Why na­tion’s po­lit­i­cal Si­amese twins must live to­gether or per­ish to­gether

If you jazz for just gover­nance, come name a bet­ter duo than the Maithri-Ranil combo to strike the cor­rect note

Sunday Times (Sri Lanka) - - COMMENT -

Last year in March when Ranil Wick­remesinghe blew the 67can­dles on his birth­day cake, he of­fered the first slice he cut to Maithri. Not to Maithree, the wife. But to Maithri, the Pres­i­dent. And though she may have felt snubbed the prized first slice was not given first for her delec­ta­tion but to her new name­sake, she would have un­der­stood the sig­nif­i­cance and the im­por­tance of the ges­ture made to the co­hab­i­tat­ing part­ner of Ranil’s po­lit­i­cal mar­riage. For with­out it, his own po­lit­i­cal sur­vival would have been at stake.

The po­lit­i­cal cou­ple will be shar­ing their shot gun wed­ding an­niver­sary next month on the ninth of Jan­uary. The day they tied the po­lit­i­cal nup­tials three years ago but did not take their mar­riage vows of liv­ing in fi­delity, be­ing faith­ful to each other till po­lit­i­cal death do them part. The un­der­ly­ing pol­icy was ‘live and let live’. They did not kiss their al­liance and seal it in per­ma­nence; and nei­ther were they blessed with the bene­dic­tion ‘what the masses have put to­gether, let no op­po­si­tion put asun­der.”

They had a sim­ple un­der­stand­ing. Maithri would stay in the mas­ter bed­room and bark his or­ders through the in­ter­com whilst Ranil would do the house work and en­sure home and kitchen were kept spick and span.

Ranil’s own kin claimed he bought the dower of mil­lions of votes and called the spouse a vote dig­ger. Some of Maithri’s kith called the union was big­a­mous. And held the SLFP Maithri -whilst still legally wed to the party -- had wooed and wed out of his creed, out of his caste, out of his faith and out of the party’s in­ter­nal law a paramour of the worst sort: who came with a rep­u­ta­tion to have an ac­quis­i­tive eye for the crown and not for its bearer, be it a woman or man.

It was a blow hot, blow cold af­fair from day one. From the day mu­tual in­ter­ests made them strange bed fel­lows. The na­tion had con­ceived them in its de­spair and the masses had given de­liv­er­ance to Si­amese twins who, to their own hor­ror, per­haps, found they could not sever the um­bil­i­cal cord that bound them if they wished to sur­vive in the present po­lit­i­cal world. Each one de­pended on the other. To­gether, what­ever the vi­cis­si­tudes of po­lit­i­cal life held, they knew they would have to live to­gether or per­ish to­gether.

With­out Ranil Wi­cremesinghe, Maithri­pala Sirisena would not have been pres­i­dent. And with­out Maithri­pala Sirisena, Ranil Wick­remesinghe would not have been Prime Min­is­ter. At least on pa­per. Who came first was like ar­gu­ing whether it was the chick or the egg that came first. But prag­mat­i­cally Ranil had a slight cut­ting edge over his new­found livein-mate.

For, even though Maithri may have held the pack in his pocket, Ranil had the trump card tucked up his sleeve, though he never flaunted it.

Sirisena had de­serted his party and joined forces with the party’s arch en­emy to turn the ta­bles on his then com­man­der in chief. He had crossed the Ru­bi­con. And there was no turn­ing back. Ranil, on the con­trary, could carry on re­gard­less of the elec­tions’ out­come and serve his third term as the na­tion’s leader of the op­po­si­tion and en­joy the perks, the priv­i­leges and the for­eign jun­kets that came with the post; and bide his time in quiet re­flec­tion till the time came again to con­test the next polls.

In Au­gust 2015, when the gen­eral elec­tion re­sults showed that the UNP had emerged as the largest sin­gle po­lit­i­cal bloc in Par­lia­ment, with only seven seats short of an ab­so­lute ma­jor­ity, his hand was fur­ther strength­ened. Per­haps he could have eas­ily en­ticed 7 MPs from the op­po­site benches to join him and thus claim an ab­so­lute ma­jor­ity to dic­tate to his part­ner in power Sirisena, but he did not do so. For the na­tion’s sake, he did not take the low road of am­bi­tion.

