Let’s speed up our legs; let’s run like the wind.
Let’s speed up our legs; let’s run like the wind.
Daughter!
Do your legs hurt?
Don’t be upset.
In the joy of returning to the village
The distance will shorten.
There is still a short distance to go.
Daughter, walk on.
The plague that gripped us has disappeared.
The darkness has disappeared.
The roots that had taken root in our village; The kalli and the nagatali have disappeared.
The nerunji and the nayuruvi have become water.
Now the breeze will come and play on our shoulders.
Isn’t it the joy of cows returning home after grazing?
Daughter!
Stop; cast your eyes far away.
the boundary of the village is visible.
If you cross those fields, a palm grove will appear beyond them.
If you walk past that too…
The vast expanse where the Manipuras, the Atkattis, and the Gautaris live will spread out. Let’s cross that too and beyond that.
If you walk on the wet shore of the white sandy beach, the ‘Bhootavarayar Temple’ will be the place where the residences were located. Daughter!
Then, when you were two years old, one day, “Iyaman” suddenly came to our village, accompanied by a thousand “Kingaras”. The entire village was set on fire. The village was burnt to ashes by pouring oil on it.
The house – field – garden – temple – cow and calf – trees, men – women, children – old people, everything was burnt. Your mother, who had gone to the temple well to get water, and your sister, who had gone to weave, did not return home that day. They never came back. That day, I took you away and ran away. After that, we are returning home only today.
Daughter! Our house is not like the refugee camp where we lived for ten years….
Daughter! It is a beautiful house.
From the foundation to the roof,
a house soaked in my sweat.
In the yard…..
The faces of the flowers that your sister raised smile every day. In different ways, in different colors there is a beautiful home. Near the house where a red-breasted calf is playing, two neem trees nod their heads and the wind blows softly. The cuckoos come and chirp. The mynahs talk. When you see how beautiful your house is, you will agree.
Daughter! Oh my daughter! Why can’t I see the Bhutavarayar temple? Is the earth splitting open and swallowing me? Daughter! This is where our house used to be. Then where is our house? Where is my wife? Where is your sibling? My twelve-year-old little daughter! We have paid a high price for freedom. Come, my daughter!
This is where those neem trees stood.
In this place
We will build another hut and live.
– Puthuvai Rathnathurai
Velicham – Marts1995.
(Translation by Tamilpriya)
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