Ummath

by Sharmila Seyyid

  In 2002, a peace treaty was signed between the Tamil Tigers and the Sri Lankan government and created an atmosphere of relative harmony.

  The Tamil Tigers, even when on active duty, were allowed to marry the person they loved if they were above the age of twenty. Sathuriyan kept sending her letters to reassure her and tell her that she should not be afraid.

  She did not have the kind of hardened heart that could keep refusing his repeated loving entreaties of, ‘Come, let us live!’ Right from their first meeting, she felt something stir within her every time she beheld him and an unfathomable feeling of ecstasy went through her and undermined her resolve. ‘Time and reason do not make us change our minds; love alone can make us do that,’ she had read somewhere and love did make her change her mind. The days that followed after that were halcyon days. Every dawn was a promise of something beautiful and each day ended happily. Her times spent looking forward to seeing Sathuriyan and waiting for him became pleasant experiences. Her love liberated her from herself, and she felt like she was having an out-of-body experience watching herself from afar.

  Sathuriyan advised her to concentrate on her studies. And even though she wasn’t really interested, for his sake, for the sake of his praise and because he encouraged her so much, she used all her skill at studying. She was by then in the ‘A’ group – equivalent to the tenth standard. Their love flourished through their letters to each other.

  2003. Steps were being taken to bring about peace. The sound of guns and cannons were stilled. Combatants could sit around on branches of trees and chat without having to worry about their safety. Opportunities that they had never even dreamt of came their way now.

  ‘The Tigers can go home for a visit. Isn’t that great?’ Malliha announced cheerfully. Yoga didn’t respond.

  ‘Yoga, have you told your people the news? When are they coming to get you?’

  ‘I don’t intend going. Please don’t ask me anything.’

  Although Malliha was concerned, she respected Yoga’s wishes and didn’t bring up the topic again.

  Everyone was preparing to go home. People had arrived to take their wards home for the five-day break. Although she desperately wanted to go home, the events that had led her to this path still bothered her.

  ‘Only Appa loved me, but he is no more. How can I stand in front of the rest of my family in this state? I will never go in search of them!’

  Sathuriyan was also getting ready to go home. He was from Kokkadicholai in Batticaloa district.

  ‘I’m going to Batticaloa, Yoga. I go there often, but this time I’m going home.’

  ‘If you have the time and if you happen to have something to do in Mavadivempu, please look up my family,’ said Yoga.

  ‘When you have so much affection for them, why are you depriving yourself of the chance to visit them? Shall I ask them to come and see you?’

  ‘No, please don’t. I’m not ready for that just yet.’

  He did not feel that he had any right to pester her to do anything. ‘You are an independent girl, don’t let anyone order you around – even if that happens to be me,’ he had said in a letter. Of all the advice she had received in her life, she felt that this was the most important.

  After the tenth standard, the students would have to sit and concentrate on their studies.

  However, that week felt like she was in solitary confinement in a prison. She was very used to being surrounded by her friends and always in places where there were people around. She wondered whether she had the same mettle that she had had when she ran away from the dreadful family who had accused her of being a thief. Her current condition made her courage falter. ‘Nothing can change the fact that I will only be a physically challenged person for the rest of my life. I cannot get away from that.’

  ‘Why do I think I have nobody? I have my beloved Sathuriyan. I must live a long and happy life with Sathuriyan.’

  How delightful that thought was, how powerful! She smiled despite herself.

  The ‘O’ level exams were held as planned after the holidays. Training for work in different fields would be provided based on the results of the examination.

  ‘You have got really good results in your examination. You are eligible for training in the electronics field.’

  While she accepted her class teacher Guna’s remarks as praise for her ability, she had mixed feelings. She felt that this ought to have happened a long time ago. With a pang of nostalgia she thought of her younger self, keen and eager to go to school; she’d run all the way to her classes early each morning without anyone telling her to do so – why hadn’t there been anybody to support her then? If somebody had cared, she would have become a teacher by now … not an unwanted ex-fighter.