It is to the credit of both men that, in the win­ter of a na­tion’s rapid de­cline, they de­cided to put coun­try be­fore self -- even com­pro­mise the in­ter­ests of their re­spec­tive par­ties -- and de­ter­mined to re­solve any dif­fer­ences of opin­ion through dis­cus­sion and not make a bee line to the di­vorce court for shel­ter at the first whiff of a mar­i­tal storm.

It’s a mir­a­cle that the odd cou­ple -– one, the Pukka Sahib com­ing from the posh draw­ing rooms of Colombo’s elite so­ci­ety with well man­i­cured fin­ger­nails, the other, the rus­tic yokel ris­ing from the paddy fields of Lanka’s grass­roots with the earthly mud still em­bed­ded in his nails -- sur­vived as an ‘ item’ for the last 35 months. Es­pe­cially with a jeal­ous suitor who had vowed when jilted, he would bring them both down to the ground with vengeance.

Per­haps the re­la­tion­ship was blessed by the guardian deities of Lanka, for what the duo con­ceived and promised to de­liver was just gover­nance. In Maithri­pala’s ver­nac­u­lar: Ya­ha­palanaya. In Ranil’s lingo: Democ­racy.

So, have they done all right, so far?

Be­fore that ques­tion can be an­swered, it’s best to go back to the days of the Ra­japaksa regime when the Mahinda Chinthanaya held mo­nop­o­lis­tic sway over the land. Did any­one dare to mock it in the man­ner peo­ple freely laugh at the men­tion of the Ya­ha­palana word to­day? Nay, for fear had be­gun to stalk the land as the ‘ white van’ cul­ture spread and free­dom of speech was ab­ducted in the cover of night.

The Ra­japaksa ap­pointed Chief Jus­tice Shi­ranie Ban­daranayake was im­peached when she gave a de­ci­sion in the Div­inaguma Bill ad­verse to the Gov­ern­ment. And, in her stead, Ra­japaksa ap­pointed his le­gal con­sul­tant, Mo­han Peiris as the Chief Jus­tice. Mrs. Ban­daranayake’s hus­band Pradeep Kariyawasam had been ap­pointed as chair­man of the Na­tional Sav­ings Bank by Ra­japaksa and when he was ac­cused of an al­leged bribery of­fence, Ra­japaksa ad­mit­ted on tele­vi­sion that ‘he was one of us, and I ‘shaped’ it up.”

Take the case of the SLFP’s Tan­galle Chair­man of the lo­cal Coun­cil. He and his friends were ac­cused of mur­der­ing a Bri­tish tourist and gang rap­ing his Rus­sian girl­friend but they were not ar­rested but al­lowed to roam free. It took a Bri­tish Prime Min­is­ter David Cameron who had come to Lanka to at­tend the Com­mon­wealth Head of State Sum­mit in 2013, to force Pres­i­dent Ra­japaksa to take ac­tion against them. Only after Maithri­pala be­came pres­i­dent were they con­victed and sen­tenced by the courts.

Mervyn de Silva, one of Ra­japaksa’s favourite spokes­men, tied a Sa­mur­dhi of­fi­cial to a tree as pun­ish­ment for not turn­ing up for work. He at­tacked the Si­rasa TV sta­tion. He stormed Ru­pavahini only to be given his come­up­pance by the en­raged staff. But he was not ar­rested let alone ques­tioned. In­stead when the Airport ex­press­way was opened, he was hon­oured to be in­vited as the only back­seat pas­sen­ger in the ve­hi­cle driven by Mahinda him­self with wife Shi­ran­thie seated next to the driv­ing seat. The litany is end­less of in­stances of se­lec­tive law en­force­ment. Those who sup­ported the Ra­japak­sas could com­mit blue mur­der. Those who didn’t got the works.

Hav­ing won the war at great cost, they failed to utilise the peace earned to build har­mony amongst all com­mu­ni­ties. In­stead they turned a blind eye to the ac­tiv­i­ties of the rad­i­cal racist group of monks be­long­ing to the Bodu Bala Sena. These rene­gade monks were given free rein to storm Mus­lim shops and build­ings and in­cite Sin­hala mobs to at­tack the Mus­lims whilst the law en­forc­ing au­thor­i­ties, along with the po­lit­i­cal lead­ers, looked askance.

