For the first time in a long while, I felt like writing again. If anyone wants to understand what happens when a religion is allowed to dominate the governance of a country, they only need to look at Iran. Of course, one of our devoted believers may immediately bring up his dead mother and argue that there are no “Muslim Buddhists” in Iran. Yet if one looks carefully at the situation surrounding Venerable Pallegama, it becomes painfully clear that in Sri Lanka too, the temple holds immense influence over the state.

According to Sri Lankan law, the situation is quite straightforward. Sexual relations with a child under the age of sixteen are considered a criminal offence, even if the child supposedly “consented.” This falls under the concept of statutory rape in the Sri Lankan Penal Code.

The legal principle is simple: a child under sixteen is not considered capable of giving full legal consent. Therefore, arguments such as:

• “She agreed to it,”
• “They were in love,”
• “She ran away willingly,”

do not provide complete legal protection.

Punishment depends on the nature of the offence, the age difference, whether force was involved, whether injuries occurred, and whether the acts were repeated. Possible punishments include:

• lengthy imprisonment,
• rigorous imprisonment,
• fines,
• and compensation to the victim.

The law also identifies circumstances that may increase the seriousness of the offence, including:

• the child being very young,
• the offender being a teacher, guardian, religious leader, or relative,
• threats or coercion,
• physical harm,
• pregnancy,
• group offences,
• or taking photographs and videos.

Looking at these factors, the seriousness of being a religious leader alone is significant enough. Moreover, this incident could even be interpreted as involving organized participation by a group, given the apparent involvement of the child’s mother and father in facilitating the situation.

At times, observing the mechanism surrounding this case, one might even wonder whether the girl herself suffered from psychological difficulties that made her vulnerable to manipulation involving the monk. Slowly, perhaps cautiously, the court appeared to move toward a lawful decision by ordering the remand imprisonment of Venerable Pallegama. Yet despite the issue becoming a major public controversy, that order does not appear to have been properly enforced.

If anyone believes this is simply due to the Buddhist devotion of prison officials, that would be laughable. More likely, some form of pressure above the judiciary has placed invisible chains upon the officials themselves. For a long time, this country has shown a tendency to tolerate the stench of corruption until the entire dirty cloth is publicly exposed before the world. Even then, there is never a shortage of people willing to wash and defend that same cloth. What they fail to understand is that the cloth itself is being torn apart piece by piece, until eventually nothing valuable remains.

What must be understood is how religion in Sri Lanka has gained the power to define who is morally right and wrong within society, much like in Iran. Anyone who remembers figures such as Galaboda Aththe and the threats and fury they unleashed should ask themselves whether those forces have truly disappeared. During the Rajapaksa era, we witnessed how Sinhala Buddhist nationalism became a harsh and damaging force over society. That is why many of us referred to that version of Buddhism as “Rajapaksa Buddhism.” Even today, the same machinery continues to function.

It is no longer possible to simply blame everything on the legacy of the Rajapaksas. If state officials today obey the old political culture instead of the leadership they currently serve, and if people continue assigning every failure to old accounts while blindly believing such excuses, then perhaps it is their own minds that require examination. Otherwise, one might as well continue imagining Mahinda Rajapaksa still rules the country and simply step aside.

Figures like Pallegama demonstrate that their religious loyalties have merely shifted from Rajapaksa-ism to Dissanayake-ism. Above the judiciary stand only the executive and the legislature. Yet in a democracy, both are supposed to protect judicial independence, not weaken it.

Lawyers in this country once stepped forward courageously to defend the dignity of the courts, even when ministers and powerful politicians were imprisoned for contempt. Yet in the Pallegama case, how is it that a monk can comfortably remain at Nawaloka Hospital while court orders themselves appear ignored?

Perhaps it is simply merit — “pin,” as people say.

After all, I overheard a woman on a bus saying, “Could a holy monk really do such a thing?” In truth, if monks carefully observe these deeply devoted women and even their daughters, many of their worldly difficulties might easily be satisfied. Some people willingly offer themselves in the name of religious merit. There are fathers like that too. To them, their daughters become offerings upon an altar. Yet if the law catches up, punishment should still apply according to the child’s age and the legal principles already mentioned above.

Instead, we live in a land of selective virtue, endlessly deceived by promises about what “that man” or “this leader” will supposedly do. And perhaps all we are finally left with saying — even from entirely different motives — is the same exhausted phrase:

“Ane Sadhu.”