Rama, a survivor from a war-torn island nation, south of India in the Indian Ocean, reminisces about her journey to India. Rama had to leave her native land, rich in beauty but marred by ethnic wars between the rebels and civilians. Her path from an unworried teenager to a determined woman to protect her baby and self is a story of courage, determination and grit.
Kaamna, Rama’s daughter, was born in India. Kaamna did not have any other relative other than her mother. Kaamna reminisces her journey from a toddler to an entrepreneur. She manages her fancy boutique in Chennai. (This short story is said in voices of mother and daughter.)
Rama
I heard loud blasts a mile away from my home in the middle of a Pournami night. There were shrieks, wails, scampering of feet, zipping trucks, blazing fire and choking smoke. I was woken up by my Amma. My Appa and Anna ran outside to check the situation. They came back anxiously.
“It’s a war”, shouted Anna,.
“An emergency is declared in our area. Our village has become a war zone. We need to move to a safer place. Come on…hurry up, we need to move,” said my Appa in a tense tone.
I wore my slippers. My mother, covered in a shawl, held my hand and rushed to Appa and Anna. They were on our tractor. Appa had planned a safe exit from our village to the borders of our country. My village was near the border and had vast expanses of beaches and seas. Appa hoped that we could get help from boats which were stationed in those beaches. He had heard about these boats through his friends. The boats would maneuver through the waters and reach Dhanushkodi, India. They were smugglers acting as intermediaries, illegally trafficking men, women and children. They had to be paid a ransom. I overheard Appa telling Amma that he had some savings which could be given to the boatmen. After reaching Dhanushkodi, the family could seek asylum in the holy town of Rameshwaram.
“Appa”, I asked, “Does that mean, we are never going to come back to Avinashi (my village) again?”
“Rama, at present I need to think about our safety. We will come back once the war is over and the crisis has ended,” said Appa.
My heart sank. There was a strange feeling pinching the left side of my heart. The feeling rose above the cup of my throat and tears started forming in my eyes. I will miss my school, my friends, the temple, village pond and festivals. I was a grade-10 student with good marks and I was expecting to fare well in my board exam. When tensions arose between rebels and civilians, I pondered on their cause. We were a happy group of villagers living in peace and harmony. Why did we end up in a war?
“India is a friendly country. We can live in Rameshwaram till the war cools”, said Anna. I felt pacified with his words and fell asleep on his lap.
“Boom!” I heard a loud sound. I opened my eyes to see fire and smoke. My head reeled, my body became limp and I felt a scorching sensation on my hand. I had fallen down from the tractor. My family members had also fallen down. I was feeling dizzy and choked. My Appa and Anna were covered with the red fluid oozing from their body. I cried aloud. They were motionless. I screamed “Appa, Appa…Anna”. They did not respond. No, they did not listen to me. I wobbled and fell down. I saw Amma. I scurried towards her. Amma lifted her head. She was badly wounded. She removed her shawl and asked me to cover myself.
Amma’s last words were, “Rama, run. Do not stop. Reach the border…catch the boat….run…save yourself…do not get scared. Run, Rama, go!”
I gathered my weak spirit and strength. I started running. I had lost my slippers and ran on bare wounded feet. My feet were pounding on the stony, thorny path, as my heart was pounding inside my body. I reached the dingy two-decked boat. There were three men who were taking others including me to the boat. They were asking money from people. I was penniless. I told one of them that I did not have any. He looked at me carefully from head to toe. I hated his look and covered myself with Amma’s shawl. He let me in. I sat on the first floor of the boat. I did not have any strength to cry for my loss. The motor of the boat started whirring. One of the men who had a beard offered bread and curry. I ate it with relish.
“Whoosh, whoosh.” I woke up. Where am I? Why am I in a cellar? I saw a face right near mine. It was him, the bearded man. I felt his dirty breath near my face. I tried to get up. I saw my shawl thrown on a barrel. I realized the reality. I wanted to scream. Suddenly, I felt a pricking pain on my hand. No, I did not want to sleep. No, this is not justice. Though I was unconscious, my subconscious mind was wide awake. Tears rolled. The motor boat whirred. The waves splashed the boat.
I woke up again. There was no one in the cellar. I pounced on my shawl, draped it around me and limped towards the stairs. The men were standing at the opening of the stairs. They were talking about exonerating those people who could pay more money and selling the rest as slaves, once we reached the shores. I did not want to be a slave. My blood boiled at the rebels, the bearded man and his accomplices. Fate had played a cruel joke on me. Not anymore. I will write my own fate. I had lost everything in life…my family, my village, my chastity. Not again. I need to come out fearlessly.
