Warriors and officers surrounded the hospital bed that Theivanai was lying upon. She had lost a leg in that ferocious battle.
‘Theivanai, we’ve gained a very big victory and managed to liberate many of our areas. The United Nations has forced Sri Lanka to call for a peace conference with us, that’s how far we have come. The loss of your leg is a very big loss and is a sacrifice that you have made to ensure our society is saved from being polluted by the filth of the communal regime.’
Now, in hindsight, she felt that all that timekeeping vigil in the dark, cold trenches in the forests and then engaging in combat, was in vain. The way the fight for Eelam had ended seemed like a nightmare that she could not believe.
‘You’re no longer capable of fighting on the battlefield; orders have come for you to be taken to Arivagam.’
She never imagined that this transfer would affect her state of mind so radically. She truly did not care about the loss of her leg. She was proud that until the end she had used whatever strength she had to bring down those who were on the opposing side. Losing a leg was a small price to pay when many thousands of lives had been sown as seeds in the soil of Eelam.
When she was in Arivagam, she made it a point to listen to the Tamil liberation Movement’s radio news. She loved the lyrics of the Movement’s anthems.
Mother Earth, Mother Earth, with blood made red
Blood of your beloved sons buried in your mud-bed,
Enemies’ bullets you bore like snowflakes that fall,
You let the airborne missiles pierce your chest withal.
Always you longed for an independence that you ne’er had seen
Your brave heart heaving, your eyes puffed with the tears within
Your thoughts of the motherland never did pause,
Your eyes shut and slept only when your body fell for the cause,
This magnificent field where the brave sleep where they did fall,
Here the pot of blood overflows, here is where history stood tall
Whenever she heard this song she would sob. She liked even more the lines that followed which were about mothers. Mothers sent their sons, the sons they had given birth to, to the war-front, not knowing if, or when or where they would see them again. No praise, she felt, would be too much for those brave mothers.
She read books whenever she found time. She wrote her diary regularly and added verses or quotations along with her entries. She felt that reading and writing gave her freedom from the life she had been thrust into. She began criticizing the very same ideologies and viewpoints that led her to join the Movement in the first place. When she heard about the massacre of the Sinhalese in Kallarawa village in the Trincomalee District she was anguished.
To her mind, the only acceptable kind of war was a war fought on a proper battlefield. That can decide victory or loss and the relative strengths. Carrying weapons and killing unarmed civilians was tantamount to flying in the face of one’s dharma.
To understand something properly one should study it from all the angles, and examine all related things. Though you cannot do it fully, you should make an effort. I have made a mistake. I am with a Movement that ostensibly is working for a people’s victory but in fact is leading the people to their death. I did not see the wood for the trees and I was caught in the trap. The enemies kill civilians and that is exactly what our people do too. Where does this lead us?
I am like a frog in the well who thinks the sky is limited to the mouth of the well. My blood boiled with the two or three incidents that happened within our village. Isn’t this the way the others also will feel? Without finding out more about the real nature of things I came here and got lost. These people make plans to kill the Sinhalese and the Sinhalese make plans to try and eliminate all Tamils. Will this bring about an independent Eelam?
News of the Tamil Liberation Movement’s attacks aimed at killing civilians caused her a lot of mental disquiet. She could not accept the bomb attacks in buses, trains, public places and the many suicide bombings that happened. Her heart grew heavy when the Movement’s radio station announced with the glee of victory the killing of Sinhalese farmers in agricultural villages. A feeling of guilt tortured her.
‘Aren’t their lives just like ours?’ she wondered. ‘Won’t they be just as livid as we were when the army killed our people?’
Even when she was active in the Movement, she had always been conscience-stricken whenever the Tigers contravened the broader laws of human society. Every time the Tigers carried out a planned assassination, as a believer in human rights, she struggled to come to terms with it. She castigated herself by fasting and keeping vows of silence for days on end.
