-By LeN Legal Affairs Correspondent
(Lanka-e-News -29.May.2025, 11.20 PM) As the docks of Colombo Harbour creaked under the weight of political scandal, yesterday’s proceedings before the Fixed High Court’s three-judge bench proved that, in Sri Lanka, justice is seldom swift but invariably dramatic. In a hearing that combined Shakespearean tragedy with Punch magazine humour, former Sports Minister Mahindananda Aluthgamage and ex-Trade Minister—and erstwhile Sathosa Chairman—Nalin Fernando each received their comeuppance in the form of lengthy custodial sentences and hefty fines. The judges, showing neither mercy nor malice, dispatched the pair to the cells with remarks that will be remembered long after the clang of their prison doors.
The court’s motto—“Karanakalanata Pav Mihiriya Mee Se; Vindinakalanata Duk Dædi Veyi Gini Se” (roughly, “Sweet in commission, but torture like fire in suffering”)—perhaps never rang truer than when Justice Mahesh Weeraman, delivering the judgment, paused to ensure the full moral weight of the aphorism sank in. It was not merely poetry: it was an indictment against two former Cabinet stalwarts who, according to the Bribery Commission, siphoned off Rs. 53.1 million in public funds through inflated import licences of carrom and draughts boards via the Sathosa enterprise during President Sirisena’s 2015 campaign period (1 September to 31 December 2014).
The judges, in an unusually brusque exchange, made clear that such offences were more than mere lapses of judgement. “This court will not abide by velvet-gloved justice for those entrusted with public coffers,” Justice Weeraman declared. “If you wish to sweeten your political fortunes, be not surprised when your cells taste of sulphur rather than sugar.”
Former Sports Minister Mahindananda Aluthgamage, whose tenure saw stadiums erected for the public good, now finds himself serving 20 years with hard labour. On the same day, Nalin Fernando—once a clan chief in commerce, wielding Sathosa’s chequebook as if it were Excalibur—was also given 25 years hard labour, along with fines of Rs. 200,000 and Rs. 400,000 respectively. The staggering disparity between their lofty ministerial pensions and their forthcoming prison rations was not lost on anyone present in Courtroom 3.
Observers noted that the judges, comprising Justices Weeraman, Pradeep Aberathna, and Amali Ranawira, took turns to chide the defendants. Justice Aberathna, in particular, harnessed his most wry tones: “We are here to adjudicate, not to indulge a circus of excuses. The people have suffered enough delays—not only in justice but in their right to know that their taxes will not be plundered.” Laughter rippled through the gallery; not at the gravity of sin, but at the barbs levelled at those who once sat in power.
As the sentences were read, Mahindananda’s eyes glistened with tears—whether from contrition or theatrical flair remains moot. His legal counsel, President’s Counsel Shanaka Ranasinghe, attempted to console him with po-faced arguments about procedural technicalities. Equally stalwart was President’s Counsel Anil Silva, representing Nalin Fernando, who maintained his client’s innocence even as the judge’s gavel fell. Yet in the end, rhetoric counted for naught. The pair were handcuffed, hooded, and conveyed, amidst sombre silence, to the awaiting prison van bound for Welikada.
In a gesture both unusual and emblematic, the court’s ushers offered not bouquets, but salvias to the newly convicted. “Judges do not throw petals at the guilty,” Justice Ranawira remarked. “But we do appreciate a good bit of botanical humour.” Thus adorned, the ex-ministers had their hands—and reputations—sealed in a gaudy floral mime that left spectators chuckling uneasily.
It was a curious tableau: two men, once feted at diplomatic receptions and ribbon-cuttings, now paraded before the public in their final promenade of indignity. The juxtaposition, as one wag noted, was worthy of a John Le Carré novel played for laughs at the Old Vic.
To recap the allegations: during the last quarter of 2014, the Sathosa board, under Fernando’s chairmanship, imported 14,000 carrom boards and 11,000 draughts boards—far in excess of genuine sporting need—to the tune of Rs. 53.1 million. These boards, intended for public distribution to village clubs, were allegedly invoiced at inflated prices, with kickbacks funnelled to unnamed beneficiaries. The Bribery Commission, prosecuting under Section 70 of the Bribery Act, contended that the duo abused their official powers to authorise the licences and payments without due competitive tender or audit.
The defence had argued that the imports were part of a developmental push to popularise traditional board games and that any pricing anomalies were clerical in origin. But the judges were adamant: “Clerical errors do not account for Rs. 53.1 million,” Justice Weeraman quipped. “Unless, of course, one suffers from chronic ‘pocket-itis’.” The gallery erupted, but the judges pressed on, underscoring the gravity of corrupt practices.
Remarkably, this is the first time in Sri Lankan history that former ministers have been incarcerated for the destruction of public funds to this magnitude. The People’s Rule, as commentators have dubbed the post-2015 ethos, has finally roped in senior politicians. “Until now, sentences were meted out to middle managers, ‘fall guys’, and the occasional schoolteacher,” noted veteran columnist Dilhani Perera. “But the big fish always swam free. That tide has turned.”
Political analyst Dr. Sunethra Wickramasinghe suggested that the judiciary has finally taken the public outcry to heart. “For decades, politicians enriched themselves while the courts hesitated. This ruling will send a shudder through party backrooms.”
Both Mahindananda and Nalin must now lodge appeals with the Court of Appeal within 30 days. Yet even if their convictions are overturned, the stain on their legacies will remain. For the moment, they will don the standard-issue prison greys and report daily to their stations. Neighbours in their Welikada wing, one guard confided, “Will see them scouring for carrom boards, no doubt. It’ll be poetic justice.”
Outside the courthouse, the public reaction oscillated between triumph and cynicism. A tea-stall vendor offered free cups to passers-by in celebration, while a taxi driver grumbled, “Let’s hope they find more like them—otherwise nothing changes.” Civic activists vowed to press for similar sentences for others implicated in land fraud and procurement scams.
Meanwhile, floral shops around Fort Railway Station reported brisk business—not in wreaths, but in marigolds and chrysanthemums. “They sell well for funerals…or for funerary symbolism,” explained one shopkeeper. “People want to mark the death of corruption.” Whether corruption is truly dying remains to be seen, but yesterday’s ruling has at least deflated the egos of two former ministers.
In the end, the case of Mahindananda Aluthgamage and Nalin Fernando reads as a cautionary parable: if you choose to dip your fingers into the public purse, be prepared for those fingers to taste iron bars. The judges, armed with ancient proverbs and sharp tongues, have made clear that poetry and poignancy will not sweeten illicit gains.
As the ex-ministers settle into their new addresses—Cell 17B for Aluthgamage, Cell 23C for Fernando—one hopes their time behind bars will be spent reflecting on the fiery justice that now engulfs them. And as the legal proverb warns: “He who sows corruption reaps calamity.”
In the annals of Sri Lankan jurisprudence, this will not be just another case. It will be remembered as the day the ivory towers cracked, and two powerful men were forced to count the tiles on their cell walls. Whether this heralds a new era of accountability or merely a fleeting spectacle, remains to be seen. But for now, the judges have handed down a verdict that will echo through the teak-panelled corridors of power for years to come.
-By LeN Legal Affairs Correspondent
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by (2025-05-29 18:37:57)
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