Colombo’s corridors of power are abuzz, and not in the usual way. Whispers swirl through coffee shops, WhatsApp groups, and even the guarded gates of Cinnamon Gardens: the long hand of the law might soon reach into the once-untouchable world of decorated war officers.
President Anura Kumara Dissanayake, speaking boldly from the United States before the Lankan diaspora, dropped a bombshell of his own: “One or two former Army officials will be arrested over the Easter Sunday attacks.” The room froze. The ripple hit Colombo within hours.
The Theatre of War Meets the Theatre of Politics
These aren’t just any officers—many of them were key players in the theatre of war, men who once carried the nation’s flag on the battlefield. Now, the same men fear that the courtroom spotlight might fall on them. Behind the scenes, panic and plotting are reported. One retired general, usually seen as unflappable, has been described as “visibly shaken.”
Meanwhile, the opposition politicos—never ones to waste a crisis—are rubbing their hands, calculating how to spin this turbulence into electoral gold. “If the military elite are dragged in, the government will bleed credibility,” one insider whispered.
A Trail of Erased Evidence
Dissanayake didn’t mince words: he accused past rulers of burying evidence, concealing facts, and manipulating files to derail justice. According to him, suspects of the 2019 blasts not only escaped scrutiny but even rose to powerful positions soon after.
The CID, often accused of being more loyal to masters than to truth, has seen its own skeletons dragged into the light. Recent arrests of its officers point to sabotage from within—making the case less like a standard investigation and more like a political thriller.
The Gossip Forecast
Army circles are bracing for impact, with talk of “sacrificial lambs” and backroom deals. Opposition headquarters are plotting how to amplify every arrest into a rallying cry. The President is banking on the gamble that going after sacred cows will prove his seriousness about justice.
But Colombo’s cocktail parties and street corners alike are asking the same thing: is this the dawn of accountability—or just another act in Sri Lanka’s never-ending drama of power and betrayal?