Laments from a Lacerated Terrain 1

Special Issue

Journal of Postcolonial Cultures and Societies ISSN No. 1948-1853

Laments from a Lacerated Terrain1 By Malathi de Alwis2 University of Colombo, Sri Lanka

ABSTRACT This is a collection of Sri Lankan women‘s poetic responses to the varied forms and kinds of violence they have experienced during the protracted civil war in the north and east of Sri Lanka, that spanned almost three decades (early 1980s to May 2009) and during the youth uprising that took place in the south of the island, from 1987 to 1993. The Tamil, Sinhala, Muslim, and Burgher/Eurasian women represented here not only live(ed) and work(ed) in disparate regions of the island resulting in divergent experiences of the war but they also differ(ed) from each other in terms of class, caste, religion, language and sexual orientation. While all the poems may not be equivalent with regard to literary merit, what they do have in common is their ability to move, inspire, provoke, and challenge.

Numerals We now explore new obsessions With explosions reverberating in our ears We keep secret diaries in our minds Times dates numbers events We take long ropes knot them Sliding our hands over protuberances Unravel the length and wind it once Again around and round the tethered neck Notch trunks of trees before they become The gallows stakes or pyres Carve out cells in the brain Brim them with the scarlet shrouded Corpses killed in a plague of war Today hundred and fifty shot Yesterday seventy blasted 1

Part of this title, ―Lacerated Terrain,‖ is taken from the poem ―Numerals‖ by Jean Arasanayagam. Many thanks to Julie Rajan for providing an opportunity to embark on this unique and stimulating venture. I would also like to extend my sincere appreciation to Chelva Kanaganayakam, Jean Arasanayagam, Jeyanthy Thalayasingham, Kalpana Ambrose, Marilyn Krysl, sumathy, Udhayani Navaratnam, and Vivimarie VanderPoorten for giving me permission to publish/re-publish their poems/translations; to Amara Hapuarachchi, Indrakanthi Perera, Kaushalya Kumarasiri, Sharni Jayawardena, A. Sornalingam, sumathy, and T. Sanathanan for help in locating poets, poems, and poetry collections; and to Kaushalya Kumarasiri and Udhayani Navaratnam for long, fruitful conversations regarding the meanings and resonances of Sinhala and Tamil words and phrases. 2

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Even the poet becomes numerate The preoccupation is not only with words The metaphor becomes a bullet ridden numeral Militants killed in a shoot out Three killed in ambush The map erupts with gigantic bubbles of blood Bursting and flooding the lacerated terrain Columns of figures, hundreds and thousands Swept away by the inundation of the flood Does anyone record the graphs Of dwindling pulse, hold a mirror To the dying breath, still the spasms Of the wounded breast? What else is there to contemplate But death? The tokonomas, murals, frescoes, graffiti Bear sketches scrawls paintings of Grinning gargoyles, Death Heads, spectres Of the battlefields Among the sibilant fountains Jetting blood in parks and gardens We take our fearful walks Skulking in mazes or merge Among trampled flowerbeds And are reminded of the trenches Which the victims dug, shot at from behind They tumble into The battle escalates Now no one talks of peace The meditation of the sages hid away In their caves is interrupted by The sound of gunfire As the echo ceases and the hills draw nearer —Jean Arasanayagam Reddened Water Flows Clear, 19913

When the anti-Tamil riots tore apart Sri Lanka in July 1983, I was a college student in the U.S.A. Shattered by the sporadic, yet horrific, updates I was receiving

3

Jean Arasanayagam, Reddened Water Flows Clear (London & Boston: Forest Books, 1991), 65-66.

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via letters from family and friends (there was no worldwide web in those days!), and too poor to fly home, I vented my anger, frustration, and helplessness about the situation by writing poetry. One of those poems entitled ―Letter to a Tamil friend‖ was initially published in my college newspaper. It was later re-published in Sri Lanka in the Thatched Patio, the in-house journal of the International Centre for Ethnic Studies, Colombo, and in the widely-read fortnightly, Lanka Guardian. The publication of my poem engendered a series of both poetic and prose responses, and gave me a taste of the power of poetry, not only to move and inspire, but also to have political effects.4 What I wish to share in this collection are Sri Lankan women‘s poetic responses to the varied forms and kinds of violence they have experienced during the protracted civil war in the north and east of Sri Lanka, which spanned almost three decades (early 1980s to May 2009) and during the youth uprising that took place in the south of the island from 1987 to 1993. The Tamil, Sinhala, Muslim, and Burgher/Eurasian women represented here not only live(ed) and work(ed) in disparate regions of the island (resulting in divergent experiences of the war), but they also differ(ed) from each other in terms of class, caste, religion, language, and sexual orientation. 5 Some of the poets published here identify themselves as feminists while others do not. Some are anti-nationalist, others not. I have also eschewed the inclusion of poetry written by women soldiers or militants and by women not located in Sri 4

For example, see Lanka Guardian February 1, 1987: 19, Lanka Guardian March 1, 1987: 1-2; and Lanka Guardian May 15, 1987: 22. 5 ―Muslim‖ is a religious as well as ethnic category in Sri Lanka. Those who identify themselves as Muslim are primarily ―Moors‖ (result of migrations from various regions of the Middle East, over centuries) and ―Malays‖ (result of migrations from Indonesia and Malaysia). ―Burgher‖ is an ethnic classification used in Sri Lanka to distinguish the offspring of Sri Lankan and Portuguese/Dutch unions, while ―Eurasian‖ distinguishes those who are the offspring of unions between Europeans and Sri Lankans or others of Asian descent. The latter two ethnic groups currently constitute a minuscule percentage of the population.

