by A Special Correspondent in Geneva
Two days ago the defamation case against Father Cyril Gamini, a spokesman for Cardinal Malcolm Ranjith, came before court and was postponed for another month. When the Catholic priest left the courthouse with a small entourage of associates and sympathisers, there was hardly any media presence. A few reporters approached the group and asked what had transpired. Gamini said nothing. Yet one of his companions loudly remarked, almost theatrically, “Let’s see, another Channel 4 documentary will come up soon on this issue too.” The remark was casual, perhaps even careless, but it carried an unmistakable undertone. It sounded less like speculation and more like a threat that yet another media spectacle would soon be unleashed upon the country.
Meanwhile, the government, which had promised during the election campaign to revive the inquiry into the Easter Sunday bombings, has taken a dramatic step. The former head of state intelligence has been taken into custody under the Prevention of Terrorism Act with the approval of President Anura Kumara Dissanayake. He has been placed under a ninety-day detention order. Only immediate family members may see him once a week, for an half an hour under strict supervision. His lawyers are permitted access every Wednesday. The questions that now arise are stark and unavoidable. Where is Azad Maulana, the central figure in the Channel 4 documentary that levelled grave accusations about the Easter bombings? And where is the retired investigator who appeared in the same documentary with his face hidden behind shadows and digital distortion? Who authored the script that turned a national tragedy into a televised drama, and why are its principal actors now silent?
Seven years after the carnage that tore through churches and hotels on Easter Sunday in April 2019, Sri Lanka remains trapped between competing stories. One is grounded in intelligence files, interrogations and evidence pointing to a network of Islamist extremists inspired by the Islamic State. The other insists that the bombings were the result of a hidden political scheme engineered to alter the outcome of a presidential election. The persistence of the second story has kept the country in a permanent state of suspicion. It has diverted attention from the ideological machinery that radicalised a group of young men and pushed them towards mass murder. It has also produced a procession of self-styled informants, political opportunists and foreign media productions eager to frame the atrocity as a cloak-and-dagger conspiracy.
The Easter attacks were not the work of faceless ghosts. They were carried out by individuals whose paths were known to investigators long before the explosions. The group was led by Mohamed Hashim Mohamed Zahran, commonly called Saharan, a fiery preacher whose extremist sermons had circulated for years. Intelligence agencies had documented his activities and those of his associates. Some of them had travelled abroad, maintained encrypted communications and expressed open admiration for the Islamic State. Others had attended religious gatherings where violent interpretations of scripture were promoted as sacred duty. These were not destitute men driven by hunger or despair. Many came from comfortable families and possessed foreign education or business connections. Their radicalisation was ideological rather than economic. The violence they unleashed was the culmination of a worldview cultivated over time.
Yet the public narrative took a strange turn almost immediately after the blasts. Conspiracy theories began to circulate within hours. Some voices suggested that foreign intelligence agencies had orchestrated the massacre. Others hinted that the attacks were designed to produce political advantage for certain candidates in the upcoming election. These claims spread rapidly through television debates, sermons and social media posts. The confusion served one purpose above all else: it shifted attention away from the networks of extremism that had taken root within parts of society.
Amid this confusion appeared the mysterious figure of “Abu Hind”. According to intelligence officials familiar with the matter, Abu Hind was not a real militant commander but a digital avatar created by Indian intelligence agencies. The account had been used to communicate with individuals influenced by Islamic State propaganda in South Asia. Such undercover identities are standard instruments in counter-terrorism operations. They allow investigators to monitor extremist conversations, gather information and map networks of potential attackers. Saharan and some of his associates apparently believed that Abu Hind was an Indian leader of the Islamic State. In reality the persona was a surveillance tool. The information obtained through that channel was reportedly shared between Indian and Sri Lankan authorities as part of ongoing security cooperation.
A second strand of the investigation concerned a young man known as Podi Saharan, whose real name was Fazrul Rahman Mohamed Saharan. Intelligence about him arrived from a Middle Eastern source in early 2019. Sri Lanka’s State Intelligence Service opened a file under the code name “Sonic Sonic”, a reference to the officer managing the dossier. The material suggested that Podi Saharan had maintained contact with the Easter bombing network and adhered to the same extremist ideology. He returned to Sri Lanka shortly before the attacks and was arrested afterwards. According to investigators, he provided information indicating that members of the group had prepared for further operations beyond Easter Sunday. The existence of such files and interviews demonstrates that the state possessed fragments of the puzzle before and after the tragedy, even if those fragments did not prevent the catastrophe.
