-By A LeN Special Correspondent
(Lanka-e-News -03.May.2025, 11.30 PM) In the murky corridors of Colombo’s post-Rajapaksa political drama, there’s a well-known proverb: when the law comes knocking, scream ‘underworld!’
It appears Sri Lanka’s former Inspector General of Police, Deshabandu Tennakoon, has taken that mantra to heart. This past week, he told reporters that he is under threat from notorious drug baron and international fugitive Mohamed Najim Mohamed Imran — better known as Kanjipani Imran. According to Deshabandu, the shadowy don has promised a swift and brutal reprisal for the IGP’s uncompromising war on narcotics.
But a few things don’t add up — not least the fact that Kanjipani Imran is, at present, hiding from almost every global law enforcement agency known to man. The man is so deep underground that even his own mirror hasn't seen him since 2019.
Two separate regional intelligence sources told The Sunday Times that “there is no credible, active threat to the former IGP from Kanjipani Imran.” One added, “The drug lord is too busy staying alive himself. If anything, Imran is more scared of being found than he is interested in making threats.”
So why the elaborate tale of hitmen and vendettas? That’s where things get, as they say, more Colombo than Colombo itself.
Let’s rewind the narrative. Former IGP Tennakoon is currently under a hailstorm of legal scrutiny. There are contempt of court proceedings pending against him. Several complaints before the Bribery Commission have named him. Leaked reports suggest that under his tenure, high-ranking officers were rerouted away from drug networks, not towards them.
And now, with the leftist NPP government showing an uncharacteristic appetite for law enforcement reform, a few well-placed men in khaki are losing sleep. None more so, it seems, than Tennakoon.
“He knows too much,” one Colombo businessman told this correspondent. “But he also did too much.” That statement captures the schizophrenic fear the ex-IGP evokes. On one hand, he’s seen as a potential whistleblower — someone who could expose decades of political-police collusion. On the other, he’s viewed as a vault of blackmail, bribes, and brutality, wrapped in an ironed police tunic.
It would be laughable — were it not for the real victims involved — to paint Tennakoon as a crusader against the narcotics trade. During his tenure, large-scale drug busts often coincided with photo ops, while reports from internal watchdogs highlighted that street-level peddlers were paraded and punished, but major players were untouched.
Even more damning is his alleged proximity to certain controversial businessmen with interests in both real estate and recreational chemistry. The same sources suggest he played the role of facilitator in several land grab operations in Colombo North and Negombo — some of which are now being legally challenged.
As one former CID officer put it: “He wasn’t fighting drug lords. He was managing them.”
So what purpose does invoking the ghost of Kanjipani serve? Several, actually.
First, it diverts media attention. By crying “death threat,” Tennakoon can cloak himself in the victim’s mantle — and distract from the storm clouds gathering over his own legal affairs.
Second, it lays the groundwork for enhanced security — a convenient way of shielding himself from both prosecution and public access. A protected man is harder to subpoena, after all.
Third, it helps him win sympathy from within the police ranks, many of whom remain loyal to him. After all, no one wants to believe they were led by a man whose enemies weren’t criminals, but accountants with arrest warrants.
But perhaps the most dangerous threat to Tennakoon doesn’t wear a black hoodie or carry a gun. It comes from the very people he thought he had silenced — the businessmen, the political operators, the landowners who once paid for “services,” and now fear exposure.
With the NPP opening investigations into past administrations, several figures — including those who allegedly used Tennakoon as a muscle-for-hire — are terrified of being named. Their new strategy? Ensure that he never gets to talk.
“It’s like watching a grenade roll across the floor,” one NPP legal advisor confided. “They’re all hoping it doesn’t explode under their seat.”
In this context, the death threat narrative flips: perhaps it's not the underworld chasing Tennakoon, but the overworld — in three-piece suits and parliamentary immunity — who want him silenced.
There’s also the matter of the money. Reports emerging from internal audits suggest that “fees” were collected during Tennakoon’s time for everything from releasing seized goods to “facilitating” land transfers. Many of those who paid — expecting long-term immunity — now feel betrayed. With public sentiment turning, they’ve started threatening to go public, or worse, go to court.
“The man made enemies wherever he made friends,” one retired DIG summarised.
It’s hard to overstate how quickly Deshabandu Tennakoon’s image has crumbled. Once hailed by pro-Rajapaksa media as a “bulwark against narcotics,” he now appears more like a by-product of the very ecosystem he was supposed to dismantle.
And as if the universe were scripting a farce, the very authorities Tennakoon once commanded may soon be the ones escorting him in handcuffs. The Bribery Commission has quietly begun pulling archived files. The Attorney General’s Department is reportedly “re-evaluating” cases in which senior officers were protected under Tennakoon’s command. Even a small coterie of ex-officers are preparing to testify, some anonymously, others under whistleblower protection.
In the end, the story of Deshabandu Tennakoon may become a parable of post-war Sri Lanka itself — a state where impunity was sold by the kilogram, and truth was just another casualty in the war against accountability.
He claims to fear Kanjipani Imran. But the real fear, it seems, lies within — of secrets exposed, of allies turned state witness, and of a prison cell not built for a drug kingpin, but for the man who once claimed to hunt them.
If there’s one irony that deserves a final footnote: the man who once shouted “protection!” from behind a police cordon may now have to shout “mercy!” from behind a dock.
-By A LeN Special Correspondent
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by (2025-05-03 18:23:15)
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