KUMUDHINI - ENGLISH

 

KUMUDHINI

Kuru Aravinthan

“The beautiful dreams of my sister

The life that they intended to lead,

For several months, carefully formed

Embryo cremated in the womb of

The mother - the wife of my friend…….”  Poet Sithivinayagam

When I took the pot, my hands shivered. It was the unrest in my heart that was reflecting in my hands. I wiped the perspiration on my brow with my shawl. Such early morning dreams had been bothering me and weakening me, often. Now I realized the real meaning of nightmare. Let me live a little longer for the sake of this girl was the one trifle wish I have. Once I give her in marriage my duty will be over, and I can peacefully close my eyes. This was the only desire that makes me walk along as a dead corpse.

As my early morning sleep was disturbed, I lounged on my easy chair. The roaring rain of the night had lessened a bit, it appeared. Nowadays, I do not like getting wet in the rain. If I lie down, there is no one to look after me and the despair of loneliness was making me hate living. Getting up from my easy chair, I opened a window and surveyed the scenery. The horizon was still overcast indicating that more showers could be expected. Occasional flashes of lightening too were adding to my fears. The rainwater trickling down from the eaves was forming small rivulets and flowing away.

My mind went back to my school days when we stood in groups at the entrance to our classrooms and sang the ditty “Rain, rain go away, come back another day for little John wants to play”. The sunny days when we played in the meadows, flew kites and tumbled in the dry soil. The romping we did in the heavy - rain all came back to my mind as I gaged out of the window.

Some girls too would join us in our fun. Sweet memories of those days flash back. Thai Pongal, Hindu New Year, Deepavali, Kaarthigai Theepam day, when we dressed nicely, went to the temples, visited relatives, lit crackers, swung on swings and broke coconuts for competition came to my mind. When will those days come was the anxious pain in my heart?

I have, however, got used to adjusting my life reconciling myself to the stark fact that those school days and the days of my youthful exploits will never return.

Everything has turned topsy turvy. Like the nests of the birds being destroyed by a gale, the homes of EELAM Tamils have been shattered by communalists. The peaceful and trouble-free land has been turned into a channel house. There is an everlasting fear lurking inside me which prevents me from viewing anything happily.

With the passage of time a semblance of peace and order was seen. But this was hollow because families and communities had been dismembered. The so-called democratic government of the country tried to show to the world that everything was alright in the country.

“Grandpa make me a boat”. When I turned around from my reverie, I saw my grand-daughter Tharani standing there holding out a piece of paper. “I kept your food on the table, did you eat?” I asked. “I have eaten, grandpa. Now make me a boat”. extending the piece of paper towards me.

Taking the paper, I folded it into two. How this art of making paper boats from my school days is helping me now made me reminisce. It was when folding the paper into two did I notice the words through my faint eye - sight. Wearing my spectacles, I looked at the words again. Yes, they were the ones!

“Even my village cock bird and

The crow flapped at their

Breasts and sent out death’s yell”

Every time I read these lines my hair stands on end. How can I forget that day that I voluntarily wanted to forget? “From where you got this book?”, I asked in a raised voice that frightened Tharani. With a frightened look she pointed out the book almirah. The books looked disarranged and some of them were on the floor.

“What child? Can you tear the books that I have so carefully preserved?” I asked firmly. She got frightened and signs of her fright were seen in her eyes where tears were forming.

“Sorry Grandpa”, she said. Have I pampered her too much because she was motherless, I wondered? “After this, do not take anything from there without asking me”, I said strictly. She nodded assent.

When I went near the book almirah, I found a copy of “Naattaar Padalgal” published in the North American Tamil Sangam Annual Issue, on the floor. The place we lived was surrounded on four sides by water. Therefore, we had a close affinity with boats. The Naattaar Padalgal spoke of the sailing vessels plying to change from Valvettithurai. On the days that the winds change it was recorded that the vessels were harboured at Valvettithurai. I had preserved the Naattaar Padalgal for future reference. I skimmed through the pages and came across.

