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| Sunday, 1 September 2002 |
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by Ruth Cole Samanthi woke up to the much accustomed sound and warmth. But she was not an ordinary civilian for the sound to be that of a cock or the warmth to be that of the sun. She woke up to the rattling sound of guns and the heat of the burnings. She was living in a border village threatened by the war. She was used to this torture and so were her children Chathuri and Ajith. She looked at the red and blue mattress where her children slept undisturbed. She covered Chathuri who was five years old with a rug. The child was too young to experience the cruelty of war. Samanthi lay behind her daughter on the red and blue mat and held the child close to her. She tried to sleep a bit. It was the middle of the night. But she couldn't rest as the events of the past year came running to her mind as if from a projector. Birth She remembered the birth of her son Ajith who is now eight months old. The villagers thought that the child was an ill omen as his father died after a week of the child's birth. He was shot. No one knew who shot him. It could have been the soldiers or the terrorists, intentionally or accidentally. He had not done any harm to either party. The villagers thought that the baby brought ill luck to the father. But only Samanthi and her husband knew that the child was not his. She clinched her fists and recoiled at the memory of the rape. She didn't know who raped her. It could even have been a mercenary who came form a far away country. All that was left for the child's identity was this red and blue mattress the rapist had left. It must have come out from the soldier's haversack in the struggle. Seeing the mattress itself was a nightmare to Samanthi. Yet they were living in very poor conditions and her husband had said that it's better to let Chathuri sleep on it than on the bare floor. "Let bygones be bygones. Let's not tell anyone about the rape. The child will be ours. God is sending him to us and we only have to accept him. May be he'll be our saviour one day. He'll bring peace and end this war." She still could hear his voice. There was no remorse or anger. There was hope. Hope and only hope. Hope itself was their only salvation. She looked at the baby with adoration. She remembered how happy her husband was at the birth. He had kissed and hugged the baby as if he was his own. His eyes had been full of joy and love. He had even claimed the child to be his. "He has eyes just like mine" he had said. Hunger Unable to sleep and attacked by hunger, she got up. There was nothing much for them to do. They lived on farming. This time the chenas were destroyed by a bomb. No one knew which force had dropped the bombs. But every one was thankful that bombs only destroyed their cultivations. Samanthi was glad that she put a home garden. Or else they would have starved to death. Her husband had insisted that she should not go all the way to the chena in her state of pregnancy. She had had swollen feet and she too had agreed. But it didn't prevent her from doing some farming in her garden. Her garden didn't provide enough even for her children. But she shared her products with her neighbours. She could not feed her children when all the other children were crying for food. Her neighbours too were helpless. They had no other alternative but accept her offerings. The charity food they got from the government and NGOs was not sufficient. In return they helped her with the new cultivation. It was a great help, especially because her husband was not there. She had to breast feed the infant and couldn't go that far. Yet she too went to the chena whenever possible. Chathuri looked after the brother at such instances. She was not schooling, as there was a camp at her school for war victims, who had lost their dwellings. She was glad to look after 'her brother.' Terror Samanthi prepared some tea for herself. It was past 9 o'clock but her children were still asleep. She didn't bother to wake them up. There was no point. They had nothing to do. Her neighbours were not going to chena because of the military operations. They didn't want to get caught in a gun fire or a grenade. One of her neighbours came to her hut to chat with her. They had nothing else to do than idle and chat. "Did you see the sky? It's still red. The fires are still on. May be they have burned the huts of the next village. Last night I couldn't sleep because of the screaming and lamenting. I wonder which front is proceeding. May be they will attack us tonight. It's better to get prepared" the neighbour said. Samanthi did not panic. They had faced similar brutal attacks before. They had been hiding in forests for days when their villages were attacked. They had helplessly watched their huts being destroyed. She had seen them being robbed by the attackers. She had heard the cries of children. She had seen little girls being raped and their fathers getting killed. It was not news for her. But she was scared. This time she'll have to face the torture alone. How can she hide the two children? How is she going to care if the looters come and robbed them of their only belongings? She couldn't afford new ones. She'll have to fight the looters alone. How she would find she didn't know. If they lose their hut she too will have to go to the camp. She shrunk foreseeing the suffering. Lonely The day passed. The village was not touched. Her worries had been futile. The fires had stopped. But the rattle of T56s and the booming of the cannons could still be heard. A helicopter was shot down. She had never seen something like that before. The attacks must have been severe. There had