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Lanka (Marilyn Krysl is the exception).6 While all the poems may not be equivalent with regard to literary merit, what they do have in common is their ability to move, inspire, provoke, and challenge. Some of the poets published here are particularly tragic reminders of those despairing and dispiriting decades of war. The poetry in this collection includes work by Rajini Thiranagama, a feminist, human rights activist, and Professor of Anatomy at the University of Jaffna who was gunned down by the LTTE (Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam) on her way home from work on September 21, 1989; and of Selvi (Thiyagarajah), a student of Theatre Studies at the University of Jaffna who was arrested by the LTTE soon after she staged a play critical of Tamil nationalism in 1991. Selvi continues to be listed as a missing person, although documentation of how cruelly the LTTE treat their women prisoners makes me hope that she did not have to suffer too long within that punitive system (see UTHR 1995). Selvi was honoured by the American PEN Centre in 1992 and received the annual Poetry International Award in 1994 (Women and Media Collective 2002: 109, Options 1994: 10). Sivaramani was also a student at the University of Jaffna when she killed herself on May 19, 1991, at the age of twenty-three years. Sitralega Maunaguru, a feminist scholar, poet and friend of Sivaramani‘s, has referred to her death as ―a tragic indicator of the level of desperation and hopelessness she suffered in a climate of social and political upheaval‖ where dissent was silenced under the authoritarian regime of the LTTE (Maunaguru 1992: 21).7 Maunaguru observes that as a Tamil

6

The poetry composed by Tamil women militants has been discussed and analysed from diverse points of view (see, for example, de Alwis 1998; de Mel 1998; Schalk 1992; and Sornarajah 2004a and 2004b). For a discussion of diasporic Tamil women‘s poetry, see Sumathy 2005. 7 While Sivaramani‘s hometown, Jaffna, was under the control of the LTTE during this period, a repressive regime also held sway over the rest of the island (for a discussion of this period, see Hoole et al. 1990).

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woman, Sivaramani also had to confront ―social authoritarianism‖; she was constantly ―ridiculed when she stood for the rights of women‖ (Ibid). Maunaguru interprets Sivaramani‘s suicide as a ―vehement protest against the oppression of society‖ (Ibid). On the day of her suicide, Sivaramani burned all her poems that she could get hold of. Only twenty-three survived, and those were subsequently translated by a group of Tamil poets and scholars (Ibid). In general, poetry-writing in Sri Lanka has been dominated by men. This has changed over the past two decades as women poets writing in the English language have gained greater recognition and respect. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for women poets writing in the Sinhala and Tamil languages. However, several women‘s organizations—such as the Jaffna Women‘s Study Circle, the Suriya Women‘s Development Centre in Batticaloa, the Muslim Women‘s Research and Action Forum, and the Women and Media Collective—have made a conscious effort to publish the work of women poets writing in the Tamil and Sinhala languages in order to showcase their creativity and give voice to their experiences and opinions. The Jaffna Women‘s Study Circle pioneered this trend publishing Sollatha Seithikal (―Unspoken Messages‖), a collection of Tamil women‘s poetry, in 1986. This was followed several decades later by two other important collections: Women in War Time (2002), which for the first time published women‘s poetry originally written in either Tamil or Sinhala in one collection (with a mixture of translations and summaries, in the Sinhala, Tamil, and English languages); and Let the Poems Speak (2010), which featured Tamil poetry written by Tamil and Muslim women from the Eastern Province, with translations in the Sinhala and English languages. The dedication of the compilers of these two poetry collections to provide translations in Laments from a Lacerated Terrain By Malathi de Alwis JPCS Vol. 4, No. 2, 2013

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all three official languages of Sri Lanka—Sinhala, Tamil and English—has significantly broadened the readership of these collections, though unfortunately they are not well distributed throughout the island. The publication of individual as well as collective poetry anthologies in the Sinhala and Tamil languages has also forced male poets writing in these languages to both read and acknowledge their literary merits (see for example, Nuhuman 2012). The internet has also been a great enabler and disseminator, and many women poets can now access a much more dispersed and diverse audience by posting their poetry on Sinhala and Tamil literary blogs or their own web/Facebook/MySpace pages. Despite these more recent innovations, one rarely gets an opportunity in Sri Lanka to savour the pleasure of reading poems written in the Tamil, Sinhala, and English languages juxtaposed together in one text. Sadly, very few Sri Lankans are tri-lingual and, thus, most publications are restricted to being monolingual or bilingual at most. Therefore, the compilation presented herein is quite unique as it encapsulates poems originally written in all three official languages of Sri Lanka.8 This is a very subjective selection. Some of the poems I share are those that I have lived with, read, and re-read, and have sought inspiration from over the years. Some of the images they have conjured have been seared into my brain. Others are newer and speak of more recent horrors and sorrows. Some poems, while appearing to be very simply written, are nonetheless raw and startling. Others are more sophisticated and ambiguous, but equally terrifying in their suggestiveness. Some poems only appear as excerpts due to spatial limitations, and I hope the poets

8

Nonetheless, despite my best efforts at translation and adaptation, I have not always succeeded in capturing the nuanced sentiments, complex word play, alliterative rhythms, and lyrical beauty of the poems that were originally written in the Sinhala and Tamil languages.

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concerned will forgive me for this. A few of the poems have been written by accomplished, award-winning poets, but the majority were selected from newsletters, newspapers, magazines, poetry collections, and web blogs, and even a few poems tucked away in a diary—the writer too shy to share them with anyone until I coaxed her to show them to me. I will not offer a literary analysis of the poems but have chosen instead to merely select and categorize them, and to let the poets speak directly to you…. SECTION I: Echoes of War

This introductory set of poems in Section I: Echoes of War spans three decades of war, from the early 1980s to the latter half of the 2000s, and seeks to highlight the civil war‘s reverberations temporally, psychically, and spatially— spanning decades, delving deep within us, and also intertwining generations—crisscrossing a tiny isle and also rebounding across the globe. The poetry included here reflects the experiences and expressions of women living in the war zones of the north and east, as well as those penned by women located in the west, south, and central highlands of Sri Lanka who experienced war, often, somewhat distantly through the death of a loved one or a bomb explosion in the neighbourhood. Many of the women speak of the terror and hopelessness unleashed by war, particularly the torment of mothers from both sides of the ethnic divide— Sinhala mothers who anxiously await the return of their soldier sons, and Tamil mothers who watch the slow decimation of their families or who are pushed to deny their maternity in order to safeguard family and home; women who peruse photographs of their dead that outnumber the visuals of religious deities in their homes, are forced to confront their tragic reality every day. Laments from a Lacerated Terrain By Malathi de Alwis JPCS Vol. 4, No. 2, 2013

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Several poems also offer critiques of those who perpetrate and perpetuate war—politicians, militants, the military—and of the elites who can afford to escape it. Some of the poems also emphasize class inequality—be it in terms of how socioeconomic circumstances may engender voicelessness in war or enlistment into its violence. While certain Sinhala poems emphasise the gentleness (resisting harming even an ant) and socialist idealism of soldiers (Pavel is the working class hero in Gorky‘s The Mother), Tamil poems recall Sinhala soldiers who perceive all Tamils as ―terrorists‖ and harass them at every turn—at checkpoints, during cordon and search operations, and in their homes. Critiques of patriarchal strictures on women also emerge through the employment of subtle tropes such as the draping of a sari, which symbolises the preservation of ―orthodox culture‖ (see ―The Last Intelligence‖).9 Several women poets have written of how everyday violence engendered by patriarchy—such as rape, wife beating, abandonment, teen pregnancies, and child abuse—is intensified in wartime. While many of those poems could not be included here, rape is a recurring theme in several selections.

