Ummath

by Sharmila Seyyid

  Her mother’s anger seemed justified, she thought. ‘After all, what I did affects me alone. But now I am going back to the very place I had totally rejected. Amma could well say “You didn’t want us; why do you want to come back?” But she didn’t reject me like that. She signed the discharge papers and is taking me back; I should console myself with that.’

  All through the journey, Yoga had comforted herself with such thoughts.

  Kala seated Senbagam in the veranda and came running in.

  ‘Senbagam is here, Akka. Come and talk to her!’

  Yoga could not refuse Kala’s bright shining eyes and entreating hands that pulled her up. She came out of the room.

  Senbagam had been waiting more eagerly to see her childhood friend than anyone in the family. She was both delighted and moved to see her.

  When Yoga had run away, it was Senbagam who was the main target for everyone’s inquisitions.

  It was not as if Yoga joined the Eelam Liberation Movement because she was swayed by their propaganda. Having neither the experience nor the maturity to comprehend such ideas, she had never considered it crucial for Tamils to have their own free state. The only thought in her mind at the time was that she wanted to die and felt that joining the Movement was suitably suicidal.

  When she had met Senbagam in the town of Batticaloa, it was a most unexpected meeting at a most unexpected place and at the most unexpected time. Senbagam had told her that she had come to her uncle’s place in the town because the Movement was mobilizing a conscription drive and forcibly recruiting young people. Although Yoga had asked her several questions, she had no thought of joining up at that time.

  ‘Hey, Senbagam, I hear that the Movement is picking up little kids … are they made to fight in the battlefield?’

  ‘Come on, you idiot … take us for example. If we go to war we will not even last one battle! We’ll just die!’

  The use of the words ‘we will just die’ was what eventually drew her to the Movement.

  Mavadivempu was one of Batticaloa’s greenest villages with great natural beauty, and inhabited by simple, good people. Thick-trunked trees surrounded by a profusion of shrubs grew in the fertile soil. Luxuriantly blossoming trees murmured as their branches swayed in the breeze. Birds and squirrels chirruped from the undergrowth. The trees themselves were little townships for the little birds and beasts.

  Yoga had been named Yogalakshmi, after the goddess of good fortune and wealth, for a reason. If the third-born is a girl-child, it was believed in these regions that the child would make every corner of their land yield gold. Pathma’s first child had been a son who had died when he was only seven weeks old. The second was a girl, Vathsala, and the third was Yogalakshmi.

  However, fortune and wealth existed only in her name. In school, hunger had gnawed her insides to the extent that she was unable to concentrate on her studies and she even fainted from time to time. Whenever she passed out, Senbagam would rush home and fetch Pathma, to carry Yoga home.

  None of her siblings attended school, and their parents never persuaded them to get an education. Amma and Appa would leave early in the morning to manually labour in the fields, struggling and perspiring in the heat through the day to return home only after dark. Their toil managed to generate only one meal a day for the family because they had six children. They had no time to worry about events in the world around them? Vathsala, as the eldest daughter, had taken over the responsibility for household chores. After the midday meal, Amma would go to the fields to work taking Appa his share of the food.

  Their penury precluded the family from paying attention to Yoga’s grooming for school. She went to school barefooted, in a dirty uniform with her tangled hair left uncombed and unbraided. The school, however, accepted her with open arms. Yoga wanted to walk gracefully like Selvanayagam Teacher, books and umbrella in hand, her long braid undulating elegantly behind her; however, unlike Selvanayagam Teacher, she wanted to teach the children with gentle methods and affection.

  Yoga Amma was invariably in a hissing rage whenever she was asked to carry Yoga home from school after another swoon brought on by starvation.

  ‘Who asked her to go to school? She is nothing but trouble and only makes extra work for me.’

  However, Yoga was Subramaniyam’s favourite child. She was patient, guileless and kept to herself. She would put up with hunger without making a fuss, unlike his other offspring who tended to truculence. He also had the fond hope that she would eventually bring in the good fortune that had been foretold at her birth. He was aware that although Yoga was not fractious or competitive, she was strong-willed.

  ‘You are always scolding my little one for no reason at all. She goes to school because she likes to study. I don’t see anything wrong with that.’

  ‘Ah … Do you imagine our lives will improve if she wastes all her time at school? From now on, if she faints in school, I will not go and get her. You do that yourself.’

  ‘Agreed. I’ll take care of that. You take care of your own chores.’

  After that incident, Yoga’s love for her father increased. He had understood her and in her mind, this created a profound respect for him. She thought he was like the great poet, Mahakavi Subramania Bharathy, who had sung, Run and play, little baby, you should never sit and idle away your time! Selvanayaga Teacher had taught them that Subramania Bharathy had been very liberal and emancipated, exactly like her father. If poverty had not had a stranglehold on their lives, she felt that he would have done more to support her literacy drive. Not long after that, her father gave her two twenty-paged single-ruled notebooks and a pencil. Until then she had been using notebooks that had been charitably donated to her by her teachers, and half-used pencils given to her by her classmates. Text books, uniforms and schooling were provided free of cost, which Yoga considered a personal boon to her.

