Gloriosa Superba - ENGLISH STORY

 

When we entered the hallway I saw traditional oil lamps were lit up inside near the door. A moment of silence was observed in memory of all those who lost their lives during the civil war in my home country. We stood in silence as the song of remembrance played; the flames reminded me of my past. In July 1983 we were in Colombo when communal riots destroyed my family and forever changed my life.

This kind of commemoration has been banned in my home country. The government denies our communities’ the basic human right to mourn the family members we lost during the war in public. Luckily, we don’t face these kinds of obstacles in Canada. The symbol of the Tamil communities Remembrance Day is the Kaanthal, a flower (Gloriosa Superba) which blooms during November in bright reds and yellows. After full bloom the flower will remain fresh and change colors of the petals from green to yellow, then reddish yellow to scarlet, fading to red.

My 8-year-old daughter who was born in Canada came to these ceremonies with me and once asked inquisitively what they were for.

“Because these young people gave up their lives for us to continue to live with self-respect.” I explained to her.

“Dad this happened in your home country?” she asked.  

“Yes, we suffered a lot, I can’t forget those days.”

Crowds walked by, weeping, and leaving Kaanthal flowers on top of the photos of those who passed away. My daughter slowly grabbed some Kaanthal flowers and laid them by the nearest memorial.

 “Dad, will you take me there?” suddenly she asked.

“Where...?”

“To your home country.”

“Why...?”

“I would like to see where our family comes from.”

My daughter was begging me to take her to my home land, but we were almost seven thousand miles away. Even though I wanted to take her back to the country I was born in, I hesitated because of my experience during the civil war.

All these years I couldn’t go back as the fighting still raged on between the military and rebel forces.

It is not safe to go back one of my friend told me. He always watched the news and political changes as they occurred in my home country.

Suddenly, he called me last week and told me the fighting was over between the rebels and military. Tourists could now visit and previous citizens once again return to the country. I discussed this matter with my wife and booked a flight back home during my daughter’s holidays. Because of the war there were little few western goods and luxuries, we packed absolutely everything we needed.

When the flight took off from Pearson International Airport my eyes began to fill with tears. I couldn’t forget this country which gave me my life back. This is the country which welcomes people who really struggled and suffered during their life time. Canadians showed the world how to open their hearts and welcome refugees who were facing difficult situations. It was only when I came here that I felt like I was a human being again. Back home, when we would hear military planes or loud noises, we would hide in our bunkers. We didn’t have to worry here. Now, I am proud to be a Canadian because this country provides me with everything, including a peaceful mind. Now it is our duty to respect the laws and cultural norms of this country.

After the flight landed in Bandaranaike International Airport I was in a panic. I hired a taxi and drove to my hometown; Jaffna. I could see the damage made by both sides during the civil war. I saw among damaged tanks and trucks, a cow near the road side with only three legs. Its fourth leg looked to be lost from a landmine. Even though they said the war was over, the war which swallowed me during my young age and blackened my dreams could not be forgotten.

We pass Elephant Pass checkpoint, which was controlled by the rebels during the war. Now government forces were standing guard with AK-47’s.  They check our passport and asked us some questions, whether we have any connection with rebels. They were satisfied with our answers and let us to go.  As we continued to drive towards Jaffna we passed many abandoned houses with damaged ceilings from the aerial bombings. By the side of the roads, cemeteries laid flattened and destroyed. We passed the Maviddapuram Murugan Temple through Kankesanturai road and proceed north. We came to a stop at the Kankesanturai cement factory army check point. There was a large barrier blocking the road.

“This is the end, you can’t proceed further.” the army officer said.

“My house is there, further north, I just want to visit.” I replied.

“Sorry, that area is designated as a high security zone, we can’t allow you to go there.” he explained.

“High security zone, how come...?” I yelled back.

I was disappointed. Everybody said that the country was back to normal. If so, why won’t they allow me to go and see the house where I was born?

“Sorry sir, without permission from the Chief Officer we won’t allow you to go any further.” he elaborated.

I was mad.  I came all the way here to see my home town. How could they stop me? This was a home where we lived for a long time. Not only me, but my father, and my grandfather, and my great grandfather, and so on.

My daughter’s face was saddened, because she too wanted to see her grandparent’s home. There was no point in arguing with these soldiers, so I thought of where else we could go. Suddenly, I remembered my mother’s place, where my sister’s family lived. It was near a place called Sandilipay, I told my driver to turn around and drive south west.

