by
Chapter 1
Behind the Smile
A Mitsubishi Pajero Kilinochchi Jaffna Sri
Lanka
It was the first
Wednesday in January, 2006, and all schools in the Jaffna Jaffna 9:00 a.m. Vembady Girls’ College was
in full swing.
The principal, Vasantha Velautham Raman ,
the gate sentry. “It’s time,” she said. “Go lock the gate.”
A short while later,
the deafening sound of bad breaks, caused Raman to
nearly fall off his stool. He grabbed the bars and peered through trying to see
what was going on. Outside, a Pajero jeep full of men blatantly blocked the
road.
The Minister of Political
Affairs, the right-hand man of His Royal Highness the Tamil Tiger, glanced out
of the jeep’s window at the iron worked sign
that hung above the grilled gate. His famous grin was plastered on his face as
he mouthed, “Jaffna Vembady Girls’ College.” He turned back and snapped, “We’re
here! Get out and get that gate opened!”
“Of course not,”
replied the other young bearded man. “They can’t do such dreadful things during
the Cease Fire Agreement. If they break the agreement, they’ll not be allowed
to step foot into the Jaffna
The old man snorted at
such an absurd remark. Everyone knew the Tamil Tigers were already covertly
breaking the Agreement. “What? The Tigers are now scared to growl in Jaffna
The young man’s tone of
voice and words sent chills of warning down his aging spine. “Do you question
the Tigers integrity, old man? Maybe you should. Maybe they have the ability to
penetrate deep into well defended territory and successfully carry out their
missions. Maybe they assassinated Rajeev Gandhi
Like a mouse vanishing
into a hole upon spotting a stalking cat, the old man darted away,
understanding that he had stupidly opened his mouth to one of the many Tamil
intelligence officers that constantly infiltrated the population. Fearing for
himself and his family, he threw one last apology over his shoulder as he fled,
“Sorry, sir! Sorry! Thank you!”
In fact, there were two
Tamil Tiger intelligence officers in the crowd that gawked
at the Smiling Minister. Neither of them was aware of the other as per strict
Tamil Tiger policy. As they didn’t know about each other, they couldn’t talk to
each other. They monitored the crowd, taking note of the group’s reactions,
silently identifying friend and foe.
The youngest of the
Tamil Tigers that accompanied the Smiling Minister, wearing blue shorts and a
black shirt, hopped out of the Pajero and dashed towards the crowd, waving his
arms, and shouting angrily, “What are you looking at? Don’t you have work to
do?” His voice, still young—he couldn’t be more than twelve years of age—squeaked sharply. “If you need something to do, we can put
you to work digging bunkers!”
Despite the almost
comical scene of a twelve year old boy ordering adults two and three times his
age around, the street cleared out in no time—including the two intelligence
officers.
Another Tiger stepped
out of the jeep, twenty-nine year old Lieutenant Earless—as he was known behind
his back—marched up to the gate of the girls’ college and cast a penetrating
glare at the still fidgeting Raman . Raman
swallowed when he noticed that the lieutenant had lost his right ear, and as
hard as he wanted to, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from the scarred tissue
where the ear should have been. Earless brushed a hand through his black hair,
partially messing up his center part. “We are the Tamil Tigers,” he announced in
a harsh voice. “Open the gate.”
That put Raman
in an immediate quandary. If he opened the gate without permission from Principal Vasantha , he
could be fired. If he didn’t open the gate right away for the Smiling Minister,
they could order him to Kilinochchi—a worse fate than being fired. He finally
hit upon a solution that he hoped would get him out of both predicaments. “Yes
sir,” he answered the lieutenant. “I will have to go get
the keys, though. They’re in the office. I’ll be back in a second.” Without
waiting for a response, Raman sped away for the office and the principal.
He burst into her
office without knocking. “Madam! Madam!” His voice reverberated in the spacious
room.
Vasantha looked up,
noting Raman in concern. “Raman ,
why are you shaking? What’s happened?”
The gate sentry pointed
a quivering hand towards the school gate. He swallowed hard trying to get words
out past the lump in his throat.
