Latest / What’s the Story: The Sri Lanka Podcast / Honey, I'm Home | Encounters with Sri Lanka’s Endemic Land Mammals
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- Honey, I'm Home | Encounters with Sri Lanka’s Endemic Land Mammals Scientists - and most especially fastidious taxonomists – are giddily divided about quite how many of Sri Lanka's mammals are endemic: 19? 40? But as their arguments rumble on, what are these mammals that have caused so much consternation, and where are you most likely to see them? Good parallels are not always obvious - and for Sri Lanka’s endemic mammals, the best one to hand is the notorious Forth Bridge, a cantilevered railway bridge across the Firth of Forth in Scotland. It was opened in 1890 by the then Prince of Wales himself, and workers still have to paint it. So too with Sri Lanka’s endemic land mammals. When you have finished counting them, you have to start over. Somewhere, with deft hands and glowing fervour, there is always to be found a scientist who has craftily and credibly reclassified the endemic civet into three distinct subspecies; or added in a shrew recently discovered to have one toe longer than the rest, or a bat readmitted to the hallowed list after a much-disputed and injurious explosion. Any number between 19 and 40 for endemic mammals is likely to be correct or entirely wrong, depending on the latest research papers. The list of beasts presented in this account is, therefore, more of a vox pop than a static photograph. It errs evangelistically on the side of generosity. Of the 125 different species of land mammals that roam the island, about one-third are endemic, including rats, bats, civets, deer, mice, mongooses, leopards, monkeys, lorises, and squirrels. But by any calculation, that is an extraordinarily high number. Collectively, they may lack the innate glamour of a white tiger, the brooding menace of a yak, or the familial delight of a Highland Gorilla. Still, they exude instead a profound and pleasing subtlety, their apparent modest position in the Food Chain being as powerful an argument as any for cherishing what is unique. Unique – and threatened, for many, if not all, of the country’s endemic mammals are threatened by a rising tide of habitat loss, pollution, and climate change. And this is where these mammals’ lack of obvious glitz cuts against them. Who cares if a shrew vanishes, or a bat ceases to fly? Not enough people – yet. Mr Pooter notes in The Diary of a Nobody that "one never loses by a good address, " and so it is here, in a country so gladly patriotic, filled with creatures to celebrate. Bat identification has become one of this island’s more exciting pastimes. For decades, it was thought that the Sri Lankan Woolly Bat (Kerivoula Malpasi) was the country’s only endemic bat. This tiny creature, barely 50 mm from head to body, was first described by a tea planter, W.W.A. Phillips in 1932. It is said to enjoy sleeping in curled-up banana fronds on hills between 500 and 1000 metres, though its sightings are so rare that it has not been adequately assessed for a score on the IUCN list of endangered animals. His celebrity was, however, rocked when in 2022 a new medium-sized endemic bat was declared here - Phillip’s Long-Fingered Bat, which, until more eagle-eyed observers got to work, was long thought to be a run-of-the-mill Eastern Bent-Winged Bat. Little is known about the Sri Lankan Leaf-Nosed Bat, as it was only identified as a new endemic species in 2025; its existence until then had been clumsily conflated with other cousins and near-cousins. Its telltale giveaways were an extra-board nose, an unusual ear shape, and a marginally different set of tiny head bones. Troubled by the sheer lack of scientific information about the behaviour of the Ceylon Spotted Deer (Axis Axis Ceylonensis), the Department of Zoology at Sri Lanka’s Eastern University conducted a detailed study of a particular population in Trincomalee. After months of observation, they concluded, reassuringly, that “their main activities were feeding and play.” Scientists are much divided on the subject of animal play, and tortured monographs have been written attempting to pin down the very concept of animal play. To some, it is merely an evolutionary byproduct; others claim it ensures animals teach one another about fairness and consequences. That the Sri Lankan Axis Deer should be minded to play at all is encouraging for it is an increasingly vulnerable species, its preferred habitats - lowland forests, and shrub lands – are shrinking, and with it the grasses, leaves, and fruit it lives on. Living in groups of 10 to 60 animals, their