Beginnings when life begins so does language, poetry, and ah, politics, the final resting place of love, in war and in peace —sumathy Like Myth and Mother: A Political Autobiography in Poetry And Prose, 200710 9

The LTTE would issue notices from time to time warning Tamil women civilians in the north not to eschew the wearing of saris (despite how costly they might be) and to maintain their long hair (see also Maunaguru 1995). 10 sumathy, ―Beginnings,‖ Like Myth and Mother: A Political Autobiography in Poetry And Prose, 2007 (Colombo: Sirahununi, 2008), 10.

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In Search of the Sun My soul, full of despair yearns for life wherever I turn I see primitive humans yellow toothed, ugly mouthed thirsting blood, slit flesh saliva adribble cruel nails and horrifying eyes Bragging and jubilating over victories are not new legs lost from long walks for miles and miles in search of a throne days wasted waiting for full moons only boredom lingers My exaltations in thoughts of the blessings of the devas withered to dry grass after the morning dew melted like buffaloes that tread on the same path how long do I have to continue? what is great in sinking in vulgarity? It is not easy to see bright days in a clouded sky I should search for the sun —Selvi (Jaffna) Options, 198811

The Last Intelligence The last intelligence is dying… All avenues for questions denied

11

Selvi, ―In Search of the Sun,‖ translated from Tamil. Options, No. 1 (August 1994), 10.

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Children lie only in darkness. Nothing beyond but an orthodox culture preserved by the draping of a sari The questions to the questions are already written. Who will be named heroes The intelligentsia of the land stand on street corners. Questions answers and solutions have lost their importance. ‗We have failed to live humanely.‘ This is our final declaration —Sivaramani (Jaffna) Options, 198912

Some More Notes of Blood I am habituated to the sight of blood shed every month. Yet, when the child comes screaming with his finger, slashed, I shudder in shock and suffering. Like I see it for the first time, it stirs in me a yearning, a sympathy; 12

Sivaramani, ―The Last Intelligence,‖ translated from Tamil by a group of Tamil poets and scholars. Options, no. 1 (August 1994), 5.

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a helplessness engulfs me. The blood of a woman, her body forced open, gone cold, leaves a trail in its wake, repugnant like the blood of a spider, dead, the sticky colour of the woman‘s gasping breath. The blood drips from the body of the murdered baby child, silently, childlike. Those who shed their blood in the battle field, those who caused blood shed, spilling the blood of others, are being honoured and promoted to higher orders by their leaders. The blood stained walls of the torture chamber are splattered with drops, of the human soul‘s shattered fragments; they cry out, loud, in their tortured state, in a plea for delivery. The stench of ferocious cruelty The hunt‘s bloody scent; Clots—the blood clots in the streets, gone mad, hounded by a merciless blood thirst; It spreads through the walls, of the tombs, drying, follows me, to this very day, wherever I be, like death‘s trail. —Anar (Issath Rihana M. Aseem) Let the Poems Speak, 201013

Paled East Dawn the eastern sky reddens birds leave their nests blasting the mountains came the Eastern dawn. Flowers blossomed girls with their flower trays and women without flowers. 13

Anar (Issath Rihana M. Aseem), ―Some More Notes of Blood,‖ Suriya Women‘s Development Centre, ed., Let the Poems Speak (Batticaloa: Suriya Women‘s Development Centre, 2010), 18-19.

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Photographs hang in all houses amidst joss stick smoke and floral offerings; of village youth eclipsing the portraits of the gods. This was how the East dawns blasting the mountains of our villages —Vijeyaluxmy Segarupan Let the Poems Speak, 201014

A Mother’s Lament (excerpts) You lie in the road dust Your body soaked in blood. I bend down to see your face. Yes son, it is you. ―Why do you cry mother?‖ the gathered crowd inquires. ―Do you know this boy?‖ threatens the man with the gun. ―No, I don‘t.‖ I shake my head denying you, my first born. In Kurukshetra, when Karna falls Kunti runs and takes him in her arms and cries ―Oh my son‖ I am a sinner to be born now for I cannot even claim you as my son.15 ………. If I claimed you as my son They will come home and take away 14

Vijeyaluxmy Segarupan, ―Paled East,‖ Suriya Women‘s Development Centre, ed., Let the Poems Speak. Tamil translation by Shriganesan (Batticaloa: Suriya Women‘s Development Centre, 2010), 113. 15

This refers to an event mentioned in the Sanskrit epic, The Mahabharata (Narasimhan [trans.] 1997). Karna, a great warrior, was Kunti‘s first born, illegitimate son—a relationship she could only reveal as he lay dying on the battlefield, slain by his step-brother Arjuna.

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your brothers and set fire to my hut, will load my cow onto their lorry and drive away to Palaly. Who is there to question them? I am just a poor woman Sons from rich families have gone abroad and qualified as doctors. Those who advocated a separate state on platforms are guests in a neighbouring country safe and sound When you have grown like trees and it‘s time to give me shade you are dead on the road-side —Sanmarga (Sarvamangalam Kailasapathy) Women in War Time, 200216

Beware…Watch out (excerpt) My mother is weary wailing today for my brother tomorrow for my father another day for my sister Not knowing she may have to cry too for me some day or other —Kalaimahal (Kalaimahal Krishnamoorthy) Let the Poems Speak, 201017

A Truth You who resisted harming even an ant only joined the fraternity of soldiers when educational pursuits bore no fruit 16

Sanmarga (Sarvamangalam Kailasapathy), ―A Mother‘s Lament,‖ Women in War Time. Women and Media Collective, ed., Tamil translation by Women and Media Collective (Colombo: Women and Media Collective, 2002), 24-26. Adapted by Malathi de Alwis. 17

Kalaimahal (Kalaimahal Krishnamoorthy), ―Beware…Watch Out!‖ Let the Poems Speak. Suriya Women‘s Development Centre, ed., Tamil translation by Thava Sajitharan (Batticaloa: Suriya Women‘s Development Centre, 2010), 54.

