by Sumila Perera ^[1]

War is cruel, inhuman and destructive. The terror, destruction, inhuman behaviour and the cruelty of war is nowhere reduced by whatever objective it may be fought for. It is women and children who are most victimized by the terror, and cruelty of war. This situation is similar anywhere in the world.

The number of ordinary civilians who lost their lives, or were displaced and became subject to tremendous mental agony as a result of the war in Sri Lanka for more than 15 years is extremely large.

It is far more difficult to live with death in front of your own eyes, suffering the consequences of war rather than being killed by the war. We have been making efforts to create an opportunity during the last 3 to 4 months to visit people living under such conditions in the border villages [the villages separating civil war zones], particularly to meet the women in those villages. We missed several such opportunities and finally it was made possible on the 13th of February 1996 by comrade M.K. Jayatissa in Kaudulla. What we wanted was also to go to one of the least accessible villages.

The village chosen was Soruwewa (Sorivilla) bordering Dimbulagala in Polounaruwa District. A friendly journalist who met us on the way advised us saying “the situation these days is not too good. Better leave the sisters behind.” Both Shirani and I had taken our two kids with us. Dalukane Karunadasa who came to help us encouraged us saying “there is nothing to worry about, we will go to Soruwewa.” Finally, we decided that we would go ahead whatever happened.

However, if Karunadasa had not joined us we may not have got permission to enter into Soruwewa passing the Police check post. He is a comrade that works with great commitment both with the Tamil and the Sinhala families who have suffered.

As we stopped our vehicle, the little children and the women only peeped out of their homes, but did not dare to cross their fences to come closer. The reason may be their experiences of various vehicles coming in to kill their husbands and the fathers, or to take them away never to come back.

Soruwewa, an ancient Tamil village, which is situated between Dimbulagala on one side and Manampitiya on the other, on top of the Ichchi Pichci Wewa [Ichchi Pichchi Tank]. Soruwewa is a village that shows no trace of development at all. It is a village that has been pushed to the very bottom layers of poverty with people living amidst unimaginable difficulties.

An elderly man told us that the total population of the village was about 350 families. Every house was a little mud hut. Among these are families that have come as settlers under Mahaweli^[2] with land allocations. They have received 1/2 acre of high land, 2 acres of low land for paddy, 500 tiles to roof a house and Rs 2,000 in cash per family. These families were brought here 15 years ago with these grants, but since then hardly anybody visits them for years even to find out whether they are dead or alive.

They did not receive anything in terms of medicare and education. What they received in abundance day by day was the fear of death.

Each of the little wattle and daub huts had a family of seven or eight children. The tiled roof on top of the mud walls that were falling apart in places could be compared to a sick old man dressed in torn rags carrying a valuable golden crown on his head.

The first person who came up to meet us was a man named Ukkurala Mudalihamige Arulnadan. His father was a person who spoke Tamil and the mother was a Sinhala speaking woman. That is how he was named Ukkurala Mudalihamige Arulnadan, part of the name was Sinhala [Ukkurala Mudalihamige] while the other part [Arulnadan] was Tamil. Arulnadan, 41, told us that his son, aged 19 years, disappeared in 1991.

Arulnadan succeeded getting two women who were walking by, carrying heavy bags of fertilizer on their heads to stop and talk to us. One of the women was named Sinnathambi Ummapathi. She was 55 years old. The other was Sumanawathie and she was Sinhala speaking. 

Sumanawathie helped us interpreting our discussions with the women in Soruwewa throughout the day. The husband of the younger sister of Sumanawathie had also disappeared.

Sinnathambi Ummapathi first began to relate her story. Her husband was Muruageshan Thiliambalam. He had disappeared in 1990. Ummapathi told us that one night a group of soldiers came in a jeep and took her husband away by force. The accusation against him was that he was helping the Tamil militants. But, Ummapathi told us with great sorrow that he was more than 65 years old and was a very peaceful person whose job was to look after a herd of cattle. He lived a life of poverty and did not harm anybody. She tried in vain to find this old man of 65. She could not get any information although she had gone to the Security Post of the army set up then at Dimbulagala. 

Ummapathi and Murugeshan had a family of 8 children. Three of them were girls. All three of them had married Sinhala speaking men. The elder daughter Parimalar married Thilakarvatue at the age of 22, while Santhiyapama is married to [a Sinhala named] Ariyadasa. They have five children. The third daughter is 20 years and she is Sundarruuvi. She married [a Sinhala named] Thilakaratne and they have six children.

“Did you not have any objection to all three daughters getting married to Sinhala men,” I asked Ummapathi. “Oh no, we do not make any such distinction between Sinhala and Tamil. This is how everyone here get married.”
While we were chatting to Ummapathi women came one by one crowding together around us. Then they all began to reveal their own stories of how their husbands and sons disappeared -- almost competing with one another. All wanted to tell their story before the others. This may be because there had not been anybody to listen to their stories so far. Or, it may be that they believed that relating these stories to someone would help them to find the lost beloved in some way.

Thangamuthu, who was 42 years old was married to a Sinhala man. Her son named Jinadasa was 17 years. Jinadasa had disappeared just 6 months ago. She had gone to all possible places looking for him but in vain.

Thangamani’s husband was Velayudam, aged 39. Velayudam left home in the morning looking for a day’s labour. He was returning home in the evening with the rice and other food stuffs that he had bought with that day’s earnings. Velayudam, who was a fine person living in fear by nature, saw a jeep arriving late in the evening. He was frightened and began running leaving his push bicycle. Those who came by jeep stopped and captured him. Thangamani has now been waiting with her three children for the last three years hoping that her husband would come back.

The next woman we talked to was Thilakemaler, 35 years old and married to Sivayogan. They earned a living by selling milk. They had six children. One day Sivayogan carried a few pots of curd for sale to Manampitiya bridge.

Sivayogan did not come home although he left for home carrying food to his wife and six kids after selling the curd. Seven months have passed since he left home that morning.
K. Lechchami is 35 years old. She has three children. Her husband’s name is Jamis Kandasami. His father was Sinhala and the mother a Tamil. Jamis lived by cutting and selling cane. Seven months ago Jamis Kandasami left home to the town carrying cane for sale. He never returned. Nobody in the village knows clearly whether his disappearance happened because he was partly Sinhala or because he was partly Tamil. 

Maniam Koneshwari is 40 years old. The name of her husband was Muthth-umbige Bala-singham. They had six children. They were cane cutters too. In 1990, a uniformed group of people came home one day and took Balasingham away. He has not yet returned. Koneshwari now sends her elder son to the city with cane to be sold, in order to keep the six children alive. Who can say for sure that what happened to the father will not happen to the son?

The age of Kanappu Sellethangam is 64 years. She has given birth to and brought up 8 children. Mudiyanse, a Sinhala man is her husband. Their son is called Mudiyanse Rasalingam. One morning he left home to work on the field. Two years and three months have passed and he never came back home. Large drops of tears that had gathered in the eyes of Sellethangam, now aged 64 years, suddenly fell down. All of us saw her raising the soiled clothe she wore to wipe away her tears. Why it is not possible for us to find her son and stop these tears? I felt as if an electrical shock passed across my heart and burned the whole body.

Kanagaratne Sellamma is an old women of 72 years. She looks very old. We had to ask her questions several times since the story that she related was so difficult to believe. We had to recheck to find out if there were mistakes in the interpretation. Sellamma’s husband K. Kandayya had been taken away by a uniformed group that came to his home at 2 o’clock in the morning. Kandayya was then 80 years old. Being too old to work he was remaining home the whole day unable to go out. Why was such an old man taken away and by whom? Where was he taken to? What happened to him? 5 years have gone by and Sellamma has not succeeded in getting any information about Kandaiyya.

Sinnathambi Shanthini is 24 years. She has 2 children. Her husband is called Kahawadipullai Kavarajah. One day in 1991 there was a small wedding ceremony in the village. A group that came in a jeep took away 9 men who were at the wedding ceremony, saying that they had links with the Liberation Tigers [Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam or LTTE]. They were all tied together with a single coil of rope. There is no information about any of them. They were all married with children. P. B. Ariyadasa, the husband of Thamoduram Pullai Selvavani, Seenithambi Selvanayagam the husband of Sellathambi Sarojadevi, Kanakasabakalan Wadivei, the husband of K. Pushpawathie, Sellaiya the husband of M. Thavamani, Kalimuththu the husband of Manikkan Vallee, were among these nine men. They [the women] had gone to the army Watch Post set up then at Dimbulagala Temple. But, they were not even allowed to enter the temple. 

Shanthi Pullai is 60 years old. Her husband was T. Punchi Banda. His body was found with gun shot injuries close to the Dimbulagala market place on 5th March 1994. Punchi Banda was 67 years when he was killed. Why was he killed and by whom? Neither Shanthi, nor anyone else in the village knows to date.

Sivalingamge Somalatha lived with Sugath Jayaweera. Somalatha’s father is Tamil and her mother a Sinhalese. On a certain day in 1990 , her husband Sugath went to his paddy field. In the evening it was heard that Sugath had been killed and the body was lying on the field. Somalatha says that he had been killed by the armed Tamil youth on the suspicion that he was an informant to the Government’s forces.

