Ummath

by Sharmila Seyyid

  Nowhere could there have been human tragedy on such a large scale.

  The Tamil Liberation Movement blocked off the exits into army-held areas, so panicking mobs were trapped in the confines of a very small area. Most selfishly, the organization was afraid that if people were allowed to escape, it would have no means to save itself. The Movement did not care for the common people who were caught in the crossfire between the army and the Tigers. In open ground, people were used as shields in the combat. But when it was clear that all was lost, the Movement had to accept the inevitable. ‘We cannot move even a foot away from here. The only way is to send the people to the areas under the army’s control.’

  As soon as the survivors were given permission to go to areas under the army’s control, thousands of people ran towards those areas.

  ‘Damn them!’ people mumbled as they ran. ‘This is what we have been begging them for. If they had let us go earlier, such terrible tragedies would not have befallen us…’ Throngs of people ran from the areas under the Movement’s control. The Movement’s leaders had at last decided to surrender in accordance with the advice given by the Norwegian government’s mediation. So many deaths could have been avoided if they had done this earlier.

  Once the civilian population had moved into areas under the army’s control, the Tiger cadres had to accept, albeit bitterly, that they had to surrender. The decision to surrender had not been taken in a hurry. The Movement had been discussing this for a while. As for the Sri Lankan Army, they had decided they would continue their attacks till the Movement surrendered and the Tigers lay down their arms. During the period of this slide towards what both sides knew to be the inevitable denouement, both the Sri Lankan Army and the LTTE violated all norms of acceptable human behaviour and indulged in acts of cruelty that had never before been seen in the world. People were used as pawns to be killed and discarded. Some warriors wondered whether, after having seen such injustices and deaths, they should really surrender.

  Some took their own lives by swallowing cyanide.

  Their question was, ‘Why should we, the people prepared to sacrifice our lives, now surrender in order to save ourselves? Why should we live after ignominiously genuflecting to the Sinhalese?’

  They were consoled by the Norwegians. According to them: ‘Surrender is something that happens commonly in all wars. It’s not shameful.’

  Many of the Tigers who belonged to the northern areas had joined their families. Some of the most important members of the Movement and some bodyguards had been caught by the army just before the surrender. It fell to them to be forced to identify those Tiger cadres who had joined their families and those who were hiding among the people.

  On 17 May 2006, Yoga surrendered along with the other Tigers. Not even in her worst nightmares had she foreseen such developments. This surrender, that happened at the end of a great struggle, after so many sacrifices and so many dreams, seemed so abject that it made her hang her head in shame.

  This struggle, which had been put together with idealism and dedication of so many, had buried so many human lives. It seemed utterly meaningless.

  For those who had lost a leg or been wounded, the seven-kilometre walk to the army camp was like walking bearing a cross. They were already tired from the distances they had walked till then. Yoga and her fellow Tigers walked very slowly, limping along. It took them three days to traverse the distance of seven kilometres to reach the area under the army control. Those three days they did not have even a drop of water to drink. With thirst and hunger, Yoga’s legs were trembling and hurting very badly.

  As soon as they reached the army camp, Yoga collapsed in exhaustion. The army cadets rallied around and gave her water and Panadol for the pain. To Yoga, the army seemed to be doing that which elevated men to the status of gods. Gods are both the creators and destroyers, which was more or less what the army seemed to be doing here. Although creation wasn’t quite their forte, they were certainly more than capable of destruction. And now, they were providing succour. As these thoughts flitted through Yoga’s mind, she smiled fleetingly.

  Her prosthesis had been smashed to bits in the shelling. She had been walking with the aid of a makeshift crutch from Vanni. The pain in the thigh of her amputated leg was excruciating.

  Buses had been arranged for those who had reached the army’s camp to take them to the Omanthai Checkpoint in Vavuniya. At the Omanthai Checkpoint, they were asked to separate into two groups –civilians and the LTTE. Accordingly, Yoga joined the group of Tigers.