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and seven hungry mouths had to be appeased Tying an offering to the kande deviyo falling at the feet of our ailing mother ever since the day you stooped low under the lintel of our coconut-thatched hut and left our hearts have been aflame Come back to us from the Palmyrah-lined flaming border of Yalpannam Fling down your weapons tender-hearted brother When one sleeps upon a mat on the floor One cannot fall any further —Pushpa Ilangantilaka Women in War Time, 200218

Soldier Mother (excerpt) Our hunger destroyed with bomb and gun The mouthful of rice I fed you has now doubled and returned to me The river ripples in the darkness As mothers escort their sons and daughters home I can no longer see your face As a weeping sun collapses below the horizon —Monica Ruwanpathirana Women in War Time, 200219

To Be Read by My Little Son (excerpt) 18

Pushpa Ilangantilaka, ―A Truth,‖ Women in War Time. Women and Media Collective, ed., Sinhala translation by Malathi de Alwis (Colombo: Women and Media Collective, 2002), 15. 19

Monica Ruwanpathirana, ―Soldier Mother,‖ Women in War Time. Women and Media Collective, ed., Sinhala translation by Malathi de Alwis (Colombo: Women and Media Collective, 2002), 38.

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I am a foolish, illiterate woman Writing to you with coconut-sized Sinhala characters I hear war songs dedicated to you soldiers, daily I don‘t know, man Kill…, hack…, Apoi!, Lord Buddha‘s first precept Nationalism, patriotism These are very heavy words We don‘t know any thing Ramasamy‘s mother Thangamma and I Went to the village market this Sunday ‗I don‘t feel like writing childish poems about love I feel like writing loving thoughts About Rivarez, Pavel and Natasha‘ Who are these chaps? Where do they live? We don‘t know anything, about them —Jagathi Shihari Hettige Shakthi, 199420

Identity Unspeakable agonies at the checkpoints tell us tales Looks that check your face against the space (in your ID card) Where your address is noted Long looks that scrutinize your real and reel images Clandestine looks that separate your wear from the body you bear 20

Jagathi Shihari Hettige, ―To Be Read By My Little Son,‖ Sinhala translation by Malathi de Alwis, Shakthi, 1(4) (May-June 1994), 6.

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Dubious looks that tear your parcels and food apart Revolting looks needing to touch and feel your femininity to confirm your identity Looks upon the identity cards seeking to affirm your identity… —Aruljothy (Aruljothy Ramaiyah) Let the Poems Speak, 201021

Reclaiming (excerpt) Oh Warriors! Carry out your search So none escape Surrounded by the landmines of the grandson Explosives of the grandfather Shells of the father Multibarrels of the son You cordon and search —Rudhra (Rudrakumary) Let the Poems Speak, 201022 SECTION II: In Memorium

Section II: In Memorium includes poems that refer to specific events and moments of violence during the war. For most Sri Lankans or for those who follow Sri Lankan politics closely, the names Kokkadichcholai or Krishanthy or Neelan would be immediate memory triggers. On June 12, 1991, the Sri Lankan Army (SLA) went on a rampage in Kokkadichcholai (Eastern Province) after two soldiers were killed in a landmine blast. In response, the SLA gunned down 152 Tamil civilians,

21

Aruljothy (Aruljothy Ramaiyah), ―Identity,‖ Let the Poems Speak. Suriya Women‘s Development Centre, ed., Tamil translation by Thava Sajitharan (Batticaloa: Suriya Women‘s Development Centre, 2010), 29. 22 Rudhra (Rudrakumary), ―Reclaiming,‖ Let the Poems Speak. Suriya Women‘s Development Centre, ed., Tamil translation by Thava Sajitharan (Batticaloa: Suriya Women‘s Development Centre, 2010), 44.

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many of them women and children who had taken refuge in Kumaranayagam‘s rice mill.23 The American poet Marilyn Krysl, who was volunteering with Peace Brigade International during that period, bears witness to the massacre in her poem ―Suite for Kokodicholai.‖ She is the only non-Sri Lankan represented in this collection. On August 7, 1996, Krishanthy Kumaraswamy, a nineteen-year-old Tamil student in Jaffna (Northern Province) was on her way home when she was stopped at an army checkpoint, gang raped, and murdered by six soldiers. Her mother, brother, and a family friend who went in search of her were also murdered. The subsequent discovery of their graves led to an international campaign spearheaded by local feminists who demanded the prosecution of the perpetrators.24 On July 29, 1999, Dr. Neelan Tiruchelvam, who was a TULF (Tamil United Liberation Front) parliamentarian, an indefatigable advocate of peace, justice, and equality, and a renowned legal scholar and public intellectual, was on his way to his office in Colombo (Western Province) when he was assassinated by an LTTE suicide bomber. Dr. Tiruchelvam co-founded the International Centre for Ethnic Studies and the Law and Society Trust, which were two innovative centres of learning, research, and policy analysis. He befriended and mentored several generations of young scholars and activists, of whom I am one. The void he left behind has never been filled. The Central Bank bombing (explored in Viviemarie VanderPoorten‘s poem ―Explosion‖) on January 31, 1996, was one of the deadliest attacks master-minded by the LTTE and that devastated Colombo‘s financial hub. It killed over 100 people and 23

For a detailed documentation of this event and its subsequent cover up, see: , accessed on October 11, 2012. 24 For a discussion and analysis of this case and the international campaign it engendered, see Kois 2007.

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injured 1,400 (Sunday Observer, May 15, 2011). Rajani Thiranagama‘s poem ―Letter from Jaffna‖ describes her experiences during the carnage that was unleashed some months after the arrival of the IPKF (Indian Peace Keeping Force) in Sri Lanka in June 1987.25 Even in the midst of horror, she notes that the people of Jaffna had not lost their sense of humour. In August 2006, with the resumption of hostilities between the LTTE and government forces, those in the predominantly Muslim town of Muttur were caught in the cross-fire between the two groups and were under siege for three days. During this period, many human rights violations took place, including the massacre of seventeen Tamil humanitarian aid workers employed by Action Contra la Faim (ACF).26 The Muslims and Tamils of this town underwent multiple displacements within the space of a few days and suffered heavy casualties due to the use of multi-barrel rocket launchers by the government forces. It is these series of events that are evoked in Jeyanthy Thalayasingham‘s poem, ―Mammoty.‖

Suite for Kokodicholai, Sri Lanka (excerpt) Husband I was in the fields when I heard the shots I walked quickly. The houses were empty I could hear the soldiers ahead, firing Then I met others, also walking quickly We came to Kumaranayagam‘s mill Beside the gate red blossoms of hibiscus 25

See Hoole et al. (1990) and Somasunderam (1998) for a discussion and analysis of what the people of Jaffna experienced during this period and of the toll it took on them. 26 For a thorough and detailed dissection of culpability with regard to this massacre, see University Teachers‘ for Human Rights Special Report 30 at: http://www.uthr.org/SpecialReports/Spreport30.htm, accessed on June 7, 2013.

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The gate stood open. Beyond I saw my wife She stood in the compound as though she owned nothing Inside a strip of light lay across the floor A woman knelt dipping a cloth in a bucket Again and again she washed the same stain The stain began to gleam, as though polished My wife had laid our children side by side She had placed the smallest between the other two She had laid the boy between his two sisters They liked to walk that way, one on either side —Marilyn Krysl Conflict and Community in Contemporary Sri Lanka, 199927

Explosion On the day the truckload of explosives drove into the central bank, for a long second time staggered All sounds of a workday morning in the city even the cawing of the crows merged into a solitary Boom. Prism of fire and fury Lives ended eyes were blinded retired wage earners collecting provident funds were crushed under brick and glass the nearby vegetable seller‘s hands were severed like cucumbers, Women in sari held their eyeballs in their palms and blood spattered 27

Marilyn Krysl, ―Suite for Kokodicholai, Sri Lanka (excerpt): Husband,‖ Conflict and Community in Contemporary Sri Lanka. Siri Gamage and I.B. Watson, eds. (Colombo: Vijitha Yapa, 1999), 179-180. An earlier, longer version with different subtitles was published in Third Eye (May 1998: 3) and was consulted in order to correct a typo in the last verse of this excerpted section.

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the streets, erasing memory. Out of the broken window of a damaged car– dead driver– the radio blared, unscathed on a commercial break a man‘s pleasant voice announced that big or small, insurance protects them all —Vivimarie VanderPooten nothing prepares you, 200728

Letter from Jaffna (excerpts) I ask you, could you write straight When people die in lots? When you find them Dead like flies–not one, two Left by the roadside In Kopay, in town In Kokuvil, Rasaveethi, Urumpirai In there, over there Left on the hospital corridors, to the elements For the birds and dogs to scavenge When you certify death and bury your Neighbours in their own garden? If night after night, you lay under the table With your children, immobile Listening to the sound of boots Marching up and down your road Not even a candle you light For a shadow or even a sound could kill the whole household The Indian army is everywhere Walking, in trucks In open vehicles, closed vehicles The Gurkhas are even trying out bicycles And enjoying our livestock ‗Came hunting tigers 28

Vivimarie VanderPooten, ―Explosion,‖ nothing prepares you (Colombo: Akna, 2007), 2.

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Catching goats now‘ The people still have their sense of humour —Rajani Thiranagama Commemorative Booklet, Undated29

Krishanthy As the birds sang And the sun fell into the sea Her death took place At the open space of white sand No one knew about it When she was born a female child She wouldn‘t have thought of such an end Her mother neither First their look pierced her like a thorn Then their terrible hands seized her arms No sound arose She fell in a faint They raped her senseless body It happened At the open space of white sand She was buried At the edge of the salty cremation ground When she was born Would she have thought of such an end? —Vinothini ―Ethnic Conflict and Tamil Poetry in Post-Colonial Sri Lanka,‖ 201230

For Neelan Some are made articulate by grief others struck dumb 29

Rajani Thiranagamai, ―Letter from Jaffna,‖ Commemorative Booklet (issued on the first anniversary of Thiranagama‘s assassination). n.d.: 8-9. 30 Vinothini, ―Krishanthy,‖ M.A., Nuhuman, ―Ethnic Conflict and Tamil Poetry in Post-Colonial Sri Lanka,‖ Tamil Translation by M.A. Nuhuman, (2012), 20-21 , accessed on September 1, 2012.

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As I struggle within my cage of silence that unravels infinitely in a Munchian scream I promise one thing to you who promised so much more The ideas you engaged the intellectual spaces you enabled the reconciliation you envisioned with such courage and commitment will be pursued now with renewed passion and purpose Your legacy will live on once even we are long gone from this scarred and embittered land —Malathi de Alwis Nethra, 199931

Mammoty Mammoty in hand we flee with a few other essentials to a life of displacement Although the war chases and chases and displaces We retain our pride and hope We shall farm new lands and survive The latest news shattered our resolve Multi barrel rockets have replaced single ones

Now, death to many is assured Who will be there to bury them? 31

Malathi de Alwis, ―For Neelan,‖ Nethra 3(4) (July-Sept 1999), 44.

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Mammoty in hand we flee They are handy for burials —Jeyanthy Thalayasingham, 200832

SECTION III: Chronic Mourners The poems in Section III: Chronic Mourners highlight the anguish and agony of mothers whose children have been either ―disappeared‖ or are missing. In previous work, I have argued that ―disappearance‖ is ―one of the most insidious forms of violence as it seeks to obliterate the body and forestalls closure‖ (de Alwis 2009: 379). The lack of a body, I noted further, not only ―thwarts the assigning of accountability‖ but also ―makes ‗chronic mourners‘ of those left behind‖ who are perpetually caught up in a web of unknowing and uncertainty: ―Does one mourn permanent absence of presence or a temporary one which nevertheless carries with it its own anxieties and fears for any moment that absent presence could be made permanent?‖ (Ibid). Most ―disappearances‖ in Sri Lanka were perpetrated by para-military groups working in conjunction with government forces.33 ―Disappearance‖ was an everpresent reality among those living in the war zones of the north and east.34 It was also mobilized on an extensive scale in the south of the island during the youth uprising 32

Jeyanthy Thalayasingham, ―Mammoty,‖ Tamil translation by Udhayani Navaratnam, adapted by Malathi de Alwis. The first version of this poem written in 2008 was translated by Lakshmi Jeganathan, adapted by Malathi de Alwis and published in www.lines-magazine.org, on March 14, 2010. A slightly different translation of this poem by Shriganeshan was published in Let the Poems Speak. Suriya Women‘s Development Centre, ed. (Batticaloa: Suriya Women‘s Development Centre, 2010), 125. 33 Tamil militant groups, especially the LTTE, as well as the Sinhala militant group, the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP), also mobilized this form of violence and intimidation, but to a much lesser extent than the state. 34 It has been further compounded by thousands of Tamils who went missing during/soon after the last phase of the war in 2009—either dying in the ‖no fire zone‖ unbeknownst to their families or being incarcerated by government forces that have not released a comprehensive list of all their detainees to date.

