter in Sri Lankan history.


The Journey: Four Men in an Unmarked Vehicle

The film revolves predominantly around four characters travelling in an unmarked police jeep: a senior police officer, a sergeant at the wheel, a constable guarding the prisoner, and the prisoner himself—claimed to be a criminal being taken to his village to "show his hidden weapons" to the police.

Those who lived through that era will immediately recognise this as a common ploy used by law enforcement agencies—a euphemism that often determined the final destiny of political prisoners. The journey is ostensibly about recovering weapons; in reality, it is a journey toward something far more final and irreversible.


Opening Image: Darkness and Revelation

The opening scene is masterfully conceived. As the film credits roll, four small points of light gradually come into focus within surrounding pitch darkness. Only later do we realise these are the holes in a cell door, slowly brought into clarity. This visual metaphor brilliantly establishes the film's central concerns: confinement, the gradual revelation of truth, and the thin membrane separating freedom from captivity, life from death.


Performances: A Quartet of Excellence

Lalith Rathnayake has assembled phenomenal actors who deliver performances of equal power—no one overshadowing the other. This ensemble achievement recalls Welikatara, where screen giants Gamini Fonseka and Joe Abeywickrama portrayed a police officer and criminal, each hunting the other, in performances still celebrated decades later.

In Riverstone, the "criminal" held in custody is played by Randika Gunathilaka, taken on his fateful journey by three policemen portrayed by veterans Mahendra Perera, Shyam Fernando, and Priyantha Sirikumara.



Mahendra Perera recently won the Best Actor award at the Singapore Film Festival, where both he and Randika were nominated. However, in my view, Randika's performance stands among the finest in recent Sri Lankan cinema. Holding his own against these seasoned veterans, he delivers a portrayal that will linger in the memory of filmgoers for years to come. There is a quiet intensity to his work—a performance that suggests profound depths of fear, resignation, and flickering hope without ever becoming melodramatic.


Cinematic Craft: Landscape as Character

The exceptional clarity in storytelling and cinematography evokes Welikatara again, where director cum cinematographer D.B. Nihalsinghe chose the stark, windswept beaches of northern Sri Lanka as their canvas. Lalith Rathnayake selects an equally evocative but contrasting setting: the beautiful, mist-shrouded mountains of Sri Lanka's hill country.



This choice is not merely aesthetic—it is thematically resonant. The mountains become a character in themselves, their beauty standing in heartbreaking contrast to the darkness of the human drama unfolding within their embrace. As the jeep winds through picturesque hilly terrain and steams along misty roads, we are reminded that great cruelty often unfolds in settings of great beauty—that the sublime indifference of nature continues regardless of human suffering.


Music and Image: Crafting Atmosphere

An enchanting musical score brightens the beautifully framed shots as they roll through the landscape. The music does not sentimentalise; rather, it creates a melancholic elegance that allows the visual poetry to breathe. Each shot feels carefully crafted, composed with painterly attention to light, shadow, and the interplay between human figures and vast landscape.

The cinematography captures the ethereal quality of hill country mist, the way light filters through mountain passes, the claustrophobic interior of the jeep contrasted with the expansive vistas glimpsed through its windows. This visual language serves the narrative perfectly—we are simultaneously trapped with these four men in their mobile prison and aware of the larger world of beauty and possibility that surrounds their grim journey.


A Film That Endures

Riverstone is not merely a period piece—it is a meditation on power, complicity, and the human cost of violence be it state driven or subversive. By focusing on a single journey, Rathnayake achieves something more powerful than any sweeping epic: we come to know these four men intimately through their silences, their glances, the weight of what remains unspoken.

For those who lived through the "Era of Terror," this film will evoke visceral memories. For younger generations, it offers essential testimony. Like the finest works of political cinema, Riverstone refuses to provide easy answers. It simply asks us to witness, to remember, and to understand the complexity of the world we inherit. 

This is filmmaking of rare integrity and power, recently recognised and celebrated at high-profile International Film Festivals —a work that will endure as both historical testimony and cinematic art.

Friday, August 15, 2025

From History to Heroism: Raani, Devi Kusumasana, and Sri Lanka's Cinematic Renaissance

 



The Sinhala film industry, often perceived as having gone through a lean period, appears to have found renewed vigour through two significant releases: Raani and Devi Kusumasana. Both films, interestingly, centre around powerful female figures, metaphorically referred to as "queens" (Raani in Tamil, and Devi in many local languages, both meaning queen).

Raani: A Mother's Fight for Justice

Raani, directed by Asoka Handagama and starring Swarna Mallawarachchi, delves into the real-life struggle of Manorani Saravanamuttu, the mother of the renowned journalist Richard de Zoysa. De Zoysa's tragic death in 1990, widely believed to be a politically motivated killing during the dark period in Sri Lankan history, sparked considerable public anticipation and debate surrounding the film.

The film aims to portray Manorani's heroic, almost solitary, fight for justice, as she rallied public sentiment and gained international attention. However, a key point of contention needs to be highlighted: the audience's preconceived notions about the murder and their expectation for the film to explicitly condemn the political regime. Handagama, it seems, chose to focus on the mother's unwavering courage rather than providing a direct political expose, a decision that left some viewers disappointed.

Another critique raised is the director's perceived failure to fully grasp the specific social strata to which Manorani belonged, which arguably distinguished her "queen-like heroism" from that of a typical middle-class professional. As admitted by the lead actress, Swarna Mallawarachchi herself, her long-held dream of portraying Raani, raises the question of whether her interpretation aligned with the director's vision or her own predetermined idea of the character. As a biopic, Raani is inherently Handagama's dramatisation of actual events, and therefore, reflects his artistic view point on the tragedy.

Devi Kusumasana: A Rebel's Ascent

The more recent release, Devi Kusumasana, directed by Jayantha Chandrasiri, is a historical drama set during the early colonial invasion of Sri Lanka. It focuses on the princess, more commonly known as Dona Catarina, who came under the care of the Portuguese rulers following the death of her Father, the exiled king of Kandy, and Mother who sought refuge in a Portuguese fort. She consequently became a pawn in the power struggles between the invading Portuguese and local rebels.

The film, despite its title, Devi Kusumasana (meaning Queen Kusumasana), primarily centres on the rise of the rebellious Konappu Bandara. He was baptised as Don John of Austria by the Portuguese for his military prowess exhibited while he fought for the Portuguese in Goa, India. He eventually rebelled against the Portuguese and became King Wimaladharmasuriya I, one of the Kandyan Kingdom's most celebrated rulers, and married Devi Kusumasana. Rather than centring Devi Kusumasana as the title might suggest, the director, Chandrasiri, chose to depict the bravery and heroism of this rebel.

The film is praised for its apt glorification of Konappu Bandara's role in shattering Portuguese ambitions to conquer the Kandyan Kingdom, culminating in their decisive defeat at the Battle of Danture. This historical event, which reportedly deeply disappointed the Portuguese Commander-in-Chief, is effectively resonated in the film, underscoring Sri Lanka's unique resistance to colonial subjugation. While acknowledging some minor flaws in art direction and music choices, the overall sentiment is that the film largely succeeds in its chosen narrative focus. 

Broader Impact and Industry Context

Both Raani and Devi Kusumasana contribute to a perceived revitalisation of the Sinhala film industry. This comes after a period where the industry was seen as struggling with declining popularity, often attributed to a lack of originality in commercial cinema and a disconnect with modern audiences. While art cinema continued to receive critical acclaim, the broader industry faced commercial sustainability challenges. The success of these two films, particularly their engagement with significant historical and contemporary events, suggests a potential shift towards compelling storytelling that resonates with local audiences, breathing new life into Sri Lankan cinema. These films, by tapping into powerful narratives, are helping to re-engage audiences and demonstrate the potential for thought-provoking and commercially viable local productions.

Wednesday, April 16, 2025

Beyond Illusion: Brecht's Epic Theatre and the Buddhist Concept of Non-Self

 

Introduction

Epic theatre (German: episches Theater ) is a theatrical movement that emerged in the early to mid-20th century. It was shaped by the theories and practices of theatre practitioners like Bertolt Brecht, who responded to the political climate of the time by creating a new form of political theatre. At a time when melodrama, realism, and naturalism were popular theatre forms, Brecht rejected what he perceived as the "shallow spectacle, manipulative plots, and heightened emotion" of melodrama. He proposed epic theatre as a major alternative, particularly to the early naturalistic approach (and later "psychological realism") developed by Konstantin Stanislavski. These naturalistic styles tried to recreate real life on stage, with the idea that the audience should believe the story and characters in the play were real. Brecht saw this traditional theatre as escapism, a place "where the audience could forget about their lives for a while", and criticized that it "did not make the audience think" which he "saw as a huge waste of an audience." He wanted people to question and challenge, not simply accept and enjoy, and therefore created a new form of theatre designed to make the audience question and think about what they were watching. A staunch Marxist, Brecht’s plays often had a political and social message.

