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• Public fury over who paid for homecoming bash at airport’s VIP Lounge

No single family member turned up at the airport to welcome Basil home. Not his brothers, not his cousins, not even his favourite nephew, Namal. The family pow-wow would come later behind closed doors. The float-bearing fawning domestics, engaging in servile obeisance, had to come first in the public parade.

It cut the sorry picture of a man, Basil Rajapaksa, once reputed to have had a finger in every economic pie in the country, rendered so pitiably poor that all he could flaunt now were the few minions his money could still buy.

THE PRODIGAL’S RETURN: Out of office Basil Rajapaksa, accused of squandering public money, throws breakfast feast for 100 guests on arrival at BIA’s ‘200 dollar per person’ lounge, paid by public money.

The early morn welcome at the airport’s VIP lounge was reserved for the party hoi polloi, to be played out before the TV media for public consumption. There were no rehearsals, no second takes necessary for the assembled cast to perform their grovelling rites. No cues, no promptings, no directions were needed. It was only second nature to them.

For the crowd of SLPP MPs, for the party members, for the scrounging men and women groupies, the worshipping, the feet touching or pada namaskars, the abject genuflections needed no prodding. This exhibitionism of sycophancy, a public testament to their craven faith in the omnipotence of the Rajapaksa Trinity’s Unholy Spirit.

But did anyone, who had made the ritual pilgrimage to the airport to hail the return of the messiah, ask him whether an American hospital’s superior medical know-how had successfully cured him of the mystery illness which had moved the Supreme Court to grant him a four-month exemption from the travel ban it had imposed on him?’ Perhaps, the undisclosed ailment was too personal an issue and too delicate a question to be raised by them either; and both, the malady and the recovery, were best left unspoken.

Evidently, it was a redundant question to ask. Here was the man himself, brimming in the pinkest of heath, looking as if he had bathed in Lourdes’ miracle waters of health and drunk deep from the Pierian Springs of knowledge. The miracle maker had returned to Lanka to wreak another miracle for the Rajapaksas.

After an extended stay at the airport lounge for VIPs, breathing VIP air, and feasting on VIP bread, this one-time VIP, Basil, now an ordinary dual second-class citizen, who had lost his birthright to contest polls, left with his servile gang in a police-escorted convoy home to begin his mission to raise the dead.

But in the wake of the convoy’s exhaust fumes, there burst forth a series of questions to be asked. First, who authorised the use of the airport’s VIP lounge for Basil to host his homecoming bash for his cronies? Second, who authorised the entry of a hundred-odd cheer squad to this exclusive preserve of the high-flying jet set? Third, who picked up the tab for the breakfast feast?

While it may come naturally for Basil and his coterie to scrounge off the public coffers and scoot without paying the bill, who authorised the Sunday breakfast freebie to Basil’s freeloaders?

A sum of USD 200 is charged per person for the use of this two-roomed VIP facility. Basil and wife, duly paid USD 400 to enter the lounge and enjoy the food and facilities offered. The fact that the USD200 entry ticket entitles only one person to partake the VIP fare, and does not permit one to invite guests, is evidenced by Basil forking out a further USD 200 for his wife’s ticket.

The Daily Mirror on Friday reported that the Civil Aviation Authority (CAA) had paid Sri Lanka Airline Catering Service Rs 60,000 for the breakfast buffet provided to the 100-strong crowd that had arrived to greet Basil. A mere Rs.60,000 for 100 people? Isn’t this ludicrous when the cover charge for just one person is USD 200 or Rs. 73,000?

Newspapers reported that at least a hundred people turned up at the VIP lounge for Basil’s fiesta. As per the charges levied at Gold Route’s VIP lounge, this should amount — for hundred people at USD 200 per head — to USD 20,000 or Rs. 7,300,000.