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from 1987 to 1991. The first three poems in this section refer to ―disappearances‖ that took place in the south of the island. In Jean Arasanayagam‘s poem, ―A Woman I Once Knew,‖ a domestic worker, an ―ordinary woman,‖ searches among the dead with indefatigable patience for her daughter‘s lover, while the mother of the missing schoolboy, in Rasika Laddu‘s excerpted poem, ―The Son Who Didn‘t Return,‖ has to contend with a mere blood stain on the roadside. ―A Mother‘s Lament‖ is based on a snippet of a lament I heard during a ritual of protest organized by the (southern) Mother‘s Front35 at a Kali kovil (―temple‖) on the outskirts of Colombo in May 1992. Unsure whether her son was dead or alive and with no hope of ever finding out, this mother resolutely called out to her son that wherever she went and at whatever she looked, it was his face she saw. The final two poems in this section are the collaborative efforts of a group of mothers in the Eastern Province who are trying to trace their sons and daughters who were abducted and forcibly conscripted by the LTTE. The LTTE followed the practice of giving their abductees/recruits a new name once they were enlisted into the movement—hence the anguish of the mother in the first poem who has not only lost a son but also the rights to the name she had so carefully chosen for him ―consulting dates, planetary positions.‖ The second untitled poem recalls a moment during the war when the eastern wing of the LTTE broke away from the main organization and many child combatants either escaped during this time of upheaval or were given permission to return home until they would be re-called. Sadly for this mother, her daughter is not among the returnees. 35

I have inserted a locational qualifier in order to differentiate this group from a similarly named group that was formed in the north and east of the island about ten years previously, to protest the ―disappearances‖ of Tamil youth. The (Southern) Mothers‘ Front was founded in 1991 and had a membership of about 60,000 members who were primarily Sinhala peasant and working class women.

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A Woman I Once Knew A woman walks searching for her daughter‘s Lover, among the dead, two hundred males, Young, old, turning face after face To the light, there is no recognition in any To say that he is one of them. Woman, an ordinary woman Who cooked food for others, washed their clothes, Scrubbed pots and pans, had a child, Fatherless, who wore other people‘s out-grown Dresses; Even her name, Alice, that‘s all we Knew of her, was not her own. To history she is anonymous, But to me, who once knew her, She is Medea, she is Antigone. —Jean Arasanayagam Women All Women, 199936 The Son Who Didn’t Return (excerpt) I scoured the streets in search of my son Fearful and suspicious eyes I encountered everywhere Near the school grounds, a red stain… —Rasika Janadari Laddu Sunday Divaina, 199237

36

Jean Arasanayagam, ―A Woman I Once Knew,‖ Women All Women (Calcutta: Writer‘s Workshop, 1999), 9. 37 Rasika Janadari Laddu, ―The Son Who Didn‘t Return,‖ Sunday Divaina, Sinhala translation by Malathi de Alwis, September 27, 1992.

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A Mother’s Lament Upon mountain ranges Across scorching plains Amidst twining lianas In gurgling streams Along highways and byways In all my comings and goings I trace your beloved face Always —Anonymous ―‗Disappearance‘ and ‗Displacement‘ in Sri Lanka,‖ 200938

Untitled I sought my child By the name I gave Consulting dates, planetary positions; ‗No one by that name you seek‘ They told me ‗Only warriors here fighting for their rights‘ Among those they had thus named No one with the name I gave Yet, that is my child! Today My child has no rights And for me No rights even to his name —Composed by a group of mothers Parents Life Pulse, 200839

Untitled In these days 38

Anonymous, ―A Mother‘s Lament,‖ Sinhala translation and adaptation by Malathi de Alwis. Originally published in de Alwis (2009), 378. 39 Composed by a group of mothers, ―Untitled,‖ Parents Life Pulse (2008), 43, adapted by Malathi de Alwis.

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When shops close early, doors shut before dark Despite ‗strengthened security‘ Our front door stays wide open For the foreigners who may bring news of my daughter For the daughter who may sneak in at dead of night Swift of foot, no backward glance No moment should be lost to unlatch, swing wide the door To let her in Yet so far Only gusts of dusty wind swirl in From passing vehicles As a thousand wistful sighs Are expelled —Composed by a group of mothers Parents Life Pulse, 200840

SECTION IV: Against All Odds The poems in Section IV: Against all Odds speak of women‘s weariness with war as well as their refusal to accept its negations. While Zulfika in her poem ―I Want a Place‖ is confident that humanity can overcome all barriers, I envision the ―spirit of womanhood‖ enabling a similar transcendence in ―Letter to a Tamil Friend, 1987.‖ In a later poem, I extrapolate on the power of this collective spirit that spurs women to fast, march, and protest against violence (quoted in de Mel 1996: 189). This fiery spirit is also reflected in the rallying song of the Mothers and Daughters of Lanka— ―Stop the Killings.‖41 In her poem, ―The Dream of Peace,‖ Seetha Ranjani places herself in the shoes of Tamil women. While acknowledging the debilitating and devastating costs of war, she nonetheless seeks to embrace laughter rather than tears. 40

Composed by a group of mothers, ―Untitled,‖ Parents Life Pulse (2008), 44-45, adapted by Malathi de Alwis. 41 The Mothers and Daughters of Lanka, a coalition of 25 women‘s organizations, was founded in 1989 during the height of the youth uprising in the south to protest against both state and non-state violence. They later extended their mandate to campaign for a political solution to the ethnic conflict.

