WHEN FATE THUMPS YOU
Summary: The fights between Sri Lankan govt. and LTTE are well known all over the world. For those who don’t know: The actual inhabitants of Sri Lanka for over 3000 years are a race called as ‘Tamil Eelam.’ They’re there, times since Ramayana (an epic of Hinduism written in an untraceable date). The Singalars, the race which formed the Sri Lankan govt. are not the ‘owners’ of the land and they treated the Tamil Eelam badly. Tamils were refused of their rights and they were held as a low race, and were plundered. So the Tamils started to fight against the Singalars, claiming for a separate land, since ‘60s and it is continuing still to this very day. This egregious massive genocide is happening till this date. Even today, there will be deaths. It is so heart-wrenching that even UNO can’t solve it.
How ludicrous life can look to be when you play the role of an insouciant observer standing at the corner of a circus show. Stand silently as a spectator and watch how events, planned and unexpected, change the course of one’s life. The most intoxicating part of life is the uncertainty of human survival. Who knows, even this very second one may die while inhaling due to cardiac arrest. Though everything is uncertain, the flock of humanity manages to plan and live, hanging onto the thin thread called ‘faith.’
Devipattinam, close to the holy Rameshwaram, coastal Tamilnadu.
The effect of Global Warming aggravated the already hot-under-the-collar Sun’s incense; the uncovered open ground and the time of day added fuel to it; all of which proved that the end is nearing. Perhaps the Mayan prescience of 2012 apocalypse is true?
The movement of people hither thither, like the untrammelled flux of river trying to jump out of narrow flume, made him feel nauseous. Pandemonium everywhere. An intact show of temerity. Red Cross, nurses, NCC, NSS, NGOs, local people, and a few others who fell into none of these categories were busy employed in demonstrating their magnanimity and empathetic/sympathetic doings for the needy. Blood. Wails. Burns. Pain. Cries. Lamentations. Deaths. All the elements danced their part very well. An integrated attack.
He felt someone barge into him sideways and run without apologizing. While slowly appeasing his aching left hand (because of the collision) with his other hand, his vision approached the man afar. A careless smile full of wisdom, which came from nowhere, suddenly lingered on his lips. The nonsensical being was his acquaintance and has had a great influence on him. This man who is running amok is the one who was the epitome of hedonism; epicurean; sybaritic attitudes; superciliousness.
Plainly amorphous; entropy; randomness. Not just he but everyone in there ran in such a fashion that will remind you of a sponge in the water—water will run from all the directions in an immeasurable immediacy and seeks asylum into the void carcass of the poor sponge—faster than Usain Bolt. The centre of attraction is a lorry, called ‘truck’ in American English. Like a crocodile will open its mouth, the rear door of the truck opened. Came into view the now invaluable asset of The Milky Way.
The same people who never even gave a speck of their thoughts to the precious commodity that lay strewn inside the lorry, which, to this bustling confluence was once a mere 5 minute revelry, now posed as the Elixir of Life all of a sudden—a probable delusion—visual tricks that their brain played having received wails from their abraded stomach bags; poor mortals driven by the mundane desires and exhortations of the so called ‘Human Life.’ They are not Hindus, not Muslims, not Christians, not anything else. They are not Sri Lankans, not Indians, not anything else. They are just victimized Homo Sapiens whose stomach walls are being eaten away by Hydrochloric acid.
Charles Darwin, though he was opposed by many other rational thinkers with the point that fit and fitter forms also can survive, was utterly, impeccably, absolutely, immaculately correct that the fittest will survive. Want reference? See here.
The educated sensible ones pushing aside the illiterate nonsensical in the race to be the ‘fittest’ of the influx to own the precious packets given for free, was such heart-wrenching an event—another one of the most bottomless stereotypical conclusions of the haughty high-profiled people that erudition will shove into you some sense and illiterates have no sense. High profile or low profile, air conditioned chambers or a vent in the hut, Dodge Viper or the completely rust-eaten iron bicycle, nothing will matter should something calamitous ensue, be it man-made or god-made.
To everyone, including the anti-god principled atheists and god-only, all-god principled theists, the lorry was now their salvation; the key to freedom; to end rebirth; to avoid worldly toils.
He just saw it all and the sudden wisdom inside him made him shrug at this sight and lampooned at the craziness of human survival. The so-called ‘Human,’ most of whom are just Homo Sapiens, would go down any depth to save the soul within—atheists wouldn’t deny that soul doesn’t exist.
