For nearly thirty-five years, N. Saravanan has been a steadfast voice in Tamil literary and journalistic circles. His journey began with Vidivu magazine, where his early writings reflected a deep commitment to social consciousness and cultural identity. He later served as one of the editors of Sarinihar, a publication renowned for its fearless engagement with issues of justice and human rights.
In 2000, Saravanan migrated to Norway, where he continues to work as both a writer and activist, contributing to a wide range of social, literary, and diasporic initiatives. Over the decades, he has authored twelve books, many of which have earned critical acclaim — including the Sahitya Award and several other literary honors.
Saravanan’s writings have consistently centered on nationalism in Sri Lanka, Dalit consciousness, and Marxist political thought, examining how these forces shape identity and social justice both within and beyond the island. In recent years, his work has turned toward the lesser-explored dimensions of Sri Lankan history — especially those narratives that have been silenced or overlooked. Through his essays and translations, he continues to amplify the voices of the voiceless, insisting on conversations that have long been avoided yet remain urgently necessary.
His most recent work — a Tamil translation and publication of the sixth volume of the Mahavamsa — has drawn exceptional attention. It is widely regarded as the first Tamil edition to present the chronicle in its authentic, unembellished form, translated directly from the original language without interpretive bias or political revision.
At the same time, the translation has stirred spirited debate and controversy in literary and historical circles. Why has this work provoked such intense reactions? What compelled Saravanan to take on one of the most politically charged historical texts in Sri Lanka’s canon?
Let us hear his thoughts — and his clarifications — in his own words.
Why do you think the Mahavamsa is necessary in Tamil?
The first Mahavamsa, written in the 5th century CE, records Sri Lanka’s history from 483 BCE to 362 CE — a span of roughly 845 years. In this way, Sri Lanka stands unique as a nation that has continuously chronicled its own history. The Mahavamsa was originally written in Pali.
Indeed, Sri Lanka is perhaps the only country in the world that has maintained an unbroken written historical record for nearly 2,600 years. Despite criticisms and errors, the Mahavamsa has served as a valuable source for historical references. The island’s history has, in fact, been documented in successive volumes of the Mahavamsa to this day.
It was only in the early 19th century that British scholars brought global attention to this sacred historical chronicle. Since then, many have attempted translations from Pali. The first English translation appeared in 1837, but due to its shortcomings, several others followed over time. Finally, Wilhelm Geiger’s German translation in 1908 — later rendered into English in 1912 — became the most widely accepted and authoritative version, used internationally to this day.
It is within this historical backdrop that we must view the Mahavamsa. Everyone knows that Sri Lanka’s Sinhalese Buddhist cultural history was largely constructed around Mahavamsa narratives. It was for this reason that, in his 2005 Maaveerar Day speech, Prabhakaran referred to the Sinhala-majoritarian mindset as the “Mahavamsa mentality.”
After the monk Mahanama, the tradition of composing the Mahavamsa chronicles continued without interruption. In 1956, it was made a state responsibility, with the Ministry of Cultural Affairs establishing a Mahavamsa Compilation Department that continues this work to this day.
Until now, the Mahavamsa had never been published in Tamil, nor by any government. History has already shown the kind of ideological violence this text has been used to justify against non-Sinhalese Buddhists. That is why it is essential for Tamils to know what it contains. Without understanding its content, one cannot grasp its full influence — nor effectively respond to it.
When no other volumes of the Mahavamsa exist in full Tamil translation, why did you choose only the sixth volume for translation?
The sixth volume of the Mahavamsa covers the period from 1977 to 2010 — essentially the era that saw the rise and conclusion of the armed Tamil Eelam liberation struggle.
The late Professor Malani Endagama, former head of the Mahavamsa Committee, personally requested me to translate this volume. At that time, I told her I did not have the time. But, in truth, I also did not wish to undertake such a task under a government institution, as I did not believe that kind of work could be done with genuine freedom within that framework.
Nevertheless, I felt this particular volume was far more important than the earlier ones to make available in Tamil. As I mentioned before, the sixth volume — spanning 1977 to 2010 — narrates the period when the Tamil Eelam struggle took the form of an armed conflict and continued until its end.
So far, we have heard, here and there, the views of successive governments on the Tamil people’s struggle for their rights. But to understand the official explanation of the Sri Lankan state itself, it is crucial that we study this part of the Mahavamsa.
Even though they claim the work does not represent the government’s official position, that claim is untenable. For nearly 70 years, the Mahavamsa has been produced with state funding through a government ministry — specifically, the Department of Culture of the Ministry of Cultural Affairs. How, then, can one argue that the state bears no responsibility for it?