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In the street drama ―Mattunahar Kannakaihal‖ (―Kannakais of Batticaloa‖), the Suriya Women‘s Development Centre‘s cultural troupe mobilizes the traditional form of oppari (―lament‖) to evocatively articulate the frustration and anger of Tamil war widows who are shunned by society due to Hindu beliefs that women who have lost their husbands are inauspicious and worthless. In the excerpt noted, they juxtapose the veneration of the Hindu goddess Kannaki/Kannakai, who is also a widow, with the way they are treated.42

I Want A Place (excerpt) In that space which is beyond imagination which cannot be touched by the hands of a tornado I want a place Peace and silence should prevail there Among human beings there are differences— class, race ethnicity, language, sex I know humanity can transcend all this —Zulfika Women in War Time, 200143

Letter to a Tamil Friend, 1987 (excerpt) Our common base no longer gentle memories but harsh realizations of impenetrable politicians and suicidal militants of insensitive ideals and base prejudices 42

The Goddess Kannaki is venerated in Batticaloa as well as other districts in the Eastern Province through a unique set of rituals that are performed during the Hindu month of Vaikasi (May-June). One of these is the singing of kulirtti pattu (―cooling songs‖) to appease her wrath at the unjust killing of her husband. Kannaki‘s trials and tribulations are detailed in the Tamil epic, Silappatikaram (Parthasarathy [trans.] 1993). For an extended discussion of oppari, see Thiruchandran (2001). For a thoughtful location of Kannaki within Sri Lankan Tamil culture, see Sumathy n.d. 43 Zulfika, ―I Want a Place,‖ Tamil translation by Women and Media Collective, Women in War Time (Colombo: Women and Media Collective, 2001), 57.

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of bombs raining over Jaffna the deathly stillness of Aranthalawa44 of raped sisters, limbless brothers of mothers –throats slit open and blank faced children in refugee camps waking night after night in a fear clotted sweat ………….. Tell me friend should I set aflame my hands in retribution for my inaction? or can we still unite not with tears or soft sighs for Peace but through our soaring flaming spirit of womanhood —Malathi de Alwis Lanka Guardian, 198745

The Dream of Peace Perhaps our fields ravaged by fire are still valuable Perhaps our houses now in ruins can be rebuilt As good as new or better Perhaps peace too can be imported—as a package deal But can anything erase the pain wrought by war? Look amidst the ruins: brick by brick Human hands toiled to build that home Sift the rubble with your curious eyes Our children‘s future went up in flames there Can one place a value on labour lost? 44

On June 2, 1987, the LTTE massacred thirty-three Buddhist monks, many of them young novices, and four civilians by ambushing the bus in which they were travelling near the village of Aranthalawa (Eastern Province). 45 Malathi de Alwis, ―Letter to a Tamil Friend,‖ Lanka Guardian, June 15, 1987, 10(4): 22.

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Can one breathe life into lives destroyed? Can mangled limbs be rebuilt? Can born and unborn children‘s minds be re-shaped? We died— and dying, We were born again We cried and crying, We learned to smile again And now— We no longer seek the company of friends who weep when we do. Instead, we seek a world in which we may find laughter together —Seetha Ranjani Samakali, 198746

Mattunahar Kannakaihal (excerpt) Many rituals are performed in this land To appease the wrath of Kannakai Destitute, I suffer now Who is there to appease me? ––Suriya Women‘s Development Centre Idhu Emadu Padaippu, 200147

”Stop the Killings” —The Mothers of Lanka cry out! Tell me, my children, How can I your mother remain silent any longer? Carrion consumes the flesh that I nurtured with sleepless nights amidst hunger and deprivation; 46

Seetha Ranjani, ―The Dream of Peace,‖ adapted by Malathi de Alwis from an English translation of Ranjani‘s Sinhala poem published in Samakali (October 1987), 6. 47 Suriya Women‘s Development Centre, ed., ―Mattunahar Kannakaihal,‖ Idhu Emadhu Padaippu. Tamil translation by Udhayani Navaratnam (Batticaloa: Suriya Women‘s Development Centre, 2001), 53-54, adapted by Malathi de Alwis.

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the flesh that is all that remains of my son, my daughter of the child who looked up at me with love in its eyes after a childhood quarrel The blood that flows over village and town on the roadside and in the rivers is the blood that once flowed in my veins as I suckled you, my child No matter what arms you bear, No matter what power you have Who is it that gave you the arms Who is it that gave you the power to destroy a life that a mother brought forth? Wait Listen to a mother‘s cry Call a halt to this cycle of violence and hatred. Stop this killing and seek solutions. Stop killing Stop killing NOW. —Options, 200248

SECTION V: Whither Lanka? The first two poems included in Section V: Whither Lanka? were written after the military defeat of the LTTE on May 18, 2009. The first poem, ―From Within a Refugee Camp…‖ by Malathie Kalpana Ambrose explores the terrors and horrors experienced by Tamil civilians as they fled the ―No Fire Zone‖ during the last stages of the war and their incarceration in the notorious ―welfare camps‖ set up by the government.49 The second poem, ―Scorched Sentinels‖ by Udhayani Navaratnam,

48

―Stop the Killings! The Mothers of Lanka Cry Out!‖ Options, Vol. 30, 2nd Quarter (2002), 12. For a sensitive documentation and analysis of survivor accounts collected from within these ―welfare camps,‖ see Somasunderam (2010). 49

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hitherto unpublished, uses the decapitated Palmyrah palm, which is ubiquitous to the Northern Province, as a metaphor for what the Tamil population in that region has witnessed/suffered. It also censures the post-war phenomenon of ―war tourism,‖ wherein thousands of people flock to this province, from other regions of the country as well as from abroad, to gape at war ruins and memorials. I wish to end with another poem by Sivaramani, ―A War-Torn Night.‖ It is a profound observation of the war‘s toll on children in Jaffna—spawned on a steady diet of violence, insecurity, and fear, even their playful games turn macabre. Written in 1988 during the early stages of this three-decade war, Sivaramani‘s forebodings were particularly prescient. The fate of post-war Sri Lankan generations is in our hands now. We must ensure that they, too, do not become accustomed to plucking the wings of dragonflies… From Within a Refugee Camp… Beloved Sundaram, Curled foetus-like within my tent in this darkest of nights bankrupted of stars and moon The ominous thud thudding of boots convulses my universe, jolts me into recalling that somewhere beneath this soundlessly sobbing earth you sleep That night, in the pitch darkness the panchayudaya fell into the lagoon and the little ones lost a father From near and afar they flock With ceaseless, glib questions ‗Isn‘t this (bitter) rice tasty? Have you ever savoured such delicious fare?‘ Birds take wing but throttle their song Flowers blossom only to be trodden underfoot The veena‘s broken strings stills the melody Laments from a Lacerated Terrain By Malathi de Alwis JPCS Vol. 4, No. 2, 2013