Alienation Effects

In the realistic theatre of illusion, Brecht argued, the spectator tended to identify with the characters on stage and become emotionally involved with them, rather than being stirred to think about his own life. To encourage a critical perspective, Brecht introduced the Verfremdungseffekt , or alienation effect. This technique aimed to direct the audience’s attention to the artifice of the theatre. It involved disrupting the audience's immersion in the narrative by "doing something unexpected", breaking the rhythm of the scene, so that "the audience stops getting lost in the emotion, story and characters" and "are able to start to think and question." It was "seen as a ‘slap in the face with a wet fish’ to wake everyone up." The idea with ‘alienation effects’ was to constantly remind the audience they were in a theatre, watching a play. These techniques break the illusion of drama, so the audience does not get lost in the story or the characters, but instead "are constantly reminded that these are actors communicating ideas and situations to them."

Techniques of Epic Theatre

Some of the techniques that were used by Brecht were:

  • Plays were performed with the house lights on so that audience members remained aware of each other during the performance.
  • Music and dancing were used to break up the action of the play, or scenes were sung rather than spoken.
  • Placards were used to give information to the audience.
  • All of the characters might be dressed in black rather than individually costumed.
  • Brecht preferred to call the audience ‘spectators’ and his focus was always on the society being presented in the play, not individual characters;
  • Events in plays were sometimes told from the viewpoint of a single storyteller.

He believed that the actor’s job was merely to show what happened, and did not want actors to identify with the character or to play the role realistically, which was the opposite of Stanislavski’s purpose.

The Concept of Anatta

Brecht’s theatre style and techniques of alienation provide a way to gain an understanding of the ‘no self’ or ‘anatta’ doctrine preached by the Buddha. Anatta means ‘no self,’ and the doctrine of anatta is one of the three characteristics or marks of existence, alongside impermanence (anithya ) and suffering ( dukkha ), declared by the Buddha as doorways to liberation ( Vimukthi Mukha ). Being subject to conditionality, the teachings state, all things (including people and sentient beings) are impermanent and therefore cause suffering; anything that causes suffering cannot be taken as ‘self’ and thus is ‘anatta’.

The analogy of a cinema experience: Cinema is like an illusion that can captivate the viewer, binding them to the story and characters unfolding on the screen. Although what is displayed on the screen is a series of moving images produced by light rays projected onto it, the viewer, not seeing this reality, perceives them as real events and becomes attached to them. For example, when watching an action movie, the viewer becomes shocked, frightened, and emotional due to the thrilling scenes, car crashes, and burning buildings depicted in it. They grieve when their favorite character is defeated in fight scenes. This is because the viewer projects their mental conceptions onto the events and characters unfolding on the screen, becoming emotionally attached to it. They are unaware of the acting, makeup, technical effects, and editing involved in the film's production. However, if the film's director were watching the same movie, they would not experience such unusual joy, sadness, or shock. This is because they are well aware of all the makeup, acting, technical effects, and editing that took place behind the scenes of the production they directed. They know that the burning buildings that appear real are actually cardboard models and that the damaged vehicles are toy cars. In a way, if the viewer also understood how they are being deceived in front of the screen, instead of being thrilled and frightened, they would find it amusing.

The emotional attachments as said (to the illusion created on the screen) that arise within the individual viewer are due to his or her mistaken perception driven by delusion. Just as Brecht sought to break the theatrical illusion to reveal a deeper truth, the Buddha's teachings aim to penetrate the illusion of self to reveal the path to liberation.

Perception of Self & Cause for Suffering

The Buddha identified these emotional attachments as clinging (upadana). He saw how people are deluded in this manner, embracing what is essentially unwholesome as wholesome, impermanent as permanent, unpleasant as pleasant and non-self as self. The cinema screen made of fabric is not self, and the images created by light rays projected on the screen are not self, however, the spectator ignores this and tends to grasp the superficial storyline as real. There is no difference to this and our real-life experiences. We project perceptions of self that arise in the mind on external objects and tend to believe that our conceptions belong to them or, in other words, that they are real, like in the cinema experience. According to the Buddha, this is the cause of much of the distress and pain humans inflict upon themselves and others through greed, fear, ignorance, hatred and self-deception.

Epic Theatre and Freedom from Suffering

Bertolt Brecht believed that theatre should appeal not to the spectator's feelings but to his (or her) reason. While still providing entertainment, it should be strongly didactic and capable of provoking social change. Brecht revolutionized theatre and turned it into a tool for looking at the big issues that affect society. He made it possible for theatre to make a difference. The Buddha, on the other hand, saw beyond the world and revealed how we are entrapped in an existence of suffering due to delusion of grasping to self-views, therefore being unable to see things as they really are. He taught that liberation from this suffering requires the cultivation of Right View (Samma Ditti). This Right View dispels ignorance and gives rise to the knowledge (vidya) of reality. It is the key to understanding suffering, its cause, its end, and the path to its end. This understanding foster detachment from internally generated conceptions, removing craving, and culminating in the freedom of Nibbana."

Listen to the Audio on You Tube,

https://youtu.be/s9sJzJwUn98

Sunday, August 4, 2024

My Red Comrade and the Man of Culture

 


The definition found in the internet for 'Man of Culture' refers to someone who appreciates things considered refined, classic, or niche, especially in areas like art, music, movies, or anime. It's about shared enjoyment and understanding, not about trying to impress someone.

During one of our regular conversations on such subjects’ years ago, eminent filmmaker Dharmasena Pathiraja spoke about the 'man of culture' in the middle-class society of Colombo in the 60s & 70’s. He went on to say that they professed a deep appreciation of theatre and drama staged at Lional Wendt, enjoyed dining out and often had a painting by George Keyt displayed in their lounge room. Pathi claimed that unlike in socialist societies country’s common man is deprived of such 'luxuries' enjoyed by those considered to be the privileged. Interestingly though he pointed out that the said privileged group is rapidly being marginalised within the free economy that emerged in the late 80's making way for a Nouveau riche class who lacked said social values.

A lot is being said about the values of a 'society of culture' in recent times in Sri Lankan political arena, particularly among those campaigning to establish one when they come to power. 'Sanskruthika Minisa' (Man of Culture) has become a slogan on those platforms.

Ironically a present-day filmmaker brings this very topic for wider discussion cinematically in his most recent work called 'My Red Comrade'

Sudath Mahadiwulwewa's effort aims to arouse awareness for the need to awaken the leftist movements from the traditional dreams that they are deeply caught up in and to make them focus on addressing contemporary issues. He does this brilliantly through a somewhat weird encounter between  two strange characters, an ageing activist and a young woman who sneaks into his small shanty seeking refuge in the middle of a stormy night. His portrayal of the two characters juxtaposed in the tiny shanty, playing extraordinarily with light and sound, is fascinating. Throughout the equally weird relationship that develops between the two, the filmmaker unfolds the story of the tragic and failed past of the country's traditional leftist movements and those who sacrificed their lives for the same.

In the end the spectator is given the nudge where the girl, an activist herself, lights up a candle into the darkness that her revolutionist host, whom she calls My Red Comrade, who operates under cover and those many others out there fighting for a common cause are drenched in.

Having fearlessly and cleverly confronted the criminals set off by the state authorities to hunt her rescuer (from a similar terrifying situation she underwent earlier in the night), she says to the audience, 'I have done my bit and it's your turn now!'

Thursday, July 4, 2024

āļ´ැāļģāļŠāļēි⎃් | PARADISE

 



