Ummath

by Sharmila Seyyid

  She had nothing more strenuous than attending a meeting in Mavadivempu. This was part of a scheme undertaken when she was a member of the national committee for physically challenged people in Mavadivempu. In every district office and large villages, committees consisting of those affected physically by the war were formed. These included members from smaller villages around. The committee would meet once a month to talk about their progress in setting up small enterprises on their own. They would also try to forecast their needs for the future, draw up plans and submit a report.

  The National Committee for the Physically Challenged finished its planning in two years. Soon after that, the committee left packing up all the documents and notices, due to lack of funds. The women in the village continued to stay in touch with Thawakkul and brought their problems to her. Thawakkul, who maintained her contacts with the satellite and sister organizations, provided the help that these women required and ensured that the women’s support groups were kept alive and the efforts of the women were not in vain.

  In some villages the support groups had completely shut down. In others a few basic activities continued; the women worked enthusiastically, met regularly once a month and often invited Thawakkul to preside over their meetings.

  In Mavadivempu, there were forty-six physically challenged women who were members of the support group. Sahayawathani spearheaded a working committee of eleven members, including the secretary and the treasurer. Thawakkul was both advisor to and patron of the group.

  Thawakkul collated all the paperwork she needed for the meeting into a folder before venturing back into the kitchen.

  Very rarely would she have a quiet day like this without having to rush from place to place, meeting various people.

  However, the atmosphere in the house was tense because Umma and Gulfer seemed upset with her.

  ‘Are you both very angry with me?’ she asked smiling cheerfully. Nisha couldn’t help smiling back at her daughter and shook her head.

  ‘No magal.’

  ‘Then what’s the matter? Tell me,’ she persisted. Gulfer, who was cleaning the greens walked away abruptly.

  ‘Umma, I met Wanasundara sir in Colombo. I spoke to him about our Theivanai. He has generously agreed to fund her project to set up shop. That money will come soon. Although she asked for only rupees ten thousand, he is putting in fifty thousand on his own! She can perhaps invest that money in a computer and a printer to set up her own desktop publishing centre. Won’t she get good returns from that? She can do type-setting, printing … Theivanai is a very clever girl and she’ll be able to do it. I am so happy, Umma. But I’ll wait for the money to arrive before I tell Theivanai this great news.’

  She sat on the kitchen countertop swinging her long legs. She picked up a carrot and bit into it. Gulfer emerged from the other room with an envelope that she wordlessly shoved into Thawakkul’s hands and returned quietly back to cleaning the greens.

  Thawakkul raised her eyebrows and opened the envelope.

  A wedding invitation.

  ‘Whose wedding is it?’

  The invitation was embossed in gold on very thick, expensive paper. Thawakkul went quiet. She now understood why Umma and Gulfer had been wearing long faces all day. Vappa also had been strangely silent. As she had come home and gone straight to bed, her sisters had not had a chance to bring her up to speed.

  ‘When did this arrive?’

  ‘It came the day after you left for Negombo,’ Gulfer replied.

  ‘He isn’t a good man at all Raththa. HOtherwise how could he forget someone he loved so quickly and decide to marry someone else?’

  ‘Umma,’ said Thawakkul placing an arm around her mother comfortingly, ‘why do we have to go into mourning if he’s getting married? We had decided that he is just not right for me. So what difference does it make to us whether he gets married to someone else or not?’

  Nisha and Gulfer found Thawakkul’s matter-of-fact reaction most surprising. They just couldn’t believe that she really had no feeling of regret.

  ‘How can it be, daughter, for three years he has been constantly in your mind, and now aren’t you upset at all?’

  ‘What, ma, what kind of question is that? Is he ill and on his deathbed that I should be worried and upset? He is going to get married. I am surprised that it has been so quick. But I’ve no problems about his getting married. That is our naseeb, our fate, we have to accept it.’

  She flicked the card away into the trash-bin where it glinted uselessly in the wet kitchen waste.

  ‘Is lunch ready? I have to go out.’

