Beating Adversity
Rising Stronger, Wiser, and Braver
The story contains sexual violence.
The preface
This is the story of a fortunate boy who relied on his stoic spirit and grit to heal and live a fulfilling life. It is the story of a brave teenager who dared to overcome adversity. It is a riveting yet painful tale, but ultimately a story of triumph. Sadly, not all young boys survive this trauma, and many struggle with recovery and healing. I dedicate this story to them.
The messiness of recovery is often left unspoken as society tends to view it as a contained and discrete experience. It’s assumed that once it’s done, it’s done, and you carry on with your life.
If you dare to read a life-altering tale, then look no further. It is about human resilience. It is written with no holds barred. It is graphic, but it must be told. The story is authentic and needs to be told in its entirety with the details, warts, and all.
It is a story for the enlightened.
It is divided into six parts. I recommend that you read all of them. You can read them in smaller increments if it is more convenient.
Part 1 — A Boy’s Innocence
I am Denzil, and I was fourteen. The school holidays lasted a month, and I was home with my family.
During the school term, I lived in a Christian Brothers’ formative boarding school where my carers were Christian brothers.
During the last school term, I learned to swim and loved the feeling of water at the beach next to the boarding. Two weeks into the holiday, I missed the water and wanted to experience it again. I bought a pair of new swim briefs and was impatient to wear them. So, I packed my spanking swim briefs and towel and headed by bus to the only beach I knew, next to the boarding school in the north of Colombo.
The boarding was empty, with my fellow borders away at their homes enjoying the holidays with their families.
It was a beautiful sunny day in tropical Sri Lanka. There was nobody on the beach. I changed into my new swim briefs, feeling good about my swim gear. I practised swimming and floating in the pristine blue sea, alone in the shallow water; it was lovely and quiet.
After about an hour, I exited the water and changed into my towel. I washed off the sand from my precious swim briefs in the seawater. With no showers at the beach, I headed to the boarding to shower in the communal bath before returning home. I was wearing my white towel but nothing underneath.
I entered the empty building from the open main door. As I was going toward the shower room, the Christian brother in charge of the boarding, Evander, appeared from nowhere. He came towards me with a big smile and greeted me.
Now a bit about Evander: Evander was the director of the boarding school, the absolute authority of the forty-five-odd students. He had a way of charm with the boys. He had taught them to call him Abba. Abba, in biblical stories, meant father. He implied that he was a caring father to the young boys. The routines in the boarding included daily mass and constant prayer. Complete this with the innuendo of a holy father; he was the God-given ruler to all boys in the boarding. Evander drummed into the boys that they were in his care in the boarding. The boys respected his authority and trusted him without question.
Evander encouraged the boys to report any injuries from soccer. He treated minor sprains of the young boys with his hands, rubbing a pain reliever cream on our legs after our showers. The treatments were done in his room, one boy at a time.
Having obtained the trust of young boys, Evander regularly asked a few boys to sleep in his room. He slept on his bed while we boys slept on our mats on the ground. He touched our shoulders and neck while we slept. We did not know any better and tolerated this strange habit. After all, he was our divine Abba of religious flavour.
Back to that day after the swim, I felt hesitant when Evander pulled a chair and asked me to sit on his lap. I sat despite feeling uneasy, thinking of the inferred trust of the carer role he was in, the Abba.
On his lap, Evander kept hugging me. Within a minute, he pulled my towel away. I was now naked on his lap, confused and helpless. With nobody around, he had complete control over me. He then pulled my penis on his belly button. He lifted me and took me to his room, where he rubbed himself on my legs.
A few seconds later, a bucket of liquid fell on me with a strange smell. It was Evander’s gross semen fluid, something I learnt later. With no sexual experience, the fourteen-year-old me was dumbstruck.
Evander suddenly felt embarrassed. He took me to the shower and cleaned me with a towel. I ran to my locker in the dormitory, changed and left the building immediately. On my bus ride home, I was in utter confusion. I could not wholly grasp what Evander did. I knew it was wrong but did not know any better.