numbers are now counted in just a few thousand. They live in herds of up to one hundred and are seen by leopards, bears, crocodiles, jackals, and hungry villagers as living supermarkets of fresh meat. Standing up to a hundred centimetres high, their delicately white spotted fawn coats present them as everything a perfect deer ought to be, as is appropriate for an animal that is part of the island’s select few endemic mammals. Although known collectively as chevrotains or mouse deer, these tiny mammals are generic gypsies, the DNA actually nestling somewhere between that of a pig and that of a deer. Solitary and little more than 1 to 4 kilos in weight and 18 inches in head to body length, they are the world’s smallest hoofed mammals. They live scattered in the forests of Sri Lanka, gorgeous looking, although popular superstition adds the terrible caveat that a man who gets scratched by the hind foot of a mouse deer will develop leprosy. This has yet to be fully verified by scientists. Scientists, however, have spent considerable time debating their endemic status and how they compare with their Indian cousin, the Indian chevrotain (Moschiola indica). The nearest in looks is the Sri Lankan White-Spotted Chevrotain - Moschiola meminna. Its separate identity was only confirmed as recently as 2005. White spots trail down its sides and back, and three white bands cross its rump. Although it can be seen throughout the island in good numbers, it is so secretive and nocturnal that actually spotting one is a challenge. Its smaller and no less endemic cousin in Sri Lanka is the Yellow-Striped Chevrotain (Moschiola kathygre). Its colouration is golden brown rather than whiteish brown. Several horizontal rows of yellow spots run along its flanks, with bolder stripes on its haunches. It mostly occurs in the wetter parts of southwestern Sri Lanka, particularly in rainforests, plantations, and rice paddies. Reports of a possible third endemic chevrotain species in Horton Plains recently rocked the rarified world of mouse deer enthusiasts. It was found to be much larger than other chevrotains, and studies of its skull confirmed that it represented a new evolutionary lineage. But blood tests and other research are still being conducted to determine whether this Mountain Mouse Deer, known as Meeminna in Singhala, is a new endemic species. One of the island’s two civets, the Asian Palm Civet or Toddy Cat, is found in both India and Sri Lanka, but it is around the identification of the second palm civet that scientists get most excited. When life was simple, long ago, and when beige, like black or white, came in only one colour, it was thought that the island was home to just one endemic palm civet. But scientists, zookeepers, and wildlife photographers like Dhammika Malsinghe, Dr Wolfgang Dittus, Dr Devka Weerakoon, and Channa Rajapaksha have, over the past 15 years, worked hard to evaluate this assumption. By careful observation, the checking of paw prints, the measurement of bodies and assessment of markings (beige or off-beige), they have instead come to the conclusion – now widely accepted in the scientific community - that the country actually plays host to three endemic civets: the Wet Zone Golden Palm Civet (P. Aureus); the Montane Golden Palm Civet (P. montanus); and the Dry-Zone Palm Civet (P. stenocephalus). Yet the debate about these subspecies is ongoing, with some scientists now claiming that a fourth civet also merits separate recognition: the Sri Lankan Mountain Palm Civet (Paradoxurus supp), found only in Dickoya. This refinement makes Darwin's Galápagos finches look almost modest. But although each civet is zone-specific and distinct enough to be classified as such, it would take considerable effort on the part of armchair naturalists to tell them apart. All three are golden beasts, more golden brown on their backs and lighter gold on their stomachs, though the Montane Golden Palm Civet is, to the trained eye, a little darker all around. From nose to tail, they measure 40 to 70 centimetres – like large cats - and weigh 3 to 10 pounds. They are mild, secretive, forest-loving creatures, living their lives on trees and in high, hollows, solitary and very nocturnal, munching their way through fruits and small animals. Occasionally, they can be more sociable: for four long months, one lived very comfortably in the space between my bedroom ceiling and the roof, a home from home where it raised its many excitable, noisy offspring. Most curiously – and unexpectedly, their farts are widely known on the island to be so pleasant as to smell of the flower of the joy perfume tree – the Magnolia