Who appoints and oversees the members of the Mahavamsa Committee?
Who sets its plans and directions?
The answers to these questions clearly show that the Mahavamsa is not merely a cultural chronicle — it is an official state narrative. Understanding it is therefore essential to grasp the Sri Lankan state’s perspective on the Tamil freedom struggle. I believe every Tamil should read it to understand the state’s version of history.
Despite knowing that the Mahavamsa is written against the Tamils, why did you feel it was important to translate it into Tamil?
If we know that the Mahavamsa was written against certain ethnic groups, how exactly do they know that? Or how can we know it, when the text has never been published in any language other than Sinhala or Pali? Even now, there are no plans to release it in any other language. A government has authored and preserved records against its own people — and continues to keep them from public view. Someone has to bring those records to light.
Without access to the original source, how can we respond? The sufferings and injustices faced by Tamil-speaking people are not recorded in the Mahavamsa. On the contrary, it contains distortions and falsehoods.
For instance, when one reads the section on the 1981 burning of the Jaffna Public Library, it is written in such a way that a reader could easily believe it was the Tamils themselves who set fire to it. Likewise, it claims that soldiers were killed in a poison gas attack launched by the Tigers, while the well-known allegation is quite the opposite — that the army used poison gas, killing civilians.
Even in chapters related to literature, all references to literary awards and honors — including the Sahitya awards — mention only Sinhala writers. The Tamil writers who shared those same awards are completely omitted. A person who finishes reading the Mahavamsa would be left wondering whether Tamils and Muslims even belong to this country at all.
The chapters are arranged under subjects such as politics, economy, culture, religion, education, society, health, and environment. Within this framework, the section dealing with ethnic issues is titled “Terrorism and Separatism.” That alone reveals how this volume interprets and frames the Tamil people’s struggle.
Seeing such distortions and silences, I felt it was necessary to act. If we, as a community, are to respond meaningfully, the work must first reach Tamil-speaking society. That is why, despite immense difficulties, I completed this translation within a short period.
I translated this volume so that we can, through the Mahavamsa itself, understand the state’s policies, practices, and attitudes toward the aspirations of minority communities.
Now, it is time for others to take it forward and respond.
You call this a government production! Yet you say it hasn’t even been published in Tamil, an official language of the state? Was there not a single Tamil member in its production committee?
There has never been a Tamil member in it. The committee that produced the sixth volume of the Mahavamsa consisted of about one hundred members, almost all of whom were Sinhala Buddhists, except for one or two individuals.
The book itself lists Professor Padmanathan as a member of the committee. But when I asked him about it, he denied ever being a part of the Mahavamsa committee. He said, “They once asked me to write an article about contemporary Saivism — that’s all I did.”
Apart from that, the committee is made up almost entirely of Buddhist monks, military officers, and Sinhala Buddhist scholars.
Therefore, there is absolutely nothing wrong in stating that the Mahavamsa has been written by Sinhala Buddhists, in the Sinhala language, to promote a Sinhala-Buddhist historical perspective.
You say it is important to respond to the distortions and inaccuracies in the Mahavamsa’s account of the Eelam war. But where are the opportunities to do that within Sri Lanka?
At present, a new book titled “Mahavamsa – Opening the Pages of the Eelam War” (Volume 6: 1978–2010) has been published by Major Sarath Jayawardena. In this work — spanning about 367 pages — he points out numerous factual errors in the Mahavamsa’s portrayal of the Eelam war and argues that many additional details should have been included. He lists various criticisms and proposed corrections.
Earlier, Sarath Fonseka, too, in a long speech in Parliament, had highlighted the mistakes found in that Mahavamsa volume and presented a list of recommended amendments to Parliament.
But what opportunity do Tamil-speaking people have to raise their own concerns about the Mahavamsa in this country? Is there any real space for that?
Can such criticisms — especially those I am putting forward — be voiced openly here, and can anyone who does so move about freely and safely afterward?
Could you explain the fundamental themes of the Mahavamsa that contribute to ethnic tensions?
The most controversial portion is found in the first volume, authored by the monk Mahanama Thera himself.
That section introduces the concept of “Dhammadīpa” — portraying Sri Lanka as the sacred land of Buddhism — while depicting Tamils as outsiders, enemies, and people to be despised. It even teaches, through Buddhist monks, that killing them is not a sin.
It establishes the ideological foundation that only the Sinhala Buddhists are the true sons of the soil, a notion that has had a lasting influence in shaping ethnic and religious divisions in Sri Lanka.