The goods that come in the sailing vessels to Valvettithurai. We can fill our mouths with betel chew and dance kummi. Boats known as Vattai, Salangu, Kattumaram. Carrying multifarious goods come and they are ridiculously cheap.

Those days our elders described our traditional dance forms like kolaattam, kavadi, kummi and karakaattam. Our elders, those days were used to chewing betel. As cigarettes were non-existent then, they smoked rolled tobacco leaves as cigars. This was black in colour. They fondly called the boats they used as vettai, salangu, thoni, vallam, cattamaran, dingy and machchuva. From these they recollected the ship “Annapoorani” navigated by the “Kappalottiya Thamilan” Words such as cattamaran and anicut came into the English Language from Tamil.

The Maviddapuram temple in the North of ancient origin is incredibly famous. The Chola princess Maruthappura Veekavalli is supposed to have come to Jaffna and worshipped at this temple. This place was also famous for betel. There is a legend that she had the face of a horse and that she with the aid of herbs bathed in the Naguleswaram Temple Tank and got back her once beautiful face. “Ma” in Tamil means horse. That’s why this place got the name Maviddapuram. The port that received the statue of “Maavai Murugan” from the Chola kingdom is called Kankesanthurai.  Kankeyan means Murugan. Like this there are several legends depicting genuine events of the Tamils, but they are all fast going into oblivion.

It is from my carefully preserved “Mavili Malar” that my granddaughter had torn the paper. She had not known the value of that book. That is a book that has recorded the sad history of the Tamils. I had to preserve that for posterity. It was useless getting angry with the child. I got another paper and made her the paper-boat she so fondly asked.

Carrying the paper-boat, Tharini scampered out. Thinking that she might get wet in the rain and fall sick, I peeped out. I saw her standing on the steps and launching the boat in the running rainwater. She was clapping her hands with glee as the boat moved along the water. The sadness in her heart had melted away.

That innocent child is able to forget everything and laugh. But I am not able to do that. As I watch the boat gliding in the water, I am reminded of the past. It is like this that my daughter Selvi, Tharani’s mother too would do something and draw my attention to it. “Appa, see this will you?” she would say and laugh clapping her hands. Where are those days that I was mesmerized by her laughter?

Then, I was a government servant in Colombo. All communities lived unitedly. The politicians peached that it was by majority support that they could come to power. This communal propaganda reached its zenith on 23^rd May 1958. A day that we cannot forget. The majority community attacked the Tamils living among them. My wife and I had to flee for our lives. As we had no place to hide, we took shelter in a refugee camp. After some time when the situation quietened, we were sent north to our homeland. That day when we lost everything and come to our homeland with empty hands, is still haunting our memory. The only consolation then was that we could live peacefully in the north and the east.

Having lost the job, I settled down in the North. As a bright spark amidst all the gloom, the birth of our daughter, Selvi.

We spent our lives in the belief and realization that it was our family, our life, our race and our language. At the proper time we gave Selvi in marriage. As the son-in-law workd in Colombo, the couple settled there. The communalists did not allow them to live peacefully. What happened to us in 1958 and what happened to our friends in 1977 repeated itself in the Black July of 1983. My daughter who was in the family way and her husband had to seek shelter in a refugee camp and were brought to Jaffna by the ship, “Nangoori” to Kankesanthurai. Kankeyan is another name given to Alagan Murugan and because it is believed that “Maavai Kanthan” landed at this port, it gets the name Kankesanthurai.

After the dawn of peace, Son-in-law went back to Colombo, but Selvi refused to go. She had been traumatized by the happenings of Black July 1983. Selvi and gran daughter Tharini lived with us and whenever there were holidays, Son-in-law would visit us.

As we were settling down to live fearlessly in our homeland, the violence of the army raised its head. It appeared that every time there was a change of government it was the Tamils that were avenged.

Selvi was worried about her husband who all alone in Colombo. She was carrying her second child now and I could visualize her mental state in that delicate state of health. “Selvi! Why are you sleeping? Are you not well?” I asked. “No Appa, nothing” she said getting up. Her face was faded.