  After this segregation, it was clear that more than a thousand Tamil Tigers had surrendered. Yoga and her fellow Tigers resigned themselves to their fate of being put to death en masse. There was no longer any point in fearing death. In the army’s pursuit of the Tamil Liberation Movement the lives of lakhs of people had been put at stake without a thought.

  Yoga had surrendered because she wanted to live. She gave herself courage by telling herself that if the army did kill her, it was no big deal; then the irrepressible thought of Sathuriyan crept into her mind. Sathuriyan would come looking for her. A beautiful life awaited them. She had to live.

  The army registered the names and addresses and photographed all the Tigers who had surrendered. This registration process took several days to complete, and Yoga had to wait for two days. This done, she was taken in a bus to a camp set up in a school in Omanthai. Although they were given food on time, Yoga, who had developed a fever, couldn’t eat.

  The sick were taken to another school in the same area and treated. The local people came to see the Tigers who had surrendered. They were solicitous and looked after them. Some brought Yoga food, water and bedsheets. Her fever did not abate for several days.

  All the while, Yoga’s fevered brain sought peace. The stench of death she had encountered in Mullivaikkal continued to haunt her. The people’s cries still deafened her. Although she had reached another milieu, the killing fields seemed to have followed her here.

  The women Tigers who had surrendered were taken to Vavuniya Pampaimadu camp.

  ‘Do you see our condition, girls? A prison which is called a rehabilitation camp. It looks like we are all prisoners here,’ Malarvizhi and Yamuna complained.

  The International Red Cross came to meet the women Tigers.

  ‘Don’t worry because you are under the control of the army. We’re responsible for you and we’ll try and fulfil your needs to whatever extent possible.’

  Yoga scorned their speeches. ‘They claim to be responsible for us now that we are fenced in. Where were these people when we were dropping like flies in Mullivaikkal?’

  She bit her tongue to prevent herself from scoffing at them out loud. Using her fever as an excuse, she left the meeting and went and lay down in her room. The nightmares of the air raids persisted even when she was awake. It was a month before she was able to shake off the fever.

  Parents and relatives of the Tigers held in Pampaimadu visited them. Yoga did not even think about her family. All she thought about was Sathuriyan. The strong belief that he would come looking for her sustained her.

  Investigating officers visited the camp many times to question the Tigers and record their statements. Soon Yoga knew their questions and her answers by heart.

  Eleven whole months flew by in her disappointment, failure, shame, pain and distress.

  Talk of release rekindled hopes in the hearts of the Tamil Tigers. Many members of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees also visited their camp to record their statements and take photographs. Yoga was sick and tired of having to repeat her name and address and fake a smile for the cameras.

  Only after it became clear that physically challenged Tamil Tigers were to be released, did Yoga start to think about the future. The question of where she should go from there was now her new worry. In order to enter the next phase of her life she would have to renounce the firm convictions of her past.

  In any case, she had to live for Sathuriyan’s sake. S
he decided to write a letter to her mother.

  TWO

  I leave no trace of wings in the air,

  but I am glad I have had my flight.

  Source: Fireflies, by Rabindranath Tagore

  1

  Theivanai was all set to return to Kokkadicholai. Her Akka and brother-in-law, Shakthivel, were coming to pick her up.

  Though the satisfaction of having finished her course was evident on her face, it was also clear that she had been crying.

  ‘Theivanai, what’s wrong? Your face looks kind of drawn … your eyes are red … what is it with you?’

  Thawakkul’s questions drew the attention of everyone to Theivanai’s face.

  Thawakkul’s Umma came close and asked this with great affection, ‘Oh, what is wrong, Theivanai?’ Theivanai burst into tears.

  ‘It is because I have to leave you all and go…’

  She continued, ‘I am truly blessed to have had the opportunity to stay with such wonderful people like you. Give me your ashirvadam, ma!’