“What the devil is
wrong with you?” the aging principal demanded.
“Tamil Tigers at the
gate,” he stammered.
The principal half rose out of her seat, her
bulk protruding over the desk. “Tamil Tigers? Tamil Tigers!”
“Lots of Tigers,” Raman added helpfully.
“Lots of Tigers…”
“And the Smiling
Minister, too,” Raman said.
His words had the same
effect on the principal as a grenade would if tossed into the room. Terrified, Principal Vasantha jerked upright, her eyes wide. “O
Lord! The Smiling Minister too! Save me from this
monster.”
Vasantha watched him
go, her heart throbbing in her chest and her eyes blinking in fear. Sweat from
her obese body began to soak her clothing. She reached blindly for her desk,
thinking she needed the support or she would fall over. The Smiling Minister
here! What am I going to do? she
mentally asked herself. What am I going
to do?
A tall pretty girl, Sendhoory—Year 12 class monitor—wearing
her hair in long braids the ends of which were each tied with a black ribbon,
slipped into the office and placed her class attendance roster in the proper
place for the Principal to look at later. Vasantha hardly noticed her. Hardly
noticed that the girl’s calculating eyes and ears had registered every word
that Raman had spoken. She
seemed to have smelled trouble in the air.
The impatient
lieutenant swore at him and pointed to the gate. “Open this gate, now!”
“Where do you normally
keep the keys, you idiot?”
“In my pocket,” Raman reflexively replied, slapping his pockets.
The Tamil Tiger shoved Raman up against a wall. “You just lied to a Tiger, you
fool. People like you must be taught a lesson. You will report to Kilinochchi
for investigation. Do you understand?”
“But…but I didn’t make
a mistake! I …”
“Sentry, you will
report to Kilinochchi! That is all the reason you need!”
“Yes sir,” Raman said, defeated.
Lieutenant Earless
rejoined the Pajero, and as it drove past the slumping gate sentry, the Smiling
Minister cast his famous smile at the distraught man, seeming to take immense
pleasure in the young man’s distress.
The jeep rolled to a
stop on the smooth stones and the Tamil soldiers jumped down into the courtyard
one after another. The Smiling Minister, living up to his name by sporting a
wide leering smile, was the last to exit the Pajero. He looked around and took
notice of the gorgeous rose bushes in full bloom around the college buildings.
For long moments he couldn’t take his eyes away from the mesmerizing scenery
and silently determined to take a few clippings when he left.
At length he placed his
silver knobbed walking stick on the ground before him and began a slow, if
somewhat awkward, walk towards the Principal’s office. He hated his prosthetic
leg, lost in a battle years ago, and he keenly resented anyone who took notice
of his shame. But if he took things slow, he managed to keep some measure of
decorum about him. Besides, his slow measured approach struck fear into the
hearts of those that heard his walking stick striking the ground. For some it
sounded like a death knell.
That’s exactly how Principal Vasantha felt
when she heard the walking stick drawing closer to her open office door. She
tried her best to remain calm, but the Smiling Minister never brought calm even
at the best of times. When at last the man entered the room, followed closely
by Lieutenant Earless, she felt as if she would faint. She stood up and felt
like a childish, immature, school girl again.
The Minister came to a
stop in the center of the office and peered around at the fairly luxurious
space. To the left of the Principal’s large polished desk stood a cupboard with
glass doors where the attendance records and rosters were kept. On the right
side of the desk, three filing cabinets stood next to the wall containing most
of the rest of the important files for the college. A costly telephone sat on
the desk, and a brass bell sat near it. Other than two trays for current correspondence,
the desk was suspiciously empty. The Minister wondered if the Principle had
brushed everything into an empty drawer before he had arrived. A faint whiff of
potpourri brushed his nostrils, giving the air a refreshing fragrance.
Sendhoory was still in
the office, straightening up one of the eight plush chairs. And while the room
dominated the Minister’s attention, her attractive figure dominated the
lieutenant’s. Earless had a reputation as a skirt-chaser, and the story of how
he lost his ear was a well known one around the region.