  With no word of appreciation of any sort from the rest of her family, Yoga managed to get through the seventh standard. One day the school teachers asked Yoga’s parents to come to the school.

  ‘Yoga is a good student, and with some encouragement, she will be an even better one, do you understand? She faints and falls very often in class only because she comes to school on an empty stomach. Her clothes are old and dirty. She is liable to develop an inferiority complex. We are concerned for her.’

  Although Amma and Appa paid attention quietly and intently to this lecture from the school faculty, the advice was soon lost like a bit of fluff in the wind.

  There were radical revolutions in the nation’s political and social structures and causing a sea-change of turbulence in the country. The path of ahimsa had yielded no results, they said, and the actions aimed at attaining desirable social outcomes began to take on increasingly violent forms which manifested in various parts of the country. Social emancipation and identity rights were claimed to be central to this atmosphere of struggle; the lives of ordinary citizens were thrown into turmoil and every stratum of society was plunged into chaos and misery. Deep fissures developed in the society.

  For the first time, people had to experience the trauma of eviction. This was at its worst in the north-eastern parts of the country. The fierce war made people abandon their homes in fear, leaving behind their livestock and the land which they had tilled and ploughed. They were too weak and too innocent to oppose the war or the warmongers. They fled in panic carrying some of their meagre possessions on bullock carts or on foot, their children perched precariously on their shoulders. They crossed the wildernesses in a kind of mindless stampede with no clear thought in their heads; the dust in their wake creating a screen that obscured their retreat; they barely understood the political underpinnings of the anarchy. Along the way they traded some of their livestock or belongings for necessities. The war that devastated the country’s economy took its toll on Subramaniyam’s family too. Fleeing from their home meant that Yoga had to relinquish her schooling. They fled from Mavadivempu to Eralakkulam.

  Displacemen
t had become a part of their life. With no help at all, little Yoga’s greatest challenge in life was to somehow continue to study. Her one white school uniform grew grimier until it looked like a kitchen rag and then disintegrated. For a while, she went to school in the clothes she wore at home, which were several years old and worn threadbare as well.

  Soon, the grip that poverty had on their lives began to tighten even further.

  When she saw Senbagam on the veranda, the stiff upper lip that she had determinedly maintained when she met her Amma and her sisters dissolved into tears of self-pity. She sobbed on Senbagam’s shoulder. So Senbagam’s eyes misted over and her throat choked with emotion. Yoga’s lips whispered something. Their bond of friendship had remained as strong as ever.

  ‘How are you?’

  Senbagam’s enquiry was a key that released the dam within her. A floodtide of stories that were enough to keep them occupied all through the night. She wasn’t sure where to begin and faltered as she started speaking with a smile.

  ‘I’m surprised I’m still alive. Although I yearned to come home, I now regret returning here. I feel strangely out of place.’

  Senbagam empathized. She was aware of the furore Yoga’s imminent arrival had caused in the family. Although Senbagam didn’t mention it to Yoga, her each letter home caused havoc in the house and even though Pathma had been delighted at first to receive letters from a daughter she had believed to be dead, her euphoria had been short-lived.

  Vathsala’s husband, Senthooran, and Subramaniyam had managed to support the entire extended family. He had achieved a certain position in the trading business. Two of Yoga’s brothers were working in Senthooran’s desktop publishing centre in Vantharumoolai Junction. The third brother looked after Senthooran’s grocery store in Siththandi. The brothers worked hard day and night for their brother-in-law.

  As Senbagam spoke, a million questions arose in Yoga’s mind. Why had Kala written saying that Amma had no money to come and see her in Vavuniya when the brothers were working so hard and earning money? The picture that Senbagam drew seemed strangely at odds with Yoga’s own impression that the family had not managed to extricate itself from the claws of abject poverty.

  ‘Vathsala Akka is building a house in Vantharumoolai Junction. They say that this house is for Kala. Vathsala Akka goes there every day to oversee the building of the house, taking her children along with her. She comes back only after dark. Your brothers are now all grown-up and stay overnight in their shops. One sees them rarely.’

  Senbagam updated her with all the latest developments in her family in detail.

  ‘I realize you don’t know Senthooran, your brother-in-law, personally and he is as yet a stranger to you. But the rest of the family consider him a part of the family and it’s because of him that the family is happy. You will have to understand that after your father died, he has become the head of the house. I’ll come and see you tomorrow and we can talk some more.’

  Yoga sensed an underlying note of warning in Senbagam’s parting words and was reluctant to let her go.

  ‘Do you have to go now…’ like a little girl Yoga caught hold of Senbagam’s hands and pulled her back.

  ‘All you have to do is call my name, Yoga, and I will come running. There is so much more to talk about … but, do you know, I have two children. A boy and a girl. And my husband returns from work around this time. Tomorrow, I promise we will talk in detail and you can tell me all about your adventures,’ she said laughingly as she took her leave.

  How come Senbagam stayed as vivacious as ever, Yoga wondered. She wondered if she had continued with her studies and regretted not having asked her anything about that. She promised herself that she would do so the next day.

