On a set of wooden panels outside St. Peter’s Church in Colombo’s historic district, a timeline lists each of the parish’s vicars since its founding in 1815. At the beginning, the list of names is distinctly British: Twisleton, Glenie, Kelley, Boyd. In the 1950s, however, Portuguese names like de Sousa and de Saram begin to appear. Naturally, if the plaque were to be taken as a historical source, it would seem plausible to conclude that the British arrived in Sri Lanka before the Portuguese.

In fact, the opposite is true — the Portuguese first came ashore on the island at the beginning of the sixteenth century, whereas the British showed up over two hundred years later. As modest as it is, the signage at St. Peter’s illuminates subtle historical trends that developed in tandem with one another. At the same time as clergy were sent to Sri Lanka from the British Isles to serve as parish leaders, an existing Portuguese legacy continued to develop. The names de Sousa and de Saram listed on the panel are not those of Europeans who came to Sri Lanka as ministers. Instead, they are Sri Lankans whose names reflect a much earlier history; one closely connected to the century and a half of Portuguese presence in Sri Lanka. As I embark on a journey to trace the medieval roots of Portugal’s colonial presence in Sri Lanka, unassuming glimpses into the past such as the panels at St. Peter’s will act as key tools to study lingering historical legacies and cultural imprints.

After arriving in Sri Lanka this morning, I spent the afternoon at the Colombo National Museum, an expansive collection of artifacts including sculptures, paintings, and religious icons that spans the island’s history from the ancient to the present. Meandering through fifteen different rooms — each of which contained enough artifacts itself to merit a trip to the museum — I kept my eyes peeled for mentions of the Portuguese in Sri Lanka, which they referred to as Ceilão (Ceylon). The first thing that caught my eye in the museum was not a mention of Portugal, but of the medieval period. In my academic experience, the term “medieval” is often a frame of reference best applied to the European continent to describe the thousand year period between the fall of the Roman Empire and the Renaissance.

On the wall text in an exhibit about Buddhist art, however, was a description of the “tradition of Buddhist mural painting of the early medieval period.” Far from the art galleries of Europe, museum curators in Sri Lanka seem to be actively incorporating the language of the Middle Ages to situate cultural production and historical events (I found several more references to the medieval period throughout the museum). I was fascinated to see the term applied beyond Europe to describe Sri Lanka in its own right, not just situate an event in a manner easier to comprehend for Western visitors. It seemed that the word “medieval” was actively being used to categorize the island’s art into an appropriate chronology — an auspicious start to my endeavors in Sri Lanka as a student of medieval history.

I digress. The museum contained much more to do with my project than I have let on. From exhibits about numismatics and weaponry to gravestones and paintings, the Colombo National Museum was a treasure trove for my research — the connections to medieval Portugal were palpable, though not necessarily the subject of direct curatorial attention. Since it is after midnight here and I’m headed to bed, I’ll highlight one of the photos in the gallery I’ve included below, that of Sri Wikrama Rajasinha (d. 1815), the last ruler of the Kandy Kingdom. For a portrait of a nineteenth century Sri Lankan king, it is both European in style and (at least in my opinion) appears closely connected to the heritage of medieval painting and portraiture. For more, stay tuned!

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