Unable to integrate wholly with the organization but unable to get out of it, she passed the final days of her stint in Arivagam in uneasy resignation. Her mind was very critical of the leaders of the Tamil Liberation Movement who had now joined mainstream politics to become politicians and people of high standing in society.
What connection could there possibly be between them and the democratic government?
The dharma of true warriors is to be loyal to the end. Those who switch sides and sell their loyalty are self-serving renegades, who always have and always will betray the people.
They screamed themselves hoarse for a separate Eelam, they dragged away little children, chopped off their long hair, made the girls wear trousers and shirts and created little warriors of them. Now these hypocrites rode around smugly in their Pajeros after depriving the youth of academic and career opportunities.
These poor pawns in the game of politics are now adrift and rejected by society; their only identity is that of a Tamil Tiger – an identity that is of no use to anybody. How many innocents are languishing in prisons under preventive detention? Pleas from the populace fall on the deaf ears of the selfish leaders. Those desperate prisoners give up their last shred of hope. A shameful state of affairs, indeed!
Sorrows constantly gnawed at her heart like termites. Her life seemed to be like a spring that had dried up and she had no hopes for the future. She cursed her own stupidity that led her to ignore her studies and join the Tigers. The very thought of how the rest of her life would span out depressed her no end.
She tried to make herself believe that all the dreadful things that had happened in her past were due to her innocence. She told herself that the philosophical lessons taught by the mistakes and the setbacks of her past were enough to help her face the difficulties of the future. Accepting the past as experiences and as lessons learnt, she dreamt of living the rest of her life in a constructive manner. She believed she had a right to a second chance; all she had to do was to declutter her mind of pointless propaganda and start anew.
7
That morning, Thawakkul worked on her social work project with her customary diligence. She simultaneously helped her Umma fix lunch to welcome Sufiyan and his family who were travelling from Colombo. Thawakkul seemed apprehensive and preoccupied. She had not confided to anyone about Sufiyan’s demands.
Habeeb, aware that only frozen fish was available in Colombo, had taken the trouble to bring home some fresh fish which Nisha had marinated and cooked to perfection. ‘Thawakkul, you too should cook like this. After the wedding, we’ll only eat what you make. So, Thawakkul, are you ready to cook for us?’ Taunted Sufiyan’s cousin
Although the question led to general mirth, to Thawakkul it seemed to annoyingly indicate that it was a woman’s duty to cook for the menfolk in the house and that the bride’s culinary expertise was of paramount significance.
To Thawakkul’s relief, the conversation on the subject petered out and wasn’t resumed.
Habeeb had bought fresh fish for them as he knew that they could get only frozen fish in Colombo.
‘They will not get fish like this in Colombo. Fry the fresh fish and cook it in ways to bowl them over!’
Just as he had said, Nisha deep-fried, stir-fried and curried the fish in all the different ways she knew. There
were about four different kinds of big and small fish laid out. Seer fish fried, mullet curry, mackerel dry curry, pickled prawns and salted dried butter-fish. Salted dried butter fish was not available in the village but because he knew that Sufiyan loved it, Habeeb had got it from elsewhere through friends.
As they had made plans to return that very evening, the guests concentrated on doing justice to the delicious spread. Thawakkul kept looking at Sufiyan. She could not say if he saw her at all or not. He stayed within his family circle and barely acknowledged her presence. She remembered the romance of their stolen moments on earlier occasions. Once when they had all come like this, he had gone away from the crowd and quietly signalled for her to come. On another occasion he had gone to the side and called her on her cell-phone – those memories came back involuntarily and caused a slight shock within her. She was disappointed that today he ignored her and sat there with a long face with no traces of any love showing on it. At the same time she also felt a little sorry for him as he was unable even to pretend for the benefit of the others and turn her way. He had a paper napkin in his palm and kept rolling it. The thin white tissue formed a little ball just as he seemed to want it to. Thawakkul, intending to snap out of her despondent mood, shook her shoulders and composed herself. She wondered why today she did not thrum with the excitement she would normally feel every time she saw him. She realized that the very foundation of their love had been a lie. She moved around quietly in uncharacteristic silence.