But when it came to the Rathu­paswala res­i­dents who staged a peace­ful protest on the road to com­plain that their wells were con­tam­i­nated with the chem­i­cal ef­flu­ence that flowed from a pri­vate com­pany in the area, the STF were or­dered to quell it with bul­lets which claimed the life of a pro­tester. All he was do­ing that fate­ful day was to draw the at­ten­tion of the au­thor­i­ties that he and his com­mu­nity had no wa­ter to drink. In Chi­law, too, a fish­er­man was killed in Fe­bru­ary 2012, when he along with the kin­folk of the fish­ing fam­ily, staged a protest against the sud­den in­crease of diesel by 36 per­cent and kerosene by al­most 50 per cent, the fuel needed to power large and small boats re­spec­tively.

Then, of course, there was the 18th Amend­ment to the Con­sti­tu­tion, which Ra­japaksa suc­ceeded in get­ting passed with a two third ma­jor­ity in Par­lia­ment, thanks to the UNP MPs who had turned coat and crossed to his banks on the boat of many an in­duce­ment. The pri­mary aim of the 18th Amend­ment was to abol­ish the two-term limit of the pres­i­dency and al­low Mahinda to con­test for the post with­out limit so he could en­joy pres­i­den­tial power for­ever and set the stage for the cre­ation of a Ra­japaksa fam­ily dy­nasty which would then rule Lanka in per­pe­tu­ity with the young Na­mal, al­ready hailed as the Prince of Tan­galle, as­sum­ing the throne, scep­tre and crown of Lanka upon the fa­ther’s demise.

In the ar­ro­gance of power and stead­fast be­lief in im­mor­tal­ity, what Mahinda Ra­japaksa failed to grasp was that the best laid plans of mice and pres­i­dents may be dis­posed not only by God but by the peo­ple, even as Zim­babwe’s Robert Mu­gabe dis­cov­ered to his shock and hor­ror last week. Fur­ther he failed to re­alise that, whilst his regime was bury­ing the tenets of democ­racy one by one and weak­en­ing its pil­lars one by one, it was si­mul­ta­ne­ously only dig­ging its own grave. He awoke to this re­al­ity in the early hours of Jan­uary 9, 2015 when the na­tion gave the thumbs down and, through the power of the bal­lot, booted him out of of­fice.

To those who hail the hal­cyon days of Ra­japaksa rule and pro­claim that never be­fore had the coun­try’s eco­nomic pros­per­ity over­flowed with milk and honey, they should ask them­selves the ques­tion: if the econ­omy was the sole barom­e­ter of a na­tion’s well be­ing, why did the masses vote Ra­japaksa out?

If the rivers of pros­per­ity had flown down to the masses and en­abled them to im­bibe its wa­ters, why was Ra­japaksa and his regime drowned in de­feat by a surge of pub­lic vot­ing against him and his clan. The an­swer is that man does not live by bread alone. Not only the belly -- not that it was filled to burst­ing point as the Ra­japaksa devo­tees would have the na­tion be­lieve, un­less, of course, they re­fer to their own stom­achs which Ra­japaksa pa­tron­age gen­er­ously filled -- but the soul, too, which har­bours as­pi­ra­tions to equal­ity, to en­joy fun­da­men­tal rights must also be fed with equal mea­sure, if not more. Slaves, also, maybe well fed to make the work bet­ter; like cat­tle are fat­tened to gain more beef.

So what did Maithri­pala bring with him to the pres­i­dent’s of­fice? A pledge to re­store a na­tion’s lost democ­racy, to ex­hume from dif­fer­ent graves dif­fer­ent limbs and pieces that had been torn from its torso and in­sid­i­ously buried six feet un­der a bed of roses, grown and tended to con­ceal with beauty and scent the grue­some hor­ror and stench of the rot­ting of­fal and bones that lay below.

Within three and a half months of as­sum­ing the seals of Pres­i­den­tial of­fice, Sirisena, true to his elec­tion pledge, was able to muster the sup­port of all par­ties, in­clud­ing that of the Ra­japaksa fac­tion in the SLFP, to get the 19th Amend­ment to the Con­sti­tu­tion made law with over a five sixth ma­jor­ity. The 19th Amend­ment re­pealed Ra­japaksa’s 18th Amend­ment whereby he had had not only abol­ished the two-term pres­i­den­tial limit but ar­ro­gated the power to dom­i­nate com­mis­sions which had held in­de­pen­dent sta­tus.