  Along with her, seven other girls had been selected to study electronics.

  ‘Training in electronics has been arranged in the Kilinochchi Women’s Rehabilitation Centre. It’s time for you to go there.’

  Everyone was excited about moving forward to a new milestone and became busy preparing to leave.

  Yoga could not concentrate on anything.

  ‘Are you worrying that Sathuriyan hasn’t returned yet?’

  Malliha seemed to almost read her mind.

  ‘He’ll be back, don’t worry,’ she told herself, but then began to suspect that the jinx had befallen her again. She could not really take up any job with her full interest and she walked around with a worried and tired look.

  She would have to once again leave behind a good number of beloved friends. The girls at Kilinochchi were all new to the rehabilitation centre. She missed Sathuriyan. She was not looking forward to starting all over again, making new friends and adjusting to a new schedule and life-style. Bewildering thoughts jostled in her mind as the threat of loneliness loomed large on the horizon.

  A Swiss organization was conducting the training in electronics. Training was given through courses in basic electronics, TV repair and radio repair.

  Of the thirty students in the class, eight, including Yoga, were former combatants. The rest were regular school students. Including Yoga, eight of them were former combatants. The others were ordinary school students. Satgunam, a teacher who hailed from Jaffna, taught electronics with great attention to detail and in a very interesting manner. A short fat man, he always dressed in a white shirt. He was a teacher who had the ability to give each student individual attention. Yoga liked him because even if one student had not understood the day’s work, he was willing to teach the lesson again and answer all the questions.

  ‘You’ll be helped to set up your own business after the course ends. You must therefore be most attentive during the training sessions.’

  Yoga had a suspicion that although this was addressed to the entire class, Satgunam Sir had said this to her in particular. She felt guilty and wondered whether her abstraction was apparent to everybody.

  Yoga was worried because Sathuriyan had not returned after the visit to his hometown for the five-day break. Did some mishap befall him?

  She with a true heart. She had not the slightest doubt about Sathuriyan’s love. He loved her totally, with a true heart. All these days he had never touched her, never even attempted to touch a little finger. He had not even shown that he wanted to do it. She believed that he would definitely not cheat her or abandon her.

  He treated her with respect and had never made sexual advances towards her. Yoga convinced herself that he must have gone someplace far away on some official work. Upon his return to the institute, he would find her missing and come looking for her.

  One beautiful day, Sathuriyan drove into the training campus in a van laden with fruit and vegetables.

  When he came and stood in front of Yoga, she was astonished. Yoga and Sathuriyan gazed at each other for heart-stopping moments.

  God has not abandoned me. He has brought back my Sathuriyan to me.

  Though she wanted to run and embrace him and cry, the thought that he belonged to a unit that was very
strict about its rules of behaviour, stopped her.‘Are you angry with me, Yoga?’

  Did he realize what pain those words caused? How could she be angry with him, why would she scold him? For pouring out his love? For planting in her faith and a desire to live? ‘I was so tortured by this separation … How I had waited and waited!’ Though she wanted to ask him all that she could only say, ‘Is it possible for me to scold you? My mind kept panicking – but I still firmly believed that you would come back!’

  Their love was based on trust. She now believed she could not live even for one more day without her love.

  ‘Please take me away from here, my dear. We’ll talk to the Principal, I’m sure he’ll understand. I feel bereft without you and I don’t want us to be apart anymore.’

  ‘Yoga, I feel the same way. I love you so much. I promise that we will be together.’

  He pressed his palm on hers. They stood, holding hands, gazing at each other. Yoga felt that this was the only gift that life had dealt her and it was so precious. His touch seemed to give her peace and liberate her.

  ‘This is not the time to tell the Principal of our wishes and desires. The peace treaty may not last. The Sri Lankan government has been up to all kinds of chicaneries and the environment is still unsafe. Your safety lies in staying on here. I came here just to see you and talk to you. I’ve been tasked with another mission but I am not in a position to give you the details of that. If possible, I will write to you at this address. Be brave, my dear, and trust me.’