āļ•āˇƒ්āļ§්‍āļģේāļŊිāļēා⎀ේ āļ´ොāļŊි⎃ිāļē ⎀ි⎃ිāļą් ⎃ැāļšāļšāļģු⎀āļą් āļ…āļ­්āļ…āļŠංāļœු⎀āļ§ āļœැāļąීāļ¸ේāļ¯ී ⎄ා āļ´්‍āļģ⎁්āļĢ āļšිāļģීāļ¸ේāļ¯ී āļ…āļąුāļœāļ¸āļąāļē āļšāļģāļą āļ¸ෘāļ¯ු āļš්‍āļģිāļēා āļ´āļ§ිāļ´ාāļ§ිāļē āļœැāļą āļšāļ­ා āļļ⎄āļš āļēෙāļ¯ුāļąු āļ…āˇ€āˇƒ්āļŽා⎀āļš āˇ€ිāļš්āļ§ෝāļģිāļēාāļąු  āļ´ොāļŊී⎃ිāļēේ ⎃ේ⎀āļēේ āļąිāļēුāļ­ු⎀ ⎃ිāļ§ි  ⎁්‍āļģී āļŊාංāļšිāļš āļ´ොāļŊි⎃් āļ´āļģීāļš්⎂āļšāˇ€āļģāļēෙāļšු āļ´ැāˇ€āˇƒූ āļ¯ෙāļēāļš් āļ¸ාāļœේ āļ¸āļ­āļšāļēāļ§ āļąැāļœේ. āļ­āļ¸ āļģැāļšිāļēා⎀āļ§ āļļැāļŗුāļąු āļ¸ුāļŊ් āļ…⎀āļ°ිāļēේ āļ”⎀ුāļą් āļ…āļąුāļœāļ¸āļąāļē āļšāļģāļą āļ¸ෘāļ¯ු āļš්‍āļģිāļēා āļ´āļ§ිāļ´ාāļ§ිāļē āļąි⎃ා āļ…āļ´āļģාāļ° āļšāļģු⎀āļą් āļšොāļ§ුāļšāļģ āļœැāļąීāļ¸ේāļ¯ී ⎃ිāļ¯ු⎀ූ āļ…āˇƒීāļģුāļ­ා⎀āļē āļœැāļą āļ…āļ´ැ⎄ැāļ¯ුāļąු āļ…āļ´ āļ¸ිāļ­්‍āļģāļēා āļ”⎀ුāļą් ⎄āļ§ āļ´āˇ€āˇƒා ⎃ිāļ§ිāļēේ āļŊංāļšා⎀ේ āļąāļ¸් ⎃ාāļ¸ාāļą්‍āļēāļēෙāļą් āļ‘⎀ැāļąි āļ…āˇ€āˇƒ්āļŽා⎀āļŊ āļ…āļąුāļœāļ¸āļąāļē āļšāļģāļą āļąොāļēෙāļš් āļ…āļšාāļģāļēේ ⎀ැāļŠ āļ´ි⎅ි⎀ෙāļŊ⎀āļŊ් āļ´ි⎅ිāļļāļŗāˇ€āļē.  āļ’ āļ…āˇƒා āļ”⎄ුāļœේ āļ´ොāļŊි⎃් āļ¸ිāļ­ුāļģāļą් ⎀ි⎁්āļ¸āļēāļēāļ§ āļ´āļ­්⎀ූ āļļ⎀ āļ”⎄ු āļ´ැāˇ€āˇƒීāļē. āļ…āļ´ āļļො⎄ෝ āļ¯ෙāļąා āļ‘⎀āļą් ⎀ැāļŠ āļ´ි⎅ි⎀ෙāļŊ⎀āļŊ් āļœැāļą āļ…āˇƒා āļ‡āļ­ි ⎀ු⎀āļ­් āļ‘āļ¸ āļ¸āļ­āļšāļēāļą් āļąැ⎀āļ­ āˇƒි⎄ිāļ´āļ­් ⎀ූāļēේ āļ¸ෑāļ­āļš āļ¯ී ⎃ිāļŠ්āļąි āļ ිāļ­්‍āļģāļ´āļ§ āļ‹āˇ…ෙāļŊේ  āļ´්‍āļģāļ¯āļģ්⎁āļĢāļē āļšāļģāļą āļŊāļ¯ āļ´්‍āļģ⎃āļą්āļą āˇ€ිāļ­ාāļąāļœේ ⎀ි⎃ිāļą් āļąිāļģ්āļ¸ාāļĢāļē  āļšāļģāļą āļŊā āļ´ැāļģāļŠāļēි⎃් āļ ිāļ­්‍āļģāļ´āļ§āļē āļąැāļģāļšීāļ¸ෙāļą් āļ´āˇƒු⎀āļē.

āļ­āļģුāļĢ āļ‰āļą්āļ¯ිāļēාāļąු ⎃ංāļ ාāļģāļš āļēු⎀āļŊāļšāļ§ āļ…āļēāļ­් ⎀āļ§ිāļąා āļ‰āļŊෙāļš්āļ§්‍āļģොāļąිāļš āˇƒංāļąි⎀ේāļ¯āļą āļ¸ෙ⎀āļŊāļ¸් ⎃ොāļģාāļœැāļąීāļ¸ āļ´ිāļŊිāļļāļŗ āļšāˇ… āļ´ැāļ¸ිāļĢිāļŊ්āļŊ ⎀ිāļˇාāļœ āļšිāļģීāļ¸ āˇƒāļŗāˇ„ා ⎃ාāļĸāļą් āļļāļĢ්āļŠා āļ‡āļ­ු⎅ු āļ´ොāļŊි⎃් āļšāļĢ්āļŠාāļēāļ¸āļš් āļ”⎀ුāļą් āļąැ⎀āļ­ී ⎃ිāļ§ි ⎄ෝāļ§āļŊāļēāļ§ āļ´ැāļ¸ිāļĢෙāļ­ි. ⎃ාāļĸāļą් āļļāļĢ්āļŠා āļ¸ුāļŊිāļą් āļ’ āļœැāļą āļ‘āļ­āļģāļ¸් āļ‹āļąāļą්āļ¯ු⎀āļš් āļąොāļ¯ැāļš්⎀ු⎀āļ¯ āļ­āļģුāļĢāļēාāļ§ āļ‰āļą්āļ¯ිāļēාāļąු āļ¸āˇ„āļšොāļ¸āˇƒාāļģි⎃් āļšාāļģ්āļēාāļŊāļē ⎄āļģ⎄ා āļļāļŊāļ´ෑāļ¸් āļšāļŊ ⎄ැāļšි āļļ⎀ āļ¯ැāļąāļœැāļąීāļ¸ෙāļą් āļ´āˇƒු  āļš්‍āļģිāļēාāļ­්āļ¸āļš āˇ€ෙāļ¸ිāļą් āļ‰āˇ„āļ­āļšී āļŊෙ⎃ ⎃ැāļšāļšāļģු⎀āļą් āļēāļēි āļ…āļąුāļ¸ාāļą āļšāļģāļą āļšි⎄ිāļ´ āļ¯ෙāļąෙāļš් āļļāļŊ⎄āļ­්āļšාāļģāļēෙāļą් āļ´ොāļŊි⎃ිāļēāļ§ āļģැāļœෙāļą āļ‘āļąු āļŊāļļāļ­ි. āļ´ොāļŊී⎃ිāļēේāļ¯ී āļ”⎀ුāļą් ⎄āļ§ āļąොāļēෙāļš් āļ…āļšාāļģāļēේ āļ¸ාāļąු⎂ිāļš āˇ„ිං⎃ා⎀āļąāļ§ āļ¸ු⎄ුāļĢ āļ¯ීāļ¸āļ§ āˇƒිāļ¯ු⎀āļą්āļąේāļē. āļ’ āˇ„ේāļ­ු⎀ āļąි⎃ාāļ¯ෝ āļ”⎀ුāļą්āļœෙāļą් āļ‘āļš් āļ…āļēෙāļšු ⎀āļģāļ¯ āļ´ි⎅ිāļœāļ­් āļļ⎀ ⎃ාāļĸāļą් āļļāļĢ්āļŠා āļ´්‍āļģāļšා⎁ āļšොāļ§ āˇƒිāļ§ිāļēāļ­්  ⎃ොāļģා āļœāļ­් āļˇාāļĢ්āļŠ āˇƒොāļēා āļœැāļąීāļ¸ āˇ€ෙāļąු⎀āļ§ āˇƒංāļ ාāļģāļš āļēු⎀āļŊāļ§ āļ¸āˇ„āļ­්⎀ූ  āļ…āļšāļģāļ­ැāļļ්āļļāļēāļąāļ§ āļ¸ු⎄ුāļĢ āļ´ෑāļ¸āļ§ āˇƒිāļ¯ු ⎀āļą්āļąේāļē. āļ´ුāļ¯්āļœāļŊ ⎀āļ§ිāļąාāļšāļ¸ āļ‘āļš් āļĄāļą්āļ¯āļēāļšāļ§ āļ´āļ¸āļĢāļš් āļŊāļු āļšāļģāļą āļ´ොāļŊි⎃් āļąිāļŊāļ°ාāļģීāļą් āļ‹āļ¯්āļœāļ­āˇ€ූ āļ›ේāļ°āˇ€ාāļ āļšāļē  āļ­ුāļ§්āļ§ු⎀āļšāļ§ āļ¸ාāļēිāļ¸් āļąොāļšāļģ ⎄ෝāļ§āļŊ් ⎃ේ⎀āļšāļēāļą් āļ¯ෙāļ¯ෙāļąා⎀āļ¯ āˇƒොāļģāļšāļ¸āļ§ āˇ„āˇƒු āļšāļģāļœැāļąීāļ¸āļ§ āļ¯āļģāļą āļ´්‍āļģāļēāļ­්āļąāļē ⎀āļŠාāļ­් āļ›ේāļ°āļąීāļē āļŊෙ⎃ āļ…āˇ€āˇƒāļą් ⎀ෙāļēි  .
āļ´්‍āļģ⎃āļą්āļą āˇ€ිāļ­ාāļąāļœේ āļœේ āļšෘāļ­āˇ„āˇƒ්āļ­ āˇƒිāļąāļ¸ා āļˇා⎀ිāļ­āļē āļ”āļ´ āļšāļģāļ¸ිāļą් āļ‰āļą්āļ¯ිāļēාāļąු ⎁ිāļŊ්āļ´ීāļą් āļēොāļ¯ාāļœෙāļą āˇƒිāļąāļ¸ාāļąුāļģූāļ´ී⎀ āļąිāļģ්āļ¸ාāļĢāļē āļšොāļ§ āļ‡āļ­ි āļ¸ෙāļ¸ āļ ිāļ­්‍āļģāļ´āļ§ිāļēේ  āļšැāļ¸āļģාāļšāļģāļĢāļē ⎄ා āļ´āˇƒුāļļිāļ¸්  ⎃ංāļœීāļ­āļē āļ†āļ¯ීāļēේ āļšැāļ´ිāļ´ෙāļąෙāļą āļąැ⎀ුāļ¸් āļļ⎀āļš්‌  āļ¯āļšිāļą්āļąāļ§ āļŊැāļļෙāļą āļ…āļ­āļģ āļ‘āļšිāļąෙāļšා ⎃āļ¸āļœ āļˇා⎂ා āļšි⎄ිāļ´āļēāļšිāļą් ⎃ං⎀ාāļ¯āļēේ āļēෙāļ¯ෙāļą āˇƒං⎃්āļšෘāļ­ිāļ¸āļē ⎀⎁āļēෙāļą් ⎃āļ¸ාāļąāļšāļ¸් āļ‡āļ­ි āļ¯ෙāļģāļ§āļš āļ´ුāļ¯්āļœāļŊ ⎃āļļāļŗāļ­ා⎀āļēāļą් āļ¸āļąා⎀  āļœොāļŠ āļąāļœා āļ‡āļ­.