Sirisena not only re­duced his pres­i­den­tial term of of­fice by a year but sac­ri­ficed the op­por­tu­nity to rule supreme. He re­nounced his dom­i­nance of these com­mis­sions to which he had be­come heir by virtue of Ra­japaksa’s 18th Amend­ment. With the 19th Amend­ment, he re­stored to the Elec­tion Com­mis­sion, the Au­di­tor Gen­eral, the Po­lice Com­mis­sion, the Ju­di­cial Ser­vice Com­mis­sion, the Pub­lic Ser­vice Com­mis­sion the in­de­pen­dence sta­tus each had en­joyed till 2010, the year Ra­japaksa had en­acted the 18th Amend­ment had made sub­ject to his pres­i­den­tial iron will. Hence­forth, these com­mis­sions will be an­swer­able to Par­lia­ment and not to the Pres­i­dent.

Not bad for starters, eh?

Though Sirisena’s man­i­festo pledge to abol­ish the ex­ec­u­tive pres­i­dency and throw it with the bath wa­ter, a prom­ise re­it­er­ated be­fore the mor­tal re­mains of the guid­ing spirit of Ya­ha­palana and the ar­chi­tect of his elec­tion tri­umph, the most Ven­er­a­ble So­bitha Thera mo­ments be­fore the corpse was con­signed to the flames of the fu­neral pyre, is still to be kept, yet a new con­sti­tu­tion is in the mak­ing and a draft bill is ex­pected to be pre­sented to Par­lia­ment in the near fu­ture.

For years, civil rights groups had been clam­our­ing suc­ces­sive gov­ern­ments to gain for the peo­ple the le­gal right to in­for­ma­tion. F i n a l l y, the Sirise­naWick­remesinghe gov­ern­ment ac­cepted the ar­gu­ments put forth that the right to in­for­ma­tion was a nec­es­sary and ba­sic right that must be ac­corded to the Lankan cit­i­zen if this na­tion was to tra­verse the demo­cratic road. And last year, the Right to In­for­ma­tion Act was en­acted.

The in­de­pen­dence of the Ju­di­ciary has been im­mea­sur­ably strength­ened; and, like jus­tice must not only be done but must seem to be done, the Pres­i­dent has not used his con­sti­tu­tional power to ap­point a po­lit­i­cal favourite judge to the se­nior benches but has used se­nior­ity in of­fice as the sole yard­stick to ap­point judges to the Ap­peal and Supreme Court, in­clud­ing the ap­point­ments of the Chief Jus­tice and the Pres­i­dent of the Court of Ap­peal.

The promised crack­down on the pre­vi­ous regime’s cor­rup­tion is also on the move, though not with the speed and in­ten­sity as the Lankan pub­lic would have de­sired. The FCID was set up. A pres­i­den­tial Com­mis­sion of In­quiry was es­tab­lished to probe mega cor­rup­tion. And, hope­fully their in­ves­ti­ga­tions into mega rogues will soon bear fruit. After all, le­gal niceties have to be ob­served and the law’s de­lay in­dulged.

Let the court log speak for it­self. This is just a few of those who’ll soon be in the dock.

A cor­rup­tion case filed against former De­fence Sec­re­tary Gotabaya Ra­japaksa and seven oth­ers for al­legedly caus­ing a Rs.11.4 bil­lion un­law­ful loss to the gov­ern­ment by giv­ing per­mis­sion to Avant-Garde Mar­itime Ser­vices ( Pvt) Ltd to op­er­ate a float­ing ar­moury was fixed for trial by the Colombo Chief Mag­is­trate's court on Novem­ber 17. The dates are Fe­bru­ary 26 and March 26 next year. In an­other case for mis­us­ing pub­lic prop­erty, he was granted an in­terim in­junc­tion pre­vent­ing the au­thor­i­ties from ar­rest­ing him till Wed­nes­day the 6th, when the mat­ter will be taken up in the courts.

The Colombo High Court on Tues­day pro­ceeded with the case filed against former SLFP Eco­nomic De­vel­op­ment Min­is­ter Basil Ra­japaksa for al­legedly mis­ap­pro­pri­at­ing Rs.2991 mil­lion of funds be­long­ing to the Divi Naguma De­part­ment while dis­tribut­ing roof­ing sheets among Divi Naguma ben­e­fi­cia­ries dur­ing the pre­vi­ous Pres­i­den­tial Elec­tion. The trial was fixed for fur­ther hear­ing on De­cem­ber 12th. Basil faces many other cases.

