The Wolves (Part 01)

“The Tamil youths, having known half an hour earlier of the Srilankan Army’s entrance into the village, would either hide or jump and run away as the military demanded. The Army’s camp was beyond the river. The people across the river would know of the Army’s setting out from there.”
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by : Rajes Balasubramaniam

(March 16, London, Sri Lanka Guardian) December 18th 1985 at Kolavil.(A small village in Batticaloa-East of Sri Lanka)

It is only a week before Christmas. The Christian family next door seems to have begun making short eats and sweetmeats. Activities in their house attracted Kumar’s attention. They paid no attention to their neighbours. Neither did he have time to notice them.
Today the weather has been dull and dreary. It was raining the whole of last week. This whole week, it has worn a sad look. The sky was dark, like the face of a wife who has had a row with her husband. Like the husband who had angry with his wife, there was thunder and lightning in the sky.

In the Thillai River, flowing with its fully swollen waters, due to last week’s rain, buffaloes were lying lazily. The red-footed flamingos were bending their long necks determinedly, trying to catch some prey among the fish that were hiding and running through the weeds that were overflown with the flood waters. At one point of time, you would not see the flowing waters of Thillai River clearly, because thousands of red-footed flamingos would be moving above and in the waters, hiding the clear depths with their long legs. However, after the arrival of the military force, the number of flamingos have dwindled. In fear of gunshots, even the flamingos have run away as refugees.

In normal times, when new floods set in, thousands of small boys and girls would be swimming and playing in the Thillai River. Now, people’s movements, way of life, religious customs, funeral rites and rituals and wedding processions all have to be coordinated according to the limits of the military force, who have their army camps only one mile away.

Kumar is repairing and mending punctured tyres. He has to go to the market and buy medicine for his mother. Mother was not well due to the constant round ups in the area and she is very worried about her son. There is a recurring headache. The heart beats rapidly and sometimes she lies down, saying she feels giddy.

She has been crying and not entirely well since her husband’s death. Loosing him after forty years of marriage and the sadness of loneliness has engulfed her. Father had been trudging to and from the hospital, being ill for a long time. Mother had been living for father for two or three years, forgetting herself.

Last year, almost during the same time as this, lying with a woollen cover for the cold, he has been holding his chest with difficulty for breathing.

-Karrupan,, the dog that always lay at his feet, seeing his situation whined and wagged his tail. Mother rubbed father’s chest. Once one or two neighbours started to arrive, within half an hour a large number of the people of the village had surrounded him. There was not much necessity in asking the whys and the wherefores, father had been ill for a long time. Now the situation had worsened. It is said that good people feel instinctively it is his departure from this Earthly world into the heavens above. The people of the village respected Father as a good man.

Mother, father’s sister in-law , and others were around him. It was 8 o’clock in the morning. The temple bell was ringing in the distance. You could hear the sound of 'Thiruvembavai' of the month of December.

Father’s lips shuddered: “Has the time to go to God arrived?” His eyes went past the circle of those around him and gazed at the cosmos. Mother wept with her sari’s knot in her mouth.

“Kumar… Kumar.” These were said to be father’s last words. Kumar was at the temple at that time.
A whole year had gone now.
“What, preparing to go out somewhere ” Kumar looked up from repairing the cycle. Arul, Kumar’s friend, the boy from the neighbouring Christian family, was standing there.

Arul, whose full name was Arulnathan, was of the same age as Kumar. They were both close friends. Arul is now working in the town; he does not see Kumar frequently. Kumar has been selected for teacher training. Both are only twenty years old. “Have to go to the market”, said Kumar, wiping the cycle.

Arul hesitated.
You could see that he wanted to say something. Kumar's elder sister was washing clothes at the well. The other sister was feeding the hens at the foot of the papaya tree. Arul glanced all around. Rajkumar, called Kumar, appeared not to notice. Arul came near the cycle and sat down on his haunches. The ground was wet. Arul’s hands were doodling in the wet sand.

“Rathy…” Arul mumbled slowly. Now Kumar straightened and looked up. It seemed Arul wanted to say something about Rathy. It was Arul who always brought news about Rathy.