Thawakkul’s younger sister, Sano, wanting to break Sufiyan’s sullen silence, said, ‘You look tired, Matchan.’
He smiled but said nothing.
When the small talk was done, Sufiyan’s uncle came to the point. ‘We’ve come to talk to you about something very important. This is something that everybody has to get together to talk about. Please ask your wife to join us.’
Mystified, Habeeb fetched Nisha from the kitchen. He had already guessed that there must be some very important reason for their visit. He thought perhaps they wanted to set the wedding date, which would be a good thing because he could start thinking of finding matrimonial alliances for his other daughters. However, he had deep misgivings about Abdulla’s rather enigmatic attitude.
‘Thawakkul is not only your daughter now, she is also our daughter-in-law. We are a respectable family and have the right to talk about our daughter-in-law, don’t we?’
Thawakkul’s alarm bells started going off at this statement from Abdulla. Not really understanding what was going on, Habeeb looked at Thawakkul and said with an uncertain smile, ‘You certainly have the right. Do tell us whatever it is.’
‘The office job in Colombo that Thawakkul initially did was respectable office, which was why we did not say anything. But what she is doing now in the village really irks us. Sufiyan doesn’t like the innuendos that people make. Although he and Thawakkul have discussed this many times, they haven’t come to a satisfactory conclusion. We are obliged to butt in because our family’s honour is at stake. If people talk about our daughter-in-law in disparaging ways, how can we ignore it?’
Habeeb and Nisha were shocked. They wondered what she had done to deserve such slander from the world around us? Although deeply troubled, Habeeb composed himself to speak.
Now they all knew the cause of Sufiyan’s dark, long face.
‘I really don’t understand what you are saying. Who is saying bad things, and why?’
Habeeb’s question seemed to annoy not only Abdulla but everyone else as well. They exchanged glances and rolled their eyes in contempt.
‘How much clearer can we be? Thawakkul’s photo has appeared in the newspapers a few times; she speaks on the podium and has meetings with men. People talk about this and each story has a different spin on it. I’m sure you’re aware of this.’
Thawakkul had lost her patience long before this point in the conversation but she held her peace. Although they were not as educated as Abdulla, she felt her Umma and Vappa had enough understanding to take the conversation the way it should go and hence stood by like a passive spectator.
‘Oh, you are talking about that photo. That was when she had helped rehabilitate an evacuated village. What could be wrong with that? Isn’t it a good thing to do? Feeding people, giving them water – are those bad things? She has spoken in some small meetings. Recently she started a training programme for orphans here in our village. Then, with the charity work, she managed to donate footwear, school uniforms, books and schoolbags to three hundred Muslim children. She does a lot of social work like this. In these matters, naturally she has to have meetings with some men. But if we do not trust our own children how can we…’
Habeeb very clearly and in a very firm tone put forward his daughter’s case. Then he looked at his daughter very carefully to figure out if he had said the right things. His face, which had not lost the smile that it had when he had started speaking, seemed to reflect the fact that his daughter had not done anything wrong.
But Abdulla was adamant in his stand. Habeeb continued in the same manner as before and said, ‘Only you are speaking. Do let Sufiyan speak as well.’ Now Thawakkul looked directly at Sufiyan. But he seemed not to have the courage to face her and turned away looking embarrassed.
‘I’ve spoken to Thawakkul, Uncle. She doesn’t agree with anything I say. If we go on like this, it just won’t work. I don’t want my wife to be a news item in the papers; I don’t want her to be posing for photographs in the midst of men.’
‘SUFIYAN!’ Thawakkul herself couldn’t believe that she had shouted like that.
Habeeb, Nisha and everybody else in the room was taken aback at this unexpected outburst. Abdulla stood up at once.