On arriving home, I was pretty upset. I did not know how to process what had happened. I pretended I was okay in an era when parents and the young did not discuss sexual matters. I did not even know whether it was a sexual matter. Confused and with difficulty, I went on about my everyday life In the nights, I kept thinking about what Evander did and tried to figure it out. All I did was create more confusion and uncertainty. It was tough for a fourteen-year-old.
Part 2 — Criminal Reign and a Boy’s Struggle
School holidays came to an end. Reluctantly I returned to the boarding school in a confused state. I did not know where to turn for advice. I felt I was going to prison.
Evander pretended everything was normal between him and me. He continued his ‘Abba’ theory, thus obligating the innocent boys and calling himself ‘father’. He ordered boys to address him as ‘father’ or ‘තාත්තා’ in Sri Lankan. I could not reconcile this aberration, a distortion of the truth. He pretended he was the omnipresent carer.
On hot summer days, it was warm in the dormitory. On Fridays, Evander arranged for selected boys to sleep in the summer house on the beach’s edge on the pretext of cooler fresh air. On his orders, boys carried mats and pillows and slept in the summer house. Evander himself slept among the boys.
In the summer house, in the middle of my sleep, I found Evander beside me, rubbing his penis on me. I went into limbo, not sure what I was supposed to do. Everyone, the under-age boys, was fast asleep. Within a short time, which seemed like a lifetime, his slimy liquid was all over my legs.
The next morning, Evander came to me smiling and whispered, “Denzil, go to the priest and make your confession”. By that notion, he implied I was guilty of what he did to me. My legs were dry but sticky; I hated myself for what he did to me. I was furious. I was fucking mad. What kind of religion was this? What a digression of the so-called ‘confession’! Did he think I was an equal partner in the crime forced on me? What a warped mind!
That broke the camel’s back for me. I did not go for confession. I was determined not to fall into his prey anymore. I started ignoring him, protecting myself from him. Yet, I did not speak with any of the boys about what he did to me. I had no insight to process this horrible paedophile crime. It was a period of utter desolation.
Fortunately for me, the criminal, Evander, was suddenly transferred out of the boarding school. He was leaving for India on a study tour within a short period. Good riddance, I thought. I was happy for the devil to depart. Brother Chamuel, his deputy, was appointed as his replacement and became the brother director of the boarding.
Before his departure to south India, Evander gave his address in India to the boys, his so-called children. He implored them to write to him. He repeatedly said that he would miss them.
I struggled with everything that had happened with Evander. My school grades dropped. Before these two incidents, I had good grades. My study grades were good. I was among the top three students in my grade. With the trauma of sexual violence reverberating, I found it hard to do well in my studies. Studies became a blur. I could not retain anything.
Luckily, I had many amazing friends among my classmates in the college where I studied. They liked me for what I was, and I liked them. They were daring and always on the go, but I never shared my difficulties. Their camaraderie played an unwitting role in inspiring me despite my setbacks. Hangouts with them helped me to deal with my mess. Note: The college where I studied was different to the boarding school where I stayed. Christian brothers ran both. The boys in the college were homeboys who travelled daily from home and were different from the boys from the boarding school. The boys in the boarding were submissive or had been made subverts with religious fervour, while the homeboys in college were fun-loving and normal.
Gradually, I came to process what had happened to me with Evander. I grew up fast.
I wanted to fight back and confront Evander, now away in India. In extreme fury, I bought an aerogram for eighty cents and wrote a stinking letter to Evander. I wrote to him that he was a big cheat and that he fooled me, pretending to be a father figure. I wrote that he was but a sexual pervert. I was fed up with the boarding and was going home. To hell with their stinking religious order. He could keep it and shove it. And I posted the aerogram to India from a post-box next door to the boarding school.
I continued my everyday business, still fuming about what had happened. I did not care about the boarding school or Chamuel, the new director in charge. I was planning to dislodge myself from boarding.
About a month after my letter was posted to India, I had a tap on my shoulder. Chamuel wanted to have a private chat with me. So he took me to his room upstairs and sat me opposite him.
“I know that a terrible thing has happened to you by Evander. He is very sorry about what happened; Evander wrote to me asking to help you,” Chamuel said.
I had no reply to this revelation by Chamuel. I tried to process this new development.
I said, “I am upset; I don’t want to be here anymore.”