Kumar loves Rathy dearly. From as long as he could remember, Rathy had been occupying a place in his heart. She was a distant relative. A very rich girl, she was the sole heiress to hundreds of acres of land. She was her father’s pet. She was Kumar’s dearest love. She was town-educated. She could speak easily two more languages than Kumar. She was a luminous girl who goes to India on holiday to buy silk saris. She was also one who wished passionately to merge herself into Kumar’s life. But, it was two months since he last talked to her. There was some lovers’ quarrel, some misunderstanding, some mental distress.

“Rathy wants to see you it seems”, Arul muttered quickly. The elder sister was beating the clothes with a loud sound. Arul was speaking in a low voice so that the sisters would not hear anything. The younger sister’s son was passing stools in a corner of the courtyard. There was thunder in the sky. A stray dog was howling somewhere. Rain would come at any moment.

Rathy’s name was sweet in Kumar’s mind. He had not met her for two months. It seemed like two millenniums. Many a time he has seen her while he was cycling. She had stared at him and he had stared back at her. They had not been on talking terms before, but never for two months. Her abstinence made him angry at times.

“Are you coming to the market?” Kumar asked his friend.
“Not now”, Arul shook his head.
“Why?”
“Have to cut some firewood. Grandma wants to stir some flour”, replied Arul.
“In the evening…” Kumar hesitated,
One has to go immediately on hearing from her?
“What to tell…” Arul mumbled.

In the hall, Kumar’s niece was trying on the radio repeatedly to get the correct station. Kumar turned and looked. Mother was doing something in the kitchen. Have to go and get the medicines. Amma had been moaning all night.

Arul stood up, folding his sarong. There was incessant thunder in the sky. Raindrops fell one by one with a ‘dok-dok’ sound, and hissed as they hit the ground.

“What to tell Rathy?” asked Arul.
“As usual…” Kumar looked up at his friend.
Arul’s eyes were happy to see the brightness that spread over his friend’s face. Kumar bowed his head down in embarrassment.

The determination, which he had held onto for the last two months, was blown to pieces in the message she had sent.

“Okay, okay. Tell her I’ll meet her”, Kumar finished saying in a hurry.

The old woman, Parvathy, was coming in the distance. In her toothless mouth, the well ground mixture of betel leaves and betel nuts was moving. Raindrops were sounding music on her grey hairs. She was coming running, covering her head with the top of her sari. A few days back, the Army had killed this old woman’s grandson.

Like now, they had rounded up the villagers one morning. The old woman’s grandson had started to run. They had shot him down like a dog. While the whole village looked on in shock, with children screaming, and mothers shivering, that youth fell down curled up, in front of all.

The old woman had gone off her mind with that incident. She is still screaming for her grandson. The old woman’s grandson was one of Kumar’s friends.

Seeing Kumar, the old woman opened her toothless mouth and laughed out loudly. “Where are you going? Are you dressed up for going out? My grandson will come now,” said the old woman, standing under a tree, seeking shelter from the rain.

Kumar leaned his cycle on the tree, and looked at Arul. He could see that Arul was in a hurry to leave.

“To Rathy…” Arul wanted to say something but stopped speaking when he saw the elder sister coming.

Suddenly, with a big whirring noise, a helicopter flew lowly. The heavy guns of the government soldiers were flying, targeting the huts below.
“Something is going to happen.” There was tension in the elder sister’s voice.
“They are searching for someone.” The younger sister came running. With their eyes wide open, the children were looking up at the helicopter in fear. The hens were fluttering their wings and running in search of their sheds. Dogs were running about, howling.

Grandma came running in a hurry, and shouted at Kumar to go inside. Amma who was wringing her hands in the kitchen with the top of her sari, also shouted at Kumar. Looking at the armies and screaming “Dogs, dogs, crazy dogs”. The elder sister was shaking her head and cursing at the helicopter.

The helicopter flew over the Tamil village. The mad old woman laughed with a cackling sound. She laughed for a long time without stopping. The helicopter had gone out of sight. The coconut trees shuddered in the wind. The cuckoos on the mango trees observed silence. The dog went into a corner and curled itself up, moaning.

The hens bent their necks, and looked up at the sky. The children looked up at the sky with fright.

Arul had forgotten what he had wanted to say about Rathy. Kumar changed into shorts, under cover of his sarong. Arul had gone home, scratching his head. A mad old woman Parvathy was still standing and blabbering something.

Kumar has to buy medicine for Amma. “The situation is not good. Why don’t you go later?” asked grandma, scratching her blouseless bare breast.

