Mid-twentieth century
Mid-twentieth century
Savakachcheri and Madduvil areas are being destroyed by shelling. They are inevitably enduring the hardships of war. Families that have lost all their means of livelihood become homeless in a few minutes. The area known for its fruits is being ruined. The army had been campaigning that it was protecting these people from terrorists. It is now destroying them by shelling them. The army, exhausted by the series of defeats of operation “Oyatha Alaikal 3”, is killing them indiscriminately in its usual style. Lives are being lost minute by minute. All the houses and gates formed by generations of savings are becoming piles of stones. Should the fighters get help, cross the Chavakachcheri, cross the Poonagari and Nireri rivers, and go to Vanni? Or should the enemy, who only throws bombs over his head, retreat into the occupied areas? No, let what happens happen. Will they stay here for the sake of profit? People are hesitant, unable to decide.
In the areas near the fields people are gathered in large groups in the shade of trees. They have arranged their bundles around vehicles such as bullock carts and plows. When the shells fall, they use them as shelters and take cover. Even wounded cattle breathe their last after coming to the house where they were raised. A stench spreads throughout the area due to the dead, blown up, and rotting animals. The fighters who have arrived there in a hurry are busy setting up a field hospital. Noticing a family nearby, they go to them and explain the situation. The enemy will sniff out their hospital anyway. After that, he will launch a series of concentrated shelling. Therefore, they are told to leave here for security reasons. To this, they refused, saying, ‘Brothers! You are here! We are here too.’ It is understandable that they did not want to lose their dignity by becoming refugees. The result was as expected and disastrous.
The father, who was bleeding from his wounds, came to them while one of them was hugging his beloved daughter to his chest and his injured son with the other hand. It took a few minutes for those who saw the horrific scene to recover from their shock. They quickly administered emergency life-saving treatment. They were also sent to Vanni for further treatment along with the other injured fighters. During the short rest they got in between, they put the dead mother’s body in a nearby bunker and closed it. That place is now within the military’s witchcraft area.
A fighter driver who was carrying the ‘wounded’ says, “Brother! A family has been killed in front of us. A mother is about to give birth to a child. They are afraid that there will be no future in this village. You go and see for yourself.” Immediately, two people go to that place. A short while ago, a shell had fallen on that house and exploded. The front of the house is destroyed. The bullets are blowing hard. They cross the fallen neem tree and enter the house. The fear that something has happened by accident arises. The woman, who is in labor, is lying under the bed. The others are hiding here and there. They ask for the woman’s medical records. They immediately say, “Mother, we do not have enough experience in obstetrics. We cannot take your blood sample here in an emergency. You can go to the forest while we make arrangements quickly.” Those who said this, without stopping for their permission, call a ‘pickup’ vehicle to the place and send them back.
Shells fall and explode in the Poonagari watercourse. As a result, water cannons rise to fifty feet high and show fireworks. Without paying attention or observing anything, they quickly transfer the people in the vehicle to a motorboat and drive away. They load the mother and child into an ambulance and send them to the hospital.
The battle is raging. The number of wounded fighters and civilians has reached the third milestone. The rapid supply of motorized boats has been disrupted. Then some people come to them with faces full of confusion and hopelessness. The help they asked for has made the doctor stumble. Not far away, a mother who gave birth at night is lying in a bunker. There is a lot of bleeding. All they want is to save her. They ask for help from a local nurse and a doctor, but they are told that they have not received it and that the Savakachcheri General Hospital is unstaffed and ruined.
The field doctors who are engaged in combat duty are standing there wringing their hands. They regret that they have not gained enough experience in obstetrics. They look to the field doctor in charge to see what to do. He says, “He has asked to send a female doctor who can handle this. But it will take two or three days for him to arrive.” The one who thought for a while continued. “You try it. I take responsibility for what happens. What he said about taking responsibility is not only the survival or death of the mother in question. When there are many injuries, the lack of participation of the two doctors at this place will lead to the loss of some people. If you look at the profit and loss calculation, even those who are going to save a life may not be able to return.” This decision of the person in charge reveals his feelings.
A field doctor and a second-year medical student who is working with them are getting ready to leave. They pack the medicines and equipment they consider necessary into a box. Fear grips both. The fear of taking their lives by trying to treat them! has blocked their speech. No loud explosions have entered their minds. The chief tells those who have arrived at the place that there is a foul smell. The pit is located near a sheepfold. It is one and a half feet wide, five feet long and shallow. The woman is lying exhausted inside it. Several hours have passed since birth. Her face has been pulling from blood loss. The longing to die, leaving the newborns who gave birth in a war environment, is clearly visible in her eyes. Those who have temporarily compensated for her blood loss by giving her fluids, think for a moment. They conclude that it is better for the above-mentioned experienced doctor or doctor to do the treatment than for them. They go to them.
They explain the woman’s condition to the above-mentioned two people. They ask them to treat her and help. They refuse, and even if you don’t come, it’s okay, we’ll bring the woman here. They also politely apologize and refuse. Nothing more can be done. Let what happens happen. They conclude that we will try ourselves.
The relatives look at the faces of the person who has returned. They try to ask something through that. Without saying anything, the two go down into the bunker. One injects the painkiller into the mother’s shoulder muscle. The other puts on gloves. While feeling the abdomen with his left hand, he slowly and very slowly moves his right hand to the entrance of the uterus. The spermatic cord has not come out. Only the placenta is being touched. If the placenta is pulled with too much force, the uterus may be pushed out. If you see it, the blood will increase and there will be a loss of life. To avoid that, he inserts his hand very slowly. He separates the placenta from the uterine wall with the sensation of curd flowing from the base.
The stress caused by the extreme calm has made both their bodies sweat. They realize through experience that experience can be the best teacher. After several minutes of meditation, they take out the placenta and the cap. They examine their completeness to ensure that no remains have been left behind. They also observe for a while whether postpartum hemorrhage occurs. The dangerous stage has been crossed. They must decide where to go next. In order not to be distracted, they turn on the telecommunication device that was set up in the meantime. It keeps calling them. Those who say they will come immediately rush towards their motorbike.
– Thooyavan
– Velicham Magazine, April-May 2003.
(Translation by Tamilpriya)
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