Chamuel went on. “I will help you; trust me, Denzil”.
“You have a bright future here. If there is anything I can do to help you get over this, I will,” Chamuel continued.
I said nothing.
“It will help if you don’t discuss this with anyone else”.
I had no answer to that.
When I came down and sat at my desk, the boys looked at me, wondering what this sudden and unplanned meeting with Chamuel was about.
I was fast losing interest in continuing in the boarding. I felt I did not belong there. I wanted to go home. I did not know how to leave the boarding. I was done. I will leave one day; I was determined.
Part 3 — Fightback begins
Humans innovate through adversity.
I wanted to spend more time with my family. I had to find a way to be away from the boarding school. I wrote a brief letter to my father through Elmo, a fellow homeboy student from my college who lived a few houses from my home, that I wanted to come home for the weekend. My father sent a letter in return through Elmo addressed to Chamuel to send his son home for a ‘family event’. When I gave that letter to Chamuel, he had no option but to permit me to go home on that Friday after school.
I enjoyed three days of bliss at home, playing with my sister and brother and the neighbours’ kids. My mother and grandmother, Kadayamma, made delicious dishes to feed me. With hesitation, I returned to the boarding school on Monday.
Chamuel continued to check on me with one-on-one meetings. It was done privately in his room, away from the others. He continued to offer help without specifying what that help was. At one of those meetings, he asked me a weird question about my foreskin. It was a strange question. I was defiant and refused to answer him.
Sometime after that episode, I was infected with terrible flu. I became weak. As a result, I got thin but taller in a matter of days. I remember this vividly because while suffering from the flu, I gained one inch in height from 5’ 3” to 5’ 4” in a few days.
Chamuel relocated me to the sick bay, where I slept away from the other boys. Sickbay was far from the main dormitory but closer to Chamuel’s room.
While in the sick bay, I felt a hand on my penis in the middle of the night. I woke up. It was pitch dark except for dim light. I saw Chamuel’s bald head illuminated by the dim light at the edge of my bed. He took his hand off my body and claimed that he had come to check on me. Despite my weak state, I knew what he had come for.
Chamuel never visited me at my bedside after that episode. And I recovered in a matter of a few days.
I knew my days were over at the boarding school. Evander and Chamuel were child abusers. Both worked in concert. I wanted nothing to do with them or with their religious order. I thought, “I am out of here”. But, of course, that was easier said than done.
I kept up the habit of going home every alternate week on various pretexts. That was my escape. My college friend, Elmo, played a significant role in relaying messages to my father that helped me have enjoyable weekends and steer clear of the unhappiness of living in the boarding school. My family was delighted to have me at home regularly.
The general certificate of examination was coming near the end of that year in grade 10. But my priority was not the exam but getting out of the wrecked institute. So, despite my troubled state, I sat for the exam without any preparations.
I came home for the Christmas-long holidays, determined not to go back. I was now fifteen years old.
I revealed my decision to leave the boarding school during a conversation with my father. My mother was also present for the discussion. However, I lacked the maturity to explain the specific reasons behind my decision to leave the religious institute. I cautioned my father that Chamuel might attempt to persuade him to keep me there using various excuses. Nonetheless, I made it clear that my choice was definitive, and I had no intention of returning to the institution.
Without hesitation or doubt, my decision was supported by my parents. I consider that a brave decision. In Catholic circles, there was a tendency to judge families if their children abandoned religious formation. It was seen as an act of rebellion against God’s will.
Thankfully, my parents only thought of their son’s well-being, not the societal norms and what others might think of them.
Before the new term started, my father accompanied me to the boarding school for the final time. As I predicted, Chamuel pleaded with us both to reconsider the decision. He offered me an option to stay home as long as I liked. He proposed that I could return any day I wished to return. My father bluntly told him that the decision to leave was final and that it was not for negotiation.
Delighted, I packed my blue Ford suitcase with clothes and schoolbooks. My father hailed a Morris Minor taxi, paying a fare of Rupees 2.50, and we returned home.
That was the beginning of redemption in my life. I came home, confident and liberated, away from the shackles of a corrupt religious institute. What would have happened had my father or mother refused to move me from the wretched institution? My life would have taken a very different turn. I still think of that scenario.
