‘Oh, so you say you don’t want me! No-one will ever want to marry you!’ Sufiyan cursed as he went out of the front gate.
The others tried to pacify him. They told him there was no dearth of beautiful girls for him to marry. They said that Allah had saved them from having an arrogant woman enter their family. They were furious about the humiliation they had suffered. They had no qualms at all about the engagement being broken and none in the group had the least thought of effecting any kind of reconciliation. ‘Who would have imagined that something like this would happen?’ Nisha wept. She believed that if only Thawakkul had held her tongue, things wouldn’t have come to such a pass. But not having the strength to say anything about it, she just sat in a corner and cried her heart out.
‘All this happened because of her cursed job…Such careers are not suitable for women, especially our Muslim women.’ Vappa’s tone and tune seemed to have changed now that Sufiyan and his retinue had left. Thawakkul felt that this was not the time to talk about right and wrong, but she held her peace. She was grateful that he had not taken Sufiyan’s side against her and hadn’t rebuked her in front of the guests.
‘What can we tell those who ask us about this? What reason can we give for why her engagement was broken? Everyone will ask about it…How will we face anyone?’ Nisha sat on her own and blubbered and cried. Her words pervaded the whole house and echoed everywhere.
It felt like a speeding train had thundered through the house, leaving a hiatus in its wake. Everyone’s mind seemed to have gone blank.
When Theivanai returned home that evening from the printing press, she immediately sensed the change in the atmosphere at home. She had stayed there for a week now and although she felt happy and comfortable in Thawakkul’s home, she felt that it would be rude to pry into her hosting family’s sorrow that day. So she quietly went to her room.
Habeeb changed his clothes and went out. Thawakkul sat as still as a statue staring into nothing. Nisha continued sobbing, mumbling, and blowing her nose and wiping it at the end of her sari. Although Thawakkul felt sad that her parents were disappointed that this alliance had fallen through, she herself was glad that she had narrowly missed getting trapped into a life and lifestyle that flew in the face of everything she ever believed in. Her heart grew heavy only when she thought of her beloved mother and she wondered how she could be brought out of the disappointment that she had just faced. Nisha, on the other hand, was eagerly looking forward to Thawakkul’s wedding. She wanted to celebrate it as a big festival. She had bought jewellery and other items for Thawakkul with money she had carefully squirrelled away from the household expenses.
‘Raththa is not interested in gold, Umma. Why should you collect so much jewellery for a daughter who does not wear jewellery? All that is for us!’ Gulfer, Jana and Sano would tease their Umma.
‘Whether she wears jewellery or not, it is our duty to give our daughter valuable gifts on her wedding day …Thawakkul is our first born. She is going far away after her wedding. We have to do everything in a grand manner with no expense spared.’
Thawakkul approached her mother hesitantly.
‘Umma…’
It was like a dam had burst and Nisha sobbed on her daughter’s shoulder. ‘Why didn’t you warn us that this would happen?’
‘Umma, don’t worry about this. This was what Allah has ordained and it’s as it should be and all for the best. Don’t cry over it and get up, Umma.’
When she heard the conversation, Theivanai came out of her room. ‘What happened here, Akka,’ Theivanai asked softly.
‘This is the question that I am dreading. What do I say?’ Nisha wailed.
‘Nothing positive will result if you keep this up,’ snapped Gulfer, having lost her patience. ‘Do you remember their attitude and the way the spoke to us? If they were like that before the wedding, just imagine what they would have been like after the knot was tied.’
‘I can’t forget Sufiyan’s hang-dog expression and sullen silence even when confronted…as Raththa says, he does have a massive ego and is terrified that she will outshine him in every way. Marrying a man like that is like plunging into a deep, dry well!’ said her younger sister, Jana, in disgust.
As her children took turns and spoke with so much wisdom, Nisha was both surprised and pacified. ‘Perhaps it was all for the best,’ the thought slowly sank in.
However, after a broken engagement, it was going to be difficult to find another matrimonial alliance for her. Furthermore, the whole village knew that this engagement was the result of a love affair.
Guessing what had probably happened, Theivanai consoled her, saying, ‘Let it go, ma…my mother says good seed will produce good crop. But if right in the beginning there are problems, their life together will not be good, ma. Thawakkul Akka has a good heart. Nothing bad will happen to her. She is still young, she is even younger than I am.Allah will not let her suffer in any way.’
‘Our Raththa is younger than you! How old are you then? And why do you call her “Akka”?’ Sano’s cheeky questions made everyone forget the depressing events of the day and start smiling.
‘I call her “Akka” out of respect for her. I am older, but that doesn’t mean I’m an old crone!’ replied Theivanai, her eyes twinkling.
8
When she opened her eyes, Yoga found herself on a hospital bed.
Memories of what had happened drifted back to her hazily like it had all happened in a dream. She recollected up to the point where the army advanced upon them, firing every step of the way. Death, she realized, cannot be summoned at will. She thought there must be a power up above which governs birth and death, as even to this day, the factors that determine the timing of birth and death remain a mystery.