champaca, a scent immortalised in Jean Patou’s famous perfume, 'Joy', an odour that outsold all others, excepting Chanel No. 5. Civet Coffee, which can sell for $1300 per kilo, has thankfully not yet appeared on the island, given its association with cruel farmed-civet practices. The custom, in the past, was kinder, with partially digested and fermented coffee berries being collected from civet poo in the jungle and sold to ridiculously wealthy Coffee Bubbas. The grey slender loris (Loris lydekkerianus) is something of a mater, being, it is thought, even more promiscuous than other loris species. Males eagerly beseech and badger the females for a spot of love making, several to one, twice yearly in April and December - though the female restricts herself to one birth period a year – often of twins. Despite their sexual enthusiasm, they are noted for having one of the lowest reproduction rates of small mammals – no great help for a species that hovers between near threatened and endangered on the Red List. Survival rates are not much helped either by their reputation for being cute pets, beneficial ingredients in love potions, and core components in village medicine to alleviate eye infections – and, bizarrely, leprosy. Yet by far the gravest threat they face is habitat loss. Being committed tree dwellers, the fragmentation of forests and ranges impacts them with unrelenting fury. The colour of grey lorises varies greatly – from grey to reddish grey, often with a dark strip running from head to tail, and the darker fur around their eyes giving them a Sophia Loren gaze. Thus far, thus simple. But not for long, for the species has evolved with dizzying complexity. Although the grey loris has made its home in both India and Sri Lanka, in Sri Lanka, it has evolved into two subspecies. The first of these, the Northern Ceylonese slender loris, Loris lydekkerianus nordicus, lives in the dry northern and eastern forest regions of the island. A slow-moving midget, its body measures barely 200 mm and weighs little more than 250 grams. With a logic explicable only to other and, quite possibly, mad scientists, the Highland slender loris, Loris lydekkerianus grandis, despite having “grandis” in its name, weighs in at much less – barely 100 grams. It can be distinguished by its shorter ears, its face – more like a love heart than that of the Northern Ceylonese slender loris – and hair that, at its very root, is more black than white. It keeps, as its name implies, to the highland areas of Sri Lanka. The Hanuman Langur, also called the Tufted Grey langur, is one of three Semnopithecus priam variants, all of which are found in India. Still, only Semnopithecus priam thersites lives in Sri Lanka. Various theories – conflicting, convoluted, and essentially unprovable – have been put forward to account for why the Sri Lankan subspecies, thersites, differs from those found in India. However, the differences would tax Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's deductive powers. Even so, patriotic toxicologists are pressing the case for the Sri Lankan variant to be declared a separate endemic species in its own right. As the debate on this rumbles on, the langur in question gets on with its life blamelessly – and relatively unthreatened by the millstones of modern life. It was named rather eccentrically after Thersites, a bow-legged antihero from Homer’s Trojan Wars, who Plato later promoted as the man best suited for the afterlife. This was a doubtful honour to bestow on one of Sri Lanka’s elite mammals. Up to 60 inches long from head to tail, with a weight that can reach nearly 15 kilos, its black face is framed by a wispy white beard that runs from the forehead to the chin. It is a light grey in colour and lives as readily in dry forests as in urban areas – showing a strong preference for ancient cultural sites, as evidenced by its dwellings in places such as Polonnaruwa, Dambulla, Anuradhapura, and Sigiriya. Once settled, they tend to stay put, having little of the gypsy tendency within them. Eagerly vegetarian, they live in troops of up to 50 members, the larger ones being curiously non-sexist, with leadership shared by a male-female pair. Langur monkeys come with all the complexities of a relatively capacious family – and they live in groups within which strict social hierarchies are observed. The Ceylon Ruddy Mongoose (Herpestes Smithi Zeylanicus) is a mongoose that glows, not just by virtue of its colour, but because its marginal differences with its nearest Indian cousin leave it teetering on the edge of being declared endemic. Its grey-brown fur is decidedly reddish in tone, and it has a