Sri Lanka: My Prison Diary

 Young prison guards were very kind to me. They tried their best to make my stay as comfortable as possible with the limited resources they had.

by Admiral Ravindra C Wijegunaratne

Day One in Prison

Prisoner Number 9550

28th November 2018 1630 hrs

I was faulted, at the Fort Magistrate’s Court, Colombo, for protecting and not producing a naval Intelligence Officer, summoned to the Criminal Investigation Department (CID), when I was the Commander of the Navy, in 2016. True, I have always had asoft corner for our ‘INT persons’, because I was fully aware of their selfless contribution to the country’s successful war against LTTE, which was known as the most ruthless terrorist group in the world with naval and air wings. Those highly motivated, brave men were instrumental in destroying the LTTE shipping network in 2006/2007, under trying conditions, when I was the Director Naval Operations, Director Naval Special Forces and Director Maritime Surveillance. The allegation against me, however, was not true.

The Magistrate ordered, at 1630 hrs, that I be remanded until 05 December 2018 at the insistence of CID officers, who repeatedly said that if I was allowed to be free, I would hamper their investigations. The sky opened up. It looked as if the weather gods were furious. The lashing rain lasted one hour.

The sound of thunder prevented most people inside the Court House from hearing the order. It was the first time in our country’s history that a Chief of Defence Staff had been in the dock!

My Counsel, an eminent President’s Counsel, insisted the CID had gone by hearsay and its information had come from a junior Naval officer, who had been punished by me for indiscipline when I was the Commander of the Navy. Further, my Counsel told the court that I had an unblemished military career of more than 38 years! But the CID still opposed bail for me.

My 38 years of unblemished military career had won me four gallantry medals, including the Weerodhara Vibhushanaya (WV), the highest awarded to a living member of the armed forces (equivalent to George Cross of the UK or Ashok Chakra of India). Only 10 such medals have been awarded in Sri Lanka’s military history; sacrifices I made to raise the elite Naval Special Force, the Special Boat Squadron (SBS) 25 years back meant nothing to those who wanted me thrown behind bars. A military officer’s track record matters only in military courts, where it is taken into consideration before a final decision is made.

I am sure the CID officials did not know what the SBS was and value of a gallantry medal Weerodhara Vibhushanaya (WV) or the rank structure of the Navy.

I was taken in a Black Maria to the Magazine Prison. My brother, friends, subordinate officers and my personal staff were sad. I was asked to hand over all my valuables to my personal security officer before boarding the prison bus. I gave my wallet mostly with plastic money and was reluctant to part with two other precious items—my ring embedded with Navarathna gems, and my Fitbit wrist watch. Both these items are very close to my heart.

The ring was a gift from my wife, Yamuna, shortly after our marriage in 1989. She had saved money from her salary–she was working then—to buy the ring, which was believed to protect one against evil forces. The “Fit Bit Wristwatch” measured my exercise regime daily. My target of walking 10,000 steps per day (approx. 8 km) in one and a half hours was also gone!

Prison gates open

Officers at the Magazine Prison were waiting for my arrival. The prison and prisoners were not strangers to me. My late father worked as the Private Secretary to Minister of Justice in 1965-1970, and several times later. He served under three ministers, Senator Fairlie Wijemanna, Nissanka Wijeratne and Shelton Ranaraja. As a child I would accompany my father during his visits to prisons to look into prisoners’ welfare. Our official bungalow at that time was at Hulftsdorp, where the new Supreme Courts Complex now stands, and later we lived at Kollupitiya where Mahanama College is now located. Prisoners would come to our residence to attend to gardening. They came in their white uniform; they were kind people and we used to play cricket with them.

When I arrived at the Magazine Prison, I was told that they had a problem there as they had several LTTE Prisoners and did not want to keep me with them. Ironically, it was two days after the birthday of LTTE leader Prabhakarn and on the 200th Anniversary of execution of the great freedom fighter, Veera Keppetipola Maha Disawe that I was thrown behind bars. I was not upset, but angry.

I was given a number (9550). No name. I became Prisoner Number 9550!

