The Scorching Flame of a Parched Land
The Scorching Flame of a Parched Land
Teacher Padma looked intently at his face. Her thoughts rushed back ten years. A profound inner silence spread within her. The noises of the surroundings could not disturb that mental stillness.
“Ten years—isn’t that a long time!” she wondered.
“So many people who were there then are no longer here today.”
“Forests have become fields, and fields have become forests.” Her heart ached.
“Addresses have been forgotten; faces have disappeared.” Her mind trembled. Teacher Padma looked him over from head to toe. The passage of time filled her with amazement.
“He has grown up,” she thought.
“Teacher, where are you living now?” he asked eagerly.
Suddenly, he looked at her forehead. She understood.
“My husband died a year ago, brother,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion.
“We’re living now in a small hut in Skandapuram.”
Pain showed on her face.
“You haven’t gone back to the Kilinochchi side, Teacher?”
“I’ll have to go someday.”
No emotion showed in her reply.
“This displacement has left everyone devastated, hasn’t it, Teacher?”
“Hmm… we’ve been completely ruined. Have you ever thought about Yanaikkadu? It suffered terribly.”
She finished speaking in a breathless rush.
Their eyes turned toward the hospital, overflowing with people.
He did not wish to stir her grief any further. Neither of them paid attention to the crowd around them. Only the fierce sun continued to scorch them.
“Brother, so many children here have lost their fathers. That woman standing over there—her husband went to the Seventh Canal to harvest coconuts from his land. The army shot him.”
“So many children have lost their fathers like that, brother.”
Her unbearable sorrow spilled out.
Teacher Padma described how people had abandoned the occupations they had practiced for generations and fled here, only to suffer hardship.
For a moment, there was silence.
The tragic scenes that had unfolded across the vast landscape of her memories cast their shadows. They emerged as a deep sigh.
“Teacher, many people have abandoned the village and gone toward Vavuniya,” he said sadly.
“We’re planning to go to Kilinochchi town. I wonder how many people will have returned.”
“Very few. There are no houses.”
At the thought of houses, her body trembled.
“My large brick house… it’s lying shattered like an egg broken for frying.”
A heavy sigh and tears came together with her words.
Lowering her head in sorrow, she scraped the ground with her foot.
“The chilies and onions from our district used to be sent to Colombo and to the Sinhala areas. They fetched good prices. That’s how we built that house.”
Her face tightened.
“On days when laborers were available, we’d cook huge pots of food for the masons and build the house little by little.”
She groaned at the memory of the house she had built twenty-five years earlier.
It had been a time when irrigation brought prosperity to the villages. Many villages produced golden harvests.
Sinhala traders would come to the Kilinochchi market to buy chilies, onions, and tobacco leaves. They would bring betel leaves, jackfruit seeds, coconuts, rope, and other goods to sell.
A child cried loudly from the pain of an injection. Everyone turned to look.
“Brother, I can only stand there and look at the ruins of my house. I cannot stay on that land. I won’t go there.”
She spoke firmly.
“They say the army never came near our house. A young fellow from the movement told me so. That’s what people say too. Apparently an army camp was nearby.”
Teacher Padma spoke in wonder.
She remembered how, a short while ago, a young man had suddenly run up and called her, and how she had been unable to recognize him.
“Teacher, do you know who I am?”
“Your face is familiar, but… what’s your name, son?”
“Vaseekaran.”
Teacher Padma was stunned. She embraced him and shared both her affection and her sorrow.
“If he hadn’t introduced himself, I could never have recognized him,” she thought, embarrassed.
His words echoed repeatedly in her ears:
“You couldn’t recognize me at all?”
Teacher Padma stared at him without blinking.
Twelve years ago, he had been a fourteen-year-old student in her class.
A memorable incident involving him flashed before her eyes.
“Run, boys! Why are you dragging me? Run! Run!”
Her scream split the sky, but the four students would not let go of her hands.
“Come, Teacher! They’re going to bomb us!”
The school descended into chaos as Teacher Padma ran outside.
“Teacher! Teacher! It’s diving down! Get down! Get down!”
The aircraft flew low overhead.
Its deafening roar tore at their ears.
Students scattered across the field like white cranes.
Some hid behind trees. Some sheltered inside buildings. Others simply kept running.
Two thousand souls ran as though their stories had already reached their end.
After dispersing the students, Teacher Padma found a place to hide alone.
The aircraft swooped over the school buildings.
It seemed to brush past coconut palms and jamun trees as it dropped its bombs.
Boom… Boom… Boom…
The bombs that fell on the playground tore apart four students.
“Oh no! Oh no!”
Cries of terror rose to the sky.
A few moments later, people carried them away.
Some died instantly. Others died later from their injuries.
The attack claimed three lives.
The school, the neighborhood, and the entire school community sank into mourning.
A week later, the school reopened in sadness.
Teacher Padma met her students in class.
“Who were the ones that grabbed me and dragged me that day?”
They looked at one another.
Ramesh stood up, leaning on his desk.
Varathan rose, twisting the edge of his shirt.
Thavam stood, chewing on his pencil.
Vaseekaran stood, biting his nails.
Teacher Padma rose and praised them.
“You who love others as yourselves—you will live for others.”
She commended them warmly.
She remembered that they remained in that school until their General Certificate examinations.
After that, she became responsible for other classes.
As the students moved on in different directions, their connections gradually faded.
And now, after all these years—
“Is this really him? What an important man he has become…”
His appearance dazzled her.
“Brother, why have you come to the hospital? Where are you living? Are you working?”
“Yes, I’m nearby. I came to the eye clinic today.”
“What happened?”
“I injured my eye in an accident. Now I can’t see properly at night.”
She looked carefully into his eyes with concern.
“Take care of your eyes, son.”
Just as she finished speaking, a dark-windowed vehicle came roaring to a stop a short distance away.
“Teacher, I’ll come and see you again.”
Only then did she realize that his hand had been tightly clasping hers.
“What is this… a vehicle!”
Her eyes widened in astonishment.
“I’m leaving now, Teacher.”
There was a trace of sadness in his voice.
With grief choking his throat, he waved goodbye.
As the vehicle doors closed, Teacher Padma stood staring blankly, as if stunned.
“Oh! I forgot to ask for his nickname,” she thought regretfully.
The vehicle turned left at the hospital entrance and sped away with a growl.
A gentle breeze brushed across Teacher Padma’s face, cooling the sweat on her skin.
The vehicle disappeared from sight.
Perumal Ganesan
Published in Velicham Pavala Magazine, 2001
Compiled by Tamilarasan Abdul Kader
Translation by Hari
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