The case filed against Gam­paha District Par­lia­men­tar­ian Prasanna Ranatunga and his wife has been fixed for trial by Colombo High Court Judge Waidy­atilleke. They are charged with threat­en­ing a busi­ness­man over the phone and de­mand­ing Rs.64 mil­lion.

A case filed against former SLFP Spor t s M i n i s t e r Mahin­dananda Aluthga­m­age for al­legedly pur­chas­ing a house worth Rs. 27 mil­lion at Kynsey Road, Colombo 7 through il­le­gally ac­quired money has been fixed for trial by De­cem­ber 13, 14 and 15.

This Thurs­day NFF party leader Wi­mal Weer­awansa was in­dicted in the Colombo High Court with 39 cor­rup­tion charges. Pivithuru Party leader Udaya Gam­man­pila’s trial for al­legedly de­fraud­ing an Aus­tralian na­tional for mil­lions by forg­ing doc­u­ments is al­ready pro­ceed­ing in the courts.

These are but a few who await in­dict­ment. But, await, it’s not lim­ited to Ra­japaksa loy­al­ists alone.

UNP MP Hirunika Premachan­dra who pleaded not guilty to the charge over the abduction of tex­tile shop em­ployee Amila Priyankara Amaras­inghe faces a date in court next. Her trial has been fixed for the 6th of Jan­uary.

You might as well ask, so what? Why so few net­ted, when so many swim free? What’s the big deal about a cou­ple of sharks, a cou­ple of bar­racu­das, some carps and a gold­fish with a big mouth? Where’s Moby Dick, the whale shark, for in­stance -- the largest shark that roam the seven seas?

But Ya­ha­palana is not solely about bring­ing past rogues to jus­tice. To prove it is ‘with it’ it must also show its deter­mi­na­tion to probe scan­dals that oc­cur in the present, when the coun­try is un­der its watch. Many com­plaints of cor­rup­tion have been filed against cer­tain politi­cians of the present regime but sadly none seems to have been yet in­dicted or brought be­fore court. Per­haps there’s a queue and ev­ery­one, in­clud­ing gov­ern­ment Min­is­ters and MPs must await their turn.

But not so with the big­gest fi­nan­cial scan­dal of Ya­ha­palana times that was to erupt not even two months of elec­tion vic­tory when the na­tion’s fer­vent hopes for a new clean era were at its zenith.

When the news broke that pri­mary bond dealer Ar­jun Aloy­sius had made a cool 5 bil­lion buck killing out of the bonds is­sued by the Cen­tral Bank in 2015 Fe­bru­ary whilst the Bank’s gov­er­nor was his fa­ther in law -- even though no firm ev­i­dence has still emerged to show any in­sider deal­ing -- it shocked the na­tion to the core: that so scan­dalous a scam of such mag­ni­tude could oc­cur so early in the Ya­ha­palana dawn.

Un­doubt­edly, the sor­did day­light bank heist served to sour the glass of creamy white milk the masses had of­fered to the na­tion’s new lead­ers who had promised to crack­down on the cor­rup­tion of the former regime. It was with shock and dis­be­lief the masses be­held the prospect that the new masters had in­stead added their own drop of dung to make it un­drink­able. They had cast the first stones against the sin­ners of the pre­vi­ous regime but were they now free of the same vile sin?

But was it a bad omen that por­tended doom to the newly es­tab­lished gov­ern­ment with its much vaunted Ya­ha­palanaya phi­los­o­phy cloaked in con­tempt and rid- dled with ridicule? Or was it a bless­ing in dis­guise though it had cost the pub­lic purse bil­lions. Was it a heaven sent chance to show Ya­ha­palanaya in ac­tion?

The test of democ­racy or Ya­ha­palanaya is not whether cor­rup­tion ex­ists or not un­der its sys­tem. Cor­rup­tion has al­ways been there and will con­tinue to be there in any so­cial sys­tem even in the best democ­ra­cies of the world. The real test is how the sys­tem re­sponds to cor­rup­tion: whether it will en­gage in a cover-up or give the full Monty and ex­pose all, no mat­ter the con­se­quences, no mat­ter whose head falls.