āļ¸ාāļąු⎂ිāļš āˇ„ිං⎃āļąāļē āļ´ිāļŊිāļļāļŗ āļšāļģුāļĢු⎀āļŊāļ¯ී  ⎃ං⎀ේāļ¯ී āļ­ැāļąැāļ­්āļ­ිāļēāļš් ⎀ූ āļ ිāļ­්‍āļģāļ´āļ§āļē āļąැāļģāļšු āļ…āļ´ āļ¸ිāļ­ුāļģිāļē āļ´ැāˇ€āˇƒු⎀ේ āļ¸ෙ⎀ැāļąි āļ…āˇ€āˇƒ්āļŽා⎀āļŊāļ§ āļ¸ු⎄ුāļĢ āļ¯ෙāļą āļ•āˇƒ්āļ§්‍āļģේāļŊිāļēා⎀ේ āļˆāļ­ āļ´්‍āļģāļ¯ේ⎁ ⎀āļŊ āļĸී⎀āļ­්⎀āļą āļ†āļ¯ි⎀ා⎃ීāļą් āļœේ āļ‰āļģāļĢāļ¸āļ¯ āļ¸ෙāļēāļ§ āļ…āˇƒāļ¸ාāļą āļąො⎀āļą āļļ⎀āļēි. āļ‘āļ¸ āļ…āļ¯āˇ„āˇƒ  āļšāļŊිāļą් ⎃āļŗāˇ„āļą් āļšāļŊ ⎀ිāļš්āļ§ෝāļģිāļēාāļąු āļ´ොāļŊී⎃ිāļēේ  āļ¸ිāļ­ුāļģා āļŊැāļļූ  āļ…āļ­්āļ¯ැāļšීāļ¸āļ§ āļ…āļąු⎀ āļ‰āļ¯ිāļģිāļ´āļ­් āļšāļŊ āļ…āļ¯āˇ„āˇƒāļ§  ⎃āļ´ුāļģා ⎀ෙāļąāˇƒ් ⎀ු⎀āļšි. āļ¯ුāļģ්⎀āļŊāļēා āļ¸āļģ්āļ°āļąāļē āļšිāļģීāļ¸ේ āļ¯ී āļ…āļąුāļœāļ¸āļąāļē āļšෙāļģෙāļą āļ¸ෙ⎀āļą් āļ…āˇƒාāļ°ාāļģāļąāļšāļ¸් ⎀āļŊāļ§ āļ¸ු⎄ුāļĢ āļ¯ීāļ¸āļ§ āˇƒිāļ¯ු⎀ීāļ¸ āļ¯ිāļēුāļĢු āļąොāļ¯ිāļēුāļĢු ⎃ෑāļ¸ āļģāļ§āļšāļ§āļ¸ āļ´ොāļ¯ු āļšාāļģāļĢāļēāļš්  āļąො⎀ේāļ¯ ?

Tuesday, July 2, 2024

āļąාāļŊāļą්āļ¯ා⎀ෙāļą් āļļි⎄ි⎀ූ ⎃ු⎀ි⎁ේ⎂ āļš්‍āļģිāļšāļ§් āļ­āļģු⎀ āļ…āļąුāļģ āļ¯ āˇƒිāļŊ්⎀ා

 


āļ¯āˇ„⎀āļŊ් āļ‘āļšāˇ„āļ¸ාāļģ ⎀āļąāļ­ුāļģු āļąොāļ‰āˇ€āˇƒිāļŊ්āļŊෙāļą් ⎃ිāļ§ි āļ…āļ´ āļ¯āˇ€āˇƒේ āļąිāļ¸ා⎀ ⎃āļąිāļ§ු⎄āļą් āļšāļģāļą āļ…āˇ€āˇƒාāļą āˇƒීāļąු ⎄āļŦāļ­්  ⎃āļ¸āļœ āļ´āˇ„ āˇ€āˇƒāļģ āļ´āļą්āļ­ි āļ´ේāļŊිāļē āļ´ුāļģා āļģැ⎀ු āļ¯ුāļą් āļēෝ ⎀āļ¯āļ­ං āļ´āˇ€āļģෝ āļ¸āļąුāļĸේ⎃ු  āļœාāļŽා⎀ āļ‹āļŠිāļą් āļ´āļŊ්āļŊෙāļą් āļœāļēා ⎄āļ¸ාāļģ āļšොāļ§, āļ‘āļšāļŊ āļ…āļ´āļœේ āļ´ා⎃āļŊ් āļļෑāļœāļē ⎀ූ āļšුāļŠා ⎃ූāļ§් āļšේ⎃āļē āļ…āļ­ැāļŸිāļŊි ⎀āļŊ āļģු⎀ාāļœෙāļą āļ´ිāļ§්āļ§āļąිāļē ⎀ෙāļ­ āļ‰āļœිāļŊුāļąෙāļ¸ු. āļ´ුāļģුāļ¯්āļ¯āļš් āļŊෙ⎃ ⎃ෑāļ¸ āļ´ා⎃āļŊ් āļ¯ිāļąāļšāļ¸ āļ´ා⎄ේ ⎀ි⎀ේāļš āļšාāļŊāļēේ āļš්‍āļģිāļšāļ§් āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා āļšāļŊ āļ…āļ´ āˇ€ිāļšāļ§්āļ§ු⎀ āļŊෙ⎃ āļēොāļ¯ා āļœāļ­්āļ­ේāļ¯ āļ¸ෙāļ¸ āˇƒුāļ§් āļšේ⎃āļēāļēි.

āļš්‍āļģිāļšāļ§් āļ­āļģāļŸāļē āļ‡āļģāļšී āļ‡āļ­ , āļąාāļŊāļą්āļ¯ා āļšāļĢ්āļŠාāļēāļ¸ āļ¸ුāļŊිāļą් āļ´āļą්āļ¯ු⎀āļ§ āļ´āˇ„āļģāļ¯ීāļ¸ āļ´āļ§āļą්āļœෙāļą  āļ‡āļ­ි āļļ⎀ āļ´ෙāļąෙāļą්āļąāļ§ āˇ€ිāļē ' āļ­āļŠ්  ', ' āļ­āļŠ් ' āļ´āļą්āļ¯ු⎀ ⎄ා āļ´ිāļ­්āļ­ āļœැāļ§ෙāļą āˇ„āļŦ āļ¯ āļ’ āˇ„ා āļ¸ු⎃ු ⎀ූ āļ…āļ­්āļ´ොāļŊ⎃āļą් ⎄āļŦāļ¯ āļ´ිāļ§ිāļē ⎃ි⎃ාāļģා āļ‡āˇƒෙāļą්āļąāļ§ āˇ€ිāļē. āļŊāļšුāļĢු āļ´ු⎀āļģු⎀ේ āļąාāļŊāļą්āļ¯ා āļąāļ¸ āļ‰āļ¯ිāļģිāļēෙāļą් āļ¯ි⎃් ⎀ූ 99/1 105/1 āļŊෙ⎃ ⎃āļ§āˇ„āļą් ⎀ෙāļ¸ිāļą් āļ­ිāļļුāļąāļ¯ āļąැ⎀āļ­ āļąැāļœුāļąු āļ”āļŊ්⎀āļģ⎃āļą් ⎄āļŦ āļšිāļēා āļ´ෑ⎀ේ āļ­āˇ€āļ­් āļŊāļšුāļĢු 6āļš් āļ‘āļēāļ§ āļ‘āļš්  ⎀ිāļē āļēුāļ­ු āļļ⎀ āļēි. āļ‘āļšāļŊ āļŊāļšුāļĢු āļ´ු⎀āļģු⎀ේ āļŊāļšුāļĢු ⎃āļ§āˇ„āļą් āļšāļŊේ āļ´ු⎀āļģු⎀ āļ´ිāļ§ුāļ´āˇƒ ⎃ිāļ§ිāļą āļ…āļēෙāļš් ⎀ි⎀ෘāļ­ āļšāˇ€ු⎅ු ⎄āļģ⎄ා āļ‰āļ¯ිāļģිāļ´āˇƒāļ§ āļ´ෙāļąෙāļą āļ†āļšාāļģāļēāļ§ āļąොāļ¸්āļ¸āļģ āļ­āˇ„āļŠු āļ‘āļŊ්āļŊāļ¸ිāļąි. āļ´ිāļ§ිāļē ⎀āļ§ා ⎀ූ āļ´්‍āļģේāļš්⎂āļšāļēāļą් āļ…āļ­āļģිāļą් āļģිංāļœා āļœිāļē āļ…āļ´ āˇƒූāļ§් āļšේ⎃āļē āļļිāļ¸ āļ­āļļා āļ‘āļēāļ¸āļ­ āˇ„ිāļŗ āļœāļ­්āļ­ා āļ´āļ¸āļĢāļšි āļ­āˇ€āļ­්  'āļ­āļŠ්' ⎄āļŦāļš් ⎃āļ¸āļœිāļą් āļ…āļ´āļ§ āļ‰āˇ„āļŊිāļą් āļ‰āļœිāļŊ āļœිāļē āļ´āļą්āļ¯ු⎀ āļ­āļš්⎂ිāļŊා āļœොāļŠāļąැāļœිāļŊ්āļŊ āļ‰āļ¯ිāļģිāļēේ āļ´āļ­ිāļ­ āˇ€ු  āļ†āļšාāļģāļē āļ­āˇ€āļ¸āļ­් āļ¸āļ­āļšāļēේ āļ‡āļ­. āļ­āˇ€āļ­් āļŊāļšුāļĢු 6āļš්! , āļ¸ෙ⎃ේ āļ‰āˇ€āļš් āļļ⎀āļš් āļąැāļ­ි⎀ āļ´āļą්āļ¯ු⎀āļ§ āļ´āˇ„āļģāļ¯ෙāļ¸ිāļą් ⎃ිāļ§ිāļēේ āļ…āļą් āļšි⎃ි⎀ෙāļš් āļąො⎀ āļ‘⎀āļšāļ§ āļ´ා⎃āļŊ් āļ¸āļ§්āļ§āļ¸ේ āļ¯āļš්⎂āļ­āļ¸ āļ´ිāļ­ිāļšāļģු⎀ා āļŊෙ⎃ āļ´්‍āļģāļšāļ§āˇ€ ⎃ිāļ§ි āļąාāļŊāļą්āļ¯ා āļąාāļēāļš āļ…āļąුāļģ āļ¯ āˇƒිāļŊ්⎀ා āļļ⎀ āļ¯ැāļąāļœැāļąීāļ¸āļ§ āļšුāļŠා āļ…āļ´āļ§ āļ­āˇ€āļ­් ⎃ාāļš්⎂ි āļ…⎀⎁්‍āļē āļąො⎀ිāļĢි.