The story goes that one
day he spotted a gorgeous young woman working in the paddy fields near a remote
village somewhere between Puliyankulam and Nedunkerni in Vanni. His
suggestion—more of an order—to accompany him into the privacy of the forest,
met with little resistance as the woman was already aware of his reputation for
molesting girls who refused him. She gave Earless a sweet smile and invited him
to her house by making signals with her eyes. She never said a word. Thinking
himself quite clever, Earless followed her eagerly to her home near a Primary
School. The room they entered was full of paddy bags on one side, but the
center of the room was clear of obstacles. Clear enough for the Lieutenant’s
purposes anyway. He jumped her, forcing her to the ground smelling of cow dung.
While Lieutenant Earless was lost to his passions, the intelligent girl held
him tight with both her arms and bit off his ear.
Unable to endure the pain, he dashed away with the piece of his missing ear and
disappeared into the nearby dense forest.
The
Principal noticed his leering eyes as they followed her
pupil, but she feared to intervene, as the Smiling Minister was standing right
before her. She swallowed and swept a hand towards the chairs. “Please, take a
seat, honorable Minister of Political Affairs.”
“Thank
you Principal Vasantha Velautham .”
He moved towards one of the plush chairs, until he noticed that the Principal
seemed rooted in place. “Why are you still standing? Take your seat,
Principal.”
She sat down heavily and had to wipe the sweat from her face. This
served to make her bulbous nose even the more prominent. She couldn’t decide
what to do. The Minister was smiling and stealthily scrutinizing her. At last
she managed to stammer, “How can I help you, Honorable Minister?”
“We
want to meet with your students,” the Tiger Minister
said cutting right to the heart of the matter. “I want all students above year
7 to assemble in the auditorium.” He eyed her traditional golden Thaali*
wrapped around her neck. He noted the thickness and estimated its weight to be
more than 96 grams. The pearl laden chain and expensive pendent spoke of wealth
and prestige, everything that the Tamil Tigers detested. Two pairs of bangles
adorned her hands. The Minister took sadistic pleasure in the woman’s obvious
discomfort. He thought it a good sign.
With some hesitation,
the fat Principal answered, “It’s just a little past ten now. If you’ll wait
until two o’clock , you’ll
have until five to address the student body.” She hoped the Minister would
agree. She didn’t want to take the students away from their studies. Her fear
aside, her duties to the students rose up to do battle within her. She had a
saying, “Every minute is gold for the students. Don’t waste time on
non-academic matters.”
The Minster stared in
surprise. “Principal Vasantha ,
did you not understand what I said? You…you—” He broke off, his face turning
livid with anger.
Vasantha swallowed
hard, worried that she had pushed the Minister too far. Her pride gave way to
fear and she bobbed her head up and down in defeat. “Okay, sorry sir. I’ll do
as you have instructed. I’m sorry.” She made a stab for the bell, missed, and
finally hit it on the second try. It produced a sharp tone that the office
assistant—a menial worker by most standards—would hear.
Ponnamma came running
into the office; she skirted the men and sidled up to the edge of the desk.
“Madam?”
“Go tell the Vice
Principal to come to my office immediately.”
Ponnamma gulped at the
Principal’s harsh tone and darted from
the room like a whipped dog, her yellow blouse puffing out in her haste. The
Vice Principal arrived in short order.
“Good morning Honorable
Minister,” Piriya Shan said smoothly upon seeing the company in the Principal’s
office. She understood the situation clearly and didn’t even bother to address
Vasanatha. “Welcome to our institution; we are
pleased to have you, and we are at your service, Your Honor.”
The Smiling Minister’s
face brightened considerably. He was quite taken by her sweet tone, even though
he was not familiar with the Queen’s English. He didn’t know that she was a
highly honored graduate of the University
of Peradeniya
The principal’s voice
interrupted the Minister’s concentration. “Piriya, the Honorable Minister wants
to meet the students. Please make the necessary arrangements without delay.”
Priya nodded and turned
back to the Minister, saying, “Your Honor, I should have everything ready in
about ten minutes. How many seats do you require on the platform?”
“Six.”
