Silent Voice They say there was a battle at sea yesterday.
Silent Voice They say there was a battle at sea yesterday.
I had been talking casually with the others, my mind temporarily free of burdensome memories. Her words struck me like a stone thrown into still water, shattering my calm and leaving my thoughts reeling.
‘Four Black Tiger fighters and five Sea Tiger fighters have attained martyrdom. We don’t know their names yet.’
The young fighter continued speaking, but I could hear little beyond those words.
Something stirred violently within my chest. I no longer had the strength to remain there. Slowly, I rose and left.
Outside, a fine rain was falling.
‘Akka, are you really going out in this rain?’ she asked.
‘Yes, child. Only one person is at the camp. Everyone else has gone out. The rain doesn’t look like it’s stopping, so I’m leaving.’
I wheeled my bicycle outside.
As though it had been waiting for me, the rain began to fall harder.
Drops struck the earth in a steady rhythm.
The red soil mixed with rainwater and flowed away along the edges of the road.
The street lay almost deserted, stretched out beneath the rain. Large trees lining the road stood guard, dripping water onto the ground.
Silence rested upon them like an old friendship that no longer needed words.
Occasionally a motorcycle sped past, but otherwise only one or two cyclists appeared from time to time.
Perhaps rain turns the heart into that of a child.
Those cycling through it wore smiles on their faces, as though they had already accepted being drenched.
Did none of them carry sorrow in their hearts?
How effortlessly they seemed to float through the delicate veil of rain.
Or perhaps they were just like me.
Sudha Akka…
I wanted to repeat her name again and again until the sound itself dissolved the weight inside me.
My sister.
My own elder sister.
The raindrops striking my face ran down my cheeks like tears.
Every time there was a naval battle, my heart trembled until the news was known. Today, more than ever, I felt certain that something terrible had happened.
How was I to survive the moments before the truth arrived?
I wanted to keep riding endlessly, losing myself in memories.
I wanted to cry.
Yet after so many deaths, after so much suffering, my heart had hardened. Even tears seemed to have dried up within me.
Darkness settled with the rain.
A nearby pond lay beneath a blanket of shadow. The water rippled beneath falling drops, and white lotus flowers bloomed among the waves.
The sight carried me home.
Surely lotus flowers must be blooming now in our village pond too.
They were red lotuses.
My sister and I used to slip along the paddy embankments to gather them. No matter how many flowers we picked, she would give them all to me and keep only one for herself.
During the rainy season she never wanted to stay indoors.
She would invent reasons to leave the house—a visit to the temple, a trip to the shop—but really she wanted to wander along the fields. I always followed behind her.
In the cold mornings of the Margazhi month, we would attend the Tiruvempavai prayers at the Pillaiyar temple.
When the prayers ended, dawn would just be breaking.
She would distribute sacred ash and sandal paste to everyone at home with the seriousness of an elder. Even then, I stood behind her, following her lead.
She was someone who seemed able to walk through darkness, sunlight, rain, and frost alike.
‘All this is for us,’ she would say. ‘Why should we be afraid?’
She never looked away from hardship. Whether in nature or in people, she tried to face everything directly.
Playful, fearless, and strong—she had grown into maturity without losing any of those qualities.
Although only two years older than me, there were many moments when she felt less like a sister and more like a mother.
Even after joining the movement, knowing that she was somewhere along the same path gave me strength.
Had that bond finally been severed?
The previous year, during a five-day leave, she had spoken quietly but firmly about a decision she had made.
‘We are both fighters.
You understand better than anyone why I have chosen this. So many comrades die one by one. I can’t simply wait in silence for my turn.
I am going to seek my own day.
If my mission becomes something great, if the attack succeeds, that will be my true happiness.
If you are still alive when you meet Amma and Appa, tell them everything.’
Her words broke apart as they reached my ears.
I had no reply.
Even though I wanted to tell her that I understood, I feared I would burst into tears. So I remained silent.
I longed for a way back—to our childhood, to lotus flowers, to temple prayers, to the days when she pedaled her bicycle and I followed behind on the way to school.
Would those days never return?
Her eyes softened. She smiled gently and embraced me tightly.
…
When I finally returned to camp, I noticed motorcycle tire tracks in the wet earth.
Our commander had arrived.
This was not an ordinary visit.
My heart knew it.
Several fighters stood with her.
As I entered, conversation stopped. They rose as if to receive me.
No one was smiling.
I could see they did not know how to begin.
‘The operation was successful, wasn’t it?’ I asked in a faint voice.
The commander placed a hand on my shoulder and drew me close.
Slowly, she nodded.
Something inside me broke.
I stood there in silence, feeling the agony of a life-bond torn apart.
— Pradeepakumaran
Published in Velicham, Karthigai–Margazhi 2001.
Collected by: Tamilarasan Abdul Kadhar.
Translation by Hari
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