Another individual whose story intersects with the bombers is Abdul Latif Jameel Mohamed. Born in 1982 and educated in Kandy, he travelled to Australia for work and later returned to Sri Lanka. During his time abroad he became radicalised and attempted to travel to Syria through Turkey. When that attempt failed he regrouped in Sri Lanka and established an organisation called Jamaate Millate Ibrahim, which promoted the ideology of the Islamic State. Intelligence reports on his activities reached the authorities as early as 2015. He was questioned by the Terrorism Investigation Division in 2018 but released after giving a brief statement. A year later he detonated himself in Dehiwala as part of the Easter assault. His trajectory shows how warnings about extremist figures circulated within the system yet failed to translate into decisive preventive action.
Into this already complex narrative stepped Azad Maulana, a man whose life story reads like a catalogue of contradictions. Born Mohamed Hanseer in the eastern district of Ampara, he studied at the University of Peradeniya and later became involved with political figures linked to the breakaway faction of the LTTE led by Karuna Amman. He served as a press secretary within that circle and moved through networks of power in the Eastern Province. Along the way he accumulated a reputation that ranged from political fixer to financial swindler. Complaints were reportedly lodged against him in several police stations over alleged fraud and personal misconduct. By the time legal pressure began to close in, he left the country and sought asylum abroad.
It was from that foreign refuge that Maulana emerged as the star witness in a Channel 4 documentary that alleged a secret plot behind the Easter bombings. In a recorded statement to an international human rights body he claimed that Sri Lankan intelligence officials had met members of the extremist group and allowed them to carry out the attacks in order to create an atmosphere of fear favourable to certain political actors. His account named senior figures, including Major General Suresh Sallay, then the head of the State Intelligence Service.
Those accused rejected the claims outright. Sallay responded through his lawyers, pointing out that he had been stationed in Malaysia during the period when Maulana alleged that secret meetings took place in Sri Lanka. Diplomatic records, he said, could confirm his presence abroad. He also stated that he had no connection whatsoever with the bombers or with any plan to facilitate their actions. The dispute quickly turned into a battle of narratives: on one side a man seeking asylum who portrayed himself as a whistle-blower, on the other side state officials who described his story as fabrication designed to protect himself from criminal liability.
The Channel 4 production gave Maulana’s claims global attention. Yet the documentary itself raised questions. The programme’s title was altered shortly before broadcast, shifting from a bold promise of revealing who was behind the attack to a more cautious suggestion that whistle-blowers alleged complicity. The change hinted at uncertainty within the production team. Critics argued that the film relied heavily on the testimony of individuals whose credibility had not been established through evidence. Supporters insisted that it exposed uncomfortable truths that the Sri Lankan state preferred to conceal.
The latest developments have deepened the uncertainty rather than resolved it. The arrest of the former intelligence chief under the Prevention of Terrorism Act marks a dramatic escalation in the government’s approach to the case. Detention under this law allows investigators to question a suspect for extended periods without formal charges. The decision signals that the authorities believe new lines of inquiry must be pursued. At the same time it raises concerns about whether the investigation is driven by evidence or by political pressure generated through media campaigns and public demonstrations.
The silence of Azad Maulana in this moment is striking. If his claims formed the backbone of a global documentary accusing the state of complicity in mass murder, one would expect him to appear before courts or investigators and provide the material that supports those claims. Instead he remains abroad. The same question applies to the retired investigator who appeared in the film with his face concealed. Anonymous testimony may create dramatic television, but it carries little weight in a court of law. Justice demands witnesses who are prepared to stand openly behind their words.
The conduct of sections of the Catholic Church also demands scrutiny. Cardinal Malcolm Ranjith has been one of the most vocal critics of the state’s handling of the Easter investigation. His insistence on accountability for the victims is understandable. Hundreds died or were injured in churches and hotels that morning. Families continue to grieve. Yet when the Church aligns itself with contested narratives promoted by individuals such as Maulana, it risks entangling a moral cause with questionable evidence. The pursuit of justice cannot depend on rumours, political theatre or television documentaries alone.
Sri Lanka’s tragedy lies not only in the bombings themselves but in the confusion that followed. Every competing narrative has chipped away at the search for clarity. Extremist ideology, institutional failures, political rivalry and international media interventions have merged into a tangle that obscures more than it reveals. The victims deserve something better than endless speculation.
The immediate challenge is simple: evidence must replace conjecture. If Azad Maulana possesses proof that state officials orchestrated the attacks, he should present it before a court under oath. If investigators believe that the former intelligence chief bears responsibility, they must demonstrate it through documents, communications and witness testimony that withstand scrutiny. And if the bombings were indeed the work of radicalised militants acting within their own ideological framework, then the country must confront the uncomfortable reality that such extremism grew within its borders.
Seven years have passed since the Easter blasts. The passage of time has not healed the wounds nor answered the central questions. Instead it has produced a theatre of accusations in which politicians, clergy, activists and foreign broadcasters compete to shape the story. The latest arrest and the continuing silence of the documentary’s protagonists show that the drama is far from over. Whether the coming months will bring clarity or merely another round of spectacle depends on whether those who claim to know the truth are finally willing to stand in the open and prove it.