āļ¸ෙāļ¸ āˇƒු⎀ි⎁ේ⎂ āļ´ිāļ­ි ⎄āļģāļšāļē ⎀ි⎁ේ⎂āļēෙāļą් 1967-68,  āļš්‍āļģිāļšāļ§් āļ­āļģāļŸ āˇ€ාāļģ ⎀āļŊ āļąාāļŊāļą්āļ¯ āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා āļ´ිāļ§ිāļēේ āļ¸ෙāļą්āļ¸ āļ…āļ´ āļ´ා⎃ැāļŊ āļ…āļąෙāļš් āļ´ා⎃āļŊ් ⎄ා āļ­āļģāļŸāļēේ āļēෙāļ¯ුāļąු āļ…āļąෙāļš් āļ´ා⎃ැāļŊ් āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා āļ´ිāļ§ි ⎀āļŊ āļ¯ āļ¯āļš්āļąāļ§ āļŊැāļļුāļĢු ⎃ුāļŊāļļ āļ¯āˇƒුāļąāļš් ⎀ිāļē. āļēāļ¸් ⎄ෙāļēāļšිāļą් āļ…āļąුāļģ āļ…āļŠු āļŊāļšුāļĢු āļœāļĢāļąāļšāļ§ āļ¯ැ⎀ී āļœිāļē⎄ොāļ­් āļ´ිāļ§ිāļē ⎀āļ§ා ⎃ිāļ§ි āļąāļģāļšāļą්āļąāļą් āļģංāļ ු āļ´ිāļ§ිāļą් āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා āļ´ිāļ§ිāļēෙāļą් āļ´ිāļ§āˇ€ āļœිāļē āļļ⎀āļ¯ āļąොāļģāˇ„āˇƒāļšි.

āļ¸ේ ⎃āļ§āˇ„āļą āļŊිāļēāļą්āļąāļ§ āˇƒිāļ­ුāļąේ āļ´āˇƒු āļœිāļē āļ¯ිāļąāļš āļ…āļą්āļ­āļģ්āļĸාāļŊāļēේ āļ¯āļšිāļą්āļąāļ§ āļŊැāļļුāļĢු āļąාāļŊāļą්āļ¯ා⎀ේ āļ¯ීāļ´්āļ­ිāļ¸āļ­් āļ†āļ¯ි⎁ි⎂්‍āļē ⎄ා āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා āļˇාāļģ āļ†āļ ාāļģ්āļē ⎀āļģāļēෙāļšු āļ¸ෙāļą්āļ¸ āˇ€ි⎁්⎂්āļ¨ āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා ⎀ිāļ ාāļģāļšāļēෙāļšුā ⎀ූ āļ´්‍āļģේāļ¸āˇƒāļģ āļˆāļ´ා⎃ිං⎄ āļ¸āˇ„āļ­ා ⎀ි⎃ිāļą් āļšāļģāļą āļŊāļ¯ āˇƒāļ¸්āļ¸ුāļ› āˇƒාāļšāļ ්āļ ා⎀āļšāļ¯ී āļ…āļąුāļģ āļ¯ āˇƒිāļŊ්⎀ා āļ´ි⎅ිāļļāļŗāˇ€ āļšāļŊ ⎃āļŗāˇ„āļąāļš් āļšිāļē⎀ීāļ¸āļ§ āļŊැāļļුāļĢු āļ´āˇƒු⎀ āļēි. āļ‘āļ­ුāļ¸ා āļ…āļąුāļģ āļœැāļą āļ¸ෙ⎃ේ āļšිāļēා āļ­ිāļļුāļĢි,

"āļ…āļąුāļģāļ§ āļ´ුāļ¯ුāļ¸ āˇ„ැāļšිāļēා⎀āļš් āļ­ිāļļුāļąා āļŊāļšුāļĢු āļŊāļļා āļœāļą්āļą, āļąāļ¸ුāļ­් āļ¸ිāļąි⎄ āļ§ිāļšāļš් āļ¯āļŠāļļ්āļļāļģāļēි. āļ´ු⎄ුāļĢුāļšāļģු āļąෙāļŊ්⎃āļą් āļ¸ෙāļą්āļŠි⎃් āļ¸āˇ„āļ­්āļ­āļē āļ­āļ¸ා āļ”⎄ු⎀ ⎃ොāļēාāļœෙāļą āļ­ිāļļුāļąේ, āļ”⎄ු āļ¸āļ§ āļšි⎀්⎀ා āļ…āļąුāļģ āļœැāļą āˇ„ොāļŗ āˇ€ිāļ¸āˇƒිāļŊ්āļŊෙāļą් āļ‰āļą්āļą āļ§ිāļšāļš් āļ…āļ¸ාāļģුāļšාāļģāļēා āļšිāļēāļŊ. āļ…āļ´ේ āļ´āˇ…āļ¸ු⎀āļą āļ¸ැāļ ් āļ‘āļš āļ­ිāļļුāļąේ , ⎃ෙāļą්āļ§් āļ‡āļą්āļ­āļąී⎃්  āļšොāļŊේāļĸ් āļ‘āļšāļ­් āļ‘āļš්āļš āļąු⎀āļģāļ¯ි, āļ‰āļ­ිāļą් āļ…āļ´ි āļœිāļēා āļąු⎀āļģ, āļ¸āļ¸ āļšāļĢ්āļŠාāļēāļ¸āļ§ āļšිāļēāļŊ āļ­ිāļļුāļąා āļ­āļģāļŸāļēāļ§ āļšāļŊිāļą් āļ¯āˇ€āˇƒ āļąි⎃ා āļģාāļ­්‍āļģී āļšෑāļ¸ āˇ€ෙāļŊා⎀āļ§ āļ…āļģāļœෙāļą āļšāļŊිāļą් āļąිāļą්āļ¯āļ§ āļēāļą්āļą āļšිāļēāļŊ. āļąāļ¸ුāļ­් āļšෑāļ¸ෙāļą් āļ´āˇƒ්⎃ේ  āļļāļŊāļąāļšොāļ§ āļ…āļąුāļģ ⎄ිāļ§ිāļēේ āļąෑ , āļ‘āļēා āļ†āļ´āˇ„ු  āļ…⎀ේ āļģෑ 12āļ§ āˇ€ිāļ­āļģ. āļ¸āļ¸ āļ‘āļš āˇ€āļģāļ¸ āļ”⎄ුāļ§ āļšි⎀්⎀ා āļ­āļ¸ු⎃ෙāļ§ āļ¸āļ¸ āˇ„ෙāļ§ āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා āļšāļģāļą්āļą āļ¯ෙāļą්āļąේ āļąෑ āļšිāļēāļŊ, āļ‰āļ­ිāļą් āļ¸ේ āļœැāļą āļ‘⎀āļšāļ§ āļ…āļ´āļœේ ⎀ිāļ¯ු⎄āļŊ්āļ´āļ­ි, āļŊංāļšා⎀ේ ⎃ිāļ§ිāļē ⎁්‍āļģේ⎂්āļ­āļ¨āļ­ā ⎀ිāļ¯ු⎄āļ´āļ­ිāļ­ුāļ¸ෙāļšු ⎀ූ āļœුāļĢāļ´ාāļŊ ⎀ිāļš්‍āļģāļ¸āļģāļ­්āļą āļ¸āˇ„āļ­ාāļ§ āļ¯ුāļģāļšāļŽāļąāļēෙāļą් āļ¯āļą්⎀ා ⎃ිāļ§ිāļēා , āļąāļ¸ුāļ­් āļ’ āˇ€ෙāļŊා⎀ේ āļ‘āļ­ුāļ¸ා āļšිāļēා ⎃ිāļ§ිāļēා āļ‘⎄ෙāļ¸ āļšāļģāļą්āļą āļ‘āļ´ා āļ”⎄ුāļ§ āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා āļšāļģāļą්āļą āļ‰āļŠ āļ¯ෙāļą්āļą āļšිāļēා. ⎀ි⎁්⎀ා⎁ āļšāļģāļą්āļą āļ´āˇ„ු⎀āļ¯ා  āļ­āļģāļŸāļēේāļ¯ී  āļ…āļąුāļģ āļŊāļšුāļĢු 132 āļŊāļļා āļœāļ­්āļ­ා.  āļ’ āˇ€ිāļ­āļģāļš් āļąෙ⎀ේ 100 āļ‰āļŗāļŊ 132 āļœැ⎄ැ⎀්⎀ේ 4 āļ´āˇ„āļģ 8 āļšිāļą් . āļąොāļēෙāļš් āļ†āļšාāļģāļēේ āļŊ⎃්⎃āļą āļ´āˇ„āļģ⎀āļŊ් āļ´ිāļ§ිāļē ⎀āļ§ේāļ§ā āļ”⎄ු āļ‘āļŊ්āļŊ āļšāˇ…ා."