tail that curves sharply upwards at its tasselled tip, where the fur turns to a deep, even brown. Like all mongooses of any variety, it feeds day and night on anything smaller that moves – and often on larger creatures too – like land monitors. Its closest relative is found in India, Herpestes smithii, named for the Victorian zoologist John Grey in 1837; the Sri Lankan variant was only separated in 1852 by another zoologist, Oldfield Thomas. Although happily widespread, it is pathologically shy, hiding out in forests and paddy fields, and, under normal circumstances, has a relatively short life. That said, although it rarely lives more than seven or eight years, a Mr W. W. Phillips from Namunukula in Sri Lanka wrote to inform the Bombay Natural History Society (in those halcyon, fallible days when science was a passion shared equally with amateurs) that “the mongoose in question died on September 8, 1955, aged approximately 17 years and its months. It ate quite well right up to the last day and died peacefully during the night, apparently of old age and /or heart failure.” Strictly speaking, the Ceylon Leopard is not endemic – but it almost is. It is without doubt the most fabulous endemic jewel in Sri Lanka’s mammalian crown and the largest of the country's cat species. Unlike other leopards, notably those in India, Sri Lanka's leopards have no other rival predators, and this has led to such a degree of evolution that they are almost considered a distinct subspecies found only on the island. This lack of competition has probably helped account for their size: averaging six feet in length, head to tail, and weighing up to 220 pounds, making them larger than other leopard species. Solitary and with a life expectancy of around 15 years, it is also far less aggressive than others, and quite comfortable hunting through both day and night, rather than restricting itself to the usual nocturnal habits of its Indian counterpart. It is beautifully attuned to hunting, an observer noting that “if the lion is the king of the jungle, then the leopard is the king of stealth,” able to run at 70 kilometres an hour and leap as far as 6 metres. Despite habitats that stretch right across the island, it prefers the cooler highlands – places like Horton Plains, for example – and has developed thicker fur and fat layers to stay warm. This fussiness has probably worked against it: the actual numbers of the Sri Lankan Leopard are falling fast and are currently estimated at just 800. Conservation methods have failed to make a meaningful impact on the population as a whole, and there is little sense of urgency in government circles about the pressing need to do more to protect this apex predator's future. Habitat loss, along with a disastrous history of human-animal interaction, is primarily to blame for this decline. Still, if nothing is done soon, the Sri Lanka Tourist Board may have to turn to promoting monkeys. It is also differentiated from other leopards by its rosettes, which are closer-set and smaller than those of any other species. An errant gene in the leopard population gives rise to the rarest leopard, the Black Leopard, of which only a few confirmed sightings have been reported. One in every three hundred leopards born has the propensity to be black and so able to live up to Karl Lagerfeld’s gimlet observation: “One is never overdressed or underdressed with a little black dress.” Of Sri Lanka’s seven mouse species, nearly half are endemic. The ultra-rare Sri Lankan Spiny Mouse heads these three native and patriotic rodents. It is now so endangered that it is found in only a few locations. A mere maximum of 18 centimetres in length, from nose to tail, its reddish grey back and sides morph into white underparts, with huge, gorgeous, smooth, scooped-out ears that stand like parasols above large dark eyes. It is a mouse to fall in love with. The similarly and somewhat confusingly named Mayor’s Spiny Mouse also inhabits the smaller end of the mouse spectrum and comes in two (still quite widespread) variants – Mus Mayori Mayori, which inhabit the hill country; and Mus Mayori Pococki, which prefers the low wetlands. Telling them apart is almost impossible; both are covered with reddish-grey fur and exhibit relatively small ears. Seeing them is also a challenge, for they are both nocturnal creatures. One of their more interesting (albeit worrying) points of mouse difference is their capacity to carry quite so many other creatures: from mites, ticks, and sucking lice to small scorpions. The last of the endemic mice is the Ceylon Highland Long-tailed Tree Mouse. Discovered in 1929 by the Dutch tea