The successful ones who received the packets and snuggled out of the crowd started to propel the asset into their oesophagus. There were people who will summon the chef just to point out the chef’s fault of failing to satisfy their tongues by a microgram of salt; people who will just stretch their figure leisurely in their sofas and order pizzas and scold the delivery man who had to race with the ambulance just to deliver the edible in time; people who would prefer to dump food rather than to feed the low-society or, at least, to street dogs; people who will spend Rs. 10000 just for dinner; all such conceited upper class were there.
There are people who will have to shed half a litre sweat to ensure a day’s meal; people who never knew what a ‘square meal’ should mean; people who were ready to even fight with a dog and snatch its food; people with innumerable undiscovered diseases; people whose bodies were the abodes for deadly incurable viruses; and all such downtrodden hapless low class were also there. The venue was a mixture of both the classes; the rich reduced to paucity; the already downtrodden pushed down to further depth.
This food lacked salt, hygiene and everything, but they can’t complain, for what is complaining now is their stomach. When one’s stomach complains, all the tongue’s complaints will dematerialize.
Should anything new and massive ensue such as this, it is a mega opportunity for the newspapers to fill out one complete page or column and accelerate their sales. The headlines will be catchy like “2000 refugees?” The question mark lures the occasional reader also to buy the paper. Rather than to bring food to these people, they’ll try to bring their name to the limelight; standing proof to this, there were already a conglomeration of a few reporters who were photographing the aggrieving tears. What a pleasure it is to watch people wail! To watch blood trickle down their faces! To see a child cry unable to locate its mother! No time to enjoy the view. It is time for interviewing and news reporting. Are they blind? 2000 is such a big number. They never will realize it. Let them do their jobs, why blame them?
It is not just starvation that reigned in there but also pain; burn; misery of lives lost; and nostalgia. There were many fire burn victims who were made to lie above banana leaves and their searing bodies were fanned by their acquaintances with Neem leaves. The fire burns resulted in peel of skin which made many of them look ugly standing up to the wrong belief that beauty is skin-deep. Untouchables. No proper first aid, no food, no help—the efforts of revitalization that are going in there is insufficient. They’re set to decay in there.
Many huts were set in fire for apparently no reason. It is like a truck ramming a pedestrian (walking in walkway) to death—the only fault of the latter is having chosen that path to walk. It is such pathetic a situation where the ramification of fights between two falls on the head of a third person—a complete unknown unrelated stranger. The belligerents, the LTTE and Sri Lankan government, are not even aware of the repercussions of their fights. They keep on fighting; for aeons together.
The shear is on the victims. The abuser or the wrong-doer forgets it the next second but the impact remains on the victim. Innocence, in this day and age, is but a useless word. The meek are those who are always in trouble—be it fights between nations or internal dissensions.
Some of the children are not even aware that they had fled their place. Everything happened in one night. These evacuees came here overnight carrying on shoulders their sleeping children. When they woke up, they found that they are in such a completely unwonted and different environment. More painful than the feeling of having lost their homeland are the voices of their children who bombarded their parents with questions.
The life of a refugee is that of an outcast. Your dreams, aims, ambitions, all will be locked inside some 5-10 square kilometres. You’re not supposed to cross this boundary and chase your dreams. They, the local municipal officials, had to keep track of the counts perfectly so that the two nations can observe diplomacy. Like the cursed piston inside an engine, they’re constrained and can go nowhere else. Fate, they say, can be rewritten with wits? But when your hands are cut off, how will you rewrite it? The fate of this accidental calamity cannot be rewritten even with something as superior as Newton’s grey matter. The dance of the fate is inevitable. One has to watch it, in vain, and in pain.
The corrugated practices of government cannot be relied upon. To just eat, they’ll show a way such that you’ve to twist your hand around the back of your head and eat. If one has to wait for the compensations from the government, one has to wait until he/she dies of hunger. To move a file from one table of a government office to the adjacent table, you need to satisfy a hundred formalities and clearances. There is no point in blaming the government, not to mention in addition to the formalities, there are looters masked as officers. So the NGOs have taken up the initiative. Even this food is coming from a local hotel—a good hearted man who sacrificed his income of the day for the sake of these poor souls.
A mild air tried to uproot the temporary tents intent to adding further pain to the already despondent. This man stood there, at a distance, indifferent to everything and watched it all. He was a happy family person. He was, until last night. In bombing, he had lost his parents and his kid sister. He was a pre-final year engineering student who came back home from The University of Colombo for semester holidays only to find the whole village undergoing evacuation.
The lorry left these people discontented of hunger. The hotel of the poor good soul failed to satisfy all the stomachs. He too was hungry but it didn’t alter his stance. He just stood at the same place, in unkempt hair and filthy clothes, and watched the show with tears that trickled down unconsciously.