“I told her to show herself to a physician, she does not listen”, my wife interjected from the kitchen.

Asking my wife to take care of Tharani, I took Selvi to hospital. With great reluctance and lot of persuasion she came with me. Our house was on a small island and we had to go by boat to hospital. Selvi always loved and enjoyed boat rides, so that moment she realized that she was going by boat, forgetting her delicate state of health she enthusiastically accompanied me. That scene of her joyous reaction to an intended boat ride is still in my mind, for it was the last time I saw her in that mood. I did not realize it then.

“Come sir”, said the boat man welcoming us. As we were a respected family in our village, wherever we went courtesies like this were extended to us and engaging in enquiries. More than Selvi’s smiling face her delicate state of health attracted more attention.

“” Boy or Girl?” they inquired. “Don’t know”, Selvi replied. “Looking at your belly, it must be a boy. You have already got a girl, so if You get a boy, that will do, isn’t it?” they said. Selvi blushed shyly. For two generations there had been no male offspring in our family circle. Thinking of that fact, Selvi must have felt shy.

“Kumudhini” was the name of the boat that was carrying them. As it carried people safely, the people may have given that boat this lady’s name. Kumudhini was travelling towards Nainathivu. The breeze was playing on Selvi’s hair and covering her face. She was deftly pushing the hair back and the attractive smile on her face was made more prominent. As we had no medical centres with adequate facilities close by, we had to travel all this distance to the General Hospital.

When you say Delft, one is reminded about ponies. As this island was close to South Indian Rameshwaram, during the invasions of the Cera, Chola, Pandyan made use of this island as a transit centre. 18.3 square miles in extent, from this island to go to Jaffna one has to go by boat to Kurikattuvvaan and proceed through the Pannai Bridge. Selvi always was interested in listening to stories.

Whether it is history, politics, films or sports she had cultivated an interest acquire knowledge and from her small days I have been feeding her with information. She will ask questions after questions and I too would answer her tirelessly. “Who are Nagas? What do you mean by the Polannaruwa period?” From the time of our ancient kings, through the portugese period, times of King Sangiliyan, King Pandara Vanniyan, King Elara till the present day she had a thorough knowledge of the history.

She knew how the Portuguese captured the lands of Tamils from the Tamil kings. How the Dutch took control of them and later how the British took control - were all known to her.

I had told ger how one of the five Sivan Temples in the Island, the Thondeswaran temple in Dondra had been destroyed by the Catholic Portuguese and later taken over by the Buddhists. She knew that for administrative convenience, the British had brought the whole of Ceylon under one rule and how in 1948 when they granted independence and left the Sinhala majority took charge and began discriminating against the Tamils.

The Tamils who had suffered by the pogrom of 1983 had to experience something more severe on 15^th May 1985. Oblivious to what wicked men can do, the calm ocean was asleep. It was on that morning that my daughter Selvi and I were travelling on the Kumudhini boat towards Nainathivu. As usual the boat was cutting through the water and Selvi was smiling and enjoying the journey and the scene.

Suddenly the speed of our boat lessened and when I looked out to find a reason for the sudden loss of speed, I saw a naval patrol boat hovering near our boat. As the sea was under naval control, we did not take it seriously because normally they would have us off to proceed on our journey. This time, however, our boat was stopped in mid sea. Anxiously I looked out to see the reason why.

In a glass boat there were revelers, dancing and singing. One of them had a liquor bottle in his hand. Some of them were wearing blue color longs, while some were wearing blue color shorts. They were all wearing T shirts that the navy men wear off duty. Speaking to one another in Sinhala, they boarded our boat one by one.

A girl about 8 years in age counting the number entering our boat. “One, two, three….” in Tamil. In my mind I calculated, six who boarded our boat and the two there, making eight of them all.

One of those who entered our boat came to the upper deck and surveyed all the faces. His glances were more towards the females where his looks were going too often. From his eyes I could deduce that they had not boarded our boat for any good reason or purpose.