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If we flee again we shall tangle in the barbed wire If we lift our heads we shall be beaten down If we shed a tear our entire lineage will be reduced to ashes Therefore, I shall remain numb Breathe imperceptibly Until you continue to sleep. Yours, Radha — Malathie Kalpana Ambrose Boondi: Sinhala Blog for Sri Lankan Literature, Arts and Politics, 201250

Scorched Sentinels We are mere headless bodies mute, unfeeling, empty war exhibits to be gawked at assume all those who pass by We have borne witness to the unfolding of history We have withstood tsunamis of RPG and AK47 fire We are mere headless bodies our torsos blackened and bullet-riddled but our roots dig deep into the earth holding tight to our terrifying truths We await a historian, as in ages past to chisel on stone our saga of suffering We hold our breath, until that moment headless, silent, resolute —Udhayani Navaratnam 201251 50

Malathie Kalpana Ambrose, ―From Within a Refugee Camp,‖ Boondi: Sinhala Blog for Sri Lankan Literature, Arts and Politics, Sinhala translation by Malathi de Alwis , accessed on August 19, 2012. 51 Udhayani Navaratnam, ―Scorched Sentinels,‖ original text translated and adapted by Malathi de Alwis in collaboration with Udhayani Navaratnam, 2012.

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A War-Torn Night Our children grow in the oppression of a war-torn night Faceless and bloodied corpses thrown across their sun-lit dawns; walls crumbling around their joy kids cease to be children. The silence of a starry sky shattered the sound of guns the memory of childhood disappears. Making toys playing games forgotten in benighted days. They learn to shut the gates listen to the strange barks of dogs. To not ask to be silent when questions remain unanswered, they learn to be mute, to pluck the wings of dragonflies to fashion guns

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from sticks and kill friends turned foes; these games they learn. In the oppression of a war-torn night our children grow. —Sivaramani Lutesong and Lament: Tamil Writing from Sri Lanka, 200152

Works Cited de Alwis, Malathi. ―Moral Mothers and Stalwart Sons: Reading Binaries in a Time of War,‖ In Lois Ann Lorentzen and Jennifer Turpin, eds. Women and War Reader. New York: NYU, 1988. ——. ―‗Disappearance‘ and ‗Displacement‘ in Sri Lanka.‖ In Journal of Refugee Studies 22 (3) (2009): 378-391. de Mel, Neloufer. ―‗Static Signifiers‘ Metaphors of Women in Sri Lankan War Poetry.‖ In Kumari Jayawardena and Malathi de Alwis, eds. Embodied Violence: Communalising Women’s Sexuality in South Asia (London: Zed, 1996). 52

Sivaramani, ―A War-Torn Night,‖ Chelva Kanaganayakam, ed., Lutesong and Lament: Tamil Writing from Sri Lanka, Tamil translation by Chelva Kanaganayakam (Toronto: Tsar Publications, 2001).

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——. ―Agent or Victim? The Sri Lankan Woman Militant in the Interregnum.‖ In Michael Roberts, ed. Collective Identities Revisited. Vol. II. Colombo: Marga, 1998. Hoole, Rajan, Daya Somasunderam, K. Sritharan, and Rajini Thiranagama. The Broken Palmyrah. Claremont, CA: The Sri Lanka Studies Institute, 1990. Kois, Lisa. ―Traversing the Global Village: Violence against Women Discourses, Dialectics, and Dialogues.‖ In Nimanthi Perera-Rajasingham, Lisa Kois, and Rizvina Morseth de Alwis, eds. Feminist Engagements with Violence. Colombo: International Centre for Ethnic Studies, 2007: 57-105. Maunaguru, Sitralega. ―Introduction: Poems of Sivaramani,‖ In Pravada 1(9), (1992): 21-22. ——. ―Gendering Tamil Nationalism: The Construction of ‗Woman‘ in Projects of Protest and Control,‖ In Pradeep Jeganathan and Qadri Ismail, eds. Unmaking the Nation: The Politics of Identity and History in Sri Lanka. Colombo: Social Scientists‘ Association, 1996: 158-175. Narasimhan, Chakravarthi N., trans. The Mahabharata. New York: Columbia, 1997. Nuhuman, M.A. ―Ethnic Conflict and Tamil Poetry in Post-Colonial Sri Lanka.‖ , accessed on September 1, 2012. Parthasarathy, R., trans. The Cilappatikaram of Ilanko Atikal. New York: Columbia, 1993. Schalk, Peter. ―Birds of Independence: On the Participation of Tamil Women in Armed Conflict.‖ In Lanka (7), (December 1992): 44-142. Sumathy, Sivamohan, nd. ―Territorial Claims and the Gender of Nation: The Rise of

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Militant Tamil Nationalism, Its Assumptions and the Cultural Production of Tamil Women in Sri Lanka.‖ (unpublished mss). ——. ―The Middle Passage: Migration and Displacement of Sri Lankan Tamil Women of the Diaspora.‖ In Socio-Legal Review 1, (2005): 11-29. Somasunderam, Daya. Scarred Minds: The Psychological Impact of War on Sri Lankan Tamils. Colombo: Vijitha Yapa, 1998. ——. ―Collective Trauma in the Vanni—A Qualitative Inquiry into the Mental Health of the Internally Displaced Due to the Civil War in Sri Lanka.‖ In Journal of Mental Health Systems 4 (22), (2010): 1-31. Sornarajah, Nanthini. 2004a. ―The Experiences of Tamil Women: Nationalism, Construction of Gender, and Women‘s Political Agency [Part II].‖ In Lines Magazine 3(1): 36-48. ——. 2004b. ―The Experiences of Tamil Women: Nationalism, Construction of Gender, and Women‘s Political Agency [Part III].‖ In Lines Magazine 3(2). , accessed on September 8, 2012. Thiruchandran, Selvy. Feminine Speech Transmissions: An Exploration into the Lullabies and Dirges of Women. New Delhi: Vikas, 2001. University Teachers for Human Rights (UTHR). Information Bulletin 5: Women Prisoners of the LTTE, 1995. , accessed on August 23, 2012. ——. Special Report 30: Unfinished Business of the Five Students and ACF cases,

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A Time to Call the Bluff. , accessed on June 7, 2013.

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