planter, Adriaan Nolthenius, it is an increasingly rare creature, little more than 21 centimetres in length, nose to tail. It is found in Sri Lanka’s hill country, where it lives in trees, venturing out only by night. Like most mice, it has reddish-brown fur that occasionally grows darker, but compared to its many cousins, it has somewhat disappointingly small ears. The Hanuman Langur shares the closest of all possible evolutionary relationships with the island’s second monkey species, the purple-faced langur – so much so, in fact, that they have even been known to mate. But it is the Purple Face Langur that is the rarer of the island’s two langur species, its endemic status free of any debate or argument. It lives mainly in dense forests but is now threatened by habitat loss, which has noticeably reduced its numbers. Vegetarian, with a tendency to eat leaves rather than other foods, it is shy and slightly smaller than the Hanuman langur. Still, it can be told apart by its darker colouring, the black-brown fur of its body contrasting with the mop of wispy white fur that surrounds its face and sits atop its head. Despite, or perhaps because of being one step away from being critically endangered, the purple-faced langur has settled into its different island environments like a hand in a glove and evolved into a variety of subspecies. The Southern lowland wet zone purple-faced langur stands out for its more varied markings – a black upper torso and lavish white whiskers. Occasionally, all-white versions are spotted. The Western purple-faced langur - also confusingly named the north lowland wet zone purple-faced langur is the smallest of the lot, its fur a dark greyish brown. The Dryzone purple-faced langur, in contrast, is the largest version - with arresting white cheeks and an exceptionally long tail. The Montane purple-faced langur, sometimes called the Bear Monkey, has extra shaggy fur, all the better to keep it warm on the higher mountains where it prefers to live. Excited taxologists from Jaffna have also called for the recognition of a fifth subspecies - vetulus harti. Although there are no reliable recorded sightings of it as a living mammal, its pelts have been found around Jaffna and Vavuniya – strikingly yellow gold. Two of the island’s ten rat species are endemic. Thirty centimetres in length, nose to tail, with steel grey fur and white undersides, the Ohiya Rat is named after a small village of barely 700 souls near Badulla. It lives quietly in forests and has gradually become scarcer, as biologists have counted. Its only other endemic cousin, the Nilgiri Rat, is no less endangered and is today found only in restricted highland locations such as the Knuckles, Horton Plains, Nuwara Eliya, and Ohiya. Little more than thirty-nine centimetres in length, nose to tail, its fur tends to be slightly redder than the typical grey of many of its relatives. Its name – Nillu, which means cease/settle/ stay/stand/stop - gives something of a clue about its willingness to get out and about. The second main loris species – the red loris, more commonly known as the Ceylon Red Slender Loris (or Loris tardigradus)- has no family connections in India; it is rooted firmly and entirely in Sri Lanka. Rare though it is, it has nevertheless been busy evolving into three distinct varieties. The first of these, Loris tardigradus tardigradus, keeps itself to the wet, lowland forests in southwest Sri Lanka. It weighs up to 172 grams and has a body that extends to just over 17 centimetres. It has dense reddish-brown fur and the classic slender hands and legs of all its species, an evolutionary peculiarity that enables it to climb easily through treetops to gather the fruits, berries, and leaves on which it feasts. By day, they sleep in leaf-covered tree holes, a habit that must help explain their relatively long lifespan (15-18 years). Its mothers are not to be crossed and have the intriguing habit of coating their offspring in allergenic saliva, a toxin that repels most predators. Loris tardigradus grandis is found in slightly hilly areas – up to about 1000 meters. As its Latin name implies, this loris subspecies is larger than most other lorises. It can also be singled out in different ways. For example, its limbs are more heavily furred and, according to its less charitable observers, it presents a less delicate appearance than its cousins. It can weigh up to 227 grams and has been known to extend 256 mm from head to body. Beyond this dwells the rarest of the three - Loris tardigradus nycticeboides, the mountain loris, noticeable for its shorter limbs and thicker fur and almost only seen in the high cloud