Part 4— Recovery begins with support.
At home, I felt liberated, free, and happy. I took charge of my life and promised myself to live it out. I determined I would never allow past incidents to dictate my future — a big promise for a 15-year-old.
I restarted my studies. I wanted to study accounting at a private University, bypassing high school. I did not allow my less-than-ideal marks at the general certificate examination to stop my dream. I decided to go back to year ten and re-sit my exam again.
Staying Back a year in school was easy. Study subjects were effortless the second time around. I was not distressed like I was last year. My grades came back.
I was fortunate to have developed an incredible friendship with one of my classmates, Ajit Martin. He was outgoing and fun-loving, and we quickly grew close and became the best of friends. His love for life was infectious. We had a great time in class, sharing stories and listening to his yarns and adventures. We deeply cared for each other and looked for one another’s well-being.
When Ajit fell ill with measles, I didn’t hesitate to take the two-hour train ride to visit him, despite the risk of infection. Our bond was so strong that I knew I had to be there for him. He was a pillar of support for me, especially during my recovery from the mental trauma I had experienced, for I hid nothing from him.
During the next school holidays in April, I visited Ajit’s home and stayed over. His home was a home of action, laughter, and fun. His parents, brothers, and sister were vibrant and warm. I felt that I was part of their family. With my parents’ permission, I took a holiday with the Martin siblings, staying at his mother’s home in the hill country. The Martin siblings were a fearless lot and always dared to do things. There was not a single dull moment during our holiday. We walked in the adjoining tea gardens enjoying the lush scenery. Whenever Ajit and I could, we dodged his younger brothers and smoked. When we came across natural water streams, we skinny-dipped without a care for the world.
Back at college, I spent most afternoons hanging out with my classmates, who became my friends. Suddenly, I was a normal boy looking for the next adventure. I visited my friends’ homes, and their loving mothers fed me delicious meals. We attended inter-school cricket and soccer matches and spent time at the libraries. I continued my love for reading, devouring English novels, particularly those of the saucy and detective genres. In addition, I found myself reading many American magazines, including Time, Newsweek, Readers Digest, and even Playboy. I felt drawn to the latter as if it was a biological need that I couldn’t resist.
Wow, during this period, my English language skills improved tremendously! I felt like a superstar when I nearly won a scholarship to the USA on a student exchange program. I represented the college in the country’s handwriting competition. I won prizes on the quiz shows that were broadcasted on national radio. My self-confidence grew so much that I was learning to fly high. I felt like I was on top of the world! Quiet confidence was my KING, my ticket to the game.
Not only did my language skills improve, but I also noticed some changes in my body. I felt attracted to beautiful girls and boys and loved being myself. I felt comfortable in my skin and was learning to express myself through fashion. I carefully picked out my clothes and found a tailor who made me feel like a million bucks.
With all my worldly exposures, I became more independent and confident by the day. My interest in Western music expanded, and I became obsessed with English and American pop stars. I would listen to English music channels on my Sony transistor radio in the evening until I fell asleep — all of these, at home, among my parents, siblings and grandmother.
I also became a movie buff, watching many movies with my friends. I admit I was particularly interested in movies with saucy scenes. My classmates and I even snuck into some ‘adults only’ movies, feeling like we were breaking all the rules!
Despite all these new and exciting experiences, I still made time for the simple things in life. I saved up my pocket money and bought myself a bicycle. That bike became one of my most prized possessions, and I loved riding it around my home village and hanging out at the local sports ground. Life was good!
Art was more than just a hobby for me; it was a passion. Whenever I had free time, I would grab my pencils and watercolours and get lost in my world. My unique and self-taught drawing style allowed me to express myself in a way that words could not. It was my escape and finding solace in the beauty of art.
But of course, I couldn’t spend all my time indoors. During the next school break, I vacationed again in the breathtaking hill country with my best friend Ajit and his siblings. We continued to be carefree teenage boys seeking adventure and thrills wherever we could find them. We swam in reservoirs, fished, smoked and watched movies. It was a time of pure freedom and joy, and I felt so alive.