āļ¸ා āļąැāļģāļšු āļ´āˇ…āļ¸ු āļ†āļąāļą්āļ¯ āļąාāļŊāļą්āļ¯ āļ¸āˇ„ා āļš්‍āļģිāļšāļ§් āļ­āļģāļŸāļē ⎀ුāļąේ 1968 āļ•⎀āļŊ් āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා āļ´ිāļ§ිāļēේ āļ…āļ´ āļ´ා⎃āļŊ් āļ¯ෙāļš āļ…āļ­āļģ āļ´ැ⎀ැāļ­්⎀ුāļĢු āļ´ැ⎀ැāļ­්⎀ුāļĢු 38 ⎀āļą āļ­āļģāļŸāļēāļēි . āļ†āļąāļą්āļ¯āļē ⎀ෙāļąු⎀ෙāļą් āļ´āˇƒුāļšāļŊෙāļš āļĸාāļ­ිāļš āļ­āļŊāļēේ āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා āļšāļŊ  āļš්‍āļģීāļŠāļšāļēāļą් ⎀ූ ⎃ුāļąිāļŊ් āˇƒāˇ„ āļ¸ිāļ­්‍āļģ ⎀ෙāļ­්āļ­āļ¸ුāļĢි āļ¯ෙ⎃ොāļēුāļģāļą් āļ¸ෙāļą්āļ¸ āˇƒංāļĸී⎀ ⎃ේāļąාāļąාāļēāļš āˇ€ැāļą්āļąෝ  āļ‘āļ¸ āļ­āļģāļŸāļēāļ§ āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා āļšāˇ… āļļ⎀ āļ¸āļœේ āļ¸āļ­āļšāļēේ āļ‡āļ­. āļ‘āļ¸ āˇ€āˇƒāļģේ āļ¯ෙ⎀āļą āˇ€āļģāļ§āļ­් āļąාāļŊāļą්āļ¯ා⎀ේ āļąාāļēāļšāļ­්⎀āļē āļ¯ැāļģු⎀ේ āļ…āļ´āļœේ āļšāļ­ා āļąාāļēāļšāļē ⎀ූ āļ…āļąුāļģ āļ¯ āˇƒිāļŊ්⎀ා āļēි. āˇ€āˇƒāļģ āļ¸ුāļŊāļ¯ී āļ‘āļŊ් āļ‘āˇƒ් āļ¯ූāļŊ්⎀āļŊ āļąාāļŊāļą්āļ¯āļēේ āļąාāļēāļšāļ­්⎀āļē āļ¯ැāļģූ āļąāļ¸ුāļ­් āļ”⎄ුāļœේ āļ…āˇƒාāļģ්āļŽāļšāļ­්⎀āļē āļąි⎃ා āļ…āļąුāļģāļ§ āļąැ⎀āļ­ āˇ€āļģāļš් āļąාāļēāļšāļ­්⎀āļē āļŊāļļා āļ¯ී āļ­ිāļļුāļĢු āļ…āļ­āļģ āļ”⎄ු āļēāļ§āļ­ේ  āļąාāļŊāļą්āļ¯ා⎀āļ§ āļ‘āļ¸ āˇ€āˇƒāļģේ ⎄ොāļŗāļ¸ āļ´ා⎃āļŊ් āļšāļĢ්āļŠාāļēāļ¸ āļŊෙ⎃ āļ­ේāļģී āļ´āļ­් ⎀āļą්āļąāļ§ āˇ„ැāļšි ⎀ුāļĢා. āļ¸ීāļ§ āļ´ෙāļģ 1967 āļ¯ී āļ´ැ⎀ැāļ­්⎀ුāļĢු āļ¸āˇ„ා āļ­āļģāļŸāļēේāļ¯ී āļ…āļąුāļģ ⎀ාāļģ්āļ­ාāļœāļ­ āļŊāļšුāļĢු 99 āļŊāļļාāļœෙāļą āļ­ිāļļුāļąා.

āļ¸ුāļŊිāļą්āļ¸ āļŊāļšුāļĢු āļģැ⎃්⎀ීāļ¸ āļ‡āļģāļšු āļ†āļąāļą්āļ¯āļēේ āļ¸ුāļŊ් āļ´ිāļ­ිāļšāļģු⎀ා ⎀ුāļēේ āļ…āļą් āļšි⎃ි⎀ෙāļš් āļąො⎀ ⎃ුāļąිāļŊ් ⎀ෙāļ­්āļ­āļ¸ුāļĢිāļē, āļ´āˇƒුāļšāļŊෙāļš āˇ්‍āļģීāļŊංāļšා⎀ේ  āļ´්‍āļģāļŽāļ¸ āļ§ෙ⎃්āļ§් āļš්‍āļģිāļšāļ§් āļ­āļģāļŸāļēේāļ¯ී  āļąාāļŊāļą්āļ¯ා⎀ෙāļą් āļļි⎄ි⎀ූ āļąාāļēāļš āļļāļą්āļ¯ුāļŊ ⎀āļģ්āļĢāļ´ුāļģ ⎃āļ¸āļœ āļ†āļģāļ¸්āļˇāļš āļ´ිāļ­ි āļšāļģු⎀ා ⎀⎁āļēෙāļą් āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා āļšිāļģීāļ¸āļ§ āļ­āļģāļ¸් ⎃ුāļąිāļŊ් ⎀ෙāļ­්āļ­āļ¸ුāļĢි āļ¸ේ āļ¯ිāļą āˇ€āļŊ ⎃ිāļ§āļ¸ āļ¯āˇƒ්āļšāļ¸් āļ¯āļš්⎀āļą්āļąāļ§ āˇ€ිāļē. ⎃ෙāļ¸ෙāļą් ⎃ෙāļ¸ෙāļą් ⎃ිāļē āļ‰āļąිāļ¸ āļœොāļŠāļąැāļœූ  ⎃ුāļąිāļŊ් ⎁āļ­āļšāļēāļš් āļšāļģා āļ‘⎅āļšෙāļ¸ිāļą් ⎃ිāļ§ීāļ¸ āļ…āļąුāļģāļ§ āļ¸āˇ„āļ­් ⎄ි⎃āļģāļ¯āļēāļš් ⎀ූ āļļ⎀ āļ´ෙāļąෙāļą්āļąāļ§ āˇ€ිāļē. āļ­āļģāļŸāļē āļšෙāļ¸ෙāļą් ⎃ුāļąිāļŊ් ⎄ා āļ…āļąුāļģ āļ…āļ­āļģ āļ­āļģāļŸāļēāļš් āļļ⎀āļ§ āļ´āļ­් ⎀āļą්āļąāļ§ āˇ€ිāļē. āļ‘āļ¸ āļ…āˇ€āˇƒ්āļŽා⎀ේ āļ…āļąෙāļš් āļ…āļą්āļ­āļēෙāļą් ⎃ුāļąිāļŊ්āļ§ āļąොāļ¸āļ¯ āˇƒāˇ„āļēāļš් āļ¯ෙāļ¸ිāļą් āļŊāļšුāļĢු āļģැ⎃් āļšāļģāļ¸ිāļą් ⎃ිāļ§ිāļēේ ⎃ංāļĸී⎀ ⎃ේāļąාāļąාāļēāļš āļēි. āļąාāļŊāļą්āļ¯ා⎀ේ āļ‰āļ¯ිāļģිāļ´ෙ⎅ āļ¯āļŸ āļ´āļą්āļ¯ු āļē⎀āļą්āļąා  ⎀ූ āļ´āˇƒුāļšāļŊෙāļš āļĸාāļ­ිāļš āļ§ෙ⎃්āļ§් āļš්‍āļģිāļšāļ§් āļšāļĢ්āļŠාāļēāļ¸ේ āļąිāļ­්‍āļē āļ´ිāļ§ āļ¯āļŸ āļ´āļą්āļ¯ු āļē⎀āļą්āļąා āļļ⎀āļ§ āļ¯ āļ´āļ­්⎀ූ āļŊāļŊිāļ­් āļšāļŊුāļ´ෙāļģුāļ¸ āļ´āˇ€ා ⎃ුāļąිāļŊ්āļ§ āļ­āļģ්āļĸāļąāļēāļš් āļ‡āļ­ිāļšිāļģීāļ¸āļ§ āˇƒāļ¸āļ­් āļąො⎀ූ āļļ⎀ ⎀ි⎁ේ⎂āļēෙāļą් ⎃āļŗāˇ„āļą් āļšāˇ… āļēුāļ­ුāļē .

