Rain Soaked in Tears

Story and Picture | North East Narrative

The village of Allaipiddy is situated close to Jaffna. It is located in Kayts, one of the island clusters connected to the Jaffna peninsula. Archaeological evidence shows that Tamil people have lived in this village since ancient times and were engaged in maritime trade.

It is in this village that Nobert Pauline Amma (80), affectionately called “Mummy” by everyone, lives. At first glance, one might assume that because of her age, she may have forgotten the memories of the past. But she says otherwise:

“I remember everything, brother. On Tuesday, 25 August 1990, early in the morning, Sri Lankan Army helicopters and Pucara aircraft suddenly began flying in the sky. We didn’t know anything. From outside, we could see Sri Lankan Army Personnel coming from all four sides. Out of fear, everyone here ran and sought shelter in St. Philip’s Church.”
St. Philip’s Church is located directly opposite Mummy’s house. So, Mummy and her family managed to get inside the church and seek shelter very quickly.

“. When we went to the church, within a short time, the Sri Lankan Army Personnel who arrived there checked everyone. They took away the nineteen- and twenty-year-old boys who were present. Among them, they also took my son. His name is Nobert Yulan Ramesh, born on 20 October 1970. If he were alive today, he would be fifty-five years old. He had no connections with the LTTE.

He was studying A/L in the Commerce stream at Velanai Central College. He was a good student, only nineteen years old. He is my only son; the rest are daughters. Navajeevanam Children’s Home in Paranthan had accommodated him for his studies. I personally brought him to Allaipiddy to study A/L. He had only three months left for his A/L exams and was doing very well in his studies.” Mummy is lost in memories of her only son.

“..From the church, they took away about seventy-five boys. We had no idea why they were taking them or where they were being taken. We were confused and cried, but it was of no use. They herded all of them and took them to Mandaitivu. That was the last time Mummy saw her son. The sky, already preparing for rain, had filled Mummy’s house with darkness. Breaking the silence of the gloom, Mummy continued to speak.

“. Among those who were taken away, the older men were kept at the Aluminum Factory in Allaipiddy. My husband and my daughters’ husbands were among them. From there, Sri Lankan Army personnel took the eighteen, nineteen, and twenty-year-old boys to Mandaitivu. On that very day, the older men who had been held at the aluminum factory were released. My husband was among those released.” Although Mummy felt relieved that her husband had been released, the anxiety that her son had not been released left her distraught. Her trembling voice reveals the depth of that anguish. Beyond all this, Mummy has another sorrowful story to share at this place.

“..At that time, my mother was sick at home. We could not take her with us when we went to St. Philip’s Church because she couldn’t walk. We had to leave her behind. That very night, around 9:00 p.m., she passed away at home. Our Catholic priest came after her death. We requested that her last rites be performed in the cemetery, but nothing could be done for her.

“..The next day dawned. Early in the morning, the Sri Lankan Army came and told everyone to go to Mankumpan. The local people got ready to go. Even those at Mandaitivu were coming while crying..”

“..How could I go along with the people? We had placed my deceased mother’s body at home. I have four daughters. Being alone in the village, my niece did not want to leave us behind. She forcefully took us to Mankumpan..”

“..Later, we were told that my mother was buried in a pit dug inside the house compound by village boys. Even now, I feel the sorrow that no last rites were performed for her.”

Mummy took a long time to recover from the memories of her mother. It is true that the pains remaining with an elderly mother are layered one upon another.

“..The boys who escaped from Mandaitivu spoke about my son. They said, ‘Mummy, your son Ramesh will come back once the Sri Lankan Army releases him. You don’t need to worry. There were twenty-five people there. There is work to be done, and they will be sent once it is completed,’ the boys who had escaped said.”

“..But many people were taken away. In the meantime, some were killed.”

“..When we relocated to Mankumpan, the Sri Lankan Army came there as well. They took away the boys who were staying there too. We still don’t know what happened to them. Mummy spoke slowly and thoughtfully, recalling what remained in her memory. But she could not tell everything completely. Feeling that there was little use in recounting it all, Mummy brought the conversation to a close.

“..What can I do? We keep telling the same thing to everyone who asks. I have only one son. There isn’t a moment when I don’t think about him. There hasn’t been a day when I haven’t cried for him. I worry constantly. If something had happened right in front of my eyes, I could have performed the rituals and found some solace in his absence. But my son, who was taken alive right before my eyes, I have no idea what happened to him.”

“..In 1990, when Army Commander Denzil Kobbekaduwa came to Jaffna, all the mothers of the boys who had been taken away raised white flags and protested. Denzil Kobbekaduwa said that once the work was completed, our children would be released. But nothing came of it.”

“..After that, there were countless protests and demonstrations..! Presidential Commission, Human Rights Commission, Red Cross Society, The Sri Lankan police and Army came from many places and took our statements… What had happened…?

“..I built this house in 1981 while working abroad. The son was the same as shown in the photograph at the time of their capture. This is the window seen in that picture. The house where my son last lived, and the window, are still here. But my son is not…!
Mummy stirs her memories as she shows the photograph that remains as a memory of her son. Faster than the pace of her memories, the rain began to pour. Along with that rain, Mummy wept. One can only wonder how many thousands of Tamil mothers’ tears this rain has carried as it passes over the land.