Devastation in the Hills: How a Landslide Erased a Family Legacy in Sri Lanka’s Tea Country
A Highland Community’s Tragic Loss in Unprecedented Disaster
In the misty highlands of Sri Lanka, where emerald tea plantations cascade down steep slopes and morning fog embraces centuries-old estates, the Karunanayake family had established their generational home. For over seven decades, they had weathered the monsoons that nourished the fertile soil of the central highlands, building their lives amid the undulating tea gardens that define this iconic Sri Lankan landscape. Three generations had planted their roots deep in a small hamlet nestled in the Nuwara Eliya district, known for producing some of the world’s finest Ceylon tea. But in a matter of minutes, the accumulated resilience of decades was overwhelmed when the region experienced what meteorologists are calling the most catastrophic storm system to hit the country in more than 30 years.
“We had seen heavy rains before, but nothing like this,” recounted Mahesh Karunanayake, the family’s 62-year-old patriarch, his voice breaking as he stood on the muddy precipice where his ancestral home once stood. “My grandfather cleared this land with his bare hands in the 1950s. My father expanded our holdings. I raised my children here. Now, there is nothing left.” The unprecedented deluge that struck in the early hours of a Wednesday morning transformed the usually gentle hillsides into deadly flows of earth and debris, sweeping away the cluster of homes that had housed seventeen members of the extended Karunanayake family. The landslide struck with such ferocity and speed that most residents had no time to evacuate, despite warning systems that had been implemented following previous, less severe disasters in the region.
Climate Change’s Intensifying Impact on Vulnerable Highland Communities
The devastation in Sri Lanka’s central highlands represents more than the loss of physical structures; it embodies a growing crisis faced by agricultural communities in mountainous regions across South Asia. Climate scientists and local environmental experts have long warned that the tea-growing highlands are increasingly vulnerable to extreme weather events exacerbated by climate change. Dr. Amali Jayawardene, a climatologist at the University of Colombo, explained that the region’s topography, combined with decades of intensive agricultural development and deforestation, has created conditions ripe for disaster when extraordinary weather events occur. “What we’re seeing is the collision of historical land use patterns with new climate realities,” Dr. Jayawardene said. “These hillsides were never meant to support the level of development we see today, and when we add increasingly intense rainfall patterns due to climate change, the results can be catastrophic.”
Statistical data supports these observations. Sri Lanka’s Meteorological Department recorded rainfall totals exceeding 300 millimeters (nearly 12 inches) in a 24-hour period during the storm—approximately what the region would typically receive in an entire month during monsoon season. For the communities living in these vulnerable areas, many of whom have been tea estate workers for generations, options for relocation are limited by economic constraints and deep cultural ties to the land. Priyanthi Karunanayake, Mahesh’s 35-year-old daughter and one of only five family members who survived the disaster, described the impossible choice faced by highland residents: “This is not just where we live; it’s who we are. Our identity is tied to these hills, to the tea. Where would we go? Who would we become?”
A Family’s Journey Through Sri Lanka’s Tea Industry Evolution
The story of the Karunanayake family parallels the evolution of Sri Lanka’s tea industry itself—an economic pillar that generates over $1.5 billion in annual export revenue and employs more than one million people directly and indirectly. Mahesh’s grandfather, Ananda Karunanayake, first came to the highlands in 1948, shortly after Sri Lanka’s independence from British colonial rule. Starting as a laborer on a British-owned tea estate, Ananda eventually saved enough to purchase a small plot of land adjacent to the plantation. His son, Sunil, expanded the family’s holdings during the nationalization period of the 1970s when large estates were broken up, providing opportunities for local farmers to acquire land. By the time Mahesh took over in the 1990s, the family had established a respectable small-holding tea operation, selling their high-quality leaves to larger processors while also maintaining subsistence crops for their own consumption.
“We have witnessed the transformation of this industry from colonial plantation to cooperative to the modern global business it is today,” Mahesh reflected. The family’s compound gradually grew to include separate homes for Mahesh’s three children and their families, creating a close-knit hamlet that was both residential community and working farm. This multigenerational approach to family living is common throughout Sri Lanka’s rural areas, where land scarcity and economic necessity often keep extended families in close proximity. For decades, this arrangement provided economic stability and social support for the Karunanayakes. Chaminda, Mahesh’s eldest son who perished in the landslide along with his wife and two children, had recently invested in organic certification for their tea, hoping to access premium markets and ensure the operation’s viability for the next generation.
Disaster Response and Humanitarian Crisis in the Aftermath
The immediate aftermath of the landslide revealed both the strengths and limitations of Sri Lanka’s disaster response capabilities. Military personnel and emergency services reached the affected areas within hours, but narrow mountain roads, continued rainfall, and the risk of secondary landslides complicated rescue and recovery efforts. “We could hear voices calling for help from beneath the mud for the first day,” said Lieutenant Colonel Ravindra Wickramasinghe, who led the initial military response team. “But after 48 hours, those voices fell silent. It became a recovery operation rather than a rescue.” The final death toll from the disaster that affected multiple hamlets across the region reached 164, with dozens still missing and presumed dead. More than 1,800 people were displaced, creating an immediate humanitarian crisis in an area with limited infrastructure.
In the largest evacuation center, a repurposed school building in Hatton town, Priyanthi Karunanayake has become an impromptu leader for displaced tea community members, helping to coordinate aid distribution and maintaining lists of missing persons. “Many of these families have lost everything—not just homes and loved ones, but also their livelihoods, their identification documents, their family heirlooms,” she explained while organizing donated supplies. International aid organizations including the Red Cross, World Food Programme, and various NGOs have mobilized to provide emergency assistance, but long-term recovery planning remains uncertain. The Sri Lankan government has pledged to develop a comprehensive resettlement plan for affected communities, though similar promises following previous disasters have sometimes resulted in protracted displacement situations that lasted years.
Rebuilding Lives and Landscapes: The Uncertain Path Forward
As the immediate emergency response transitions into long-term recovery efforts, affected families like the Karunanayakes face profound questions about their future. Government officials have indicated that certain high-risk areas may be permanently designated as unsuitable for human habitation, potentially preventing residents from rebuilding on their ancestral lands. “We understand the emotional connection to place,” said Nalin Fernando, Director of Sri Lanka’s National Building Research Organization. “But we must balance that against scientific assessments of risk. Some of these slopes simply cannot safely support human settlements given the new climate realities we face.”
For Mahesh Karunanayake, who lost not only his home but most of his family in the disaster, the path forward remains unclear. “How do you rebuild when what you’ve lost isn’t just walls and a roof, but the people who gave those places meaning?” he asked, gazing toward the scarred hillside that was once his family’s domain. Yet amid the profound grief, small signs of resilience emerge. Priyanthi speaks cautiously of new possibilities—perhaps relocating to a safer area while maintaining connection to tea cultivation through cooperatives, or developing new agricultural approaches better suited to changing climatic conditions. Local agricultural officials are exploring landslide-resistant farming techniques that could help stabilize vulnerable slopes while maintaining productivity. “We cannot bring back what was lost,” Priyanthi acknowledged. “But perhaps we can honor those we’ve lost by finding new ways to live with this land that has defined us for generations.” As Sri Lanka’s highland communities confront an increasingly unpredictable climate future, the story of the Karunanayake family stands as both a profound tragedy and a urgent call to reimagine the relationship between human settlement and vulnerable landscapes in the era of climate change.