  Nisha and Gulfer continued staring after Thawakkul, who jumped nimbly off the kitchen counter, went out.

  4

  The women sat cross-legged on the rows of mats spread in the courtyard of Sahayawathani’s house.

  The sound of laughter and chatter stopped when they saw Thawakkul disembark from an auto-rickshaw at the gate. They greeted Thawakkul with something akin to reverence.

  This group, headed by Sahayawathani, had a number of very capable workers as members.

  Sahayawathani had lost an arm at the age of fourteen in the war. She had been caught in a bomb attack on her way back from school.

  Now she was married with two children and a husband who loved her dearly. Thawakkul was always wonderstruck at the affection and understanding in that family. She was amazed that a farmer, given his upbringing and environment, could have such an enlightened and emancipated outlook. Thawakkul reckoned that the reason the women’s unit in Mavadivempu was so successful was because of Sahayawathani’s inimitable leadership with her husband’s steady support.

  Shanthi from Vanni, who had lost an eye in the war, had newly joined the group. She was quite a good-looking woman, plump and dusky, with a finely-featured face although she still had angry welts on her face and neck.

  ‘The doctors say that there is still a lot of shrapnel inside my head. However, I can start treatment only after my husband is released from prison. I have these recurrent headaches, a burning sensation in my eyes and feel ill all the time. My husband told me to come here to Mavadivembu from Mullaitivu as his people are here. I am here now with my children.’

  From the sacred ash, sandal-wood paste and kumkumam adorning her forehead and the hollow of her neck, it was obvious that she had visited a temple on her way to the meeting. She wore a yellow string around her neck and wore no ear-rings. She hoped to learn a skill to produce handicraft items for interior decorations in order to make a living. Thawakkul and the group began to discuss how best to help her.

  ‘She could work with me. I’ve just been given a big order for three hundred hand-woven reed trays with a steep deadline. I can pay her thirty rupees per tray.’

  What confidence there was in Malliha Margandayam’s tone! She, who had been a dull, monochrome personality, now dazzled like a rainbow.

  When Thawakkul met her for the first time in a similar group meeting in the Divisional Secretariat in Chenkaladi, Malliha had wept as she narrated her plight to the group and was very worried that starvation would reduce her young family to go begging in the streets.

  As a widow, she had met a lot of opposition every time she tried to do something to earn a living for a better life. Everywhere she turned seemed to be a dead end and she was at her wits’ end when she arrived at this meeting.

  Shanthi was delighted with Malliha Margandayam’s offer.

  ‘I know how to weave plates although it has been a very long time since I held reeds in my hands.’

  ‘Don’t worry. If you have done it before you can relearn very easily. In two days your hands will start working again.’

  Sahayawathani duly recorded Shanthi’s details in her register. With Malliha Margandayam giving her consolation and confidence, Shanthi’s problem had been resolved.

  Some of the attendees wanted to know about the procedures involved to get bank loans. Thawakkul was not very clear on this issue.

  There was a lot of whispering
at this time, so, like a school-teacher, Sahayawathani rapped loudly on the table to call the meeting to order. ‘We can take loans from Samurdhi Bank either as individuals or as groups. Three or four of us can go to the bank and ask them directly. What do you say? Who wants a loan? Who would like to come with me?’

  Some women mentioned private agencies who were providing loans as incentives for women entrepreneurs. However, they fraudulently claimed that these loans were ‘interest-free’.

  ‘The NGOs have also become very clever and make money by exploiting us,’ lamented Kumudhini.

  Interrupting their discussion, suddenly, a girl pushed open the fence-gate and came in briskly. She was slim and tall. She was wearing a white and sky-blue salwar-kameez set. The blue dupatta suited her a lot. She had parted her hair in the middle and had a single plait at the back with orange kanakambaram and white jasmine flowers on it. As they realized that she was not a member of the group all their eyes were fixed on her in surprise.

  When she came close to them she moved in hesitantly, examining all the faces around. Tense, her eyes flitted around quickly. When her eyes set upon Sahayawathani, she smiled and moved towards her. All eyes were on the girl.

