by:Jean Arasanayagam

The tragic events of July 1983 contributed more than any others to protracted war in Sri Lanka, the exacerbation of a political problem into one of violence and unremitting hostility. In recognition of this, the Secretariat for Coordinating the Peace Process will be publishing each day this week some of the creative writing about those events which depicts the collective response of Sri Lankans to the suffering of our Tamil fellow citizens.

It’s there 

        beneath the fallen fronds, dry crackling
piles of broken twigs abandoned wells of brackish
water lonely dunes 

        it’s there 

the shadows of long bodies shrunk in death
the leeching sun has drunk their blood and
bloated swells the piling clouds. 

        It’s there
               death
                  smell it in the air   

its odour rank with sun and thickening blood
mingling with fragrance from the frothy toddy
pots mingling like lolling heads from
blackened gibbets 

            it’s there
                        amid the clangour of
the temple bells, the clapping hands, the
brassy clash of cymbals

‘We pray, we cry, we clamour
oh Sri Kumaran, be not like the god
who does not hear, deaf Sandesvaran.’
   
Thirtham now no longer nectar of the gods
brims over but is bitter, bitter,
and at the entrance to Nallur
the silent guns are trained
upon a faceless terror 

Outside
            the landscape changes
the temples by the shore are smoking
ruins charred stone blackened,
on empty roads are strewn
the debris of warfare,
stained discarded dressings
a trail of blood
soon mopped up by the thirsty sun 

Turned away from bloody skirmishes
of humankind the gods are blinded
by the rain of bullets
six faced Arumugam, all twelve eyes
close in darkness 

The land is empty now
the pitted limestone
invaded by the sea
drowns, vanishes,
waves of rust swell and billow
beating into hollow caves and burial urns
filled with the ash of bodies
cremated by the fire of bullets.

(Courtesy : SCOPP)