‘Do you see your daughter’s wonderful behaviour, huh? Her overbearing attitude towards the man who is going to be her husband …’
Habeeb froze as he just did not know what kind of words to use and what he should do to bring the situation back to some kind of normalcy. Everyone stood up and hushed murmurs filled the room and it looked as if they were getting ready to leave. Sufiyan looked confused and did not seem to want to get up to leave.
Hushed murmurs filled the room as everyone began talking at once. They seemed ready to leave. Sufiyan looked confused.
Panicking, Habeeb moved towards Abdulla, ‘Let’s not do anything in a hurry. This is a question of our children’s lives. Let us talk about it and come to a decision…’
Nisha, clearly upset, but believing that it was not right for her to speak in front of the men, ran towards Sufiyan’s mother and held her hand. Although Sufiyan’s mother was educated, because of her widowed status, she allowed Abdulla to make all the important decisions in the family. The Arabic school that she had studied in had taught her that a woman’s decision would invariably lead to danger and destruction. Her husband’s attitude towards her while he had been alive had served to reinforce this belief.
Whenever Thawakkul took decisions on her own and went ahead with them, Sufiyan’s mother, as her future mother-in-law, had advised her many times: ‘This is not a healthy attitude for a girl, magal. After you get married, you cannot be like this. You have to go along with whatever Sufiyan says. All of us have lived like this. We never raise our voices in the presence of men. We understand what they want just by the way they look and follow their wishes…’
Thawakkul could not completely repudiate such conservative counsel but she could not bring herself to agree with Sufiyan’s Umma’s archaic viewpoint. They were old-fashioned people. Sufiyan’s Umma believed that by serving her husband she could reach heaven. Thawakkul was shocked that these regressive views, which should have no place in today’s world, especially the view that a woman’s proper place was in subservience to the family, had permeated Sufiyan’s entire persona. In the manner of his walk, the way he talked and his attire, Sufiyan was a model of modernity, but his way of thinking and beliefs were behind by several centuries and she realized it was not possible to reconcile the contradiction.
Nisha wrung her hands and Sufiyan’s mother sat with a frozen face and said nothing. ‘Sufiyan refused to listen to our advice against this alliance and has now brought this shame upon us.’
‘Hold on a minute, Uncle. You cannot jump to such conclusions about everything.’ Thawakkul’s clear voice stopped everyone in their tracks. Habeeb and Nisha looked at her helplessly. Thawakkul stood there, a picture of firm resolution.
Her Vappa tried to stop her, ‘No, magal, no. Let’s talk about this first.’
But she interrupted him, ‘No, Vappa, do they get to say whatever they like while we tamely listen to them? Photo, pose, stage … what is your problem?’
‘In for a penny, in for a pound,’ she thought to herself, and continued, ‘Sufiyan’s entire body is filled with envy and ego. It is not only on this issue. Even in the simplest of matters like eating a lollipop, his ego intervenes. There’s pure poison in his mind! How have I transgressed the decrees of propriety? Why do you have such a superiority complex? Ever since he broached this topic about a woman’s subservience, I’ve been confused…But now the scales have fallen from my eyes and I’d like to know what is so special about this man that I should abandon my own beliefs and follow him blindly. Let me tell you now, I would think long and hard before offering anything to this man – even a grain of sand. My living the rest of my life with this egotist is something that will never ever happen.’
There was total silence after this outburst like the calm after a tempest. Thawakkul’s satisfaction at seeing their frozen red faces was more than could be expressed in words. Sufiyan stared at her glowing eyes. Two or three times he had tried to raise his hand to hit her as she was speaking but his Umma and sisters had stopped him. He looked like he had gone through intense emotions and extreme humiliation. He abused her with all the words he could think of. Habeeb and Nisha physically held Thawakkul’s shoulders and pulled her away to stop her from reacting to Sufiyan’s vituperative outburst. ‘Chche! Of all the places we could go to, we came here to ask for a bride!’ Sufiyan’s Chacha and Chachi said with disgust. Her anger welling up, Sufiyan’s Chachi gathered her spittle and spat it out on the side-wall.
Ummath Page 8