Weeratunga: the man and his mission

General Tissa Indraka Weeratunga, a man who led troops during some of the most turbulent moments in Sri Lanka's history is no more. He was the ninth Commander of the Sri Lanka Army. The first to serve as General Officer Commanding (GOC) of the Joint Operations Headquarters (JOH), he was later Sri Lanka's High Commissioner in Canada. He died on Friday. He was 73 years. The better part of his military career was in the Jaffna peninsula. It began with controlling illicit immigration and smuggling across the Palk Straits. From there he saw the transition of Tamil moderation into militancy. Thereafter he held sway at some very critical moments in the nation's history - the horrendous ethnic violence in July 1983, the guerrilla attack on Sri Maha Bodhi in May 1985, the induction of Indian Peace Keeping troops in July 1987, to name a few. Bull was his pet name from school days. He earned it for his childish imprudence. He had many friends. He was both adored and admired by some. I was one of them. He also had his adversaries. Some of them were bitter critics. They loathed his military life-style. In the history of any army in the world, officers and men who were exceptional, who were honest, always had their enemies. History is replete with examples of those great men. Gen. Weeratunga was no exception. I met him for the first time in 1983, soon after the riots of that year. My friend and colleague then at the SUN and WEEKEND newspapers, Sinha Ratnatunga, was working on his book - The Politics of Terrorism. General Weeratunga was being interviewed as Army Commander by Sinha for his maiden effort. I was there helping him with some research on Tiger guerrillas. On that very occasion Gen. Weeratunga had given me some literature in Tamil about the guerrillas. There were some tape recordings of speeches too. Our next interview that evening was with the Deputy High Commissioner for India, late Cherry George. The senior diplomat's house was guarded by Army sentries. It was due to anti-Indian sentiments prevailing then. I parked my car outside the house but did not lock it. When we returned to the car late that night, the material Gen. Weeratunga had given was missing. It later transpired that the soldiers had checked my car. They saw the Tiger guerrilla emblem on the documents and chosen to confiscate them. I telephoned Gen. Weeratunga next morning. The material was returned with friendly advice - hereafter guards or no guards, lock your car before you leave. It was after his retirement that I developed a close relationship with Gen. Weeratunga. We found moments almost every week to meet, greet and talk. He spoke frankly about his past experiences, about his personal relationship with late J.R. Jayewardene, his successes and even his failures. He was candid enough to admit what he declared were "mistakes" he had made. "If I have to go over it again, I wouldn't do it," he once said pointing out a few instances. As our relationship grew, he became more than a friend, a guru or a teacher. He taught me matters military, matters defence, matters security. We sat together sometimes to discuss and analyse many a military offensive after they have ended. His ability to clinically dissect areas of weaknesses, identify strong points and explain them cohesively in laymen's terms was remarkable. In doing so, much more remarkable was his ability to ignore effortlessly the fact that a few failed offensives were carried out by his own protégés. When the latter reacted to public exposure, he dispassionately pointed out to me misleading or erroneous claims. He was well read. He quoted extensively from books, his own experience and

often asked that I read a particular book. I owe part of my collection to him. He had a puckish sense of humour and could laugh at himself. Seated opposite him at his table at the JOH once, I noticed a crystal memento. There were two large cows. The lettering on a brass plaque that held it read "Cows may come and cows may go, but this bull goes on forever."
After retirement, he opted to wear a sarong and matching shirt regularly. The first time he chose to do so, he had picked one of Barbara Sansoni's colourful fabrics. He wore it on a visit to my house. I greeted him. As he sat down on a chair, he asked "how do you like my new kit?" I told him to look behind. "Oh, hell ….." he went on. The curtain on the patio door was identical and made from the same fabric. He wanted to go home to change. I stopped him. His death wish was that he be cremated in a sarong and shirt and not in military attire.
He was also fearless. As one military offensive after another ended in disaster, with a tough media censorship during the People's Alliance rule, both Gen. Weeratunga and I were once subjected to some insidious forms of intimidation and harassment. Once I asked him "can I write something about this when the censorship is withdrawn?" His reply "Iki, keep that until I die. You can relate this encounter and the many things I have told you…"
This encounter was about an arrogant politician who behaved like a general of sorts. He wanted to find out who was providing military information to The Sunday Times. The politico who was claiming one victory after another during disastrous military offensives was embarrassed. He had assigned intelligence men. They were not only waiting outside my residence but also at Gen. Weeratunga's. Close tabs were made on our phone calls to find out what we spoke. On occasions they kept trailing either me or him.
But there were conscientious men in the same intelligence outfit who abhorred dirty tricks of that kind. From the assignments given by the ambitious politico, they had begun to detest his actions. One of them warned me about what was going on. I learnt that five three-wheeler scooters, all posing off as if they were on hires with passengers, were assigned for this exercise.
They took down the vehicle numbers of my visitors. They trailed them sometimes. I also learnt that during these "operations" they had found out that it was I who was briefing Gen. Weeratunga and not the other way around. There were no military men who were using him as a conduit.
One day when he arrived outside my residence, a man wearing a white collar-less shirt (like the one worn by VIP security men) was a distance away writing down the number of the licence plate in his car. Gen. Weeratunga asked me out, pointed his finger at the man and said "look at that idiot. He does not even know how to spy."
I told him he should stop visiting me. I said I would also stop seeing him until things cooled down. "If they want, let them kill me. They won't keep me away from seeing people whom I want," he said. Gen. Weeratunga placed himself in harm's way not only to keep his friendship with me but also share his knowledge and experience. I am proud to say his courage in doing so helped The Sunday Times in no small measure.
There were many long retired military men of Gen. Weeratunga's stature who had serving security forces personnel as body-guards. Some still do. This is not to fault them. He had none. Not for him the phalanx of body-guards in retirement. He chose to remain with his wife Sonia. He drove around in a 14 year old Mitsubishi Gallant car bought from his meagre earnings as our envoy in Canada.

employ a driver to do his errands. His reply came promptly "Iki, quite frankly I cannot afford it. That is why I have to go to get my half a kilo of talapath or paraw…"
One day, during a conversation, it turned out that he had to travel the following morning to Matara. He told me the Department of Inland Revenue had summoned him for an outstanding inquiry over non payment of taxes. "I have been putting this off because I was engaged in a war. But things are catching up with me now," he said. Upon his return from Matara, he telephoned to say "I had to tell those b…..rs I did not have the kind of money they had assessed me for. I was told to go."