  ‘Sahayawathani, don’t you recognize me? I’m Kala.’

  ‘I don’t really know who…’ Sahayawathani began hesitatingly.

  ‘I live on the street where the post office is, opposite the Notary Public Sanmugam’s house.’

  Sahayawathani beamed in recognition.

  ‘Come on in, Kala. How can I help you?’

  ‘I’d like to talk to you about my Akka, Yoga.’

  ‘Your Akka is Vathsala … do you also have an Akka called Yoga?’ queried Sahayawathani. Kala was put in a spot and looked back at the seated women. Sahayawathani wondered why a question that she had asked just to show that she knew her family was making the girl hesitate so much. Thawakkul noticed that Kala was very hesitant to speak.

  ‘Sahayawathani, you carry on with the meeting. I’ll speak to Kala.’

  Thawakkul walked into the house and Kala followed her timidly. Thawakkul knew Sahayawathani’s house very well. It was a tidy, single-room house that looked brand new although it was five or six years old.

  ‘My Akka’s name is Yoga. She was with the LTTE. She has come home from the Pampaimadu camp…’

  Kala started speaking in a soft hushed tone. Her courage picked up as she got into the flow of her crippled sister’s sad tale. She narrated Yoga’s whole story ending with the suicide attempt at the well.

  ‘We have to get her a new prosthesis for her leg to replace her old broken one.’

  Kala was looking directly into Thawakkul’s eyes as she spoke, but every now and then she glanced at the clock on the wall. She had to go and meet her fiancée in the temple which was why she had taken so much care with her appearance today.

  ‘Vathsala Akka and her husband are at home. They’re waiting for me to get back from the temple. If I’m late, they’ll be cross.’

  Kala’s frankness pleased Thawakkul. She was filled with pity for Yoga, although she had never laid eyes on her and wanted to meet her in person and give her hope.

  ‘Sahayawathani knows our house. If you get an artificial leg made for her it will be a huge help. I’m sorry, but I’ve really got to go now.’

  The meeting in the courtyard was also winding up by now. Kala quickly hurried away without stopping to exchange pleasantries with any of the other attendees.

  Thawakkul told Sahayawathani what Kala had told her.

  ‘I really feel sorry for these ex-LTTE women. They suffer so much because they are shunned by society. Her own mother and her sister treat her like an outcaste. What can we do about this? If she could come to see us, we could do something for her but what can we do for someone who is kept cooped up in the house like a prisoner? All this is the work of the Tamil Liberation Movement and their incendiary speeches. They ought to have worked for the improvement of the lot of their people instead and provided them with incentives to study and to work.

  ‘Although we’re a small, poorly-funded organization and lack support, infrastructure and status in society, we definitely want to help people and manage to reach our goals. Our honesty and hard work bring us acclaim and honours.’

  ‘That’s true enough, Thawakkul, but what can we do in this Yoga business? She belongs to a family that’s fairly well-off now that the eldest girl is married to a rich man. I’ve heard that Senthooran is a very hard-working man. They can easily pay to get her a new prosthesis. But they don’t seem to have any kindness in their heart to do so.’

  ‘Let’s go to Yoga’s house.’

  ‘To her house? On what pretext?’ baulked Sahayawathani. ‘From what Kala said, it’s obvious that her Amma and Akka are not very nice people. I don’t want us to cause unnecessary problems for Yoga. She was in the LTTE and I hear that such people are still being investigated by the Intelligence Department.’

  There were rumours that all the ex-LTTE who had surrendered, put in rehabilitation and released, were under surveillance by the Intelligence Department. The department’s officials were even eavesdropping on their telephone conversations. Ex-fighters were unable to truly integrate with the society and lead normal lives because of such surveillance. Even the Tigers who had been freed from service were still being considered combatants.

  Thawakkul sat immersed in her own thoughts, while Sahayawathani did her best to dissuade her from visiting Yoga.