  The grip of poverty and the physical displacement that came with it had caused so many changes in her life that Yoga had lost contact with her friend Senbagam; Yoga feared that she had lost a precious friend. But Senbagam, after all these years, seemed just the same and gave her the same affection and love. Memories rose bitter-sweet from the depths of her mind: memories of their school’s banyan trees that grew wildly with drooping roots that competed with one another to reach the ground first, memories of running out of classrooms to swing from the hanging roots…

  For Yoga, displacement meant not just moving from one place to another but dismemberment of every limb of the family tree, a negation of trust and belief that throws one into the dark abyss of loneliness where bitter resignation is the sole sustenance.

  Displaced, she had been separated from her home, separated from her siblings, separated from all her relationships. It had pried her away from everything she knew, every source of comfort. It had taken her in an entirely different, and desolate direction.

  2

  The end of an armed conflict calls for a thorough study of its aftermath, a detailed review of its impact on various sections of the society and an assessment of their immediate needs.

  A return to normalcy from such chaos is not easy to achieve. For a society ravaged by war to return to the path of prosperity and progress, first, a basic level of sustenance has to be provided to every individual. Only when measures of rehabilitation are responsive to what people want can any change be brought about in the condition of the people.

  Working alone, an individual, a group of people, or even a government or non-government agency, cannot achieve much in a society after a war. That is something that should be undertaken by a cooperative effort for only then will it be possible to rehabilitate all those whose lives have been ruined by the war.

  Thawakkul was a young woman who had the motivation and courage to seek to identify the problems and do what she could to help her war-ravaged country. She was engaged in establishing systems to help overcome the challenges faced by war widows, refugees, the physically challenged and other helpless people in order to restore their basic rights. Her focus now was Kokkadicholai of Batticaloa district, an underdeveloped area which had been devastated by the war.

  The women there were all desperate, they kept repeating themselves, and some were only able to talk in gibberish. ‘I wonder why we escaped alive from that damned war. Now we have such insurmountable problems that will not let us hold our heads up with dignity.’

  Malliha’s husband was a prisoner of war. She needed milk powder to feed her baby and food for her older children. She asked Thawakkul to help get her husband out of prison. ‘Surely, you must have good connections,’ she said.

  ‘The release of prisoners of war is a national issue … it will take time. This is not something that can be achieved by an individual or some organization,’ replied Thawakkul, shaking her head sadly. ‘I’ll not be able to make any promises on this issue. But I’ll look into your financial problems and see what can be done. I can help you start a business by which you can be self-employed.’ The question of the release of the prisoners of war preyed on her mind, however.

  Thawakkul strongly believed that it is the common man who scripts the history of the world and has the strength to oppose the injustices perpetrated against him with courage along with the ability to rise up like a tsunami against even the strongest of powers. He can rebel and overthrow imperialists, corrupt officials and war-lords. Every human being is imbued with a deep revolutionary fervour and a country needs leaders who can awaken the desire to oppose injustice. A leadership that selflessly strives for change and wants to establish true unity and democracy can lead the country to victory.

  The leadership needs to live amongst the people to appreciate the dimensions of their problems. It is only then that they can formulate theories and fashion methods that can be explained to the people and seek their participation in the implementation of the plans. A leadership that selflessly strives for change and leads them can solve people’s problems and unite them and lead them to a life of freedom, happiness and achievement.

  The problems brought to her by the women made her thoughts meander through many different streams. It is not easy to for
get words of sorrow and words that disturb; they can stir your own emotions.

  A twenty-four-year-old girl had been crippled and wounded badly during the bombings had been left with her face disfigured. Her left eyeball had been dislodged, the pupil had turned opaque and now looked like white marble. The skin around her neck had been pulled up and haphazardly sewed on.

  All she said was: ‘My face is a testimony to the horrors of war, but I need to stay alive because I have to take care of my mother who is an invalid.’

  ‘Akka, tell me, will anyone be able to accept me with this dreadful face?’ she asked Thawakkul.

  ‘I really don’t want to live, but I have been unable to kill myself as I cannot contemplate leaving Amma alone.

  ‘I make a living by selling hybrid saplings. I don’t earn much by it. But I know no other trade. If you could help me start something, you will be truly blessed.’

  Every problem was unique in its origin and was based on different needs. Overcoming these challenges was not going to be easy.

  Acceding to Thawakkul’s request, the Divisional Secretary held a local state-level meeting of the organization in the Divisional Secretariat. During their lunch together, Thawakkul had the opportunity to voice many of her doubts and flag up the issues besetting the nation.

  ‘After the war, what kind of plans has the government made to help rehabilitate the people?’

  Although the answers she received were not entirely satisfactory, Thawakkul felt hope flickering within her. The division-level secretary of the organization was a woman and Thawakkul believed that women were innately better equipped to recognize and assess problems.

  ‘We have identified several different problems. As it is not possible to solve all of them at one go, we are making plans to tackle them one by one. We have begun with houses for the displaced – to repair damaged homes and to build new ones. Private groups have set up small businesses and children’s education is one of them.’