But on Friday evening, the CAA denied it had paid any bill. Speaking to the Sunday Times, Chairman of Airport and Aviation Services, retired Major General G. A. Chandrasiri said they received a payment of US$ 400 from Basil Rajapaksa and Pushpa Rajapaksa for the use of Gold Route at BIA. He said the facility is open to anybody for a payment.  Both statements are correct. However, he said: ‘When MPs and local council members come we are obliged to serve them tea and refreshments’.

What? Has the BIA opened a new special dansala at its’ Gold Route VIP lounge for the elected reps of the people? Has a free Parliamentary canteen been set up for MPs at the airport? Are the Airport officials now officially compelled to serve 225 MPs, 9000-odd members of Provincial, Municipal and Pradeshiya Sabha Councils, whenever they drop in for a bite with the compliments of the State?

If the Airport Authority didn’t pay — not the measly Rs. 60,000 that is now being denied — the actual VIP Lounge’s declared charges of USD 200 per person amounting to Rs.7.3m, who did?

Who left the door to this high-security zone’s VIP Lounge open? Not Basil or wife. They duly bought their two tickets at a cost of USD 400. They didn’t let the cats in. Airport Minister Nimal Siripala de Silva must answer. Whoever was responsible for this flagrant squander of public money must be held accountable. Or will they draw from a recent example and say a wealthy Australian woman stepped in to pay for Basil’s feast?

Third, who authorised a police escort to give an impressive touch to the returning convoy home as if it carried a returning hero bringing home the Golden Fleece? The lame excuse trotted out by the police spokesman on Tuesday, was that family ties warranted the escort. An indignant SLPP Secretary said, ‘if the police hadn’t, we would have provided the necessary security to our leader.’ What would that be? A private ‘new wave’ militia to protect their loathed leaders?

Fourth, what was the National Police Commission chairman, former IGP Chandra Fernando, doing at BIA’s VIP lounge paying his namaskars to the American returned? His explanation was that he just happened to be there. He had heard a commotion and wondered what it was all about. He had wandered to the scene and hearing Basil had come, had popped in to say hello to the man he’d known so well before.

Fair enough. No crime, even if he had gate-crashed the party and worshipped Basil’s feet and paid pada namaskara prostrate. But wouldn’t his defence, now that he had felt compelled to make one, been more replete, had he also given the primary reason for his presence early Sunday morn at the BIA?

These questions were raised in Parliament on Monday by the opposition only to be brusquely dismissed by SLPP MPs retorting that Basil’s sudden manifestation in flesh and blood had scared the pants off his antagonists. But certainly the news that Basil had flown in made all agog to know what mischief he had up his sleeve.

For his party loyalist, however, it was no mystery. Seven-brained Basil was back. His miracles would work again. He had done it three years ago. The odds were stacked against him this time but inexorable hope still sprung to corrupt his breast.

Since leaving Sri Lanka nearly three months ago to get native American treatment to cure his peculiar malady, the SLPP seems beyond revival, its’ fate signed, sealed and delivered by the people. A winter of mass discontent had descended upon its ivory towers and the castle walls had crumbled in the blizzard and its inmates stand exposed.

Take the SLPP three-ringed circus that was to be taken from town to town. The canvas was rolled up, the tents brought down, the humbug called off after just three gigs in Kalutara, Nawalapitiya and Puttalam. The circus failed to turn on even the faithful to give full vein to their credulity and believe in the fantasy world of miracles they spun.

Even the ring master, who had said, at Kalutara’s maiden outing, he was awoken by the motley of clowns, jugglers, hula-hoopers, double somersaulters, and asked to take the whip to lash the devout to a frenzy, realised the magic had died; and returned to hibernation.

But no matter. As Basil had said at his press conference after resigning as an MP on June 9, he had returned to Lanka in 2020, to score two goals. The first was to clear his good name from all the charges in court. This he had done splendidly, acquitted and released from every court case with a 100 percent scoring rate, so much so that the Sinhala words ‘nidos kota nidhahas’ has become a catchphrase to denote effortless success.