Could you elaborate further on each of these ideas, particularly the concept of Dhammadīpa (the Island of the Dhamma)?
We must understand that the idea of Sri Lanka as the island chosen by the Buddha to preserve Buddhism for 5,000 years originates from the Mahavamsa itself.
According to the Mahavamsa, on the very day of Vesak Poya, when the Buddha was on his deathbed attaining Parinirvana, Prince Vijaya and his companions set foot in Sri Lanka. At that moment, the sage Sakka (interpreted in the text as Indra) was told by the Buddha:
“Vijaya, the son of Sinhabahu, is coming to Lanka from the land of Lāla. O gods, my religion will be established in Lanka. Therefore, protect Vijaya and the island of Lanka.”
The Mahavamsa then goes on to say that Vijaya and his descendants were destined to protect and uphold Buddhism, and that Vijaya went on to establish a Buddhist Sinhalese monarchy on the island.
Thus, the idea of Dhammadīpa — that Sri Lanka is a chosen land (a sacred island entrusted by the Buddha to safeguard and nurture Buddhism) — is built entirely on this narrative. It is comparable to the Jewish concept of the “Promised Land.”
This is the origin of the doctrine that describes Lanka as the island entrusted with the duty of protecting the Dhamma. By constructing and institutionalizing the Dhammadīpa concept, the island was portrayed as a Buddhist nation, with the Sinhalese as its chosen guardians.
Once a concept is given the sanctity of religious authority, it becomes immune to question or criticism. Any challenge to it is seen as sinful or blasphemous. When such an ideology is sanctified by religion, it becomes almost impossible to contest.
This is why Buddha statues are being erected everywhere in Sri Lanka, even in places where they have no cultural or religious relevance. It is why fig trees (Bo trees) cannot be cut down anywhere, and why symbols like the Dharmachakra or the image of the Buddha cannot be used even in art or design — they are treated as inviolable sacred symbols.
Ultimately, Buddhism was given constitutional priority, enshrined in Sri Lanka’s very Constitution, resulting in the loss of equal rights and opportunities for those who are “non-Buddhist” or “non-Sinhalese.”
The Dhammadīpa concept has gradually transformed Sri Lanka — first into a Buddhist country, then a Sinhalese country, later a Sinhalese Buddhist country, and finally a Sinhalese Theravāda Buddhist state, giving this identity a complete institutional and constitutional form.
And yet, none of the stories told in the Mahavamsa — such as this Dhammadīpa tale or the claim that the Buddha visited Sri Lanka three times — are found in any ancient Buddhist texts outside Sri Lanka. They are absent even in the Tripitaka, the core canonical scriptures of Buddhism.
So you believe the Mahavamsa is responsible for portraying everyone except the Sinhalese as outsiders?
Exactly. Across the world, we see that identity—whether based on race, religion, language, or caste—often lies at the root of major conflicts. In Sri Lanka, too, every such division is essentially an identity issue.
And if we trace where this idea of “outsiders” originates in the Sri Lankan context, we find that its mythical, illusory, and fabricated foundations—which label other ethnic and religious groups as aliens—lead us directly back to the Mahavamsa itself. There may be other contributing factors, of course, but the Mahavamsa’s role in shaping this exclusionary ideology is enormous.
For generations, extremist Sinhala nationalists have propagated the narrative that everyone except Sinhala Buddhists is “kalla-thonikal”—meaning people who came to the island illegally by boats. Yet, according to the Mahavamsa itself, the first “kalla-thoni” to arrive by boat in Sri Lanka was none other than Prince Vijaya, who also carried out one of the earliest acts of ethnic extermination on the island.
When Vijaya landed in Sri Lanka, he was neither Sinhalese nor Buddhist. The Sinhalese race did not evolve through his lineage either. Even by the Mahavamsa’s own account, Vijaya’s bloodline ends with Kuveni, the indigenous Yaksha queen.
Vijaya deceitfully used Kuveni to destroy her own tribe. Together, they had two children. But once Vijaya seized power, he abandoned Kuveni and their children, and invited women of the Pandyan royal family from Madurai to marry him and his companions. However, Vijaya and his Pandyan queen had no children, meaning the Sinhalese lineage did not continue through him. The descendants of Kuveni, the forsaken queen, retreated into the forests and are believed to have become the Veddahs, the island’s earliest known inhabitants.
There’s another revealing fact. According to the Mahavamsa, Sri Lanka’s first Sinhalese queen was a Tamil woman from the Pandyan dynasty of Madurai. Likewise, the island’s last king, Sri Wickrama Rajasinghe, and his queen were also Tamils from the same Pandyan lineage.