“Stomp, stomp.” The bearded man was coming down the stairs. I searched for a weapon to defend me. I got an oar. The moment he stepped inside, I hit him with it. I hit him on his head. Hearing the noise, the other two rushed down. I did not spare them either. Holding the oar in my hand, I came to the deck of the boat. I screamed to others to save themselves and jumped into the sea. The salty waters engulfed my weak body and strong spirit. I felt my mother’s love in the sea water. I swam. I saw many sea creatures, but none came to trouble me. Mother Nature was with me. I swam for hours. I reached the Indian shores at the break of dawn. I slept on the shores. When I woke up I saw the oar lying on the shore. I picked it up, to protect myself from the malicious world.
I do not remember my journey from Dhanushkodi to Rameshwaram. When I reached Rameshwaram, I learnt another truth. I had another life growing in me. The sinful seeds of the bearded man had grown in my womb. A girl all of fifteen had gone through a lot in life. I wanted to die. My premonition detested the thought. I was alone in this world; maybe, this little life will be my future, my purpose of life. I reached one of the temple premises of Rameshwaram and slept under a tree. A kind-hearted priest gave me food every day. As days passed, the little life within me grew too. I gave birth to my little one at a Government hospital in Rameshwaram. A refugee who did not have any identity, suddenly, had an identity…the identity of a mother. The priest named my baby Kaamna, a wish. Kaamna was my wish from God. Kaamna was an angel sent to fill my lonely life. I stayed in Rameshwaram till the priest bid goodbye to the world.
After his demise, I felt an urge to move to Chennai. Kaamna was just a toddler when we moved to Chennai. I found meagre jobs in different places. Finally my journey got a new meaning when I met Radha, a social activist, who employed me as her cook. Radha helped me to learn stitching. I started a small business and fared well. Kaamna started her schooling in the local school. She was good in studies. I saw an urge in her eyes to excel in life. I had Kaamna, the oar and some well-wishers like the priest and Radha in my life.
It’s been 24 years. Kaamna has opened her new boutique. She is managing her business well. I too help her with her work. Though, earlier, she had questions about the male who was responsible for her birth, she has stopped bothering me with those questions. I, Rama, a carefree teenager from an island nation, who lost all her valuables, have started picking up the figments and fragments of life through Kaamna.
Kaamna
Kaamna means a wish. Amma says that I was named by a priest of a temple in Rameshwaram. My Amma is a survivor. She rose from ashes. Amma had lost everything, when she reached India. She was all alone. I remember her working day and night with materials on the sewing machine. Before becoming a tailor, Amma used to cook in many houses. When I was five years old, we met Radha Aunty. Aunty asked Amma to cook for her. Amma and I then moved into her house. Radha Aunty, a single woman, a social activist, took a lot of interest in our well-being. Radha Aunty sent Amma to learn stitching. Amma was very soft spoken. She never spoke to anyone except Radha Aunty, me and her customers.
I still remember the days when other kids used to talk about their fathers. I had not seen any male figure in our life. I used to ask Amma about my father. Amma replied that ‘such a person’ never existed in our lives. When I was in grade 7, a girl asked me about my father again. I did not have any answer. I returned home with a determined mind. I will ask Amma about the male figure known as ‘father’. When I asked her the same, Amma was more determined. She scolded me for the first time in my life. She was angry with me. I sat in the room crying. I saw Amma going out to the backyard with an oar. She started hitting the ground with the oar. I tried to stop her, but Amma pushed me to the ground. Hearing the commotion, Radha Aunty came to the backyard. She pacified us. That night, when Amma went to sleep, Radha Aunty came to me.
Aunty told the story of my mother’s travel from the island nation to India. She told me about my Amma’s horrendous ordeal with the boatmen who were smugglers. When the reality struck me, I was frozen. I was born out of coercion, not love. My Amma had to face a lot of trouble. She could have killed me and her, when I was growing in her womb. She did not commit such a crime. Instead, she faced the world. She delivered me into this world with pain. She raised me without any one’s help. She was a true survivor. Amma saw my face every minute. She could have gone deranged or moved into depression by seeing me, by thinking of her torment in the boat with the bearded man. But she did not go into depression or get deranged. She did not hate me at all. She loved me a lot. Radha Aunty told me that Amma believed that I was sent by God to fill the loneliness in her life. Amma, after her loss of family, had no one in this world. It was me, Kaamna, who filled her life with purpose. After hearing my Amma’s story, I loved her more. Later when Radha Aunty left me alone in my room, I went to Amma’s room. She still had the oar in her room. She had a special connection with it. I sat next to her and vowed silently. I vowed, I would never ask about my father. My Amma is my father and mother. She was, is and will be my world. I am proud of Amma. I will make her proud of me.
I finished my schooling with flying colours. I took up Arts in college. After my graduation, I took up vocational course in merchandising and designing. My Amma’s business was also doing well. When it was time for me to spread my wings into business, Amma gave way for me. I took a loan and opened a boutique named ‘Abhaya’. Abhaya means the fearless. My life came into being due to the fearless spirit of Amma. My life reached its destination due to the sheer perseverance of Amma. My life revolves around her. Women like Amma are the true survivors.
Amma - Amma in Tamil means mother.
Appa - Appa in Tamil means father.
Anna - Anna in Tamil means brother.
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