Back at college, I discovered a new talent for mediating and facilitating among my friends. Whenever there was a silly argument or a disagreement, I would step in to help repair their boyhood relationships. I even kept a contact book with everyone’s details and became a natural organiser, planning social events like movies, cycling trips, and weekend visits to friends’ homes or other venues. Bringing people together and creating fun memories was a source of great satisfaction.
Growing up as the eldest child in my family, I had responsibilities to fulfil. I helped with household chores and accompanied my younger brother to school every morning. I took charge of the grocery shopping, feeling a sense of pride in my independence, but it wasn’t all work and no play. I cherished the school bus rides with my friends and hung out with my friends from my home village.
At home, I was loved and cared for, especially by my father, who always looked out for me.
But it wasn’t just my family who had my back. My friend Ajit Martin was like a guardian angel. Even though he was a year younger, he knew about my past and accepted me for who I was. His unwavering friendship opened a whole new world for me, full of hope and wonder. We explored the world together, marvelling at its beauty and endless possibilities.
As a determined and resilient teenager, I refused to let the demons of my past haunt me. I was confident in my abilities and had a strong family and friends support system. So, leaving the Christian boarding school behind, I entered the world with a newfound freedom.
I leapt into the wild. I lit a bonfire of my life in the Christian Brothers boarding school. I rose anew. I was reborn, stronger, and more resilient than ever before.
I refused to let the organised punks of that religious order defeat me. I had conquered their cruelty and emerged victorious. Goodness always triumphs over evil; I was a living example of that.
This is my story of overcoming adversity, of never giving up in the face of adversity. And it doesn’t end here. In the next chapter of my story, I’ll share how I fought for another boy in desperate need. Stay tuned for more.
Part 5 — Helping others helped me.
After I left the Christian Brothers boarding school, something happened with my classmate, Richard. He was a good-looking boy with a bright smile, and we had been friends since middle school. Interestingly, our mothers were also friends and somewhat related. However, while I now travelled from home daily to attend the same class as Richard, he was still a resident at the boarding school I left behind.
I noticed that Richard’s behaviour had changed a lot lately. He became quiet and withdrawn, not his usual self. I often found him lost in thought, staring blankly. He also stopped paying attention in class, and his grades began to drop.
Seeing my friend Richard struggling and disoriented, I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. So, I decided to act and talk to him to see what was happening.
With tears in his eyes, he disclosed that Chamuel, from the boarding school, had been abusing him for months. Richard was helpless to stop it. I knew the drill. I fucking flew into a rage. My suppressed anger about my life in the boarding school came out in the open in the only way I knew.
Without wasting any time, I sprang into action and decided to take matters into my own hands. I didn’t tell anyone about my plans. After coming home from college that day, I hopped on my bicycle and rode to Richard’s home, regardless of the distance I had to cover through multiple suburbs. Kids know best to help each other. It is in our DNA.
When I reached there, his mother was shocked to see her son’s friend showing up unannounced. I pulled her aside in the kitchen and shared my concerns about what was happening to Richard in the boarding school. I did not know to give explicit details, but I begged and implored her to bring my friend home immediately. Richard’s mother was upset after hearing about her son’s situation at the boarding school.
Soon after my visit, Richard’s parents brought him home. Much later, I found out that Richard’s father had confronted Chamuel and even threatened to hit him, which is unsurprising. Which father wouldn’t?
After returning home, Richard left the school. I know he struggled to catch up on his studies for two years and make up for the lost time. He eventually managed to get back on track and overcome those challenges.
At the time, young as I was, I was unaware I had rescued my friend from harm’s way. In retrospect, I believe any youngster would have done the same for a friend. Having gone through the trauma of sexual abuse just a year ago with Evander and, to a lesser extent, with Chamuel, I understood the impact it could have on a young boy’s psyche.
Intervening to rescue my friend not only helped Richard but also helped me. It helped me exorcise past terrors and accelerated the healing process.
After that incident, Richard and I grew closer. He visited me regularly at my home, and our friendship continued to blossom. We shared a special bond that was strengthened by the experience we had gone through together.