In other words, the very Sinhala-Buddhist ideology that brands others as “outsiders” has no indigenous roots in Sri Lanka. Even the Mahavamsa itself provides evidence for this. Buddhism came from India. The Pali and Sanskrit that form the core of the Sinhala language came from India. The Sinhala people themselves trace their origins to India.
And yet, the Mahavamsa continues to promote the belief that Sri Lanka is “the island of the Sinhalese,” that the “Sinhalese are the sons of the soil,” and that “this island was chosen by the Buddha to preserve Buddhism for 5,000 years.” This Mahavamsa-based ideology has been—and continues to be—used to reinforce the Dhammadīpa doctrine and to justify exclusion and supremacy in the name of faith and race.
You claim that the Mahavamsa actually says that Tamils are people who deserve to be killed. What do you mean by that?
The roots of Sri Lanka’s genocidal culture and its anti-Indian sentiment can both be traced back to that same historical tradition. The various forms of ethnic hatred, exclusion, and racism seen in Sri Lanka today did not appear suddenly. The mental conditioning that justifies such acts—and the moral comfort or self-justification people derive from them—can be found in the Mahavamsa.
Over the centuries, this text has cast a psychological mould—one that has shaped Sinhala political leaders, intellectuals, monks, institutions, the media, and the general public alike. Many of the myths that portray Tamils as invaders and destroyers originate from the Mahavamsa.
Chapter 25 of the Mahavamsa is titled The Victory of Dutugemunu. In verses 108–113, Buddhist monks are depicted consoling King Dutugemunu, telling him that killing Tamils is not a sin.
The verses read roughly as follows:
“When King Dutugemunu, having defeated King Elara, felt no joy because of the great slaughter, the monks from the island of Piyangu sent eight venerable theras to comfort him.
They arrived at his palace at midday and descended at the gate, then ascended miraculously through the air to the upper chambers. The king received them with great reverence and asked the reason for their visit.
They replied: ‘O great king of men, we have been sent by the Maha Sangha of Piyangu island to console you.’
The king said: ‘How can there be peace for me, venerable ones, when countless lives have been destroyed by my hand?’
The theras replied: ‘By this act, there is no obstacle to your path to heaven, O ruler of men. In truth, you have slain only one and a half human beings. One of them sought refuge in the Three Jewels, and the other took the Five Precepts. The rest were unbelievers, evil men who are not to be valued higher than beasts.
But you, O king of men, have greatly advanced the cause of the Buddha’s doctrine. Therefore, cast away your sorrow and be comforted.’”
In Buddhism, killing even an animal is a sin, yet here the Mahavamsa declares that Tamils are no higher than animals, and therefore killing them is not sinful. This is explicitly taught through the voices of Buddhist monks within the text.
The Mahavamsa depicts the 2nd-century BCE war between Dutugemunu and Elara as an ethnic conflict between Tamils and Sinhalese. The king laments that he has caused the deaths of thousands of Tamils, and the Buddhist monks console him by saying:
“Because of this deed, there is no obstacle for you on your path to heaven.”
They further tell him that those thousands of Tamils he killed were “non-believers, evil men, and no better than beasts.”
The most striking aspect is that many Sinhalese people still believe this idea today. Over thousands of years, it has taken deep root in the Sinhala psyche — creating a historical mindset that Tamils are inferior to animals and that killing them is permissible.
Moreover, this notion was later reinforced and amplified in another major Sinhala Buddhist chronicle, the Saddharmalankara, written about six centuries after the Mahavamsa. It embellishes the same idea even further, stating that the Tamils killed by Dutugemunu were “not only savages and idolaters, but their deaths were no different from the deaths of cattle, dogs, or rats.”
Similarly, the monk Nāradha Thera wrote:
“King Dutugemunu, who slaughtered Tamils, attained merit through his religious and social deeds. Because of the strength of this accumulated merit, his evil acts became ineffective.”
Can the end of the Eelam War be compared to this?
Why not? If killing Tamils is not considered a sin — if it is even seen as a meritorious act — wouldn’t those Mahavamsa legends offer moral comfort to the Sinhala side? Religion, when mythologized, can make people accept even the most violent acts without question.
We can find parallels in many ancient traditions. Just as the Bhagavad Gita and the Mahabharata justify war and destruction through religious and karmic reasoning in the Hindu tradition, the Mahavamsa does so within Buddhism — legitimizing the slaughter of Tamils as an act done in defence of the Buddha’s faith.