His second was to restore Mahinda Rajapaksa to the post of PM, since he had been blamed for his downfall in 2015. This, of course, was a more formidable task than securing acquittals but he had done it, nevertheless, and acquitted himself with honour. Alas, it was short-lived. Exactly one month after his proud boast, events forced Mahinda to resign and flee Temple Tress.

Had remorse caused his wings to flap and take a flight home to make amends to ensure Mahinda — if the day ever comes – breathes his last with the Prime Ministerial crown on and not with only a fig leaf?

On Tuesday, Mahinda Rajapaksa told Parliament: ‘We never deserted the people and we never shall. We will always be with the people.’

As Brother Basil embarks on his new mission to seal his half-baked victory with complete and lasting triumph, he should do well to muse whether the people have deserted the Rajapaksas well past the point of no return.

And wonder if his puffed-up hopes to make the wretched SLPP crow arise again from the ashes of corruption are condemned to end up as the burnt-out remains of its former incarnation.

Will Cabraal’s epic tome clinch the Booker prize for best fiction? A new book aspiring to be ‘the lifeblood of a master spirit to be embalmed and treasured life beyond life,’ was published last fortnight by the author himself. After its launch, its’ author, Nivard Cabraal said: “Now, I can sleep very well. I am the one who acted and saved the country from bankruptcy”. Titled ‘Arthika Gathakayan Meda’ or ’Among Economic Killers’, it is written in Sinhala for the mass Sinhala market to educate them on the 1,2,3 of high finance by a maestro whose reputation precedes the book’s purchase. NEW LOOK NIVARD: Sporting ‘wannabe Mahinda’ moustache As a formal introduction, suffice to say that Fortune smiled on Nivard Cabraal, who was a UNP member of the Western Provincial Council from 1999 to 2004 after he embraced Mahinda Rajapaksa no sooner he became President in 2005. So impressed was Rajapaksa with the 41-year-old accountant that, in the following year, he made Nivard Governor of the Central Bank for his entire two terms, from 2006 to 2015. Gotabaya made Cabraal a national seat MP and State Minister of Finance with Basil as his Finance Minister following Mahinda’s exit from the post. He was made Central Bank Governor from 2021 September to 2022 April. The independent post came with cabinet rank, thus blurring the divide between politics and finance. Being in the thick of the action and presiding, during Mahinda’s term, over the decline and, during Gotabaya’s tenure, over the fall of the Lankan economy, no doubt, he is eminently qualified to write this first-hand account of how Lanka went bust and name the guilty men responsible for the ruination of its people. Being, as the book’s title suggests, ‘Among Economic Killers’, these confessional memoirs, writ with the accusing finger, perhaps, unwittingly pointed inward, must contain the author’s pain and anguish when the rain of milk and honey that had flowed nonstop, ceased to pour on him. Now in the blazing glare of the remorseless sun, has Nivard written his De Profundis while out on bail for the alleged killing of the economy, alone or with others? Or a Christie-style ‘who dun it’, with the cover revealing the secret? But the present hardships make access to a copy somewhat difficult. Its’ exorbitant paper-back price of Rs 2500 has put it beyond the reach of many.  Though aimed at a mass readership, it seems it’s targeted at a small esoteric cult of Rajapaksa worshippers. Perhaps, it’s only those that have drunk deep from the well of knowledge, who can truly fathom the depth and wisdom of Nivard Cabraal, who, incidentally, bears the rare honour of having been conferred by the Ramannya Nikaya, the grandiose title, ‘Desha Keerthie Lanka Putra’ for ‘his outstanding services to the country’s economy’. His book that relates his heady days of power with the Rajapaksa trio, Mahinda, Gota and Basil, with its cover showing four symbolic nooses strangling the island’s neck, also blames sinister foreign forces for Sri Lanka’s downfall, thus transforming the pedestrian pace of a drab economic tale into a racy international thriller, with subterfuge and deception thrown in for good measure. In an era of surprises, who knows, the book might even win the Booker prize next year for best fiction.