Velupullai Rasapakyam is 40 years with 8 children. Her eldest son had just reached the age of 22. His name was Velayudam Koivandirajah. One day, a group of Tamil liberationist youth came to their home and shot and killed him. It was done in front of Rasapakyam’s own eyes. The reason given was that he was giving information to the Government security forces.

Kunjan Kalai Arasi is 26 years old. Her father was Sinnathambi Kunjan. On a day in 1990, a group in military uniforms came and took Kunjan away. There are five children in the family. The father of Kunjan Kalai Arasi did not return home as the others did. They have not received any land under Mahaweli. The mother and the children together catch fish in Ichchi Pichci Tank for a living. They survive by cuttting cane. No child in this home attends school.

In Soruwewa school, there are classes up to grade five. If someone studies beyond grade five they will have to walk all the way, i.e. 5 to 6 miles, to reach the Dimbulagala school. Therefore, practically no child in the village studies beyond grade 5. Out of hundreds of children of Soruwewa of school-going-age, only 50 to 60 attend school. Many cannot write their names. There is only one girl in the village who attended the G. C. E. [General Certificate of Education] ordinary level exam.

As we continued our chat, a group of about 30 women had gathered around us. Why are there so many? I asked. “These are women who have lost their men,” replied Samanwathie. "There are about 85 women in this village who have lost their husbands. There are only a few here. The others have gone to work. They will come if they hear the news. These women too have heard about you and have gathered while they were at work. These women have come running to compete with one another to relate their stories because they believe that so relating their stories will some day help them to find some information about their lost husbands. It is true that we are unable to create any such hope in them. But it is also equally true that we cannot destroy the hope that remains in them, which is the only source of strength that keeps them alive, the hope that gives them strength to keep living."

Although we listened to the stories of about 35 women in this village who have been widowed by this cruel war that killed human beings, dying within ourselves several times in the process, we could only record a few of those stories. This is because several pages in a magazine or a newspaper will not suffice to print all their stories.

Before I finish this note there are a few other things that need to be written. One of those is the fact that although there are hundreds of children living in Soruwewa none of these children have been born in a hospital. No mother has ever gone to a hospital for child birth. Will you accept the fact that the only midwife in the village is a male. The Veda Mahaththaya [the village physician] that we met when we were about to leave the village was 76 years old and has been the only physician and midwife since no government midwife has ever visited the village. I have taken out each one of these children with these hands’ he said with a certain pride stretching his hands. The villagers do not go to town for treatment of any of their illnesses since the Veda Mahaththaya is still among them.

On our way back a man of the village whispered into our ears in a low voice and told us that the husband of any good looking women in the village is bound to disappear any day. It was our great sorrow that we were not able to come closer with the sisters living here [the women in this village], to be alone with them for some time [to talk more in depth]. “But we must go now. We have spent far too much time already. It may not be very wise to spend too much time here”-- we had to listen to the advice given us by the friends who guided us. We had to turn our backs to the village with our hearts as heavy as lead and with a kind of shock and sadness beyond description.

The little children of Soruwewa who had been playing with our two children came running behind our vehicle waving their tiny hands, as we left them. What will the future look like for these children who did not receive the type of security that they have the right to receive from society.

On our way back a policeman serving in the check post was coming out of the village with a dead chicken hanging in his hand. Comrade Jayathissa pointed his hand towards a large stone just close saying “there was an LTTE Camp right at that point.”

“We are being crushed and imprisoned from all sides. We have no escape one way or another. All we want is to live freely without this fire burning in our hearts.” The cry of the women widowed in Soruwewa, the cry of the mothers and of the people is repeatedly echoing in our ears even now. Why is it that you [the reader] do not have it?

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1. Sumika Perera is the editor of the quarterly women's magazine, "Tharanee" which is published in Sinhala. Tharanee is published by the Kurunegala Women Writers' Group with the sponsorship of Women's Development Foundation of Kurunegala, Sri Lanka. The author and the assistant editor of the magazine, Shirani Warnasuriya, made this fact-finding visit to a war-torn village in Sri Lanka -- Soruwewa. This article originally appearred in Sinhala in "Tharanee" magazine, 1st Issue, 1996 January to March. 

2. Mahaweli Development Project was one of the major irrigation projects in Sri Lanka to divert water from the river Mahaweli to the dry zones in the north central provinces in Sri Lanka. This project resulted in the displacemen of many farmers from their original/ancestral lands.

On our way back a man of the village whispered into our ears in a low voice and told us that the husband of any good looking women in the village is bound to disappear any day. It was our great sorrow that we were not able to come closer with the sisters living here [the women in this village], to be alone with them for some time [to talk more in depth]. “But we must go now. We have spent far too much time already. It may not be very wise to spend too much time here”-- we had to listen to the advice given us by the friends who guided us. We had to turn our backs to the village with our hearts as heavy as lead and with a kind of shock and sadness beyond description.