The Mahavamsa even records Dutugemunu’s own words of justification:
“My actions were never for political power. All my efforts were solely for the establishment of the Buddha’s religion.” (Mahavamsa XXV:117)
Now, I am not saying that the Sinhalese people were taught to kill Tamils because of the Mahavamsa. The text itself became known to the world only in the 19th century.
However, during the past two centuries, Sinhala-Buddhist nationalism has gradually evolved through the sanctification of the Mahavamsa. Just as King Dutugemunu killed Tamils in the name of Buddhism 2,150 years ago, Tamils were again massacred in the name of the same Sinhala Buddhism two millennia later.
Even Velupillai Prabhakaran, leader of the LTTE, recognized this pattern in his 2005 Maaveerar Day address. He said:
“The Sinhala nation still remains trapped in the Mahavamsa mindset. They are unable to free themselves from the mythical consciousness that sees this island as the exclusive domain of the Sinhala Buddhist people.
The Sinhala rulers continue to live under the illusion that Sri Lanka is a land gifted to them by the Buddha — a Dhammadīpa — a sacred island meant only for the Sinhala race. This myth has blinded them to reality, making them incapable of understanding the true history of this island or the just aspirations of the Tamil people.”
That warning remains profoundly relevant.
The Sinhala nation still lives within that mythical world shaped by the Mahavamsa — a world that portrays the island as a divine gift to Theravāda Buddhism, belonging solely to the Sinhalese.
This idea has sunk deep into the Sinhala collective psyche, hardened over generations, and become immovable. And because of this ideological blindness, Sri Lanka’s Sinhala political and religious leadership — and a large section of its people — remain unable to perceive the island’s true history and its present social realities.
Does Sri Lanka really need a Mahavamsa of that kind?
If there is one historical feature that sets Sri Lanka apart from every other country in the world, it is undoubtedly the Mahavamsa. That much is true. It is a source of pride that we have a continuous tradition, recording roughly 2,600 years of history. More than that, the details it preserves have been of great assistance in tracing our historical paths and in corroborating what we have found.
But we must also account for the destruction caused by the prejudice, inequality, ethnic-religious hatred, and exclusion that the Mahavamsa has helped to normalize. Those elements have become entrenched in the record. They continue to be produced and circulated. They are taught from school textbooks up to the universities and disseminated across all platforms. Violent figures and acts described in it are celebrated and venerated.
Many people hesitate to challenge this — fearing for their lives. That fear is not found only among Tamils; it exists among Sinhalese as well.
It is no longer possible simply to reject or discard the Mahavamsa in its entirety. But there is a moral duty — on the state and on civil society — to wipe away the injustices that it has institutionalized in practice.
What do you think should be the government’s responsibility in this matter?
The Mahavamsa, regarded by Sinhala Buddhists as their sacred chronicle, was formally adopted by the Sri Lankan government as an official historical project. In 1956, the government officially assumed responsibility for continuing the Mahavamsa, and since then, three volumes have been published under state supervision.
That same year, the “Sinhala Only Act” was introduced, sowing the seeds of ethnic conflict. We know the story that followed: the language crisis, and eventually, the recognition of Tamil alongside Sinhala as an official language.
Yet, all three Mahavamsa volumes published since then were state-sponsored — and not a single one of the six volumes to date has been made available in Tamil, the language of one of the island’s own peoples.
A nation that proudly declares itself the only country in the world with an unbroken historical record spanning 2,600 years has, paradoxically, denied access to that very history to a section of its own citizens.
Not a single Tamil has ever been among those who authored these chronicles. The concerns and experiences of Tamil-speaking people have never found a place in them. So why should their contents be hidden from the Tamil-speaking public?
In a country of multiple ethnicities, religions, and cultures, is it just to produce and propagate a history that belongs exclusively to one community? Is it righteous to use tax money collected from all communities — including non-Sinhala Buddhists — to fund a historical narrative that excludes and vilifies them?
Can a nation truly prosper while ignoring and marginalizing sections of its own people?
Sri Lanka has already paid a heavy price for denying freedom, equality, democracy, and justice. The question now before the government that calls itself one of “renaissance” is this:
Will Tamil-speaking people continue to be deprived of the right to know their own country’s history? Or will that injustice finally end?
The institutionalized Sinhala-Buddhist nationalist ideology cannot easily be undone. It has evolved over centuries, passing through many stages, and has now become deeply rooted across all layers of society. Yet, to correct it, no external ideology is required. The true teachings of the Buddha — his original Dhamma — are more than sufficient for that.
