Four years ago, on a day like today, Mangala Samaraweera’s life journey came to an end. He was a politician, humanitarian, aesthete, and above all, my dearest friend. Four years ago, on a day like today, I received news of his passing. It was a message that pained me to the point that I could not put words to the extent of my sorrow. I still cannot. Four years have passed, but even now the shock reverberates through my heart, echoing with quiet grief.
How did Mangala become such an inseparable part of my life? This is a question that I have pondered off and on.
In politics, Mangala and I shared closely aligned ideologies. At times, there were differences of opinion on various matters, and yes, there were debates, sometimes heated arguments too, but in the end, we always had the ability to bring those disagreements to a place of mutual understanding.
What we shared went far beyond politics — it was a deep friendship built on warmth, loyalty, and trust. When political camaraderie and genuine personal friendship intertwine, it creates something rare and beautiful.
Even when our political views diverged, there was never even an iota of bitterness. What sustained us was that deep-rooted friendship, and the mutual respect we had for one another. That was the true foundation of our bond.
Mangala once wrote a note on my birthday: ‘I am yet to meet a friend as close to me as Krishantha is. I am yet to meet anyone who has had as many fights with me as Krishantha has. Perhaps because we are very close friends, he would get angry over the most trivial matter. He would shout in his deep voice and storm off. I would think “that’s it!” But his anger was like a bottle of soda that had just been opened. By morning, it’s gone. The inevitable SMS the following morning would tell me that the anger has been replaced by renewed and deeper friendship. We have had hundreds or even thousands of such fights over the years.’
That note he wrote about me is just as valid when spoken about him.
Mangala dreamt of a beautiful, diverse country and world — free from racism, religious extremism, or discrimination.
As a Minister, he made immense sacrifices to uplift Sri Lanka’s image on the international stage. The dark, dated portrayal of our country was reimagined by Mangala in full color. He helped the world see Sri Lanka
as a land of peace and reconciliation.
It was because of his diplomatic efforts that we saw record-breaking numbers of foreign visitors come to this country.
And at a pivotal moment in our nation’s history, when he was given the finance portfolio, he rose to the occasion with grace, even though that had never been his subject. The progressive budget Mangala introduced became a landmark moment in Sri Lankan history.
How did Mangala succeed so remarkably?
He had a unique vision — and more importantly, he knew how to empower capable people to bring that vision to life. He mastered the art of selecting the right individuals, trusting them, and giving them the
freedom to deliver. He truly understood the value of human talent, listened attentively, and treated people with respect.
Many politicians are surrounded by gatekeepers who build walls between them and the people. Mangala never tolerated such hollow characters. He made sure there were no curtains, between himself and professionals, friends, officials, or the public. Distance and division were not things that he tolerated, and he never allowed anyone close to him to create such things.
Mangala was a progressive, freedom-loving human being. He had a zest for life that was magnetic. He drew me in with his vision of a society that transcended nationalism and religious dogma. When flames of ethnic
tension threatened to spread in this country, Mangala stood, unconditionally, with the oppressed. What mattered to him was humanity and not someone’s race or colour. The vibrant world he dreamed of and
strived to create, there was space for everyone to live with dignity.
Mangala changed tradition. He never bowed down to power or wealth. That’s why people called him “Mangala, who never bowed his head.”
He was a political figure — but unlike many politicians, Mangala had no secret life. He lived openly and authentically. That made him different. That made him stand out. He acted in accordance with his conscience at all times, without exception. That conscience was his compass and no matter what the cost, he never betrayed it.
Mangala was a rare politician, also, in that he never responded to criticism or even virulent attacks with personal attacks. His responses were logical. He privileged reason over emotion. There was not a shred of
hatred in him, either in word or deed. He even smiled at those who unfairly judged him. It was as though he was amused or convinced that one day such people would realise they were wrong. Indeed, the more he
was criticized, the more honest and courageous he became.
It’s easy to see people drift away from politicians once their power fades. But no one who came close to Mangala ever left him.
Such was the vastness of his heart. With each passing day, there was more to learn, more to understand from him.
I believe Mangala was too great for this country. Or perhaps, this country never truly understood Mangala.
Maybe he carried some quiet disappointment about having to leave a land where many failed to grasp his worth.
But from the moment he passed away, people began to realize just how immense Mangala really was.
Some of the very words he was once criticized for are now being quoted as profound truths.
Tragically, it’s only after his passing that many are beginning to understand the truths Mangala spoke.
Mangala Samaraweera — a rare kind of politician — departed this life leaving behind a void, that cannot be filled.
The kind-hearted, loyal friend we knew as Mangala left us with a haunting thought in every critical moment:
“If only Mangala were here…”
I still remember how he once wished me for my birthday in 2020, saying:
“Take a break until this period of madness is over. The best days of the struggle are still ahead.”
That was when our motherland felt like forbidden ground for people like us.
But the friend who told me to wait until the right moment came, chose the eternal rest of life even before that moment arrived. The space he left behind, though, remains empty. Sadly.
Krishantha Prasad Cooray