  ‘This scares me, Sathuriyan,’ she said hesitantly.

  ‘Don’t be afraid, Yoga. We have been entrusted with the task of protecting our struggle. The Sri Lankan government’s peace talks were just eyewash. We have learnt that the Sri Lankan army is training in Pakistan. They’ve also signed an agreement with China to get weapons for their forces. India, who we believed to be our own flesh and blood and a country that would support us at all times, has now joined forces with Sri Lanka and is providing their army with training and weapons. The Sri Lankan government has lured us into this trap and the stage is set for war to erupt again. They felt that it would not be possible to stop us by force, therefore they’ve used these tactics to trick us into subjugation. If war breaks out again, it will not be a struggle against the Sri Lankan government; it will be a war against many nations of the world. It will not be a war of dharma but of adharma. We’ve been caught in a demonic war to be waged by violent nations. The war to come will take us into a new chapter in the history of the Tamil Liberation Movement.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m going to lose you,’ said Yoga softly.

  ‘Don’t tether me by saying things like that. Caught in a situation that we have been forced into, we need to remain calm. Yoga, even if we lose a few farms, some resources and many lives, we cannot lose our principles and goals. This is my philosophy “I may die, but we may not.” As a combatant, I am sure you understand the meaning of that.’

  She had never heard him deliver such an impassioned speech before. Every word he uttered gave rise to the dreadful fear that those were the last words she would ever hear him speak.

  She stood there, absolutely silent.

  ‘I cannot tarry here any longer. Don’t lose your faith! I’ll come back … and take you with me…’ He said the last words in a sinking voice.

  Patting her shoulder, he took leave of her with his eyes, walked a few steps, then turned back, stood still and gazed at her for a few seconds.

  ‘I will come … I will come to take you away…’

  He waved, turned and walked away.

  Yoga stood there for a while staring at the direction in which he had walked away. She felt emotionally drained, frozen.

  He turned and walked away.

  The image of his intense, coal-black, round eyes stayed within her.

  9

  Thawakkul was taking part in a function where money was being given for widow rehabilitation in Batticaloa. There were widows from Tamil and Muslim communities there. Upon Thawakkul’s request, the Widows Rehabilitation Centre had provided the facilities for the function.

  Representatives of several public, government and private organizations were supporting this drive. The head of the Widows’ Rehabilitation and Improvement Centre, Wanasundara Bandara, lauded Thawakkul’s unstinting efforts in his speech. Rupees thirty lakh were distributed at the rate of ten thousand rupees to each widow. ‘Thawakkul, why don’t you establish an organization of your own? You could work even more effectively if you did that.’

  ‘Although I would like that, sir, it isn’t as easy as all that. I failed in my earlier efforts to set up such an organization,’ she had replied.

  Lunch for Wanasundara and the other members of his organization who had come from Colombo had been arranged in Thawakkul’s home.

  Wanasundara and his team were staying in Kallady Riviera hotel. They had been touring Batticaloa for two days and meeting like-minded people. They were planning to attend this function and set off immediately for Colombo.

  With the unresolved consequences of the visit of Sufiyan and his family, Thawakkul was hesitant to broach the subject of lunch for her Sinhalese friends. However, as a part of her duties, it had to be done.

  Nisha immediately put her foot down and vetoed the suggestion. She felt that Thawakkul was getting deeper into her line of work mainly because they, her family, had been so accommodating.

  ‘After the war, many of the Sinhalese people have come forward to help the war widows. They are visiting Batticaloa for the first time. It is important that we treat them with courtesy and hospitality. We should do this wholeheartedly, Nisha…’ Habeeb’s supporting voice accompanied the clamour from his daughters.

  ‘Umma, please agree to do the cooking. We’ll all help you.’