not been such violence before. She lit the lamps just as dusk was falling. Chathuri clung to her. The girl's eyes were wide as a frighten rabbit's. Samanthi felt sorry for her and started to tell her a fairy tale. That night she fed the children early and sent them to sleep. Then she went out to see whether the troubles had stopped. The sky was not red anymore but there weren't any stars. The sky must be blocked by the black smoke, she thought. She kept on staring at the empty sky and suddenly felt lonely. She wanted to watch the many patterns of the stars but there wasn't a single star. Her loneliness was unbearable. She wanted to wake the children up. She wanted to hear the hungry wails of the infant and the whining complaints of Chathuri. She just wanted to hear something, so that she'd be aware she still exists. But it was not fair by the children. They didn't need to suffer. These innocent children should not be exposed to the brutality and savageness of the war. It's the mad war of the grown-ups. She couldn't understand what the adults meant by that they were fighting for the children. What were they going to win for the children - families without paternal love and protection, nightmares of great tortures, dark and black world which is half destroyed and the other half decaying, a generation with no education but frustration? She simply didn't understand the mad logic of liberty and homeland. All she wanted was her children to be protected under the feathers of a white dove. Feel its softness and delicacy, to be warm and happy. Fear She was brought back to the present by the sound of guns. The fighting broke out again. There were shots, bombs and yells. The sounds grew nearer. She saw the first burning down of a hut in her village... then the cries... then the people running around in a state of panic... She was shocked and couldn't move for a minute. Chathuri came and shook her back to reality. She felt hysterical. She couldn't decide what to do. She could not leave the hut. It's all they had. It's her husband's hope. It's the base of his dreams. Moreover they had nowhere else to go. She had to wait and defend it, if possible. She looked at her daughter who was crying with fear. She had to save the children. She had witnessed cold blooded murders and rapes of children. The attackers wouldn't care whether it's an infant or not. She remembered how once an attacker grabbed an infant from his mother, threw him up and shot him in the air. It was a foolish thing to wait and defend the hut. The lives of the children were more precious. They have to escape this torture. The anguish was too much for her. She couldn't decide what to do. The attackers were gradually approaching their hut. She had to decide what to do. She almost grabbed the girl and knelt down beside her. She wiped the girl's tears away and said "Run and hide yourself. Run in to the forests where they will not follow you. Don't let anyone touch you. I'll come with your brother later. No matter what happens to us don't look back. Try to run to the school if possible. Just don't let any one touch you." She almost pushed the child out. She was not sure if she gave the correct directions to the child. The tension was too much. She was annoyed with herself for sending the child alone. She should have gone with the child. She is her responsibility. Attacked This was not the time to argue. Now that she had stayed she'll at least protect the house from the looters. May be the huts will not be burned. Only looters will come. She didn't know who robbed their houses. Either it was the forcers of either front or it was just other villagers who took the opportunity and let the blames be passed to the forces. She kept the infant safely on the ground. She realized that her hands were trembling. She folded the red and blue mattress so that it would make her easy to carry the baby. She heard the first banging on the door. Then she heard the kerosene oil being thrown on the roof. So after all they are going to burn the huts. She felt tears running down her cheeks. What right did they have to burn their huts? They had not done any harm to them. But it was not time to cry. She heard the burning sound of the coconut leaves of the roof. She grabbed the baby and left. She couldn't go far. She hid under a bush. Her ears were blocked with cries and sobs. She held the baby close to her. She saw their hut being burnt down. The coconut leaves were very old and it caught fire easily. In her tears she saw her husband's face. He was smiling as he was building the hut. He even said "Once our children get educated and start work in big offices, they will not like to live in this hut. But we'll keep it till we grow old. We'll have it till we die." Shattered All their dreams were shattered. Her husband got killed. The hut was burned down. She didn't know where their daughter was. Their children received no education. She sobbed quietly. All their dreams had died like bubbles. All she had was the baby. She didn't know how she's going to look after the child. She held the red and blue mattress close to her. The baby didn't move. She looked at the mattress. There was no baby - In the height of terror and tension she had brought a pillow instead of the baby. She wailed and wailed. Her hut was already burned down. The baby must have burn to death. She started running to the hut like some mad woman. Ruined life; shattered dreams... The title is borrowed from a war poem by Siegfried Sassoon where he sees the soldiers as "They". I borrowed the title because the people of the border villages too are suffering of the tortures that the other citizens do not face or may be not even aware of. |
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