The re­sponse came two years later, but though it came be­lated, one must be thank­ful it came at all. This year in Fe­bru­ary, moved by the force of pub­lic opin­ion, Pres­i­dent Sirisena ap­pointed a Pres­i­den­tial Com­mis­sion of In­quiry into the Bond Is­sue. The pres­ence of two Supreme Court Jus­tices and a former Au­di­tor Gen­eral gave it im­pec­ca­ble cre­den­tials and its cred­i­bil­ity was be­yond ques­tion. It held sit­tings al­most for nine long months and is ex­pected to for­ward its re­port to the Pres­i­dent this Fri­day. The Com­mis­sion’s pro­ceed­ings also led to the res­ig­na­tion of the for­eign min­is­ter Ravi Karunanayake. And cast doubts on the cred­i­bil­ity of two other Gov­ern­ment min­is­ters.

But be­fore it con­cluded its sit­tings it gave no­tice to the Prime Min­is­ter to ap­pear be­fore it on the 20th of last month, to an­swer ques­tions the Com­mis­sion wished to ask on the af­fi­davit the Premier had al­ready sub­mit­ted at the C o m m i s s i o n’ s re q u e s t . Fur­ther­more the At­tor­ney Gen­eral too had some ques­tions to ask on the role the PM had played in the af­fair.

It was no slam bam ten minute quickie af­fair. For well over an hour the Prime Min­is­ter Ranil Wick­remesinghe an­swered each ques­tion -- 48 in to­tal -- hurled at him. His an­swers were solid. No hedg­ing. No eva­sive­ness. No ‘I do not know’ or signs of am­ne­sia. And his frank­ness was ap­par­ent. And in the dock, in the face of the bond in­qui­si­tion, he seemed as if he was bear­ing the Holy Grail of Ya­ha­palanaya in his hands and echo­ing the words of King Arthur’s knight Sir Gala­had as writ by the poet Ten­nyson: “My strength is as the strength of ten be­cause my heart is pure. “

His pres­ence in the dock and the an­swers he gave re­deemed Ya­ha­palanaya that even the ranks of the joint op­po­si­tion could scarce fore­bear to cheer. If there was one weak­ness he dis­played was to think that all were gen­tle­men like him and could be taken at their word. He said he asked Ar­juna Ma­hen­dran to give him an as­sur­ance that his son in law Ar­jun will re­sign as di­rec­tor of Per­pet­ual Trea­suries and all its as­so­ci­ated com­pa­nies be­fore he places his bid. The an­swer was yes, he will. And Ranil be­lieved him. Ranil said he asked Ravi Karunanayake whether there was any im­pro­pri­ety in him oc­cu­py­ing a pent­house suite at Monarch Res­i­den­cies as al­leged by Aluthga­m­age in Par­lia­ment last year. The an­swer he got was ‘no’, there was noth­ing im­proper, and he be­lieved Ravi’s as­sur­ance.

The strong­est steel is one forged in the hottest fire, and the Ya­ha­palanaya phi­los­o­phy of this gov­ern­ment has sur­vived an­other test and emerged stronger. But Ya­ha­palanaya, like democ­racy, is not a gift from the Gods. Nei­ther is it a gift from po­lit­i­cal lead­ers. It’s not a full grown study tree laden with fruits for the masses to taste its sweet­ness im­me­di­ately.

But rather a plant still to grow and ma­ture, which needs con­stant care, which has to be daily wa­tered, fer­til­ized, pro­tected and nour­ished, safe­guarded from both wind and storm, be­fore it can bear fruit for gen­er­a­tions to savour and rest in its shade sans fear. And it’s not the duty of pres­i­dents or prime min­is­ters alone to look after it, but the sa­cred duty of each and every cit­i­zen of Lanka to take care of it and see it grow. Not mock the sapling and blight its growth.

But, bonded as they are, if either Ranil or Maithri thinks he can ex­ist alone at this cru­cial time, the na­tion will have to dig two po­lit­i­cal graves. And cut one more for Democ­racy.

HAZY YES, BUT THE MES­SAGE IS CLEAR: Ranil’s birth­day ges­ture to Lanka’s First Cit­i­zen

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from Sri Lanka

© PressReader. All rights reserved.