  ‘Everyone melts when it has something to do with Thawakkul,’ grumbled Nisha, relenting nonetheless. Thawakkul grinned cheekily at her mother. Habeeb laughed realizing that this battle had been won. Nisha moved away with her head bent, hiding the smile on her face.

  When Thawakkul escorted Wanasundara Bandara and his team to her house, they were greeted with her family’s customary warmth and hospitality. There were four women among the nine-member team.

  Wanasundara Bandara had organized many schemes for widows in the south-east and wanted Thawakkul to join their Colombo office. However, she had always refused his offer gently, saying, ‘There are more than enough people to work in Colombo. We need people to work at the grass-roots level in the villages. Let me fill that gap. I like working here.’

  Although the visitors were eager to talk to Umma and Vappa, there was a language barrier. Habeeb knew some Sinhalese. He could understand what was being said but he could not converse fluently.

  Earlier, Thawakkul had told Habeeb, ‘Most of the people coming with Wanasundara will be men. It would be really nice if you could be there.’ His daughter’s words had made Habeeb take time off from his work and play the host.

  Thawakkul translated the conversation back and forth.

  ‘You have a wonderful daughter. She will bring you a lot of respect and influence. She is very capable and extremely intelligent.’

  Wanasundara noticed Habeeb’s smile fade at his words.

  ‘Don’t you believe me? What I say is absolutely true.’

  ‘It’s not that, sir. We’re Muslims. Our women are bound by certain cultural norms. Already there have been complaints that Thawakkul has transgressed these edicts,’ Habeeb replied with a sigh.

  Some of the women in the group were doing their best to hold a conversation with Thawakkul’s sisters and her mother.

  ‘Do you always cover your face when you go out?’ asked one of the girls in the group.

  Sano replied, ‘We don’t exactly “cover our faces”, we wear a hijaab. Although some women do cover their faces, some of us don’t.’

  ‘In Colombo we’ve seen many women who use the end of the sari to cover their heads like Thawakkul does. Why the differe
nce?’

  At this question from another of the girls, Thawakkul and her sisters exchanged glances. They didn’t wish to tell the non-Muslims that there was a lot of dispute about this among Muslims and that most of the women covered their faces mainly because of pressure from others. Thawakkul was relieved when her sisters brushed off the worrisome question with a non-committal shrug and smile.

  This was a controversial issue that needed an in-depth discussion which wasn’t possible considering the paucity of time at their disposal at this impromptu lunch. It wasn’t merely a question of compelling a woman to cover her face. She was forced to hide her entire body and her dress; instead of loosening such practices in the wake of contemporary circumstances, Islamic society was increasingly concerned with tightening these restraints. The stand taken by Islamic fundamentalists on issues such as women’s rights is often misogynistic and contrary to intelligence and reason. The fundamentalists, as self-appointed guardians of society, set up illegal panchayats, making it impossible to actualize the rights of women as outlined in the Islamic holy book, the Quran.

  Thawakkul felt that to argue or even enunciate such ideas in the present company would be futile.

  The question of veiling one’s face had become the deciding factor in arranging marriages. The hijaab and abaya confirmed a woman’s chastity and virginity which were the most important factors in judging the suitability of a girl in matrimony. Conservative Muslims firmly believed that a girl who wore the hijaab and the abaya was beyond any kind of temptation, she would never have raised her eyes to look at a man, the part of her between her thighs was never touched by anyone else and her chastity remained forever intact. During matrimonial negotiations, some make it obligatory for the girl to start wearing the covering for the face and the abaya before the wedding. Along with the wedding gifts of jewellery and clothes, they also present an abaya, hijaab and a veil for the face and so both overtly and covertly coercing her to wear them.

  This practice of wearing a head-dress and facial veil is an Arab custom and was brought to other countries as a commercial venture. Our repressive men successfully persuaded women that these products were a part of Islamic culture and practice. The Islamic women adopted it as a symbol of their identity and also because of their fear of being stigmatized as unchaste, anti-Islamic and why, even condemned as prostitutes! Hence, the frightened were forced to follow.