It was four days since that catastrophic confrontation. Yoga had not regained full consciousness and her eyes had only just fluttered open in the emergency room.
‘Where am I?’ was her first thought. She assumed it was the Sri Lankan army that had brought her here. ‘But why did they save me?’
Judging by the medical equipment all around her, she saw that she was lying in a clean room and three-fourths of it was covered with medical equipment of all sorts and she recognised that it was an operating theatre. Her body was heavy with unbearable pain. Most of her body was swathed in bandages. She slowly raised her arm and felt the huge bump on her forehead.
‘That explains the headache,’ she thought. A couple of medics who had noticed her movements came running over to her.
‘Hello, Yoga. I’m glad to see you’re still with us. Can you try to move your feet?’
Although she made an immense effort, she couldn’t move her legs at all. The pain was excruciating. She groaned weakly.
‘When the army was shooting at you, our forces were attacking but we still could not beat them off completely… it is by God’s grace that you are alive.’
The scene of that battle-field and the ambush flashed before her eyes.
The first lesson that is taught during military training sessions is self-defence. However, when the enemy shoots a retreating opponent in the back, no amount of self-defence training can help. It is such dishonourable attacks that cause the greatest number of casualties.
Yoga, who was wounded at around seven in the morning, was carried off the battle-field three hours later. By that time, she had lost an enormous amount of blood.
When she regained consciousness, she was still dizzy and nausea overcame her. The doctors who noticed her obvious pain quickly gave her first-aid.
‘Only fifteen minutes more…’
When one of the doctors said that, Yoga understood that she had only fifteen more minutes to live. That statement was familiar because she had heard it before. She had encountered many such situations; doctors would say something like that when treating her comrades who had got injured in the war.
‘Yoga can you hear me? Your right leg is badly injured. You may never be able to walk on it again. If we surgical
ly remove it, we can probably save your life. But, we’ll need your consent to perform this surgery immediately.’
Even as the doctor was speaking, Yoga felt a sharp twinge of pain inside her head and passed out again.
‘You have to save her life…I’ll sign the document. Please do whatever you need to do to prep her for surgery.’ The operation took place with the signed consent of Commandant Ezhilan.
For the second time, Yoga was saved from the jaws of death. The surgery was a success and she woke up the next day.
‘Oh God, where is my leg? You have cut it off!’ She started wailing like she was singing a dirge.
‘Don’t cry, Yoga.’ Everyone rallied around to calm her down and console her. ‘We did it because it was the only way in which we could save your life. The doctors and nurses were all members of the Tamil Tigers. The hospital was under their control. It had all the best possible machines and medicines. The doctors and nurses working there were capable of handling all kinds of cases.
Yoga again lost consciousness. Her state was really pitiable. Commandant Ezhilan came and met the doctors frequently and enquired after her.
On the sixth day Yoga again woke up. She seemed to have become a little stronger. She tried to get up. She looked at her wounds. She did not have a right leg, it had been amputated just above the knee. There were deep wounds on the thigh of her left leg. Bullets had pierced the right side of her waist and had lodged in the left. Her middle was also swathed in linen bandages and hence it was not possible to get up.
Whether we want to or not, there are times when we just have to accept the vicissitudes of fate.
It took six months for the wounds on her body to heal.
During those six months she had an entirely new experience in life. She had to do no work at all, eat all her meals on time, rest, watch television, play at a carom board with other patients; all this was very different from anything in her life till then. She also read. She found that the propaganda that she had been subjected to in order to understand why a revolution was necessary was very different from what she could gather from the books she read.
Although her reading raised doubts in her mind about the rationale behind the war, she believed that she had indeed reached the place she ought to be in.
This was Yoga’s first battle injury. Although she had the necessary physical stamina, mental strength and hard training to withstand a battle, she had been ambushed and unable to escape the surprise attack.
When she was completely cured, Commander Ezhilan came to fetch her. ‘How are you?’ he asked her in a very matter-of-fact way, in a voice that held neither tenderness nor the harshness of authority. He smiled without any real happiness. Ezhilan’s very calm and collected manner always surprised her. Whether he was running, carrying a wounded fighter or even when a fighter died, he never showed any change of emotion on his face. He had a broad forehead with a receding hairline and his intelligence seemed to radiate almost like beacon shining from the centre of his forehead. Yoga wondered whether that was something that everyone could see … or was it visible only to her?
‘You have been relieved from combat duties,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’m taking you to a new place where you will have facilities to study.’
She grew apprehensive at the commander’s words. The thought of going to a new place overwhelmed her with serious misgivings.
For six months she had been pampered and waited on hand and foot. They had bathed her, changed her, carried her to the TV room – in short, they had done everything for her. She baulked at the thought of leaving the comfort of the nursing home.
‘What Anna, new place … means what..?’
‘There’s nothing to be afraid of, Yoga. You’ll have many friends over there as well and you’ll love the place.’