forests of Horton Plains. It is locally known as kada papa, or "baby of the forest". There, in 1937, a certain Mr A. C. Tutein-Nolthenius, who had spent 20 years searching for the species, discovered a mother with two offspring. They were to die in captivity. The last recorded sighting was in 2002, also on Horton Plains, when a researcher got but a glimpse of a secretive pair. Arguments still rage over the possibility of a further subspecies – the Loris Tardigradus Nordicus. Discovered as far back as 1932 in the Knuckles Range, it subsequently appeared in areas as diverse as Anuradhapura, Polonnaruwa, Kurunegala, Puttalam, Trincomalee, and Matale. It is said to have a very distinctive facial stripe and a greyish coat of thin fur, and it can weigh 293 grams. Scientists are divided as to whether this possible variant belongs best to the red or grey loris family. Of the ten shrews found on the island, a staggering six are considered to be endemic. Lilliputian they may be in size, but for any species, this is a more-than-commendable achievement. Modest and nocturnal, they rarely hit the headlines – yet this was what they did back on New Year’s Day 1924, a very special year for Joseph Pearson, a young biologist who had come to Sri Lanka from Liverpool to assume the position of Director of the Colombo Museum. That morning, as the rest of Colombo’s beau monde were nursing hangovers and trying to rid their heads of the tune of Auld Lang Syne, he discovered what would come to be called Pearson's Long-Clawed Shrew. At the time, it would have been a much more common sight than it is today, commonly found in forests and grasslands – habitats that are now so embattled as to render the endemic creature highly endangered. It is at the petite spectrum of island shrews, measuring just twelve centimetres nose to tail and sporting rather mundane grey-brown fur. The headlines screamed once more in 2007 when an entirely new endemic species of Sri Lankan shrew was agreed upon: the Sinharaja White-Toothed Shrew. The result of extensive research carried out by a handful of remarkable scientists was that what had been masquerading in Sinharaja as the Ceylon Long-tailed Shrew was actually a different shrew species, one that had, till then, not been adequately recognised or identified. A closer study of its bone structure, along with the simple observation that it had a shorter tail, led to the formal recognition of this new endemic species. However, the resulting Sinharaja White-Toothed Shrew is so restricted in distribution as to be almost entirely invisible, and has been found in only two areas of the edge of the Sinharaja Forest. The island’s four other endemic shrews also amount to a shrew-spotters' holy grail, being both highly endangered and markedly restricted to just certain parts of the island. At barely twenty centimetres long, nose to nail, with grey fur and a preference for subtropical or tropical forests, the Ceylon Jungle Shrew is determinedly nocturnal. At little more than centimetres nose to tail, the Ceylon Long-Tailed Shrew is so deeply threatened by habitat loss and logging that it has recently only been recorded in 5 highly fragmented areas in the Central and Sabaragamuwa provinces, despite its record of living as happily in the high mountain forests as much as the lowland ones. Covered in predictably modest brown fur with hints of grey, there is little about its appearance to help mark out the treasured and rare life it still attempts to cleave to, so validating that adage: never judge a book (or shrew) by its cover. Barely any larger is the Ceylon Highland Shrew. Highly endangered and restricted to the central highlands of the country, it presents itself with an unapologetic style, being rat-like and grey, and its take-it-or-leave-it attitude is little help to environmental publicists eager to drum up the sympathy that any endangered animal merits. The Ceylon Pigmy Shrew (Suncus Etruscus Fellowes-Gordoni) takes its characterisation to heart, being so tiny as to measure nine centimetres, nose to tail barely. But though minuscule, it is a much more handsome shrew than many of its relatives, and sports fur that is nicely chocolate-brown to dark grey. As benefits so small a beast, it has a commendably long Latin moniker, much of it deriving from being named for Marjory née Fellowes-Gordon, the wife of the amateur Dutch naturalist who first recorded it. Highly endangered, it has been recorded from the low-mountain rainforests of the Sabaragamuwa and Central Provinces, with a possible third sighting in the Western Province. Two of Sri Lanka’s six squirrel species are endemic: the Dusky-Striped