āļ…āļąුāļģ āļ­āļ¸ āļ´āļą්āļ¯ුāļē⎀āļą්āļąāļą් ⎃ුāļš්⎂āļ¸ āļŊෙ⎃ āļ¸ෙ⎄ෙāļē⎀āļ¸ිāļą් āļ´āļą්āļ¯ු āļģāļšිāļą්āļąāļą් āļąි⎃ි āļ´āļģිāļ¯ි āļ‘⎄ා āļ¸ෙ⎄ා āļšāļģāļ¸ිāļą් ⎄ැāļšි ⎃ෑāļ¸ āļ‹āļ­්⎃ා⎄āļēāļš්āļ¸ āļēොāļ¯āļ¸ිāļą් ⎃ිāļ§ිāļēේāļē. āļšෙ⎃ේ āļąāļ¸ුāļ­් āļ…āˇ€āˇƒාāļąāļēේ ⎃ුāļąිāļŊ් āļŊāļšුāļĢු 96 āļŊāļļා āļœෙāļą āˇāļ­āļšāļē āļ…āļˇිāļē⎃ āļ§ āļ´ැāļ¸ිāļĢ āļ­ිāļļුāļĢි, āļ†āļąāļą්āļ¯ āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා āļŊෝāļŊීāļą් āļąෙāļ­් āļēොāļ¸ාāļœෙāļą  ⎃ිāļ§ිāļēේ ⎁āļ­āļšāļē āļŊāļļා āļœැāļąීāļ¸ āˇƒāļŗāˇ„ා ⎃ුāļąිāļŊ් āļœේ āļ¸ී⎅āļŸ āļ´āˇ„āļģ āļšෙāļļāļŗු āļ‘āļšāļš āˇ€ිāļē ⎄ැāļšිāļ¯ āļēāļą්āļą āļēි. ⎀āļ¸āļ­ිāļą් āļ¯āļŸ āļ´āļą්āļ¯ු āļē⎀āļą āļ…āļąුāļģ āļąැ⎀āļ­ āˇ€āļģāļš් āļ´āļą්āļ¯ු āļēැ⎀ීāļ¸āļ§ āļ­ීāļģāļĢāļē āļšāˇ…ේāļē. āļ…āļąුāļģ āļ´ිāļ­ිāļšāļģු⎀ෙāļšු āļŊෙ⎃ āļ¯āļšුāļĢāļ­ිāļą් āļ´ිāļ­්āļ­ āˇ„ැ⎃ිāļģු⎀āļ­් āļ´āļą්āļ¯ුāļēැ⎀ීāļ¸ āˇƒිāļ¯ු āļšāļŊේ ⎀āļ¸āļ­ිāļą් ⎀ීāļ¸ āˇ€ි⎁ේ⎂āļ­්⎀āļēāļš් ⎀ිāļē. āļ’ āˇ€āļą āˇ€ිāļ§ āļ¸ිāļŠ් ⎀ිāļšāļ§් āļšāļŊාāļ´āļēේ āļ´āļą්āļ¯ු āļģāļšිāļ¸ිāļą් ⎃ිāļ§ි āļšāļĢ්āļŠාāļēāļ¸ේ āļ¯āļš්⎂āļ­āļ¸ āļ´āļą්āļ¯ු āļģāļšිāļą්āļąා ⎀ූ āļŊෙ⎃්āļŊි āļąාāļģāļą්āļœොāļŠāˇ€ āļŠීāļ´් āļ¸ිāļ¯්⎀ිāļšāļ§් ⎄ි ⎃්āļŽාāļą āļœāļ­ āļšāˇ…ේāļē. āļ…āļąුāļģāļœේ āļ¸ී ⎅āļŸ āļ´āļą්āļ¯ු⎀āļ§ āˇƒුāļąිāļŊ් āļ‰āļ¯ිāļģිāļēāļ§ āˇ€ිāļ­් ⎀ැāļģෙāļą් āļ´āˇ„āļģāļš් āļ‘āļŊ්āļŊ āļšāˇ…ේāļē, āļ†āļąāļą්āļ¯ āļš්‍āļģීāļŠාāļœාāļģāļē āļ´්‍āļģීāļ­ි āļœෝ⎂ා⎀ෙāļą් āļœුāļœුāļģා āļœිāļēේāļē. āļąāļ¸ුāļ­් āļąාāļģංāļœොāļŠ āļœේ āļ¯ෑ⎃් āļ­āļ¸ා ⎀ෙāļ­āļ§ āļ‰āļ­ා āļ‰āˇ„āļŊිāļą් āļ‡āļ¯ී āļ‘āļą āļ´āļą්āļ¯ු⎀ ⎀ෙāļ­āļ¸ āļ‘āļŊ්āļŊ ⎀ී āļ­ිāļļුāļĢි. āļąිāļēāļ­ āˇ€āˇāļēෙāļą් ⎄āļēේ āļ´āˇ„āļģāļš් ⎀āļą්āļąāļ§ āļ­ිāļļු āļ´āļą්āļ¯ු⎀āļ§ āļ”⎄ුāļœේ āļ¯ෙāļ…āļ­āļŊෙāļą් āļ¸ිāļ¯ී āļ´ැāļą āļēාāļ¸āļ§ āļąො⎄ැāļšි ⎀ිāļē. āļ´්‍āļģීāļ­ි āļœෝ⎂ා ⎄āļŦ ⎀āļŠාāļ­් āļ­ිāļēුāļąු⎀ āļ‡āˇƒෙāļą්āļąāļ§ āˇ€ිāļē, āļąāļ¸ුāļ­් āļ¸ෙ⎀āļģ āļ’ āļąාāļŊāļą්āļ¯ා āļšුāļŠාāļģāļ¸ āˇ€ෙāļ­ිāļąි. āļ´ිāļ§ිāļē āļ¸ැāļ¯āļ§ āļ¯ෑ⎃ āļēොāļ¸ුāļšāˇ… āļ…āļ´āļ§ āļ¯āļšිāļą්āļąāļ§ āļŊැāļļුāļąේ āļ…āļąුāļģ ⎀ිāļšāļ§්āļ§ු⎀ āļ…āˇƒāļŊāļ¸ āļļිāļ¸ āˇ„ිāļŗ āļœāļą්āļąා āļ…āļšāļģāļēāļēි. āļšāļĢ්āļŠාāļēāļ¸ āļ¸ු⎄ුāļĢ āļ¯ුāļą් āļ¯āļģුāļĢුāļ­āļ¸ āļ­āļģ්āļĸāļąāļēෙāļą් āļ¸ිāļ¯ුāļĢු āļļ⎀ ⎄āļŸāˇ€āļą්āļąාāļš් āļ¸ෙāļąි. ⎃ෙ⎃ු āļš්‍āļģීāļŠāļšāļēිāļą් āļ”⎄ු ⎀āļ§ා āļģොāļš්⎀ෙāļ¸ිāļą් ⎃ිāļē ⎃āļ­ුāļ§ āļ´āļŊ āļšāļģāļą්āļąāļ§ āˇ€ිāļē.  

āļ‘āļ¸ āļ­āļģāļŸāļēේ āļ¸ා āļ¸āļ­āļšāļēේ āļģැāļŗුāļąු  āļ…āļąෙāļš් ⎀ි⎁ේ⎂ āļ…āˇ€āˇƒ්āļŽා⎀ āļąāļ¸් āļŊāļšුāļĢු 83 āļŊāļļා ⎃ිāļ§ි ⎃ංāļĸී⎀ ⎃ේāļąාāļąාāļēāļšāˇ€ āļ¯āˇ€ා āļœāļ­් āļ…āļšාāļģāļē āļēි. ⎃ංāļĸී⎀ āļ­āˇ€āļ­් āļŊāļšුāļĢāļš් āļšāļģා ⎀ේāļœāļēෙāļą් āļ¯ි⎀ āļēāļ¸ිāļą් ⎃ිāļ§ිāļēේāļē , āļšāˇ€āļģ් āļ´ොāļēිāļą්āļ§්  āļšāļŊාāļ´āļēේ āļ´āļą්āļ¯ු āļģāļšිāļ¸ිāļą් ⎃ිāļ§ි āļš්‍āļģීāļŠāļšāļēා  āļ´āļą්āļ¯ු⎀ āļģැāļœෙāļą āļšෙāļŊිāļą්āļ¸ āˇ€ිāļšāļ§්āļ§ු⎀āļ§ āļēොāļ¸ුāļšāļģāļ¸ිāļą් āļ”⎄ු⎀ āļ¯āˇ€ා  āļœāļą්āļąāļ§ āˇƒāļ¸āļ­් ⎀ිāļē. ⎀ි⎁ේ⎂āļ­්⎀āļē āļąāļ¸් āļšāˇ€āļģ් āļ´ොāļēිāļą්āļ§්⎄ි āˇƒිāļ§ āļ´ෙāļąෙāļą āļ­āļąි ⎀ිāļšāļ§්āļ§ු⎀ ⎀ෙāļ­ āļ­āļ¸ āļ‘āļŊ්āļŊāļē ⎃ැāļąිāļą් āļœෙāļą āļ´āļą්āļ¯ු⎀ āļēොāļ¸ුāļšāļģ ⎀ිāļšāļ§් āļ…āļ­āļģ āļ¯ි⎀ීāļ¸ේ ⎁ුāļģāļēෙāļšු ⎀ූ ⎃ංāļĸී⎀ ⎃ේāļąාāļąāļēāļšāˇ€ āļ¯āˇ€ා āļœāļ­්āļ­ේāļ¯ āļ…āļą් āļšි⎃ි⎀āļšු āļąො⎀ āļ…āļąුāļģ āļ¯ āˇƒිāļŊ්⎀ා ⎀ීāļ¸ āļēි  .