She made no demur because, as her commander, his word was law. When he said that it was temporary accommodation, she merely pretended to believe it.
In order to make sure that those who were crippled by the war did not lose their skills and also because the leaders felt responsible for their maimed condition, the Movement had set up the Arivagam Institute. The aim of such centres was to encourage and enhance the skills of those who had been handicapped and hence unable to join in actual combat. The intention was to use those skills to reinforce the strength of the Movement in the future.
Yoga was taken to a small village called Tharmapuram in the Kilinochchi District where a huge building nestled within a splendid coconut palm plantation. This building was divided into four wings – a hostel for men, a hostel for girls, the institute itself and the kitchen.
The teaching staff included Tamil Tigers as well as civilians. The institute was run like any government school and classes were divided in much the same way. However, instead of year one, year two, etc., they called the classes B, C, D and A. One could complete ones O-level exams within four years.
Yoga was admitted to the B-level. While in hospital, she had bemoaned her lost leg. She thought of the trees she had climbed, the rivers she had forded, the borders and the battles she had faced, all the while taking her limbs for granted. The thought that she could never do any of those things again had filled her with sorrow.
However, as soon as she returned to her studies, her self-pity vanished. Instead of considering herself a cripple, she saw herself as a differently abled person and this renewed her faith in herself. Everyone there had lost some part of their body – a leg or an arm or an eye.
She was fitted with an artificial leg when she reached the institute. Learning to walk with the new prosthesis turned out to be difficult because she had become used to walking on crutches by this time.
‘Those who had lost the lower part of their leg, that is, below the knee, quickly learn to walk on the artificial limb. But I’ve been amputated from above the knee. I don’t think it will be easy for me to walk again.’
‘It’s really not difficult, Yoga. If you make up your mind to it, you’ll find the courage to do it. And with courage and determination, you can achieve anything.’
Muhundan was the trainer who fitted her with the prosthesis and taught her to walk. He had a certain quality that gained him the affection and love of thousands of physically challenged people. He would patiently answer even the most awkward or idiotic of questions. Yoga was very fond of him. She began to attempt using the artificial leg more because of his encouraging words than because of the prosthesis itself.
In nine days, Yoga had learned to walk. Only after this was she allowed to join classes.
To concentrate again on her academics after studying methods of warfare was very difficult and she had to work hard. It was like sitting at a banquet with no appetite. The fulfilment of a dream had come when she was unprepared for it. In school she had been a carefree child, but now, burdened as she was by life’s vicissitudes, there would no longer be a rainbow in her smile, a skip in her step and no magical kaleidoscopic colours in her life.
Yoga and her fellow students were only to go to the hospital for medical check-ups and to the physiotherapist. A vehicle was specially arranged just to take them to these places.
‘Yoga, please wait…’
Malliha hailed Yoga who was on her way back from physio. Malliha was the friendliest of the students in the institute. She was originally from Trincomalee and had enlisted before Yoga. She had lost her left arm in a skirmish. Malliha had playfully joined the Tigers because she had failed her ‘O’ level exams and was afraid of going home and facing her three tough brothers who were liable to beat her up. There were others in her class who had joined for similar silly reasons.
‘Sathuriyan asked me to give this to you.’
Malliha gave her a sheet of white paper that had been folded in four. Yoga was taken aback at the mention of Sathuriyan and she stood riveted at the same spot. Yoga knew him only as a substitute driver when the regular driver, Muthu, who drove them to and from the institute was absent. Sathuriyan would come but rarely. Sitting at the bac
k, Yoga had noticed that whenever he drove, he would look at her through the rear-view mirror.
And whenever he looked at her, his look caressed her heart like a soft cool breeze blowing through it. She knew deep inside that she had reached a turning point in her life, but her fear stopped her from doing anything about it.
‘We are soldiers. Tell him that we cannot forget that we have to do our duty and fulfil the responsibilities that have been thrust upon us. We cannot fall in love; that’d be wrong.’ Malliha seemed surprised at Yoga’s reply. Looking at her and trying to figure her out, she said, ‘We are now out of combat duty … And even if we were, the Movement believes that those who are in love should be helped to come together, even when they are on combat duties, don’t you know that?’
Yoga’s tone changed as if she had decided that she did not need anybody’s advice.
‘Just tell him what I told you.’
‘Have you thought about this before saying anything? Sathuriyan is such a good man, don’t you know that? I came here before you. He never talks and laughs with any girl. He never looks at anybody’s face. Love does not come easily to those who have been trained in our training camps. But if it does, no one gives up without getting married to one’s beloved, and they are sure to never let go of each other for the rest of their lives.’
Yoga wondered whether this was the love of her life that would radically change her life or if it was another test by Lord Ganesha. Is it possible for someone to fall in love with a cripple? Like the two sides of a coin, love can also cause unbearable sadness and loss; what if this love is of that kind?
However, Sathuriyan seemed to know exactly what to say and his charming words gradually brought down the barriers she had placed around her heart.
Ummath Page 9