Squirrel and Layard's Palm Squirrel. Way back in 1913, the year before the great war, the year Picasso first lit up the art world, the squirrel world was lit by its own bright spotlight: an agreement between biologists – caried out through the good offices of the Journal of the Bombay Natural History Society, to redefine what was thought to be the Indian Nilgiri striped squirrel, as a quite separate species unique to Sri Lanka - the Dusky Striped Squirrel. To the casual observer, the differences would be hard to spot, but for Punchi Lena, as it is known in Sinhala, it meant recognition at long last. Despite being the smallest of the island’s squirrels, it is, at 60-70 grams, larger than its Nilgiri cousin, and spots longer, thicker stripes. But it is rare, found in the wet-zone rainforests of the southwest, such as Sinharaja, though the odd sighting has also been recorded on Horton Plains, in Nuwara Eliya, and in Kandy. The island’s only other endemic squirrel is Layard's Palm Squirrel - named for Edgar Leopold Layard, one of those legendary Victorian all-rounders, who took on a diplomatic career, the better to document the natural world, a passion he put down to a lack of siblings when growing up. He spent ten years on the island, leaving behind a variety of animals named after him, including a parrot and the squirrel that still bears his name. It is sometimes known as the Flame-Striped Jungle Squirrel for the beautiful markings that run along its back. It is about 30 centimetres nose to tail, with black fur that fades to reddish-brown on its stomach, and is found throughout the central highlands. By day, they forage for fruit and nuts; by night, they chatter from tree to tree, living, like swans, in pairs that bond for life. With their natural forest habitat eroded steadily, they are categorised as Vulnerable. The island’s other monkey species – the Toque Macaque - is to be found almost everywhere, living its best life, undeterred by much of what growing urbanisation can throw at it. Their appearance is one of the most remarkable things about them. With white undersides, golden brown fur on their backs and a car crash of an almost orange coiffure, they look as if they have got lost in a cheap tanning salon or a Trump rally. Pink faces peer out below recherché hairstyles, giving substance to their name - “toque,” the brimless cap that is their bob. They can weigh up to 12 pounds and have a head-to-tail length of almost a metre. Whilst they have been known to live for thirty-five years, most die within five, victims of infant mortality or fights within troops for dominance. They are accomplished scavengers; their vegetarian fancies are best satisfied on fruit. Their capacious cheek pouches are specially adapted to store food for later consumption, a technical refinement that helps them steal, store, and run with their pilfered bounty. As dexterous at leaping through trees as at capering across the ground, or even swimming, they move in self-protective groups and sleep huddled together every night in a different place, like chastened celebrities or terrorists. They are easy to spot because they are active during daylight hours, appearing in groups of 20, led by an alpha male, with half the group composed of infants or juveniles. Young adult males wisely leave the group upon attaining maturity, for fear of being chased out. But they also have a reputation for being very matey with other species – the family dog, for example. And they talk to one another. Naturalists have recorded over thirty different sounds, each conveying a particular meaning. Common though they are, they have not prevented them from evolving into three separate endemic variants, their differences indistinct to all but mothers and fond scientists best able to decipher the marginal differences in the patterns and colours on their heads. The Pale-Fronted or Dusky Toque Macaque sticks to the wet zones in the southwest. The Common Toque Macaque favours the dry-zone areas of the north and east. The Highland Toque Macaque favours the hilly centre of the island. “I like to be at home, “ said Mr Pooter famously in that Victorian classic, The Diary of a Nobody. “What’s the good of a home if you are never in it? "Home, Sweet Home,” that’s my motto. I am always in the mood for an evening.” And so it is with the island’s endemic land mammals, all of them hoping that in ten, twenty, a hundred years they may all still be in the evening. That was a production written and recorded by David Swarbirck at The Ceylon Press, based in the jungle north of Kandy, at The Flame Tree Estate & Hotel, and set up to tell the story of Sri Lanka.