When we reach my mother’s house, my sister comes out to welcome us. We had lunch and visited our neighbour’s house. When I walk with my daughter by the neighbour’s house, there is another house that looks so familiar it makes me stop. This is where my cousin Meera lived. Even though I was scared there might be land mines, I stepped inside anxiously. The walls were badly damaged with bullet holes and there was no roof. No one had been here for a while, there were weeds growing from cracks in the floor.

During school holidays in Colombo I used to visit to my mother’s home in Sandilipay. This is the house where we would normally meet and play when we were kids. Inside, there was a storeroom where Meera would hide and surprise me. I still remember what happened the last time she did this.

The storeroom door was unlocked; I push the door slowly and entered inside. Because this was a typical village house, the storeroom had no windows, so it was dark inside. I closed my eyes for a second so that they could adjust to the darkness. I searched for the fruits and found a basket full of mangos. I pulled some out to determine whether they were ripe. Suddenly, I heard what sounded like a girl laughing. I turned and looked; Meera was sitting in a bench in the dark.

Even though I was shocked, I managed to ask, “Meera! Why are you sitting here in the dark?”

“No reason.” she said.

“Are you not scared to sit in the dark?”

“No, I’m ok!” She said.

“We are going to have our breakfast, why don’t you come and join us.”

“No, I am not allowed to move from here.”

“Why, are you grounded? Shall I bring some fruits for you?”

“No thanks, I am not supposed to eat normal food”

“Why, you don’t like Mangos?”

“I like Mangos”

 “Really...? Then why don’t you come and play with us”

“No, not right now”

I moved near her and asked her, “why?”

“Don’t come near to me!”

She got panicked and crossed her arms in front of me. For some reason she was a little hesitant as she looked at me.

Why was she upset? I stared at her and suddenly she started to cry. I didn’t want to sit with her anymore, so I ran away.

When I was running, I remembered what happened the day before while we were playing hide and seek.

We both went and hid under the bed in the bedroom. Suddenly the person who was searching for us came inside the room. We were quiet and she stayed close to me. The person who was searching for us stretched his arm underneath the bed but couldn’t reach us and left the room.

We remain quiet and waited in the dark.

Take your hand off she said. Till that time, I didn’t realise that my hand was on her solder. Suddenly she started to weep without telling me why?

I was scared, so I ran and told her mother that she was crying for no reason.

Her mother came and asked her the reason. She didn’t respond so her mother took her directly to the washroom. I wasn’t sure what happened after that. Mother said that she was not a kid anymore and won’t come out to play with us.

When a teenage girl is separated from the boys like this, you know what happened to her.

A week had passed and it was time to go back to Colombo for school. I got ready and went Meera’s to tell her goodbye. She was in her bed reading a story book. When I went near her she looked at my face with a lot of enthusiasm.

“Hi Meera, I am leaving today and I came to say goodbye”

She didn’t say anything, but got up and looked at me with a smile.

I said bye to her and turned to leave, but she came near to me and pulled me, hugged me, and gave me a sweet kiss. And in my ears whispered I love you. I was shocked, but her face was filled with joy and sadness.

I was thrilled and melted at her smile because I didn’t expect these kinds of words from her. Her smiling face had all along been glowing in front of my eyes. I didn’t know whether she really loved me or if it was just youthful infatuation?

Meera‘s nickname was Kaanthal, a flower that symbolized the union of lovers. I went back to Colombo with those dear memories to focuse on the school year ahead.

The next summer, I wanted to go back to Sandilipay and meet Meera. While arranging my train ticket back home, I heard the news that Meera had left from Sandilipay and joined with the rebels. It was a shock to me, if she really loved me, then why did she go? Maybe she took care of our people and loved our homeland more than she loved me.

After that, our family never had any contact with her. We didn’t know where she stayed or what she did, as the rebels always lived in secrecy. Things kept getting worse and eventually I fled to Canada to escape the war which destroyed my youthful dreams. I got married in Canada and shortly after had my first daughter. After the final war, we never heard about Meera, whether she was alive or not.

Suddenly, I felt somebody touch my shoulder. I slowly turned to see my daughter was there.

“Dad, are you crying?” she asked.

I managed to wipe my tears. My daughter doesn’t know why I am crying.

This is the house where I met Meera first. In the abounded storeroom I could see some weeds and bushes. Among those bushes, I could also see a plant with a bright Kaanthal flower which made me to cry again. 

O’ Meera, where are you?

Short Story by: Kuru Aravinthan

Gloriosa Superba