“Baby, where are you going” he asked in broken Tamil, kneeling in front of the girl. The girl who was approaching the age of puberty kept on smiling. The mother of the girl who was seated beside was fair and attractive. The beauty of the mother was reflected in the daughter. “Baby will you come with me? he said and extended his hand. The girl said “No” and turned towards her mother. The smell of alcohol gushed from the Navy man’s mouth who was thinking as to how he could attract the mother’s attention towards him.

“Baby, you come with me, I will give you sweets” saying that he dragged the girl behind him and went to the lower deck. The Navy man had an AK47 rifle in his other hand. The girl helplessly looked at her mother and followed the staggering navy man. The mother was terribly upset. So were the other fellow passengers. But what could they have done with a fellow holding a rifle?

One of the passengers told the mother to go down and bring the child as these ruthless fellows are most unreliable. The young mother then went down to the lower deck in search of the child. She did not come up even after a long lapse of time. The people urged her to go down and bring the child were now feeling bad and while they were in that worried mood, the chilling sound of that young mother’s desperate voice from the lower deck froze them all. Every one of them realized that something that should not have happened had taken place. No one, however, had the courage or the boldness to go down and investigate. It was then that they concluded that the navy personnel who had boarded their boat did not appear good at all. Taking the child away was to target the mother, they deduced.

Meanwhile, a navy man ordered everyone in the boat to come down to the lower deck. “Wait, wait”, the boatman said and went first. They were asked to come down, one by one. As the males went down, they were asked to shout out their names, from where they were coming and to which place, they were going. Their voices could be heard in the upper deck. While they were shouting out their names and destinations the navy men were sarcastically laughed aloud.

I felt that there was something sinister in their whole operation. If they wanted to check, they could have as usual asked for their identity cards. Further, when their loud voices reached us, I could discern there was some element of pain or anguish in it. They were taking each one of the males, one by one to the rear of the boat.

What was happening to those who went like that, nobody knew. When it was my turn to go, I looked at my daughter who signaled to me not to go and held my hand firmly. But I could feel her hand shivering.

A navy man who came up with a rifle, stared at me and shouted “Go” in Sinhala and when he saw me hesitating to let off a barrage of unprintable words in Sinhala. He resembled a lioness roaring in hunger. Thinking that anymore delay would be detrimental to my daughter I tried to release myself from my daughter’s clutch. But she held me more firmly.

“Don’t be afraid. What can they do to an old man like me?” I said and got up to follow the navy man’s order.

“Appa, please do not go down” she sobbed. I could understand her feelings. “What can they do to an unarmed man like me? They will look at my identity card and let me go”, I consoled her, and started climbing down. As I approached the lower steps of the stairway a pungent smell hit my nostrils. It was a nasty sell and resembled the smell of alcohol and blood.

My inner feelings warned me that something nasty is going to happen, so be careful. My feet refused to move and from there I peeped. The navy man standing down shouted, “Come down”. As I saw his face something clicked in my mind. I have seen him somewhere my memory said. Yes, he was the fellow on Sentry duty at the Nainathivu Nagabhooshani Ammal Temple. Smoking a cigarette, I have always found him ogling the females coming to the temple.

As I saw him, I knew that these fellows have planned something and come. He was not carrying a rifle. Why wasn’t he carrying one. Something nasty must be happening, I guessed.

“What’s your name? he asked me in Sinhala. I kept quiet even though I understood what he asked. In my mind, I was planning how to escape from these fellows.

“Do you know Sinhalese?” he asked, I said no by shaking my head. “What’s your name?”, he asked in Tamil. “Thillainathan”, I said. “Where are you going?”, he asked in Tamil. “To the temple”, I said. “To the temple? Go here itself” he said and in a second he raised his hand with an axe. Sensing that something was going to happen, I raised my hand to ward off the blow but the axe did strike my head and I felt the blood trickling down my brow. At that time another navy man with a shining sharp knife stabbed me on my stomach I fell down shouting “Amma”. Then he kicked me, sending me reeling into the floor of the boat. My eyes darkened and I was feeling faintish.