“Yes, try to go later”, the elder sister accompanied grandma. His sister was forty years old, her hair had turned grey. One or two teeth have fallen. Her sons, fourteen and eighteen, are living constantly in fear of the Soldiers. This sad plight has ruined the elder sister.

“What is the guarantee that the situation would be better in the evening?” asked Kumar, pushing his cycle.

When he came onto the road, shopkeeper uncle Shanmugam put his head out and said, “The army might be in the market, be careful.” He did not hear what uncle Shanmugam had told him. He flew on his bicycle.

Somebody was speaking out loudly in Rathy’s house. Might be her uncle. Her uncle Sithamparn was well to do. He had a shop in the next town. He shows off his status by speaking in a loud voice.

Kumar’s eyes were searching for Rathy over the fence. The fact that he was going to meet her tonight brought rising heat to his body.

For two months, he had not met her. He himself did not know how he had been so patient for so long.

It might be one reason that the military’s crackdown had left the people of the village in disarray, and they had themselves cringed into hiding for protection.

He knows how much Kumar loves Rathy. It is only Kumar who so lovingly calls Rathy by her full name, Pakeerathy. She calls him only by the name of Rajkumar. Family and friends call him Kumar.

Tonight, this Rajkumar is going to meet Pakeerathy who shoots arrows from her eyes from across the fence. He had forgotten about what grandma and Amma told him about not going out. The thought of Rathy was sweet in his mind.

Standing on his cycle, he leaned over the fence and looked. She was standing near a banana tree. She was wearing a faded yellow skirt and red blouse. Pakeerathy looked like a parrot among the green banana trees. Her lean movements played drums on his feelings. What artful grace there was in her movement!

When he rang cycle bell, she straightened up and looked at him. There was a mischievous smile on her lips. He suddenly got down from the bike. She knew the meaning of that action.

He was bending down and pretending to repair something on a tyre. People and vehicles were going along the road. There was a rustling noise across the fence. Through a hole in the fence, the yellow skirt could be seen.

“Must be thinking big”. There was a sweet lilt in her voice. Was it two years? It was only two months since they had last met. His eyes pierced through the hole in the fence, and embraced her eyes. “Couldn’t even write a line, it seems?” She was shooting questions at him from across the fence.

“If one falls in surrender at the feet, are they happy?” He was a witty fellow. He has staged many comedies in the village. Her laughter rang out. That musical sound moved softly over his heart.

“Two months… how could you turn into a stone like this?” she sighed heavily.
“It is your wicked mouth that chases me further and further away,” he laughed. “Well I have to go now” she whined.
“At the usual place to night…” What he was about to say was drowned in the noise of the tractor coming down the road.

He sped fast towards the market. While his feet rolled the tyres, his mind rolled with thoughts of Pakeerathy. Kumar laughed in joy. The sound of the helicopter returning could be heard, Kumar had reached the market. Business must have just started there. Because of the military activity of the Army in the morning, people from the villages who brought vegetables, milk and fruits had arrived late.

Fish seller Ahamed was going past. The fish bought from the seashore were tied up in boxes and travelling on a bicycle. “What Kumar, is the helicopter going another time?” Ahamed asked Kumar. The sound of the helicopter appeared to come closer.

Before he could think whether it was wise to have gone out even when grandma and amma had tried to prevent him from doing so, all his thoughts were rumbled when he saw military vehicles coming from behind him with a great noise.

All was confusion and disturbance. Those who had spread their vegetables on sacks and tarpaulins moved them aside in a great hurry. The helicopter was flying low, circling the market. One does not know from where the many hundreds of soldiers have congregated.

Kumar, holding the cycle in his hands, crouched under a tree. Many youths like him looked with fear at the approaching Sinhalese soldiers with their guns.

“Everyone, do not move. If you move, we will shoot you like dogs,” the Sinhalese commander shouted out threateningly. Kumar felt afraid to lift his head up and look at the army. He was one of those youths who had, at this time, not been caught in the clutches of the army, and escaped death. Today he does not know his fate.

The army was rounding up the market. All those suspected of being Tamils were ordered into the quadrangle of the market.

The soldiers shouted out at Kumar also to go into the quadrangle. One of the soldiers took his cycle and banged it against a tree. The cycle broke. Another kicked on Kumar’s back. Still another, running to Kumar’s side, spat in his face, shouting out “Tamil pariah!”

