Daughter’s birthday
A F Dawood
The ethnic war has ravaged the country, a war between the Sinhala
soldiers and the Tamil rebels in the Jaffna peninsula for years. Ridden
with fear psychosis, Jaffna, once the calm and serene town, is now war
scarred with broken buildings, shattered and abandoned houses, perished
fields and the people, most of whom had fled, are perennially reduced to
paupers owing to the loss of their wealth and effects.
 This is the grim reminder of man’s cruelty to man, who calls himself
a civilized being, the man who uses guns and bombs and landmines just to
obtain power and position, or to demarcate a border and so commits
murder and mayhem and soddens the once peaceful soil of Jaffna with
blood at the altar of autonomy, just to say ‘this is our free land’. How
foolish are men, the gun-toting men who maim, mutilate and murder the
innocents by the thousands just to satiate the crazy desire of their
leaders, the nincompoops whose slogan is ‘A free homeland for the
Tamils’.
Nimal Willy is one of the soldiers of the Gajaba regiments. The
Commanding Officer of the regiment is one Denil Kobera. “Tomorrow the
ceasefire is over and the rebels have taken to guns. We must also
counterattack them to save our country.” The Commanding Officer was
talking to the soldiers. “We’re the saviours of the country. We must
defend our country. We must put the country first before ourselves and
then we can be called the heroes of the nation. So I wish you all the
best in the battle and assign the following to cover the jungle area.
Lalith, Maithri, Jefraw, Milton, Dicky, Damion, Jinadew, Nimal, Peter,
Sena, Wilson, Hendrik, Bango and Thompson.”
Home nostalgia took possession of Nimal Willy’s mind, when he thought
of tomorrow morning’s war. His only daughter, Patricia, five years, has
managed to scribble a note to her father. “Dad, next month is my
birthday, you must come home; both mummy and me are waiting for you.”
Tear stained face and overcome with emotion, Nimal was completely
swallowed in thought; his thought ran to Ratmalana where he used to play
hide and seek with his daughter whose puerile remarks and lilt of
laughter gave him boundless joy. Nimal had not been home for more than
six months. He remembered vividly how his wife and daughter wept when he
took leave of them for Jaffna, the war-torn town and the valley of death
for many a soldier. “Take care of yourself, my dear. I’ll light a poltel
pahana every evening in your name.” His wife had said sobbingly.
”Dad, come home soon we must play hide and seek.” Little Patricia had
prattled. Tears streamed down his cheek and he was shaken from his
reveries by his colleague’s voice. “Machan Nimal, don’t think too much
of your family; this war is only for about ten days and may be with our
clever combatants, we can bring Jaffna under our control within five
days. So don’t lose heart, Nimal, you can go home.” Dicky advised him.
“I’m sure we’ll win the war and soon bring Jaffna under control.” Sena
remarked,” so put your full concentration on the war without thinking of
your family.”
”You fellows are all bachelors,” Nimal said, “so you will not known
the bonds of family attachment, and specially, I have a little
daughter.” Nimal wept.
The war started in all its fury, the Gajaba regiment did its best to
overcome the guerrilla group who launched its attack hiding behind the
thickly-grown hedges. Booming of guns rent the air.
The forest was set ablaze with bombs. Innocent people in the vicinity
screamed, cried and fled but the unlucky ones became the victims to the
terrorist bullets. The fourteen Sinhala bravadoes combatted relentlessly
but three of the valiant soldiers fell victims to the enemy’s bullets.
Dicky and Sena, who pacified Nimal and were optimistic of victory in the
war, lay in a pool of blood. They were stone dead, while Milton was
anguishing in the injuries and breathing his last.
The dead soldiers were carried away to the camp. In the meantime gun
toting terrorists were on a killing spree. Uproarious sounds of boom,
bang and crash rent the air; now and then houses and trees were set
ablaze. Billows of smoke rose in the sky rendering it black and
visibility was poor in the jungle. Many a bullet whizzed past Nimal who
was in the midst of death, looking for his missing colleagues in the
dark jungle. Until then fortune favoured as he had escaped death by a
hair’s breath. Nimal was looking for the rest of the soldiers who were
scattered in the forest, and the dense smoke obstructed his vision to
locate his colleagues.
Then suddenly there was a blast and a crash. “Oh! My God,” screamed
Nimal. A bullet caught Nimal on his chest, there he lay in a pool of
blood, he was not dead but he groaned and moaned in anguish. Two Tamil
rebels came to him. They recognized him and shouted in unison. “Oh! What
a pity, we didn’t know you’re the one.” Velu uttered sobbing. “I’m
sorry, Nimal this happened with my bullet.” Wept Kumar. Nimal was
groaning in pain. “Th-this-i-is w-war. Th-this is n-n-not yo-your fa-ult,
you on-ly w-wa-wanted to he-help yo-ur side.” Velu and Kumar sobbed at
sight of their fallen friend. They studied in the same school with Nimal
at a leading college. They were boarded at Nimal’s house in Colombo.
“Wh-wh-en d-did y-yo-you jo-in t-the re-reb-el g-group?”
”Machan, Nimal, after we graduated we didn’t get jobs. So we joined
this terrorist group.”
“If I had known Nimal you’re here I wouldn’t have fired at you.” Once
again Kumar said, weeping bitterly.
”My-fa-fat-her ob-ob-ojec-ted to me jo-joi-ning the a-ar-army.” Nimal
said with difficulty. He was breathing fast and blabbering.
“Who thought, machan...,” Velu’s voice broke, “af-ter pl-playing
together, a-a-af-ter s-st-study-ing together, we’ll f-fi-fight in a b-ba-battle
field?”
”Ca-can yo-you se-send me ho-home?” Nimal groaned his request in
broken tone. Tears streamed down his eyes. “Th-that is t-the o-only
he-help-yo-you c-can do f-fo-for me.”
”We’re sorry my dear, you’re our friend. You fed us with your
father’s money.” The two friends kissed Nimal mingling their tears with
his crimson blood, then they lifted him in a stretcher and disappeared
into the jungle.
”V-Ve-Velu, I wa-wa-nt t-to see m-my w-wife. P-Ple-ase t-take me
qu-qui-ckly.”
”We’ll do so immediately.”
”K-Ku-mar, I’ve a da-dau-ghter. She’s w-wa-wai-ting for me for h-her b-bir-thday
next m-mo-month.”
”Don’t worry, Nimal you’ll be alright.”
”My G-God! I h-ha-ve a p-pa-pain, Pa-pat-ricia m-my daughtes...”
Kumar and Velu talked to Nimal. “What’s the matter, machan?”
Nimal had closed his eyes forever.
(This story was written in the year 2000 at the height of LTTE war
when so many soldiers sacrificed their lives). |