“Is there anything else
that you require?”
“A microphone.”
Priya nodded. “Very
well, I will come to get you in about ten minutes.” She spotted Sendhoory
lingering in the corner of the office under the lustful gaze of Lieutenant
Earless. She motioned to her. “Come, Monitor Sendhoory, you can help inform the
students.”
The pretty girl nodded
and together the two departed. But they
separated once they left the office. The Vice Principal went to round up the
Prefects and Sendhoory rushed to inform her Liberal Arts department the news.
The
girl entered a year 12 history class taught by a woman in her thirties wearing
a blue sari and wearing her
hair in a bun. The teacher was pointing at the white board while explaining
some points regarding the Mahavasma Chronicles written by the Buddhist Therar
Mahanama. In the midst of her discourse, she said, “I saw a tiger eating grass
in my dream last night. Therar
Mahanama
Sendhoory,
holding a red record book she had retrieved from the
Principal’s office, interrupted loudly with her important announcement, “The
Smiling Minister and his Tiger stooges have come to our college to discharge
gas. Our college is going to enjoy the noxious fumes of their nasty fart free
of charge. Those who feel the need can package the smell and share it with
their families at home.”
For just a second there
was stunned silence as the entire group of female students stared at Monitor Sendhoory.
Then the entire class roared with laughter. The teacher glared at Sendhoory,
but her anger faded when the girl just shrugged innocently, letting her
pigtails bounce around her neck. The teacher began to chuckle at her brightest
student’s joke. She too detested the Tamil Tigers.
As soon as the laughter
died down, some speculations began flying from the bold students.
“The Tigers have come
to recruit students for their army,” one supposed.
“No, according to the
Cease Fire Agreement they can’t recruit people,” another objected.
“The populace is not
happy with the Tamil Tigers’ exorbitant taxes. They’re plundering the public!”
“Not to mention all the
human rights violations,” another added.
“They even seize
chickens and goats from the poor for not paying their taxes. It’s horrendous!”
“I heard that the
Smiling Minister often comes back from traveling abroad with suitcases filled
with electronic gadgets of all kinds.”
“That’s for His Royal
Highness the Tamil Tiger’s children,” another one rejoined with a snort of
disdain.
A dark girl in the
middle row raised a concern that most privately held. She looked Sendhoory
right in the eye as she said, “The Tigers used to recruit from our college in
large numbers. More than half of them are dead now. What do we do if we are
asked to join? What are you going to do, Monitor Sendhoory, if you are asked to
join their army? Will you?”
“No! I’ll teach them!
I’ll send them home carrying shame on their heads.” She almost spit on the
wall, but held back out of respect for the teacher. “The Tamil Tigers have
killed more of our own people than they have killed soldiers of the Sinhala
army! No one, not even idiots, trust them anymore!”
The girls cheered and
clapped, even going so far as to give her a standing ovation. The conduct of
the girls revealed clearly that they no longer held to the old conservative
notions of how women were to behave. Their eager desire to break the bonds of
civil restrictions would jeopardize the aged old tradition of hiding the women
away in small home compounds to keep them from prying eyes. After the civil war
broke out in 1983, all insurgent movements began to recruit women into the
military. This began a slow change in the way women saw their role in life,
pecking away at the unyielding conservative culture. These girls were the
product of that slow change.
In the middle of the
ovation, Head Prefect Mehala—the most respected and
intelligent student of the college—entered the room and told everyone to
rush to the auditorium. The Smiling Minister was due to address the students
shortly. Every one left, but when they got to the auditorium, Sendhoory was
waved over by History Teacher to a group standing conspiratorially in a corner.
“Come here Sendhoory,”
the teacher practically cooed, with a grin. “Listen carefully, for I will need
your help.” The students, Head Prefect Mehala included, listened intently to
her instructions. When each knew what to do, History Teacher nodded. “Now
hurry, find your seats before the Minister begins his speech.” She grinned. “We
don’t want to be interrupting the Honorable Minister’s speech, would we?”
The students chuckled
at that and ran for their seats. Soon after, secret signals with definite
instructions were passed from girl to girl.
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