So, the prison officers decided to send me to the Welikada Prison, which was more secure, or so they thought. I was given a cell at the ‘High Security Prison’. My cell had a great record. A stable during the British time, it is a solid structure with ‘Sinhala tile’ roof and a cement floor. There was no ceiling. A chair, a mat, a pillow, two white bed sheets plus a granite bench were available. The place was complete with a toilet (squatting pan) and a water tank and a bucket.

There are numbers and names engraved on the floor by ‘Condemned Prisoners’ (as those sentenced to death by hanging were called). Engraving their names and numbers, and even their villages, in some cases, with the help of a tiny iron nail and a stone must have been extremely tedious. They must have had enough time on their hands before the trap door of the gallows creaked under their feet when the death penalty was implemented.

“Determination and Commitment” are what one needs to survive one’s stay in prison.

The senior jailers were extremely courteous and respectful towards me. I was still in the dress in which I had appeared in Courts. I had not been able to tell my wife, Yamuna, that I was going to courts that day. She was sick when I left home. My son was at home when I was leaving, I told him to have lunch if I got late and not to wait for me.

Yamuna used to be alone with my son when I was away onboard ships and on Special Forces operations for very long periods, but we had been together after the war, and I knew how devastated Yamuna would be to hear that I had been remanded. Such situations, however, arise in life and you have to face them. The only consolation was that my son (my friend and ‘mentor’) would calm her down and look after her. Tears never help solve problems.

Young prison guards were very kind to me. They tried their best to make my stay as comfortable as possible with the limited resources they had.

I slept on the cement floor; it was not something new to me because even at the “Chief of Defence Staff” residence, I would sleep on the floor, a habit that made my wife see red. Further, I am a devotee of Lord Skandha (Kataragama Deviyo), and perform my “Pada Yathra” every year, walking 56 km in two days. I slept on the ground under a tree during those pilgrimages. When I sleep under the stars, I try to count them until I fall asleep. Anyway, from my cell, I could not see the sky. All I could see was the roof. I started counting the tiles and felt sleepy soon. No mobiles ringing, no important meeting or receptions, no late night briefings by my staff for the next day. I slept blissfully like a baby.

It was raining heavily. Time must have been just past midnight, someone walked through my cell. I looked carefully.

It was a cat. “Sorry kitty! I have occupied your home. Let’s be friends”. It was not interested. It sat at the far end of the cell, watching all my movements carefully.

I felt asleep again. (I can sleep anywhere, anytime, thanks to my naval training. My family and my friends in the Navy know that.) I was woken up by the sound of themorning Jumma Mosque “Calling of God”. It must have been 0430; I did not have a watch or a clock in my cell. The Islamic prayers were followed by Seth Pirith, even louder, from a nearby Buddhist temple.

I received a hot cup of tea around 0600 on November 29; it was brought by ‘Ellawella Nihal’, a ‘condemned’ prisoner. Nihal had been sentenced to death for killing a person in his remote village over a land dispute. Owing to a moratorium on the the death penalty, he was still alive. After 13 years of good conduct, he was now an “SD” – Special Duty Prisoner who had the privilege of working outside his cell. Nihal was well read and knowledgeable of local politics. We became friends soon. He had the highest respect for the military—something most people sadly lack.

Prisoners have great stories. Sir Jeffry Archer, probably the best story teller in the world, wrote his first best seller book, “Kane and Abel”, while in prison. He had the habit of listening to stories of other prisoners during the morning exercise time. Of all the books I have read, the most interesting, in my book, is Sir Jeffry’s short story collection, ‘Cat – O’ Nine Tales’ ; they are the stories other prisoners told Sir Jeffry about why they had ended up in jail.

Michael Ondaatje’s book, ‘The English Patient’, had been lying on my office desk may be three months from the day it was adjudged the best Book of Booker (best book fiction) selected out of books which had won the Booker prize during the last 50 years. I did not have time to read it when I was in office due to my busy schedule. I finished reading it in the morning! A sense of accomplishment! New day, and new challenges …

(The writer retired from Sri Lanka Navy and Former Chief of Defence Staff )