  As Theivanai bent down, Nisha stopped her.

  ‘Theivanai, you are like my own child. You will start a good business, do very well in it and be happy. Only don’t forget us…’

  ‘Theivanai, I’ll tell you about the money that you asked for to start your business when I return from Colombo.’

  ‘I’m not worried about that at all, Akka. I know that only good things will happen to me from now onwards because you’ve come into my life.’

  Supporting the Eelam Movement, she had gone to Vanni to join the LTTE, and only after twelve years, when the peace agreement was signed in 2003, she obtained leave to go home and so she returned to home, hearth and the bosom of her family and never went back. She was extremely attached to the soil of the village she was born and brought up in.

  She had already begun to dislike some of the tenets of the Tigers and used every opportunity to come home on leave from the prison of the Movement.

  ‘War has started again. I hear they’re tracking down and capturing deserters. Daughter, I’m afraid for you.’

  ‘They won’t take me. Am I going to go there and fight battles? The Movement knows very well who is needed and who isn’t.’

  Just as she had prophesied, they ignored her because she was now a cripple and didn’t even accuse her of desertion. Theivanai considered herself fortunate not to have witnessed the great tragedy that unfolded in Vanni during the last phase of the war.

  She had specifically asked her brother-in-law to bring her sister, Jothi, because she wanted to introduce Thawakkul’s family to her.

  Jothi appeared to be a simple and straightforward person. She put her palms together to greet everyone and thanked them very sincerely for having helped Theivanai. Jothi’s husband, Shakthivel, was a nice young man who was shy and quiet by nature.

  Theivanai took leave with her eyes brimming. The house felt empty without Theivanai.

  After seeing them off, Thawakkul got ready to go to Negombo, although Nisha wasn’t very happy about it. The sentiments of the mosque’s Nawas Moulavi preyed on her mind. She raised her hands to the heavens and murmured a prayer.

  Nisha was aware of the cruelty meted out to women who broke the rules of Islamic society. They were termed loose women and murdered or punished in horrible ways. However, she also knew of the exceptional case of one girl who had got justice on 4 March 2000 after a long hard battle.

  A divorced single mother was living alone in the village with her two daughters, aged fifteen and nine. This gave rise to the ire of the fundamentalists who decided she had to be punished. In the middle of the night, a crowd of men forcibly entered her house and beat her up viciously with her two daughters as wailing witnesses. She was told that these blows and kicks were just punishment for someone who was impure and unchaste. They grabbed her hair and chopped it off in every which way. The children who were trying to jump and run to her in their fear, were restrained with their hands tied behind them and forced to kneel down at gunpoint.

  For the humiliation and injustice that she had been subjected to, she went to the village elders, politicians and religious leaders, crying and pleading with them for justice. But none of them took any notice of her plea. The police, however, did arrest some of those she had complained about. But politicians came to their rescue and brought them out safely on bail. The hooligans were, in fact, their paid henchmen. Whenever there were any inquiries from higher authorities, they said authoritatively that nothing of the sort had happened in Eravur.

  She then launched a campaign with the help of human rights associations. Not for a day or two but for a full thirteen years. During that period, she lived in hiding. As a result, two of the criminals were given prison sentences of seventeen years each by the Batticaloa High Court. But it is said that there were probably more than six men involved. She was forty-eight years old when she did get justice of some sort. But the scars from the injuries that she had suffered that day were still visible on her body. The back of the neck had been bashed in and there was a deep depression there. Nisha was filled with unbearable anxiety. What if something like that happened to my own daughter?

  Other than that one case, Nisha had not heard of any other instances of such misogynistic criminals having been brought to justice. Many of the atrocities committed on women are considered as holy duty by many communities. However lofty her ideals, Thawakkul on her own couldn’t analyse and rectify the problems in Islamic society. Her campaign against this unfair gender discrimination would trigger a full-scale riot, the consequences of which Nisha shuddered to even contemplate.