Now, this is the thing that made me raving mad. Much later, Richard told me that Evander had groomed and abused him. That bastard, Evander, gave Richard a love note: “I love you”. The paedophile had written in his own blood, a deliberate and criminally inspired act to confuse and manipulate a young boy. Evander was the carer in charge of Richard. Evander was thirty-eight then, and Richard was a pubescent boy of only fourteen. Imagine a 38-year-old manipulator writing a love letter to a 14-year-old with his blood. Could a pubescent young boy of fourteen handle this aberration? A warped mind of a 38-year-old child abuser! A gross violation of a child’s right to an innocent childhood!
I write this part of this survival story so the world would know how mentally deranged paedophiles had complete control over innocent students and groomed many for their sexual pleasure. These serious, punishable crimes should have resulted in long prison sentences in countries with proper justice systems.
Richard and I are the lucky ones. We are the winners, defying adversity. From a survivor, I became a rescuer. From victims, we became the victors.
Defying enemies and standing up for oneself and friends at a young age can generate immense power and strength within a person. Unknowingly, I reached for that power, which has played a significant empowering role in my life.
By the time I turned sixteen, my past no longer defined me. I didn’t want to be a victim, and I didn’t want to dwell on what had happened to me. Even though I went through much trauma in my early years, I was able to leave it behind, thanks in large part to my father. His unconditional love and support allowed me to move forward and enjoy my childhood. My best friend, Ajit, was also a huge help. He was always there for me, showing me kindness and acceptance when needed. Thanks to them, I was able to heal and become the person I am today.
Since that incident, I have had a wonderful life, both personally and professionally, achieving things that others only dream of. I have raised four amazing children who are thriving and have lived a full-on life, experiencing all this world has to offer.
This amazing world has become my oyster, and I have taken every opportunity to explore and discover things. All these experiences have made me the person I am today.
I am very vocal about what happened to me as an innocent child, and I refuse to be ashamed. The shame belongs to those who inflicted pain and suffering. I am proud of myself for standing up for what was right.
Today, I have become a goodwill ambassador to everyone I come across, spreading honesty and love wherever I go. I want to inspire others to stand up for themselves and their friends, just like I did.
Despite living in different parts of the world, Richard and I remain lifelong friends. He often thanks me for saving his life from the clutches of evil, but I don’t think much of it. It was my duty as a friend, and that’s what friends are for — to stand by each other no matter what.
Back to my family, I never dared to tell my parents what happened to me in that dreaded institute. They were devout Christians who had already gone through so much heartbreak by sending me away to boarding school. I didn’t want to cause them any more pain. Despite being very close to my father, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him because I knew it would break him terribly.
Only later did I discover that my father had cried inconsolably after dropping me off at the Christian Brothers’ boarding school when I was 12. I was there until I turned 15. Not all four years were bad; the first two years were good, and I was taken care of by two great Christian brothers, one of whom became a role model for me. But that does not take away the fact that the Catholic church also had monsters waiting to devour small innocent children.
Part 6— Epilogue
Eleander was the mastermind behind the crimes committed, and Chamuel was his accomplice and, finally, an abuser himself. They worked together to protect each other.
Eleander was 38 years old when these crimes were committed. These were not impulsive actions but were calculated and planned against a vulnerable set of children under their command.
Eleander set up the environment so that he could take advantage of innocent children. He schemed and separated the senior boys from the more junior boys by relocating them to a different dormitory in a separate wing. This allowed him to isolate and target the pubescent boys, who were less likely to understand what was happening to them. It’s deeply troubling to think about the level of manipulation and planning that went into these heinous crimes.
It is sickening to think that Eleander used religion as a cover to groom the innocent boys into believing that he is a caring father to them. He even used biblical words such as ‘Abba’ and asked boys to call him ‘Father’.
Elander encouraged pubescent boys to visit him and massaged them under the pretext of healing their sports-induced injuries. Boys trusted him and were innocent in going to his room to receive treatment, one boy at a time. He was alone with each boy. He did this to earn their trust and to explore how far he could go with them.
These actions should have evoked suspicion in his deputy, Chamuel, 34. He chose to look the other way. He was an indirect accomplice to these crimes. Chamuel’s bedroom was next to Elander’s, separated by a single wall. There was no way Chamuel would not have observed what was going on next door.
