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It was the day after the Ides. The Ides of March, that is, the one that got Julius the Genius straight in the solar plexus.

But this was long, long after. Actually, it was the Year of our Lord Monkey Two Thousand and Twenty Five. It was the year when the governing high and mighty and their intellectual busybodies started counting coconuts instead of dollars, and the presiding marvels from the International Monkey Survivalist Fund (IMF for short, but certainly not for long, not as long as that swollen-headed trumpeter blows the universe to the Planet of the Apes).

Not to be diverted from our fundamental purpose, so to say, the monkeys that morning on the upper reaches of the Hanthane Range from which many a deal has been negotiated, especially since some thoughtful co-educationists decided that residential universities in glorious climes would certainly propagate intellectual maturity.

That is especially if two species domiciled in the forestry of Hanthane and the other in the halls of Hilda Obeysekera and Sangamitta would create an image of learning to equate with that of Nalanda, the ancient seat of learning in Bihar, India, so widely respected across the globe.

As the monkeys arrived in numbers at their place of congregation amid the serene surroundings of Hanthane, the trees rustled loud and a huge roar (if that is what is called a monkey applause) resonated throughout the hills.

Anybody spending the quiet morning at Ampitiiya exercising his overworked legs and his tortured soul after carrying his accumulated resources after years of sidestepping Inland Revenue might well have thought that the great crime-buster Deshabamboo had finally caught up with him on the incline to Ampitiya.

Some even ventured to add that this was indeed a Kandyan-style welcome to the great animal spotting innovator who had, after 75 years, at last found a way to track, trace and perhaps eliminate from our shores the pestilence that had deprived the food of our people and brought a newly elected government into disrepute and helped Ranil and Sajith kiss and make up like good Royal College chums in the shade of their fathers, as the college song rang out.

How wrong they could be, especially when they downplayed so badly the ingenious manipulations of their opponents and trickery of those who live in the trees, which our deputy minister of agriculture and livestock thought he was clever enough to unmask in five minutes.

Even the monkeys would not have forgotten that old song “Only five minutes more.” Having given himself and his merry men a meagre five minutes to identify four or five animal types and taken down their names and addresses in case some ‘patalayas’ were residents-in-hiding and might vote at the coming elections, the intrepid Namal Karuna shaved his timing to five minutes.

That was a sheer error of judgement for those he and his men were after, who had more brains than the collective grey cells of those who have adorned Diyawanna Oya without drowning. So now our new Namal Baba is singing a different tune. Not only is he hollering for more time but also asking that he be allowed to recall the words of that motheaten lyric “Give me five minutes more, only five minutes more/ Let me stay, let me stay, let me staaay.”

That is what all that celebration in the Hanthane hills was all about, nothing whatsoever to do with Kandyan thanks to Namal Baba for chasing the birds and bees from the Kandy Lake. In fact, the fear is, as I heard from those who were on duty to be counted and listed as pathalayas because they would not share their spoils with forces of law or whatever they might be called in this venture.

One might have read or heard Deputy Minister Namal Karunaratne say the other day that this survey or censor cannot be settled in one day. So okay, give him a little leeway. As we know, Rome was not built in a day. But that is no excuse for him to start backtracking even before the monkeys get their suits dry-cleaned and the peacocks could visit their hairdressers.

That’s a damned shame if you ask me. Just because some of these chaps don’t come from Colombo 7, where the fads spent their days and nights, while others climb the trees for their coconuts and bananas, is no reason for them to be deprived of their hairdo and their regular paediatry.

That takes us back to what went on in the Hanthane Hills, which reached us posthaste and early enough to make the late editions. As usual, the media that tried to blow up the thunderous noise in the hills had nothing to do with some monkeys tricks preplanned by monkeys and giant squirrels to embarrass the minister and the government.

Our information is that the thunderous noise that reverberated over the Hanthane was the arrival of Lord Monkey of Hanthane to announce what an abject the whole national exercise was with the whole population disturbed on a Saturday morning with all sorts of public officials on increased salaries rushing all over chasing monkeys, giant squirrels, peacocks and assorted politicians.

And there on the treetops, branches and the rooftops of renovated houses at state expense sat rows of monkeys with paper and pencil noting the hustle and bustle.

Lord Monkey of Hanthane descended to the branch and leaf-covered and said what we wanted to hear—what an abject failure it was from the standpoint of the animals.

But before that, he wanted the moneys to sing their national song, which went something like this:

“Monkeys say, monkeys do

Minister says, nobody do

Throw our coconuts on their heads

At least it might split their heads”.

After an exchange of ideas, it was decided to submit a memorandum to President AKD.

First on the list of demands is that hereafter all such surveys begin at Diyawanna Oya, the home of intelligence and Socratic thinking.

What more would the fast-thinking animals want? Another animal farm?

(Neville de Silva is a veteran Sri Lankan journalist who was Assistant Editor of the Hong Kong Standard and worked for Gemini News Service in London. Later, he was Deputy Chief-of-Mission in Bangkok and Deputy High Commissioner in London.)