One does not know which instigated his madness, the kick on his back or the spit on his face. For a moment, Kumar thought it would be better to run and be shot than to suffer insult like that. But then they were going to inquire after all those in the market, and when they found that he was innocent he would be allowed to go, he contented himself.

Whatever he thought, or whatever happened was all now in the hands of the Sinhalese Army. The quadrangle was packed with Tamil youths, caught and brought from all quarters of the town. The Sinhalese Army, with dangerous weapons, stood excitedly surrounding them. A helicopter was flying low round the market, making a lot of noise.

The sky was darkening clouds of rain. The scary figures of soldiers with their weapons were seen running here and there.

Inside an army vehicle, there was a man who was pointing out at the Tamil youths huddled together in the quadrangle. Clad men like the one in the vehicle were known in Tamil quarters as the ‘shaking head’. These shaking-heads might have once belonged to some Tamil militant group, but were now working for the Government.

The huddled shaking head was pointing out with his index finger. Those Tamil youths with sound physiques, those Tamils who appeared to look like ‘freedom-fighters’ were recognised and segregated from the crowd. One such recognised youth was hit with the butt of the gun, and pushed aside. Blood spilled out from his head and covered his face. The white shirt he wore was spotted with drops of blood.

A Tamil youth, watching this scene, got ready to run. Desperately breaking out from the crowd, he jumped. With the extreme fervour of saving his life, he started running.

Before you could bat an eyelid, the Sinhalese soldier standing nearby shot him down.

Up to now, Kumar had heard about such killings. He had heard the sound of gunshots in the middle of the night. But, until now, he had never seen such a killing with his own eyes. The body of the Tamil youth, who was shot, fell down like a rag doll on Mother Earth, wet with rainy drops. Blood burst out and wet those standing by. The last inklings of life in him subsided in a few moments. The legs that ran, the mouth that screamed, all lay lifeless on the ground.

Could he be twenty years old? A Tamil who, just a minute or two ago was a man was now just a corpse. His youth, feelings and life’s dreams were all demolished in a few moments by a Sinhalese soldier. Even the last minute ticking of life in him was smothered by the kicking and stamping of one or two soldiers standing near by.

Sheep, cattle, the birds in the sky, are all these preyed out like this? They run about in freedom. A Tamil’s life being snatched away in an instant like this was forced on Kumar’s comprehension, without his being consciously aware of it. There were many known and unknown panic-stricken faces all around Kumar.

By ones and twos, a whole crowd of people was being moved in accordance with the signs made by the 'shaking head'. The youths who were being moved were assaulted ruthlessly. The animal strength of the soldiers was playing on the Tamils’ backs, stomachs and heads.

A Christian called David, a reporter for the town’s newspaper, was standing next to Kumar. The shaking head signalled David. Then a soldier hit David. David screamed. In front of thousands of people, the armed Sinhalese was torturing the unarmed Tamil.

One or two soldiers were mauling David’s hands ferociously. “Were these the hands that wrote about us?” The soldiers hit again and again. David’s hands were broken and maimed.

Like the flesh and bones seen on the body of a small animal, ferociously torn and pulled out by terrible animals in their hunger, there was blood and torn flesh on David’s hands. Blood and waste water spilled out from David’s body. Kumar’s head was spinning.

“If you could run away from their torture… they will shoot immediately.”

What Kumar had thought of must have been thought by another Tamil youth. The overpowering desire to hold onto dear life, once in danger, comes to everyone; shall I run? One man in the crowd started running. There was frenzy in his running to escape and save his life. Shots rang out in quick succession. Would they shoot birds and animals like this? How many fell down? The mouths of the guns spat out smoke. The sky was darkened with smoke. Those who were alive just a few moments ago lay now as lifeless corpses.

If there was a hell, then it must be like this. Kumar was feeling dizzy. If you stumbled and fell, even then, thinking that you were trying to run and escape, they would shoot you down. Wasn’t that also good in a way? David was still undergoing beating.

David fell down unconscious. With his face drawn a dreary pale, and his whole body bloodied, he fell down. Another was pulled out and brought on the 'shaking head’s signal. An officer asked that youth some questions.

The youth did not respond. Perhaps he did not know Sinhala, or sometimes his ears might have been too numbed to hear the questions. Who knows how many people might have become deranged in mind owing to incidents similar to this happening all the time?

To Be Continued

- Sri Lanka Guardian