1967 āļšāļĢ්āļŠාāļēāļ¸ේ āļąාāļēāļšāļ­්⎀āļē āļ¯āļģāļ¸ිāļą් āļ¯āˇƒ්āļšāļ¸් āļ¯ැāļš්⎀ූ āļ…āļąුāļģ āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා ⎀ාāļģāļēāļšāļ¯ී āļ´āˇ…āļ¸ු ⎀āļģāļ§ āļŊāļšුāļĢු 1000 āļ´āˇƒු āļšāļŊ āļš්‍āļģීāļŠāļšāļēා āļļ⎀āļ§ āˇ€ාāļģ්āļ­ා āļ´ොāļ­āļ§ āļ‘āļš්⎀ී āļ­ිāļļුāļĢු āļ…āļ­āļģ āļ”⎄ුāļ§ 1968āļ¯ී āļ¯ āļ‘āļ¸ āļšāļŠ āļ‰āļ¸ āļ´āˇƒු āļšāļģāļą්āļąāļ§ āˇ„ැāļšි ⎀ිāļē. 1968 āˇ€āˇƒāļģේāļ¯ී āļ…āļąුāļģāļœේ āļ´ිāļ­්āļ­ෙāļą් ⎁āļ­āļš 5āļš් ⎀ාāļģ්āļ­ා⎀ී āļ­ිāļļුāļĢ āļ…āļ­āļģ 1967 āļ¸ෙāļą්āļ¸ 1968 ⎀āļģ්⎂āļēේ āļ¯ āˇ„ොāļŗāļ¸ āļ´ා⎃āļŊ් āļš්‍āļģීāļŠāļšāļēා āļ¸ෙāļą්āļ¸ āˇ„ොāļŗāļ¸ āļ´ිāļ­ිāļšāļģු⎀ාāļ§ āļŊැāļļෙāļą āļšු⎃āļŊාāļąāļēāļ¯ āļ¯ිāļąා āļœāļą්āļąāļ§ āļ”⎄ු ⎃āļ¸āļ­් ⎀ී āļ­ිāļļිāļą.

āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා āļ´ිāļ§ිāļēේ āļ­ුāļą් āļ‰āļģිāļē⎀්⎀ේāļ¸ āļ¸ෙ⎀āļą් ⎃ු⎀ි⎁ේ⎂ āļ¯āˇƒ්āļšāļ¸් āļ´ෑ āļ…āļąුāļģ ⎀ැāļŠි āļšāļŊāļš් āļąොāļœො⎃්āļ¸ āļš්‍āļģිāļšāļ§් āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා⎀ෙāļą් ⎃āļ¸ුāļœāļ­්āļ­ේāļē.  āļšො⎅āļš āˇƒිං⎄āļŊ āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා ⎃āļ¸ාāļĸāļē (SSC) āļąිāļēෝāļĸāļąāļē āļšāļģāļ¸ිāļą් āļ¯්‍āļģ⎀ිāļŠ āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා ⎃āļ¸ාāļĸāļē ⎄ා āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා āļšāļŊ āļ­āļ¸ āļ´āˇ…āļ¸ු āļ­āļģāļŸāļēේāļ¯ීā ⎁āļ­āļšāļēāļš් ⎀ාāļģ්āļ­ා āļšිāļģීāļ¸āļ§ āˇƒāļ¸āļ­්⎀ූ āļ…āļąුāļģ āļ´āˇ„ුāļĢු āļšāļģු āļ‘⎆් ⎃ී āļ¯ āˇƒේāļģāļ¸්āļœේ āļ¯ැāļŠි ⎀ිāļąāļēාāļąුāļšුāļŊ āļ´්‍āļģāļ­ිāļ´āļ­්āļ­ිāļē āļąි⎃ා āļ‡āļ­ි⎀ූ āˇ€ිāļģ⎃āļšāļēāļš් āļąි⎃ා āļ‰āļą් āļ‰āˇ€āļ­් ⎀ූ āļļ⎀ ⎀ාāļģ්āļ­ා ⎀āļą āļ…āļ­āļģ āļš්‍āļģිāļšāļ§් āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා⎀ āļ†āļģ්āļŽිāļš āˇ€āˇāļēෙāļą් āļ‘āļ­āļģāļ¸් āļ†āļšāļģ්⎁āļąීāļē āļš්‍āļģීāļŠා⎀āļš් āļąො⎀ුāļĢු āļ’ āˇ€āļšāˇ€ාāļąු⎀ේ, āļ…āļ¸්āļļāļŊāļą්āļœොāļŠ āˇƒිāļē āļ´ිāļēාāļœේ ⎀්‍āļēාāļ´ාāļģිāļš āļšāļ§āļēුāļ­ු⎀āļŊāļ§ āˇ„āˇ€ුāļŊ් ⎀ීāļ¸ āˇ€āļŠා āļēෝāļœ්‍āļē āļēāļēි āļ”⎄ු ⎃ිāļ­āļą්āļąāļ§ āļ‡āļ­. āļ‘⎀āļš āˇ්‍āļģී āļŊංāļšා⎀ āļ§ෙ⎃්āļ§් ⎀āļģāļ¸් āļŊāļļා āļąොāļ­ිāļļුāļĢāļ¯ āļĸාāļ­්‍āļēāļą්āļ­āļģ āļ­āļŊāļēේ āļ¯āˇƒ්āļšāļ¸් āļ¯āļš්⎀āļą්āļąāļ§ āˇ„ැāļšිāļēා⎀ āļ­ිāļļු āļ­āˇ€āļ­් āļš්‍āļģීāļŠāļšāļēෙāļšුāļœේ ⎃ේ⎀āļē āļ‘āļŊෙ⎃ āļ…āļ´ āļģāļ§āļ§ āļ…⎄ිāļ¸ි ⎀ිāļē. 2016 āļ¯ී āļ´ිāļŊිāļšා āļģෝāļœāļēāļ§ āļœොāļ¯ුāļģු ⎀ී āļ…āļąුāļģ āļ¸ිāļē āļēāļą āˇ€ිāļ§ āļ”⎄ුāļœේ ⎀āļē⎃ āļ…⎀ුāļģුāļ¯ු 67āļš් ⎀ිāļē. āļ‘āļ¸ āļ…āļˇා⎀āļē āļ´ිāļŊිāļļāļŗ āļ”⎄ුāļœේ āļ´ු⎄ුāļĢු āļšāļģු āļąෙāļŊ්⎃āļą් āļ¸ෙāļą්āļŠි⎃් āļ¸āˇ„āļ­ා āļ‰ංāļœ්‍āļģී⎃ි āļ´ු⎀āļ­්āļ´āļ­āļšāļ§ āļšāļŊ āļ´්‍āļģāļšා⎁āļēāļš āˇƒāļŗāˇ„āļą් ⎀ූāļēේ āļ…āļąුāļģ āļ¯ āˇƒිāļŊ්⎀ා āļŊංāļšා⎀ේ āļœාāļģ්⎆ිāļŊ්āļŠ් ⎃ෝāļļ⎃් ⎀ිāļē ⎄ැāļšි⎀ āļ­ිāļļුāļąු āļļ⎀ āļēි .


Wednesday, January 24, 2024

ASU

 



ASU is the story about a young mother's struggle to choose between humanity and love and her selfless sacrifice, a moving story director Sanjeewa Pushpakumara brings to the Cinema with a strikingly minimalist approach. 

How ? Quite explicitly as a filmmaker with proven skills and such a penetrating eye for detail, Sanjeewa has found the key to his cinematic form in the paintings left behind by the young mother, Indira.  

Taking his creativity to extraordinary heights the director goes on to hang a series of beautifully painted, cinematically framed and juxtaposed, pictures in front of our eyes to tell the story, possibly in the same way young Indira would have told the world if she lived to paint her life story.

ASU is a beautiful cinematic creation not to be missed.

Riverstone: A Haunting Journey Through Sri Lanka's Dark Past: A Film By Lalith Ratnayake

  A Film by Lalith Rathnayake Historical Context: The Shadows Behind the Story The politicians who received state security protect...