My mind went back to my pregnant who was alone in the upper deck. How am I to protect or save her from these villains? How can she escape than by jumping into the sea? Even if she does that will these villains spare her?

“Selvi, run away, these fellows, will kill you” I wanted to shout, but words did not come out from my mouth. my eyes were getting blurred. Desperate and anguished calls for help were heard from the upper deck. As there were no males to protect them, these fellows would do anything to the ladies. Just then a severed arm fell near me, splattering blood on my face. Someone’s body fell on me, suffocating me. I felt something sticky in my fingers. May have been blood. Due to the darkness in the place, I could not see what it was. I was losing consciousness off and on.

Whenever I regained consciousness, “Daughter Selvi, run, run” were the words that I wanted to shout out, but the words never came out of my mouth.

When I finally regained consciousness, I realized that I was in a hospital. Due to the intense pain, I was moaning. Motionless I was lying with bandages on my head, stomach, hands and legs. I could not turn my body. Wherever the doctor touched me, gave me severe pain.

“Selvi”, my mouth muttered and when I opened my eyes, final year medical students from the Jaffna Medical Faculty were treating me.

“At least one should survive, we prayed, and our prayers have been answered”, they exclaimed happily.

“Alright, what is so special for you in saving me?” I whispered. “Our duty is to save lives. But to get at the truth and tell it to the world, we hopefully, without losing confidence attended on you for hours”, they said. “If that is so, Selvi”, I enquired.

They said that I was lying unconscious for four days in hospital. When I enquired about my daughter Selvi, first they were reluctant to tell me, but with persuasion they came out with the story.

When I heard that, all hope left me, and I felt completely drained of all energy and lost consciousness once again. “Why did you all only save me?” I asked wearily.

“Our prayer was to save at least one and our prayers have been answered” they said. Alright, what is so special for you in saving me?” I whispered.

“Saving lives is our mission. But if there is at least one survivor, can we tell the world what happened. That is why we were bent on treating you and saving your life. How many bodies? Fearing that we will gather the bodies and create a scene among the villagers, they had dismembered the bodies beyond recognition” I was wondering with what human heart, they could have committed this dastardly act.

This verse of poet Sithivinayagam, the friend of my son-in-law written with tears flowing in that publication came to my mind.

“The beautiful dreams of my sister

The life that they intended to lead,

For several months, carefully formed

Embryo cremated in the womb of

The mother - the wife of my friend…….”

Due to lack of evidence this cruel act performed in broad daylight could not be proved beyond reasonable doubt. Hence no action was taken by the Democratic Government. Moreover, if this incident was reported overseas, the powers that be would have labelled it communal propaganda.

My heart-broken son-in-law did not go back to work. Having lost his unborn child and his loving wife, he was in agony every moment of his life. His mental state was reflected in his face. There was no one to share his anguish and suffering. Even if there was any what remedy could he or she have offered? There was no consolation or compensation. Only guns answered. Mouth that tried to speak out were forcibly shut.

First, I heard that my son-in-law was missing. Later I heard that he was at Manalaattru Kalamunai - but after that there was no news of him. My wife had become very ill after hearing of what had happened to her daughter and unborn grandchild. Mercifully, death brought her permanent relief. That was the only medicine for her suffering.

Families that were living peaceful, carefree and happy life were devasted. Who prompted my peaceful and non - violent son-in-law to take up arms? The forces that perpetrated this scenario of hate and violence were playing a game in politics. Getting into that vortex or being out of it, depend on each one’s choice and capability. One thing, however, was certain, harmless, innocent lives were affected.

Must give my granddaughter in marriage to someone. Till then, I should live, even as a walking corpse. That is my final desire. If no one dares to question why such dastardly incidents are taking place, villains will continue their villainy and poor, peace loving people will suffer. Without allowing a race to be wiped out, we have to appreciate and glorify the few who are attempting to save the race. Freedom of religion and language is everyone’s inalienable right. No one has the right to take it away. Only time will tell!