  ‘We’re going there to meet a physically challenged girl called Yoga,’ she said quietly and firmly. ‘We’re ordinary women who are social workers. How does it matter to anyone if we meet her? We must go there and at least convince her that she can, and should, live. We should provide her moral support and boost her morale. If we do that, she will have the courage to solve her own problems and be able to decide her own future. Why should we be afraid of anybody? We don’t need anybody’s help, money or status to do this.’

  Sahayawathani realized that there would be no dissuading her and reluctantly agreed to go with her to meet Yoga.

  Coming to the crossroads from Sahayawathani’s house, turning left and walking for about two kilometres, to the right, two streets off there was a sandy lane. Yoga’s house was at the end of that lane. The sandy lane was lined with portia trees on both sides. The portia blossoms lay scattered all over the lane and a fresh breeze cooled the pleasant sight.

  Azeem drove the auto-rickshaw with great care to not let it sink in the sand. They got off at Yoga’s house. Sahayawathani walked slowly behind Thawakkul when they went in.

  A motorbike and a bicycle were parked in the courtyard. The light from the setting sun lit the front of the house. It was a beautiful nearly-twilit scene, peaceful and calming. The house stood in rustic surroundings and in the veranda of the house an older woman was pounding rice in a large mortar with a pestle.

  A young woman emerged from within observing their arrival.

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked softly. She seemed to have noticed that Thawakkul, who had her head covered, was a Muslim girl and she seemed to want to give her due respect.

  Thawakkul smiled. ‘Can we come in to sit down and talk?’

  ‘Oh yes. Please do come in.’

  Thawakkul guessed that this must be Vathsala. She bore a faint resemblance to Kala. Although Kala was very slim, Vathsala was plump and chubby-cheeked. She was in a sari and seemed to be ready to go out.

  The older lady, pounding rice, was definitely the mother. She continued pounding rice wholly oblivious to the unexpected visitors.

  Thawakkul had already decided on how the people of this house should be handled. ‘My name is Thawakkul. I’m from Colombo. This is Sahayawathani who is from here and helps with our projects in this village.’

  Just then a boy ran in. He was about eleven or twelve. Thawakkul stopped talking and looked at him.

  ‘This is my son. Please continue.’

  It was clear from her attitude that Vathsala was k
een to know why they had come. She seemed very intelligent and sharp.

  Thawakkul kept looking at the boy. From what Kala had told her, Thawakkul was aware that Vathsala didn’t want her children to learn of Yoga’s past. Without taking her eyes off the boy, she said, ‘Is your son at school? It looks like he needs something. He keeps looking at you. Why don’t you attend to him and come back?’

  Understanding what Thawakkul really meant to say, Vathsala told her son to go out and play.

  ‘You’re a Muslim, aren’t you? Are you from Colombo proper?’

  It was apparent that Vathsala’s was impressed by Thawakkul’s cultured and mature demeanour and was curious to find out more about her. But it was obvious that the visitors were delaying Vathsala who had been on her way out when they arrived.

  ‘I’m actually from Batticaloa but I work in Eravur and Colombo.I look into the problems of women who have been affected by the war. Sahayawathani tells me about the women affected by the war in these parts. Hearing that there was someone called Yoga in this house, I have come here to see—’

  Sahayawathani broke into a sweat as Thawakkul finally revealed the purpose of their visit.

  Dark clouds had begun to gather on Vathsala’s face. Her eyes flitted around until it lit on her Amma in the veranda. She had completed pounding the rice and was now sifting it noisily as a metal nut-cracker lay at the bottom of the sieve.

  ‘Sahayawathani, where do you live, whose daughter are you?’

  Yoga could hear the conversation from her room. She realized that some people had come to see her and she was in a state of panic. Could it be the CID?

  She wondered what her Akka’s reply would be. Would she send them packing? Yoga found that she was trembling.

  Sahayawathani briefly introduced herself and Vathsala nodded as she listened to her.

  ‘I’ve got to go out on some urgent work. Amma will talk to you,’ she said, and the beckoned her mother, ‘Amma, talk to them.’

  Her tone indicated that this was not a request, but a command to her mother. She then disappeared into the inner recesses of the house.