  The malevolent elements pervading the society are always ready to use violent means to fulfil their goals and they are also ready to accuse anyone of anything if it suits their purpose. What is truly shameful is that such people continue to be considered the guardians of society!

  Nisha feared that Thawakkul would fall into the hands of such sadists. She had hoped that when Thawakkul married Sufiyan, she would become too involved with running a home and managing a family to continue with her social work activities. She could not come to terms with the way things had turned out. Her restless mind kept swinging back and forth … perhaps Sufiyan had been too hasty …perhaps Thawakkul should have given in…

  With four daughters of marriageable age, Nisha constantly grappled with the question of how Thawakkul’s life and career could be made ‘normal’ – like the other girls in their community. Instead of blindly discouraging girls who wanted to do social work how wonderful it would be if society extended its support to them. She felt bitterly disappointed that she belonged to a backward society where if a girl stood up and spoke on a stage, instead of listening to her and understanding what her problems were and showing her off as a role model to those who stood idly by, it would question her audacity. She despaired at the thought that they would probably never come out of this regressive mindset.

  Nisha felt it would be a good idea to speak to Sufiyan and somehow resurrect the marriage proposal. But every time she tried suggesting this to Habeeb, he brushed it aside.

  ‘Why should we deliberately push our daughter into a deep, dry well? Whether we wanted it or not, she is emancipated. We cannot and must not change that. Allah knows we live holding fast to our faith with pure hearts. He will show us a good way … we should let His will be done.’

  Although Nisha saw the truth of his words, she found it difficult to stand by and do nothing. They had decided that to look for another matrimonial alliance for Thawakkul, but were sceptical of success. Their society looked askance at a girl who had the arrogance to have broken off her engagement.

  Thawakkul was to take the Uthayadevi Train from Batticaloa to Colombo and then proceed from there to Negombo.

  ‘We’ll drop you off at the station, Thawakkul.’

  Thawakkul could not refuse this unprecedented offer. Given the uncertain political climate, her folks had the right to worry about her safety. Umma and Vappa stayed on the platform until th
e train pulled out.

  The second-class compartment wasn’t crowded and Thawakkul was thankful to be granted the solitude she desired. She pulled off her head covering and let her hair blow in the wind. She relaxed.

  She had accompanied Sufiyan in the same train after his first visit to her village. Those were some of the happiest moments in her life. She was unaware at the time of the honey trap of Sufiyan’s so-called love. To him it was the enslavement of one human being by another.

  He considered her unconditional love as her complete surrender to him. She could not even begin to comprehend a love that constricted and restricted instead of allowing one to grow and flourish. Her present solitary state filled her with a strange sense of fulfilment.

  It was difficult to believe that Sufiyan would have gone to such lengths as to write to the Jamiyyathul-ulama. But she also knew he was the type to go to any length to get what he wanted. It was evident to her mind that forces were gathering to stop her progress and she realized she was being watched. Although she was praised by many, she was also condemned by many.

  She closed the book that she was reading and gazed out of the window. Travelling was one the things she loved the most. Going to new places, meeting people and the resulting expansion of her horizons were very valuable to her.

  What if she should run into Sufiyan while in Colombo? That thought bothered her and she wondered whether there was any way she could avoid that kind of unexpected and undesirable encounter.

  It was 8 p.m. by the time she checked into the hostel in Negombo.

  Those who had arrived from far away and those who were going to present their papers were already there. The impromptu dinner meeting provided a good opportunity for introductions. A majority of them were familiar faces to Thawakkul, from many such symposiums in the past.

  Women social activists, advocates, experts in various fields and the like were invited to this event.

  Thawakkul felt as insignificant albeit as integral as a drop of water in an ocean. Every person there had achieved recognition in her own different way, in her own different field, through her own distinct effort. For Thawakkul, to meet them and to share each other’s experiences was the most exciting prospect.