A Butterfly Cartographer’s Journey Through Sri Lanka’s Soul
Presented by CeylonDigest
Thanks to a thoughtful introduction by Eric Jayawickrema, CeylonDigest was introduced to Rajika Gamage—Conservation Biologist at the Tea Research Institute, Talawakelle (+94 0714113488)—a unique voice at the intersection of ecology, design, and cultural memory. What began as a simple connection quickly unfolded into something more profound: a glimpse into a life devoted to tracing the invisible threads between butterflies, landscapes, and the human spirit.
Rajika Gamage is not just a conservationist. He is a biophilic designer, ecological researcher, and grassroots innovator whose work reimagines how we live with nature in both urban and rural Sri Lanka. From hospital courtyards to rainforest edges, from degraded wetlands to vibrant school gardens, he plants not just host plants—but hope, awareness, and belonging.
In a time when environmental conversations often focus on crisis, Gamage offers a different perspective: one of connection, continuity, and quiet resilience. His butterfly gardens are more than habitats. They are classrooms, sanctuaries, and living maps of cultural identity.
What follows is an in-depth interview conducted by CeylonDigest, capturing Gamage’s journey, his insights, and his vision for a Sri Lanka where wings don’t just flutter—but lead.
Q: How do you use scientific research and biodiversity data to guide your conservation efforts?
A: Scientific research and biodiversity data play a crucial role in guiding my conservation efforts. They provide the foundation for understanding species distribution, ecosystem dynamics, and the impact of environmental change. However, I also place great value on non-scientific sources of knowledge, which are deeply rooted in Sri Lanka’s history and culture. Old travelogues, paintings, photographs, and especially the wisdom passed down by elders offer unique insights into how ecosystems once functioned and how species interacted with their environments.
This blend of formal data and traditional knowledge helps build a more holistic understanding of biodiversity. By collecting and analyzing all of this information, I can design conservation and restoration strategies that are not only scientifically sound but also culturally grounded and locally relevant.
Q: Can you discuss the role of modern technology—like GIS mapping or genetic analysis—in monitoring butterfly populations?
A: Modern technology plays an increasingly important role in monitoring butterfly populations. Tools like GIS mapping help us understand habitat distribution, track changes in land use, and identify critical areas for conservation. This is especially valuable in a country like Sri Lanka, where diverse ecosystems are often under pressure from development.
Q: Your transformation of a wet patch in Moratuwa into a vibrant urban sanctuary is inspiring. What lessons did you learn?
A: Transforming a polluted, neglected wetland in Moratuwa into a thriving urban sanctuary has been one of the most significant milestones in my life. What was once seen as a useless swamp is now home to seventy-two recorded species of butterflies. This journey taught me the value of patience and long-term dedication—because restoring an ecosystem doesn’t happen overnight. In the early stages, progress was slow, and results were not immediately visible. But over time, the area evolved into an ecologically balanced system that now functions with very little external input.
This entire restoration process became like a university for me. It not only deepened my understanding of butterfly behavior and habitat needs but also taught me how nature responds when given the right conditions to heal. Every step, every success, and every challenge provided lessons that continue to shape my approach to conservation today.
Q: Where do wings tremble the most today? What threats worry you?
A: Today, butterfly wings tremble most in the presence of invasive plant species that are silently but aggressively overtaking Sri Lanka’s ecosystems. The rapid decline in butterfly populations is deeply alarming, and invasive plants are a major cause. These species outcompete the native host and nectar plants that butterflies rely on, leaving behind degraded habitats where only a few can survive.
Across Sri Lanka, human-dominated landscapes are increasingly overrun by these invaders. Even many forests that appear wild and untouched are, in reality, under the growing influence of invasive plants. In the Knuckles region—once a haven for butterfly diversity—we now see the widespread presence of Eupatorium inulifolium (Crofton Weed) and Ageratina riparia (Mist Flower), both of which are displacing native flora and reshaping the ecosystem.
What concerns me even more is the widespread indifference toward this issue. Many administrators—and even some environmentalists—fail to recognize the severity of the threat. There is a significant lack of awareness about invasive species, even among those responsible for enforcing conservation laws. This knowledge gap is one of the most critical and underestimated threats to butterfly survival in Sri Lanka today.
Q: If the last butterfly had a tongue, what would it whisper?
A: “If only you had listened to the Earth and truly seen the world around you, you would have understood—we butterflies were never just insects. We were messengers of balance, beauty, and quiet warning. We were a vital part of the environment you thought you ruled. And now, as we disappear, remember this: when the butterflies are gone, even the greatest will not be far behind.”
Q: You’ve long reminded us that butterflies are not just symbols, but systems—living evidence of how we care for land, memory, and future generations. For those moved to act, what would be the first, essential steps for a private citizen to create a butterfly garden of their own? Beyond that, do you envision a network of well-equipped zoological research centers emerging in Sri Lanka—places where science, education, and conservation converge? How might we build support—locally and globally—to realize this dream, and share its wingspan with other nations?
A: plant for butterflies is to restore what’s vanishing—habitat. Begin by learning which butterflies live near you. Then plant native host plants for caterpillars and nectar plants for adults. Avoid pesticides entirely; they’re lethal at every life stage. Choose a sunny spot, add shelter, stones for basking, and shallow water for minerals. Even a few pots on a balcony can help. What matters is starting. Each small garden becomes a sanctuary—living proof that care still exists. A butterfly garden isn’t decoration. It’s an act of repair, a gift to the land, and a promise to the future.
The best path forward is the establishment of a National Wildlife and Environment Research Institute, with branches or collaborative hubs across the island’s major ecological zones. These centers would serve as convergence points for science, education, and conservation—supporting region-specific research, species protection, habitat restoration, and policy guidance.
To build both local and global support for such a network, we must connect conservation with community priorities, ensuring people see their futures reflected in these efforts. International partnerships—with universities, conservation organizations, and funding agencies—can bring not only technical expertise but also sustained investment. If designed thoughtfully, Sri Lanka’s model could inspire other nations: a network rooted in local realities, but reaching outward in knowledge and impact.
In the quiet chaos of wings, Rajika Gamage finds clarity. His work lives at the intersection of science, art, tradition, and urgency. Through restoring gardens and natural habitats, he nurtures not just butterflies—but a deeper ecological literacy between people and place.
This is not merely conservation—it is cultural continuity, with nectar on its breath.
With CeylonDigest bringing this story forward—and with gratitude for the connection made by Eric Jayawickrema—we are reminded that biodiversity is not just something to protect, but something to participate in. Through wings, we remember the land. And through the land, we begin to remember ourselves.
