A Chat by the Kandy Lake with Sir John D’Oyly

Lanka Newsline Exclusive: A Chat by the Kandy Lake with Sir John D’Oyly
By Our Special Correspondent

KANDY – It’s not every day that you get to interview a British colonial officer who’s been dead for nearly 200 years. But Lanka Newsline is always up for a challenge. Under the shade of an old Nuga tree by Kandy Lake, a mysterious figure emerges—dressed in an immaculate white suit, his face pale, eyes sharp, and posture stiff with an air of British formality.

We sip on a cup of Ceylon tea, and with a sigh, Sir John D’Oyly settles into his chair, gazing at the lake he once walked beside in a different era.

The Kandyan Convention (also known as the Kandyan Treaty) was signed on March 2, 1815 between the British and the Kandyan chiefs, officially handing over the Kandyan Kingdom to British rule masterminded by John Doyly .The date is somewhat disputed but lets live with it  and move on.

Q&A With Sir John D’Oyly

Lanka Newsline (LN): Welcome, Sir John! You look… surprisingly well for someone who passed away in 1824.

Sir John D’Oyly (D’Oyly): Ah, yes, death has its advantages. No more malaria, no paperwork, and I finally get to enjoy Kandy in peace—without all those nobles arguing in my ear.

LN: Speaking of nobles, let’s cut to the chase. Did you or did you not forge Ehelepola’s signature on the Kandyan Convention?

D’Oyly: Oh dear, straight to the scandalous bits, I see! Look, I merely ensured that the “right signatures” were on the document. Ehelepola had defected, he wanted the King gone, and well—paperwork can be quite a flexible thing, don’t you think?

LN: So, that’s a yes?

D’Oyly: Let’s just say, history was written by those who held the pen… or in this case, the treaty.

LN: You spent years learning Sinhala and winning the trust of the Kandyan chiefs. Did you ever feel guilty about how it all ended?

D’Oyly: Guilt is a luxury for those who fail. I did my job. The Kingdom was already crumbling under its own weight. I simply gave it a polite nudge towards British rule. Was it betrayal? Some would say so. But politics, my friend, is just chess with real people.

LN: And yet, after all your political victories, you never returned to England. Why?

D’Oyly: Ah… England. Cold, gray, and terribly damp. Here, in Kandy, I was someone of importance. There? Just another bureaucrat. Besides, I rather liked my walks by this very lake—before you lot turned it into a tourist attraction.

LN: You were knighted in 1821. What was it like being Sir John D’Oyly?

D’Oyly: Oh, utterly pointless! No grand feasts, no castles. Just a fancy title and a reminder that I had done my duty. Knighthood in Ceylon was more of a “Well done, old chap, now carry on” than anything glamorous.

LN: Let’s talk about Gajaman Nona, the famous poetess. There are rumors that you were rather… fond of her?

D’Oyly (chuckles): Ah, the lady had a way with words. Brilliant mind. A tragic life. She sought my help, and I gave what I could—a village, some relief. Love affair? No, no, I was far too busy toppling kingdoms to entertain such things. But I dare say, if she had written poems about me, they’d be far kinder than what the Kandyans say!

LN: And then, in 1824, you died rather suddenly. Some say illness, others claim… loneliness?

D’Oyly: Illness? Likely. Loneliness? Perhaps. But let’s be honest, I had outlived my usefulness. The British got what they wanted, the Kandyans lost what they had, and I was left wandering between two worlds, belonging to neither. Maybe that’s why I never quite left Kandy—even in death.

LN: Last question, Sir John. If you could do it all over again—would you?

D’Oyly (pauses, looking at the lake): History doesn’t allow rewrites. But if it did… I might have saved one or two friendships instead of signing away a kingdom.

LN: A diplomatic answer to the very end! Thank you, Sir John.

As the wind picks up, D’Oyly tips his hat, gives a knowing smile, and slowly fades away into the misty morning air—leaving behind only the echoes of an empire, a treaty, and the ghosts of history.