Elander encouraged the boys to sleep in the summer house. Taking the boys out in the open at night with mats and pillows to another building should have evoked serious suspicions among the rest of the Christian brothers. With his authority over the boys, none of them could refuse his command. At least thirty Christian brothers in the adjoining buildings chose to look the other way.
Elander had been abusing multiple boys at the same time. I was not a one-off victim. I only learned what he had done to Richard after I left the institute. There would have been many more.
Chamuel
Chamue, 34, could not have been blind to Elander’s crimes.
Elander was suddenly transferred out of the boarding school. Perhaps there was some suspicion of Elander’s fondness for young boys in the wider circle of the Christian hierarchy. Elander might have been transferred and sent to India to cover up an issue that may have come to the attention of the order. The authorities decided to hand the reins to Chamuel, the fox, waiting for his turn to prey.
When Chamuel came to me on the pretext of helping after I wrote a scathing letter to Elander in India, it was done not to help me but to protect his paedophile pal. By asking me to keep quiet, he was protecting the criminal. Elander would have had Chamuel’s implicit trust to involve him in covering up the crime. It demonstrates their partnership in crime. Covering up a crime is also a CRIME.
Chamuel was also a paedophile. His question to me about my genitals was inappropriate. Trying to touch me while I was sick, he demonstrated his criminal intent and twisted sexual desires.
What Chamuel has done to Richard is terrible. I came to know Richard’s situation only because I was his friend. I then came to know that Elander, too, had abused Richard. So it was double jeopardy that innocent Richard had to deal with.
Other victims
I listened to many stories from the other boys who were in the facility at the time. Hernan was another boy whom Chamuel repeatedly abused. He tried to leave the boarding school when he could not escape Chamuel. He could not tell his parents the truth. They discouraged him from leaving the institute. In a few years, the lad had no option but to reluctantly become a Christian brother in the same institute that violated him. He continued in the religious order and became an alcoholic and unhappy man. He said the worst part of his life was being forced to sit opposite his abuser. His body and soul were ravaged by mental trauma from the sexual violence he endured as a young teenager. He died in 2018 from his alcohol-induced illness. He was a physically and mentally wasted man with a lifetime of agony. He must have carried a terrible burden on him his whole life. I knew him as an innocent pubescent boy from age 13.
Hernan told me his story with tears in his eyes when I met him shortly before his death. His blood is on these criminals.
Chamuel was far more abusive in his sexual pervasions with the innocent boys. He had been an aggressive pursuer of the boys. These incidents took place after I left the rotten institute. In the middle of the night, he came to the boys’ beds in the dormitory and carried his victims in full view of the other boys to his room. I have witnesses who have seen these scenes.
Most of the abused boys were from financially disadvantaged backgrounds. They could not refuse Chamuel’s advances. The poor parents could not afford to take them back. Some boys, now men, claim that the molesters fed, clothed and educated them. This is how boys are silenced and remain mute in manhood. These two monsters destroyed many young, innocent lives. I have no idea where some of the victims are today, but I hope they managed to redeem their lives.
All these actions are wilful multiple paedophile crimes on vulnerable children. They were sexual assaults. The crimes include wilful pre-meditated child grooming. Both paedophiles should have been jailed and banned from going anywhere near children for life. These are internationally proscribed crimes.
Sri Lanka is a country that does not openly discuss and address these types of difficult issues. But I am hopeful that will change in time. I hope child abuse will become a thing of the past and that new generations will be saved from such horrific crimes.
Richard and a few boys at the boarding school, now in their sixties, collaborated with me on the events described.
Thank you for reading this story of resilience.
My lessons
Victimhood wasn’t my narrative. I refused to believe the abuse was my fault, to wallow in self-pity, or to let others define me. My past wouldn’t limit my dreams, and limitations placed by others held no power.
Instead, I thrived as a survivor. Hobbies filled my days, leaving less room for dwelling on negativity. I accepted the events I couldn’t control, focusing on what I could. Gratitude bloomed for the kindness of those who supported me. A thirst for knowledge made me a lifelong learner while I nurtured my emotional well-being. Optimism became my compass, and my dreams, my destination.