He watched the gallant prance of a brown cat at a distance. Unmindful of all the tragedies in there, and not even sparing to stop and stare—the most distinguishing feature of a person to be counted as a ‘normal man,’ where those who dare to help are hailed as ‘heroes’—the cat just kept on walking with occasional ‘meows!’ His wisdom played the thoughts of how jolly a life the cat is living! No nationality; no religion; no castes; no passport; no nothing. Just eat-play-sleep. Eat-play-sleep. Eat-play-sleep, and occasional ‘meows!’ Lame and purposeless, but is much better compared to this haplessness of the great amass that we humans are.
They learnt that this camp at Devipattinam is not ‘registered’. How insane! A camp is to be registered! The primordial uncivilized man lived in bunches at places wherever possible, and for the modern man, to live in groups, is a felony. The lands created for harmonious living were entitled to persons and government. How can one call a piece of land their own? Nothing will remain when one’s heart stops!
They said that this place cannot hold them for long and a government representative had come just an hour before and announced that they will be relocated to Sri Lankan Tamil Refugees Camp in Krishnagiri which is located at about 430 kilometres from here the next morning—and they all knew that they will be transferred to there in train like a drove of cattle. The representative, an IAS officer of Ramanathapuram district, promised them that they will be provided a ‘normal’ life once they reach in there.
Nearby, there was also a camp set by NGOs for the Tsunami victims of December 26, 2006. By now, theoretically, they should’ve rebound from their abject condition because of the endless unconditional love and sympathy their fellow people showered on them. But all the donations from these good-hearted people were devoured midway by the mediators or agents who will beg technically claiming that they arre set to help them—this is almost immutable a situation since the common man cannot leave behind all his/her works and family and reach the camp and deliver the donation/help themselves. So they have to rely on these mediators.
After his leave.
Instead of to dive in and start to help the needy of their own race, a group of young men were clustered next to where he was standing.
‘What right do they hold to drive us away? They didn’t even realize their fault and they’ll never realize it,’ a voice evolved out of the cloud of people, with an upped voice while uttering “never,” like a hackneyed speaker, ‘Never. Until and unless we teach them a lesson. A lesson that they’d never dare to forget,’ he paused and received a few hoarse acknowledgements from sycophants and a few other “yes, yeah, we will” and similar yells that proved that his persuasive speech was a success, ‘yes that’s it. We’ll show them. Diamond cuts diamond. We’ll decapitate as many heads as much as we could. Let them not forget this and, at least, let our future generations live in harmony,’ he paused again, this time for breath, during which all the faces emitted red-heat radiations that would make even the devil to cringe, ‘We’re not going to Krishnagiri. We’ll stay here tonight and start next morning to our motherland. A fresh morning,’ he raised his right arm high in the air with his index finger pointing towards the shape-shifting clouds, and shouted, ‘our key to freedom.’ He pronounced each word very distinctly.
This young man, who had no purpose to live life, was overhearing all this. He knew that, to the both the governments, they are just counts of heads. They cannot do anything solid. They cannot even become clerks in any office. They don’t have any credentials left with them. The time they spent in education, in saving money, in planning, in living, all had become zero. No mark sheet certificates, no nationality proof, no license, no nothing, but their free share of oxygen and 2 feet of land (on standing). All their dreams, ambitions, inspirations, lifelong plans, their happy good times, all vanished just in a second.
His wisdom dissolved all of a sudden in this deceptive solvent, and from somewhere a new resolve took hostage of his mind. The wisdom that was ostracized off his mind, by the speaker’s prejudice, is not sanctimonious. It was accidental. It was a feign, so it readily accepted the offer. A drowning ant will not choose its supports and will cling onto any material that is solid. His is a drowning mind, devoid of sense, and this appealed to him as a noble reason to live for. He nodded unconsciously, like a sincere and fearful child conforming to its mother’s advices, to the rabble-rouser’s words. Birds of same feather!
Finally, nothing but a few more new additions to the LTTE!
NOT: Criticism is very much wanted.... I know this writ seems discontinuous and completely disjointed; unchannelled...Well it was written in breaks. All the paragraphs were in my phone's memo. That is, they all materialized in different points of time, over a period of 2 weeks. And I can clearly see that I failed to glue them properly in a fluid manner.Do give me tips and criticize me even if it be destructive. Just be honest and give more criticism than praises... P.S. I know the title sucks... If you've any suggestions it will be appreciated. What about "accidental fate?" Is that good?
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING...