3  Turbulent Times in India

Baby Subramaniam, clad in a scruffy white verti, brown shirt and with a dark shadow on his face, was waiting to meet us at the Meenambakam Airport, Chennai in August 1983. His dishevelled appearance was not, this time, a reflection of his personal neglect. but rather the emotions he had been enduring and the intense activity he had been engaged in for the weeks prior to our arrival. Tamil Nadu was electrified by the anti-Tamil riots in Sri Lanka and politicians of all shades had been leading mass demonstrations and protests against the Sinhala state. Masses of humanity choked Chennai streets; black flags fluttered from buildings and car bonnets; Dravidian sympathisers in symbolic black shirts were out in strength.

Because we had to be accommodated in the Woodlands Hotel on our arrival in Chennai, we suspected that the LTTE was not well established in Tamil Nadu. As we were to learn, not even a political office had been set up. And, as old friends came to see us - in particular Nesan - our suspicions were confirmed. It emerged that there were only a few cadres scattered throughout Tamil Nadu engaged in political activity, mostly low key. Indeed, only a skeleton cadreship was staying in Tamil Nadu. Mr. Pirabakaran had taken most of the cadres back to Jaffna with him.

This situation had potentially far reaching implications for the LTTE. The anti-Tamil riots had generated a flurry of high level politico-diplomatic activity in both Tamil Nadu and Delhi. All the other militant organisations - TELO, PLOTE, EPRLF and EROS had established contacts with the Research and Analysis Wing (RAW), Mrs Gandhi’s personal intelligence agency, and were involved in a military training project.

The scale of the violence perpetrated against the Tamils during the riots of 1983 and the upsurge of emotion in Tamil Nadu as a consequence of the callous response of the Sri Lanka President Jayawardene to the outrageous events raging throughout his country, provided the justification for Delhi to take a more active role in disciplining its recalcitrant neighbour. Delhi opted for a two pronged strategy of diplomacy and military pressure to deal with the most violent and protracted ethnic crisis in Sri Lanka. Whereas the diplomacy would be high profile and transparent, the military strategy would be covert. Mrs. Gandhi did not opt for a direct military invasion as she did in Bangaladesh, fearing it may provoke a hostile reaction in the Western world as a serious infringement on the sovereignty of Sri Lanka. The military pressure had to be brought to bear by the Tamil militant organisations through the intensification of their armed resistance. India’s strategy was to assist the Tamil resistance movement by providing military training and arms. This had to be done in a most clandestine manner without arousing any suspicion of India’s covert intervention. The ultimate strategic objective was to bring Sri Lanka within India’s sphere of influence and to compel the Sinhala regime to seek a negotiated political settlement with the Tamils. Central to this duplicitous strategy was a presumption that the militants would then be loyal and subservient to their military benefactors and could be manipulated according to India’s overall geo-political and national interests. All the Tamil militant organisations were informed of the clandestine Indian programme to provide military training. Subsequently, these organisations were frantically increasing their numbers by recruiting new cadres in the North east of Sri Lanka. The absence of any authoritative LTTE leaders in Tamil Nadu deprived the LTTE of effective representation to articulate its views at both state and central government levels and left the door wide open for the other organisations to dominate the training programme. Added to the LTTE’s problems was the absence of a political office through which the LTTE could be contacted. So, confronted with these difficulties, Bala and I, with the help of Baby Subramaniam and Nesan - who did much of the running work - and the funds collected in London for the LTTE, we set about reversing this inadequate situation. We all worked hard to establish contacts with known people in the Tamil diaspora to increase and secure financial backing. Bala immediately set about writing the lengthy document The Liberation Tigers and the Tamil Freedom Struggle. Every page he wrote was immediately typed out and each page sent to the printers for composing. (We could not find sophisticated printers in those days. Every word was composed by hand). The text would be proof read and corrected immediately. This went on day and night and within a matter of days the document was finished. It was immediately distributed and circulated to promote the LTTE’s aims and objectives and political ideology. The third and most crucial thing we did was find new accommodation. From there, we established contact with journalists, politicians and intelligence agencies.

Shortly after we moved into a two bedroom flat in Santhome, the Tamil Nadu Special Branch Intelligence Bureau - who must have been tipped of about our whereabouts sent an officer, Mr Jumbo Kumar, to talk to Bala to find out what we were doing in Tamil Nadu. Regular meetings between the two developed into a friendship. Mr. Kumar subsequently introduced Bala to the high ranking intelligence officers of the Special Branch. DIG Alexander, who was in charge of Sri Lanka affairs of the state police, also became a close acquaintance of Bala’s. Eventually, with the help of DIG Alexander, Bala was able to establish contacts with the RAW- Indian’s equivalent of the American Central Intelligence Agency. Bala was able to convince the RAW officers that the LTTE, which unlike the other organisations was already engaged in armed struggle, should also have the military training programme made available to them.

Once Delhi had agreed to provide military training to the LTTE, it was necessary for Mr. Pirabakaran to return to India to practically implement the programme. Pirabakaran was maintaining a training camp in Vanni at that time. Bala sent a message informing him of RAW’s willingness to offer military training to LTTE cadres and requesting him to come to India. Pirabakaran dispatched two of his lieutenants, Ragu and Mathaya, to meet Bala in Chennai and to find out details about India’s offer. Mathaya and Ragu met Bala and myself in a hostel in Madurai. Bala explained to them in detail about the Indian training programme. Yet they were opposed to Pirabakaran returning to India where he was wanted at that time. They were highly sceptical and considered the offer of training as a ruse to lure him back to India for his arrest. Bala wrote to Pirabakaran reassuring him that, in the political climate of the day, he couldn’t imagine a scenario where the LTTE leader would be taken into custody. Ragu and Mathaya returned to Jaffna carrying the correspondence with them. Mr Pirabakaran trusted Bala’s judgement and preparations were made to spirit him back into India and contact with RAW. All this, of course, was supposed to be top secret and much cloak and dagger activity went on. After Mr. Pirabakaran’s arrival in India, a meeting was set up with top RAW officials in Pondicherry, Tamil Nadu’s neighbouring state. So, in the middle of one night, Bala, myself and a couple of bodyguards piled into a car and drove the long distance to Pondicherry for the ‘secret’ meeting with the LTTE leaders and the big guns in RAW. At a specified time, the crucial meeting took place between Mr. Pirabakaran, Bala and the RAW officials. Bala and Thamby’s smiling faces on their return to our rooms indicated that the meeting was a success. The LTTE was poised to embark on the Indian military training programme.

By late 1983, our Santhome home was well known and very overcrowded. Anything up to twenty people would be crammed into this small two bedroom flat. This overcrowding interfered with serious work and potentially posed a threat to Mr. Pirabakaran’s personal security also. So once again, Bala and I decided to go house hunting in Chennai. We found a small house in Thiruvanmyur, an outer suburb of Chennai. The house was to be a secret residence for Mr Pirabakaran, Bala and myself: neither secrecy nor privacy prevailed. It was not long before Mr Pirabakaran’s most trusted and senior cadres started to visit the house and an endless stream of cadres were coming and going at all hours of the day. One of my favourite visitors was Ranjan. A short, very dark, young man, Ranjan would sit and show me the detonating process of explosives. His appearance belied his personality for he was a tough, courageous little fellow. Santhosam, meaning happiness was as you can imagine - always smiling. Both these young men died later on. Ranjan was killed when he was shot scaling a high fence trying to escape from a Sri Lankan army round up in Vadamarachchi. Santhosam was killed in battle with the Indian army in 1987. Although from Ariyalai, Jaffna, Santhosam was in charge of the LTTE cadres in Trincomalee for many years before his death.

Apart from our own residence, we rented another big house in Adyar and set up a political office. Here we were able to establish more contacts with the local and international media. Nesan was in charge of finance and typed hundreds of letters abroad appealing for funds. In the meantime, cadres from Sri Lanka, on their way to military training in Northern India, would call in to get instructions from Mr. Pirabakaran. It was quite interesting to meet these cadres for most of them were indeed hard core members. We became acquainted with several senior cadres who had been working closely with Mr. Pirabakaran. One man was in his late forties when he came for training. He had been a loyal underground LTTE member for years in Jaffna. He was known as Appiah Anna, an expert in land mines.

Early Days: Dimensions of Struggle

Over the long years I have been with the struggle I have learned a great deal about the intricacies of human behaviour and the subtleties of inter-personal relations. The struggle itself became an open university where I could learn about deeper aspects of human life. Certainly there is a romanticised view of a people’s struggle or rather a national liberation struggle by outside observers watching an organisaiton and a people struggling for a noble cause. But to be an insider of the mainstream of liberation struggle is entirely a different matter; it involves a unique set of experiences and challenges.

A national liberation struggle is a complex and multi-faceted phenomenon. Firstly, there is the revolutionary organisation spearheading the struggle. Secondly, the social dimension of the liberation struggle and thirdly, the individual level of participation in the struggle. The national liberation organisation conducts its struggle on the politico- military level. In an armed revolutionary struggle for political freedom, the military and political aspects are inextricably inter-linked. The military struggle becomes the very instrument to achieve the political cause of liberation. Therefore, the liberation organisation and its leadership bear the enormous responsibility of charting the military and the political strategies towards the end cause of emancipation. The liberation struggle definitely involves a collectivity of people. To be more specific, a nation of people for whose political freedom the struggle is conducted. The struggle grows and develops in the form of resistance - armed resistance against state repression. This cycle of repression and resistance has its consequences on the socio-economic and cultural life of the people drawing them into the dynamics of the struggle as participants at different levels, depending on their choices. Then comes the individual level of participation. Here I am referring to the individual involved in the national liberation movement. The individual is compelled to wage his or her own struggle within the totality of the struggle in general, within the context of a multitude of contending situations, challenges, relationships. Or to put it more simply, the individual struggle runs parallel to the development and progress of the national liberation movement. And so as the years 1984 and 1985 unfolded I was exposed to events which were not only historical landmarks in the evolution of the struggle and the movement, but events which drew on my emotional and mental resources and ultimately strengthened me for the future years of the struggle and paved the way for a phenomenal resilience and tenacity in the event of many dimensions of adversity.

1984 was unprecedented for its rapid expansion and growth of the LTTE. There were two crucial factors that can account for this phenomenal transformation of a small guerrilla unit into an army of national liberation; both came together at a specific juncture. A crucial determinant in the creation of the LTTE as a liberation army was the training programme sponsored by India which built on the LTTE cadres’ knowledge and expertise, thereby injecting a massive input into the military capability and potential of the LTTE. But the Indian military programme was limited. It provided training facilities for about two hundred cadres only. The programme alone could not have contributed to the massive expansion of the LTTE’s military power, without financial support being available to Mr. Pirabakaran at that time to build and expand on the opportunity provided by the Indian Government. That financial support came from the most powerful and resourceful person in Tamil Nadu - the Chief Minister Mr. M.G.Ramanchandran. It was the early part of 1984. On the invitation of the Chief Minister, an LTTE team headed by Bala and consisting of Baby Subramaniam, Sankar and Mr. Nithiyandandan met him at his residence. The encounter was very fruitful. Bala convinced Mr. Ramachandran of the necessity and rationality behind the LTTE’s armed struggle for the liberation of the Eelam Tamils. On the very first meeting, the Chief Minister offered financial assistance of millions of rupees. He was deeply moved by photos and video films shown to him that depicted the death and destruction caused by the Sinhala army in Tamil areas. The unreserved support and the unprecedented intervention of a revered figure in Tamil Nadu at that critical time was a lucky break for the LTTE. M.G.R’s magnanimous gesture brought Mr. Pirabakaran into a close and intimate relationship with the legendary leader. With Mr. Ramachandran’s personal funds flowing in millions into the LTTE’s coffers, Mr. Pirabakaran was able to realise his visionary programme of expanding the LTTE into an authentic national liberation movement. The LTTE leader shrewdly utilised the funds in establishing several training camps in Tamil Nadu, recruiting a large number of new cadres and purchasing new weapon systems. Funds were also allocated to the political structure for more sustained political campaigns and propaganda work. It is no exaggeration to say that the financial assistance and the political support of Mr. M.G. Ramachandran were cardinal factors behind the growth and development of the LTTE at that crucial historical juncture. The LTTE drew in new and dynamic personalities and resources of enormous human potential. 1984 was important for the consolidation of a politico-ideological agenda.

In these early days of the growth of the movement, I was the only woman with access to the leadership and its internal dynamics. But that apart, I also had my own ideological positions and expectations for the movement and struggle. Central to the heyday of my ideology and politics was ‘feminism’. I had read a substantial amount of feminist literature throughout my degree course and had taken ‘women in society’ as one of my options. In those heady days of trendy politics in a democratic society it was easy to wear the label ‘feminist’ or ‘Marxist’ or ‘Marxist/feminist’ or ‘socialist/feminist’ and god knows whatever labels we used to stick on ourselves. Most of my female English friends at university were feminists of one ‘tendency’ or another. Although I never joined any feminist group, I nevertheless sympathised with particular feminist campaigns, but more specifically with revolutionary struggles in third world countries as opposed to the reformist feminist politics that so characterised western feminism. But twenty years down the road, I would be reluctant to pin any label on myself, let alone the label ‘feminist’. This does not mean that I have abandoned my concern about the oppression of women, far from it. What it means is that I have come to view gender relations from a perspective that stems from concrete socio-cultural observation and analysis as opposed to classical feminist dogma.

It was these informed feminist positions which excited hopes of a women’s revolution in the Tamil national liberation struggle. I set out my views on the relationship between national liberation and women’s emancipation in a small book ‘Women and Revolution’, published in Chennai in 1983. In this book, I argued that women, as part of the national masses, have the right to realise their patriotism and to defend themselves against an onslaught on their people. Women’s participation in the armed struggle strengthened the forces for national freedom and provided the space for them to also struggle for the emancipation of women in a liberated society. Mr. Pirabakaran informed me that many young women, with considerable risk to their lives, were already involved in different activities of the struggle by the assistance they provided to the LTTE cadres in Jaffna and he intended to work on a programme for the induction of women into the armed struggle. He also read to me letters from the Jaffna women activists requesting him to arrange military training for them and to provide space for their deeper participation in the people’s defence against the brutal oppression going on around them and for the struggle for freedom. But for the time being, and rightly also as it turned out, his central concern in the latter part of 1983 was to capitalise on the golden opportunity of the military training programme offered to him by the Indian government. Subsequently, hundreds of young men from the Northeast seeking military training were recruited into the LTTE under the command of Mr. Pirabakaran’s senior cadres and despatched to Northern India for the duration of the programme. Having secured military training for a substantial number of his cadres in Indian military bases, Mr. Pirabakaran turned his attention to the establishment of military camps in Tamil Nadu. From there he intended to strengthen his military forces by delegating the responsibility for the proficient military training of new recruits to selected Indian trained cadres. It was in the midst of such hectic activity and planning at the end of 1983, I was informed by Mr. Pirabakaran that I would have some company soon as four girls would be coming to Chennai from Jaffna. But although these four young women were sympathetic to the struggle, none were coming to India specifically for military training by the LTTE. Mr. Pirabakaran’s lieutenants had rescued these young women from death when they were engaged in a hunger strike at the Jaffna University in protest against the lack of education facilities for Tamil students. Mr. Pirabakaran was concerned for the well being of these four women students, now without family and friends, and decided they were to be accommodated with us in our ‘secret’ residence in Thiruvanmyur when they came from Jaffna. Under the direct responsibility of Mr. Pirabakaran and with Bala and I, being a married couple, living with us was seen as the best socio-cultural situation for the young women. But although their coming to Chennai and immediately into contact with the leader of the LTTE was not based on any conceptions of ‘feminism’ or women’s involvement in struggle, these girls - Mathy, Vinoja, Jeya and Lalitha - created an unintended minor revolution in the organisation.

Even at this historical stage of the struggle, the LTTE upheld a rigid code of moral conduct among the cadres. Premarital separation between the sexes is a well-entrenched cultural norm among the conservative sections of the Hindu Jaffna society and Mr. Pirabakaran was sensitive to the importance of this sensibility amongst the Tamil people. He demonstrated considerable political acumen by identifying this socio-cultural factor as crucial if he was to continue to enjoy the widespread support of the people that the LTTE did at this stage and sustain the recruitment level into the organisation. But while the accommodation of these four unknown girls appears to break the code of conduct and accommodating them in Mr. Pirabakaran’s residence might seem at odds with his security concerns, it is not surprising in the context of his felt responsibility and inherent duty as a Tamil man and ‘anna’ (older brother) and the leader of an organisation to ensure the well being of these four young unmarried women. But as time progressed and as Mr. Pirabakaran came to know these young women more closely it became clear that he had developed a special liking for one of the students. Mathy (Mathivathani) had won his heart. We were not surprised when we learned of this relationship because Mathy was not only a beautiful young woman, but she was exceptionally gentle and caring, living a pious life according to the moral dictates of the Hindu religion. Mathy, who caused the revolution in Mr.Pirabakaran and, by implication, the movement, was a student of agricultural science when she was whisked away from the site of the student demonstration in Jaffna into history.

Although Bala and I were in agreement with the LTTE leaders and cadres that a national liberation movement should maintain high stands of organisational and personal discipline and codes of moral conduct appropriate to cadres who represent and advance the aspirations and interests of their people, we were never comfortable with the lack of flexibility of the rules. The stipulated codes of moral conduct, we held, were not based on either a realistic or mature understanding of human emotions and relations or the probability of upholding the rules over the long term. Nature itself, despite personal effort to maintain discipline, in our view, would propel relationships between the sexes. Bala and I were also well aware that when these powerful and compelling forces of love struck Mr. Pirabakaran he would be overwhelmed with their intensity and tenacity. And so it came to be. Love for a woman filled his heart and he was absolutely besotted with Mathy and she with him. It was vital too, as far as we were concerned, that this relationship, in the long-term interests of the organisation and the cadres, should end in marriage. If Mr. Pirabakaran had retained his chaste status he would have had to live up to the image of a saint and all the cadres then and now, would have been condemned to emotional sterility and frustration. In political terms Mr.Pirabakaran’s relationship with Mathy was a crucial, healthy and progressive element in perceiving him as a leader. The Tamil community, which views unmarried people as not fully matured adults, would be more confident in the judgement of a leader who has been mellowed and matured by the profound emotional experience and responsibility of marriage and family life. But, since Mr. Pirabakaran’s relationship with Mathy was in contravention of the organisation’s code of conduct, he was aware that he would meet with severe criticism, even resentment amongst his cadres. Mr. Pirabakaran turned to Bala for help in not only defending this relationship to the leaders and cadres in the organisation, but by providing courtship opportunities for the couple.

As we expected, Mr. Pirabakaran’s relationship with Mathy did cause a storm and was met with a great deal of opposition from his senior colleagues and amongst the cadreship. Mathy’s family, on being informed of this serious development in their daughter’s life, rushed to Chennai from Jaffna to learn about the depth of the relationship and where it would lead their daughter in the future. But on learning of their daughter’s sentiments and commitment, and after long discussions between Bala and Mathy’s father, parental consent to the relationship was given. Mathy’s parents handed over the responsibility of the well-being of their daughter’s relationship with Mr. Pirabakaran to our care and returned happily to Jaffna. What remained was a clarification and explanation of the affair to Mr. Pirabakaran’s senior colleagues and the cadres in the organisation.

Mr. Pirabakaran’s senior and closest cadres were called to Chennai from Jaffna and informed of his romantic relationship with Mathy and the probable marriage in the near future. Some of the senior cadres who had renounced their love relationships to abide by the code of conduct of the organisation were not pleased with their leader’s romantic love. Bala explained that the old moral code of the organisation was rigid and puritanical and had to be changed to keep abreast with the times. He also argued that romance and heroism were values upheld in Tamil culture. Mr. Pirabakaran’s love relationship had the potential to revolutionise the organisation by making available to the cadres the possibility of a fulfilling love relationship, marriage and family life for them also in the future. This turn of events should be viewed as a positive development in the growth and image of the organisation, Bala argued. The senior colleagues reluctantly accepted the inevitability of an end to their leaders celibate days. Mr. Pirabakaran’s romance and marriage did effect profound change in the organisation as one by one many cadres fell in love and wanted to marry. Marriage and family life have now become the norm in the organisation.

As the movement expanded, our house in Thiruvanmyur became overcrowded and inadequate for the work that had to be done. We decided to rent a bigger house that would act as a base for more women coming into the movement. The house we then rented had plenty of room and was suitable for the accommodation of several women cadres. In this new house Bala and I occupied an upstairs room, which extended out onto a balcony. As more young women joined the LTTE and came to live with us, this room became a place of solitude for Bala and myself and we spent many hours reading and in private discussion on the balcony in the cool of the evening.

Following the anti-Tamil riots of July 1983, several young, enthusiastic women from the North of Sri Lanka had been recruited by Sri Sabarantam’s TELO organisation and brought across the Palk Strait to Tamil Nadu for military training. Soon after their arrival in Tamil Nadu the young women discovered that the TELO had not established a women’s organisational structure into which they could find a place and nobody had been appointed as responsible for their maintenance and care. A great deal of disillusionment had set in amongst them. Approaches were made by some Catholic priests on behalf of the TELO girls to join the LTTE. When news of this situation came to Mr. Pirabakaran’s ears he agreed that they could join the organisation and assured them that they would be included in a military training program when sufficient numbers of women had been recruited to start the first training camp. So shortly after taking up our new residence these disaffected TELO girls joined the four women students in living with us. Amongst these girls was Sothia, who, several years later, became the very popular and capable first woman leader of the LTTE’s women’s military wing. The self sufficient Sugi, who became an excellent markswoman and fired the first RPG into a vital sentry point presaging the first suicide attack on the Nelliady army camp in 1985, was also amongst this group. Theepa from Mullaitivu was also part of the TELO group and she went on to become an instructor at the first training camp in Jaffna managed by women cadres. Imelda gave her life for the struggle in Jaffna and Vasanthi, an extremely talented and athletic young woman became a quadriplegic following an accidental shooting by her brother. Two of the women students from Jaffna also went on to an illustrious history in the LTTE. Jeya, a political science student before she joined the organisation, became famous for her underground activities in Jaffna during the period of Indian army occupation and later assumed the post of head of the political section of the LTTE’s women’s wing in 1993. She later married and subsequently left the organisation. Lalitha, a veteran of several military campaigns after 1990, is now retired from the battlefield and has become deeply involved with a longstanding passion in her life: her love of children. She is now in charge of SenCholai a residential school for orphaned girls and children. Shanti defected from a small militant group in Batticaloa to join the LTTE and she ultimately was placed in charge of the women’s intelligence wing. She left the organisation many years later.

A group of young women living under one roof proved to be a real experience, particularly when they were so close to a leadership they revered. Mr. Pirabakaran’s official visits to Bala and his romantic visits to Mathy sent the young women scurrying to prepare snacks he liked. But although we lived quietly working to maintain our environment and not wishing to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves, the location of our house compelled us to take into account the social context we were living in. Our residence was located amidst an extended family of conservative Brahmins, so it was necessary to be sensitive to the perceptions the local people might form of us. The presence of a white woman in the neighbourhood was, inevitably, a curiosity in itself. A house full of young women dressed in skirts and blouses as opposed to the typical modest half sari so typical of young Indian women and traditional Brahmin girls, was an added perplexity to excite interest from our inquisitive neighbours. The frequent visits by Mr. Pirabakaran and his vehicle load of bodyguards at all hours of the day did not encourage a positive image and climate about our presence in the neighbourhood. Subsequently, Bala was compelled to politely suggest to Mr. Pirabakaran that it would be in everybody’s interest if he constrained his visits to the daylight hours only. Added to our concerns about the perceptions of us in the area was the unpleasant experience we were subjected to in our first Thiruvanmyur house. The uniformed local opinion had a total misconception concerning our residency in Thiruvanmyur, particularly concerning my role.

On my first visit to Chennai in 1979 to meet Mr. Pirabakaran, I had been subjected to the first experience of being misunderstood by the local people. People passing our lodge held a fixed gaze as they passed by with heads turned towards our room. But this second episode of misgivings concerning my presence in Thiruvanmyur in 1984 was far more grave. The local community, through a combination of suspicion and deduction, had come to the conclusion I was functioning as the madam of a brothel. Retrospectively, if one observes our house through the eyes of the local people, it is difficult not to see how there could have been any other conclusion for them. From their perspective a white woman was living amongst Tamil men in a rented house, with four beautiful young Tamil women, and different men were visiting the place frequently, even late at night. But rather than inquiring directly from us and clarifying their suspicions and concerns about our presence, mischievous minds in the community worked up a juicy story and incited the local people with all sorts of notions of debauchery going on in their neighbourhood. In a society which holds the virginity and chastity of women, monogamy and premarital sexual abstinence as some of its cardinal and guiding moral principles, the possibility of these values being openly flouted by a white woman managing a brothel in their own neighborhood, outraged the local community. So, worked up into a moral frenzy, some of the local people banded together and marched on our house to protest our presence. At that time neither Bala, nor Mr. Pirabakaran, or any of the male cadres were present in the house. The young women were inside frozen with fear at this spectacle of the angry mob in front of our house. I could not understand the abusive language hurled at me, yet I could see the anger and fury on their faces. The crowd was becoming restless and violent and someone pelted stones on the house. To our great relief, Mr. Ponnaman, a senior leader and trusted lieutenant of Mr. Pirabakaran, came to the house with some cadres in a jeep. They were outraged and furious when they found out the abhorrent misunderstanding of the crowd and the aspersions cast on our characters. Ponnaman shouted at the crowd and told him who we were, displaying his pistol as proof. The violent mob became silent and apologetic and started to disperse when they were told that we were Tamil Tigers, the freedom fighters from Tamil Eelam on a military training project in India.

This experience left a bitter taste in my mouth and I had no intention or wish to provide neither the scope for a repetition of such misconstrued perceptions to be floated nor a repetition of an ugly, hostile incident. Indeed, this incident effected a profound shift in my understanding of women in society; it was a comprehensive and penetrating socio-cultural lesson for me on the emphasis the Tamil people place on moral values. Public opinion as a mode of social control of women was an issue that surfaced again and again in various degrees and forms throughout my life in India and Sri Lanka. And, I might add, as a way of exciting the curiosity or anger of feminists who read this, is an issue hugely perpetrated by women themselves. But here I am only touching on the matter; in actuality it is a far more complex and complicated social issue linked to the whole phenomena of women in society and would, in itself, require a book if justice was done to the subject. Suffice to say that aspersions cast on the moral character of women is a death knell to her maintaining or establishing any kind of credible friendships and respect amongst people in the community. Once a woman is labeled as a ‘bad’ character in the Tamil society she loses her moral authority. For any of the young women with us to have been mistakenly accused of prostitution would have had far reaching negative consequences for the future of women in the LTTE too. Such an inaccurate and nasty piece of gossip would have spread like wildfire and even rational explanation would not be sufficient to completely erase that perception. Doubts would have lingered. A woman in Tamil society does not have to be an actual prostitute to be labeled a ‘bad’ character. The concept ‘bad’ character is loosely used and is broad in its application. The social perimeters around which a woman can operate before she is considered a ‘bad’ character are indeed narrow by western standards. For example, an unmarried girl seen frequently talking to boys runs the risk of being considered a ‘bad’ character. A girl who has a boyfriend and does not marry him can be more or less assured of the label a ‘bad’ character. But the incident in Thiruvanmyur made me extremely sensitive as to how others perceive our behaviour and I became conscious of the power and potential devastation of public opinion on a woman’s life. It was invaluable for what it taught me in the context of understanding the problems involved in mobilising women for a political struggle. Regardless of how ‘revolutionary’ we might consider ourselves to be, or how prepared we are to face the consequences of flouting social and cultural norms, it is important to understand and respect the values and norms of a society. We must find ways and means to work through the cultural system if we are to effect social change. There is absolutely nothing to be gained by violating the norms of society if such action renders one politically ineffective.

Difficult Times

During our radical days in London we were constantly involved in propaganda work against the Sri Lanka state. We protested against the atrocities committed by the Sri Lankan army and waged campaigns against identified Sinhala chauvinist politicians. When we received information that two priests, two doctors and two lecturers from Jaffna University had been arrested under the Prevention of Terrorism Act and incarcerated in Sri Lanka’s notorious Welikade prison, we worked hard in London campaigning to bring their case to the attention and concern of the international community. One detained Tamil woman was Nirmala Nithyananthan, a lecturer and reputed Tamil writer.

Nirmala Nithyanandan was projected as a literary figure and feminist, illegally imprisoned for her political views and violation of her human rights and in danger of being subjected to inhumane treatment. An international campaign for her freedom was launched. Nirmala’s continued imprisonment was a source of grave concern, particularly during the anti-Tamil riots of 1983 when Sinhala inmates and prison guards massacred Tamil political prisoners. Housed in the women’s wing of the prison, she was lucky to escape the torment of women prisoners and was eventually transferred to Batticaloa jail, along with the surviving Tamil detainees. The LTTE cadres in the Batticaloa district planned a raid to free the remaining Tamil political prisoners. When I heard she had been freed from the Batticaloa prison in the middle of 1984 by one of our cadres during a daring escape operation, I was thrilled and her boldness added to my respect for her. I received the news from Mr. Pirabakaran that she would be coming to Chennai to work with the organisation, with great expectancy. I looked forward to working with an English-speaking colleague with whom I could discuss many issues.

Mr. Pirabakaran was less than enthusiastic about the prospect of Nirmala joining the LTTE and a contradiction in feminist perceptions was clearly evident. For him, Nirmala’s conception and projection of women’s liberation did not tally with his view or vision of Tamil women’s liberation. In Mr. Pirabakaran’s ideological perspective, Nirmala’s idea of women’s liberation represented more the stereo-typed conception of western women’s liberation than an emancipation which the masses of Tamil women could identify with and embrace as their own. Delegating the task of building the women’s wing of the LTTE to Nirmala was not in Mr. Pirabakaran’s scheme of things. Mr. Pirabakaran proved to be correct in his view of Nirmala as unsuitable for any role in the women’s wing. Not only he, but also the girls who were with us, had difficulty in relating to and comprehending Nirmala’s ‘radicalism’. She was a world apart from the village girls who had come to join the struggle and fight for their homeland and had no real idea of women’s liberation, nor necessarily aspired for it. Indeed, Mr. Pirabakaran was far more effective in tapping into the sentiments and thinking of the young Tamil women and winning their support and he persisted with his commitment to building a women’s section and has subsequently assumed the role of leader and mentor of the wing. Not even Nimala’s gallant history of opposition to the state forces could dislodge her alienation or inspire any confidence in women’s emancipation. Nimala revealed herself as a vehement critic of the organisation but was totally incapable of offering any realistic, viable alternative which would mobilise the people to confront the mounting scale of oppression they were being subjected to. The young women’s dislike of Nirmala, and many other issues that became controversial, ultimately resulted in her divorce from the organisation. But while Nirmala’s relationship with the LTTE was essentially unproductive, the role played by her husband Mr. Nithyanandan (affectionately called Nithy) was creative and productive. As the editor of the organisation’s official newspaper *Viduthalai Puligal’ (Liberation Tigers) he wrote several articles representing the LTTE’s position and introducing other national liberation struggles to our cadres and readers. While the paper has survived since 1984 as the official organ of the LTTE, Mr. Nithyanandan has not. He departed from the organisation along with his wife at the end of 1984.

But my political concern about women being mobilised for participation in the movement was just one dimension of the struggle within me. My accommodative personality meant that I didn’t have any real problems relating to most people I met and I enjoyed the warmth of the cadres who sympathised with me as a western woman in a new world. There was never any question concerning my commitment for they well realised, as fugitives themselves of the Sri Lanka state, the level of sacrifice entailed by involving in a people’s armed struggle for national freedom. Nevertheless, although I had previously visited India and had developed a ‘feel’ of the socio-cultural setting and lifestyle, my knowledge of the nuances of the society and culture proved to be extremely limited. If Bala had not been there to guide me through the complicated cultural network I’m sure I would have been misunderstood, unable to deal with people, even perhaps unintentionally offended people. To put it succinctly, the process of acculturation was, initially, a massive cultural shock. It amounted to nothing less than my learning an entirely new socio-cultural world. I came to learn and understand a new perspective on morality and values. I adjusted some of my behaviour. I developed a different, more complex way of thinking. Many of my ideas were re-worked; my lifestyle totally changed and my perception of dress also changed Consequently, I have learned over the years it is quite one thing to visit a country for a brief period of time or to live within your own community in a foreign country; it really is quite different matter to become part of another community.

On this level my experience in India and Sri Lanka was quite exceptional. Ultimately, I saw the world through Tamil eyes, felt the way the Tamil community does and even thought the same way on many issues. I shared and identified with the people’s thoughts and sentiments on the character of the oppression they were subjected to on a daily basis. As a result, I felt that the responses of the people were authentic and logical. On a different note, I had to learn simple things such as how to shop and bargain. Although it was a rare occasion that I was ever cheated when I went shopping, I found it necessary to demonstrate that I was aware of various selling techniques if I was to avoid becoming a soft target for exploitation.

A Change of Lifestyle

Mathy and Pirabakaran were married in a simple temple ceremony at Murugan temple, Thiruporur on the 1st October 1984. A son was born to them and named after a close confidante of Mr. Pirabakaran, Charles Anthony Seelan, one of the earliest LTTE cadres to die in confrontation with the Sri Lankan army. A daughter, Thuwaraha was born soon after and given the name of one of Mathy’s bodyguards who had died in military operations in Jaffna. Their third child was born ten years later and bears the name of Mathy’s young brother, an LTTE cadre killed by the Indian army Balachandran. The naming of their children after fallen heroes of the struggle is a custom adopted by LTTE cadres to perpetuate the memory and history of relatives, friends or close colleagues. In choosing Mathy as his wife, Mr Pirabakaran was more than blessed, for over the years of their marriage she has provided him with unwavering love and surrounded him with the security and warmth of family life; often under very difficult conditions and situations. It has not been a bed of roses for Mathy. A very gentle and tender character, she has had to rise to the occasion in many instances and overcome several emotionally stressful circumstances. Mr Pirabakaran’s work has necessitated long separations between the couple. Subsequently in the early days of their marriage, Mathy was subjected to episodes of painful loneliness. But she underwent severe emotional hardship during the occupation of the Northeast by the Indian army. With the outbreak of the IndoLTTE war, Mathy found herself and her children as refugees in the Nallur Kandasamy temple. Mathy then left her two children in the care of her parents and joined Mr. Pirabakaran in the Alampil jungles of Manal Aru in the Mullaitivu district. The relentless artillery shelling of their Alampil camp, the separation of a young mother from her toddler children and the tragic death of her much loved younger brother in combat against the Indian army, took its toll on Mathy. She was later reunited with her children and went abroad where she resided in Sweden. But living a secret life in Sweden with two small children, unfamiliar with the culture, separated from a husband in constant danger and without the support of close relatives, Mathy was once again subjected to severe emotional strain and stress. When the LTTE entered into negotiations with the Premadasa Government in Sri Lanka in 1989, Bala arranged for Mathy’s return to Sri Lanka. On one of our return trips to Sri Lanka, Mathy and her children joined us in transit at the Singapore airport and flew to Colombo. Premadasa’s government arranged for a helicopter to transport her family along with us to the Alampil jungle and she was reunited with Mr. Pirabakaran again in 1989. Throughout the years of her marriage Mathy has never known a permanent home and safe family life. Nevertheless, she has lived out the role of wife to a guerrilla leader with great courage and dignity and consistently struggled to provide a stable life for her children. Soon after Mathy’s departure from our house to marry, the remaining young women were sent to Madurai, Tamil Nadu in October 1984 for the first military training programme for LTTE women cadres.

When the young women’s camp shifted to Madurai, our house was too big and empty and of no use to us and we decided to find a residence suitable for the two of us only. Our friend Nesan found a wonderful two bedroom flat on the seaside in Besant Nagar a suburb of Chennai. Here Bala was able to re-establish his relationship with one of the loves of his life - nature, and I too was able to unravel the complexities of the past year in a more uncomplicated environment. Joining us here would be a new comer to our family and, apart from a two years interval, inseparable from us until the last months of her fifteen years of life - our dog Jimmy. On a visit to one of the organisation’s offices, Bala noticed a little white pup frantically pulling on the chain it was tied with. Unable to tolerate the little pup’s captivity and its woeful, pleading antics, Bala bent down, untied it and took it home with him. So, one day, quite unexpectedly, Bala walked into the house with a white fluffy ball under his arm. He walked up to me and pushed this ball of fluff into my hands. ‘Here’, he said, “This is for you. A friend to keep you company’. Well he was right about that; Jimmy did turn out to be a real friend: loyal and forgiving of any mistakes or unintended cruelties, infinitely patient and uncompromisingly trusting. And thus began a journey into and an appreciation of the world of animals which led, ultimately, to my becoming a vegetarian. But the innocence of this little dog was so refreshing after the politics of the year and her needs too, compelled us to spend more time enjoying nature on the beach in front of our house.

One of the most pleasurable aspects of the lifestyle in India -and Sri Lanka for that matter- is the habit of rising early in the morning. Daybreak in India is not subject to variations in time throughout the seasons. The sun rises between 5.30a.m and 6a.m every morning so there is no difficulty in waking up. Indeed it is quite common for people to get up as early as 3.30 in the morning; but 4 o’clock would be considered a reasonable time. Women get up early and sweep the compound of the house, prepare breakfast for the family and so on. Some people prefer to rise early and do as much work as is possible before the fury of the day sun. Getting up early is also considered the best time of the day for mental alertness too and students generally spend many hours studying in the early morning freshness. Other people just enjoy early morning exercise and large numbers of regular walkers was a common sight along the beach road in front of our flat. But the early seaside mornings, with the sun creeping up over the horizon sending out its shimmering rays of lighting over the sky and the gentle lapping of the waves on the white sands, would beckon us to join in its peace and splendor and so we would stroll down to meet the ocean waters and then set Jimmy free for some time. Just a pup, her body could barely contain her joy and she exploded in happiness on the beach. If, for some reason or other, we couldn’t make it to greet the morning sun we would, in all likelihood, be there in the evening to send it off. An appropriately located eating place just off the beach with its delicious dishes of Tamil food at very cheap prices, always tempted our friends to join us in the evenings too. Adding to this generally very pleasant and cordial environment, Carnatic music - classical Tamil music - could be heard blaring from the loud speakers of a nearby temple. So, the uncomplicated innocence and beauty of the natural world compensated for the turbulence of my inner world caused by the intrigues of politics.

New Administration in Delhi

And beyond all this, the history of the struggle continued, inexorably making its own twists and turns shaped by extraordinary events. The political scene in Delhi changed dramatically with the tragic assassination of Indira Gandhi in October 1984. Indira’s son, Rajiv Gandhi, perpetuated the Nehru dynasty when he replaced his mother as the Prime Minister of India. The sudden and unexpected demise of the politically mature and sophisticated Mrs. Gandhi was a severe blow to the Tamil freedom movement. Mrs. Gandhi had a profound understanding of the history and complexity of the Tamil struggle for self-determination. She resented Jayawardene’s oppressive policies and sympathised with the predicament of the oppressed. She supported the Tamil armed resistance campaign against the Sinhala state. It was because of her sympathy for the Tamil cause that Mrs. Gandhi made the bold decision to militarily train and arm the Tamil militant movement to create a powerful force of resistance to compel Jayawardene’s regime to adopt a rational political path renouncing the military option. The new Indian Prime Minister was a novice insofar as the intricate and complex manners in which foreign policy determinations were chartered by the wise old lady. The young, inexperienced Rajiv could not immediately comprehend the geo-political and strategic motivations behind India’s covert involvement in actively assisting Tamil armed resistance in Sri Lanka. His poverty of knowledge with regard to the history of the Tamil political struggle and his lack of understanding of the enormous suffering faced by the oppressed Tamil people led him to adopt a more rigid interventionist policy. Subsequently, Rajiv’s administration felt that the time had come to suspend military assistance to the militants and to persuade them to effect a cease-fire and seek a negotiated political settlement to the ethnic conflict.

In pursuit of this policy determination by the new Indian administration of Rajiv Gandhi, the Tamil militant organisations were advised by the Indian intelligence officials to relinquish their demand for an independent Tamil state and prepare themselves for a negotiated political settlement within the unitary structure of the Sri Lankan state. The militant organisations, which campaigned, recruited and fought for the cause of political independence and statehood, were deeply disillusioned. Apart from the LTTE leadership who, from the outset, had a clear vision of India’s strategic designs the other organisations, until then, were confident that India would help to carve out an independent state for the Tamils as it created Bangladesh for the East Bengalis. From the outset, the LTTE knew that India’s assistance to Tamil resistance was to bring military pressure on President Jayawardene and to strengthen the bargaining power of the Tamils, but certainly not to create an independent Tamil state in Sri Lanka. Nevertheless, there was deep disenchantment amongst the LTTE leaders when the Indian administration started to pressurise the militant organisations towards a reconciliatory approach to the Sinhala state. India’s aggressive persuasion for a peace process caused consternation among militant organisations who knew that the cunning ‘old fox’, J.R. Jayawardene would not be fair and just to the Tamils. Bala felt a major contradiction between the Tamil cause and India’s strategic interest in the island was beginning to emerge; how to reconcile such a contradiction was the major problem that pre-occupied his mind at that time.

In the meantime, the LTTE embarked on a massive programme of expanding the politico-military structure of the organisation. Mr. Pirabakaran had already established several military training camps in the remote jungles of Tamil Nadu and there had been a steady flow of young cadres from Tamil Eelam for military training. With the huge input of funds from MGR, the LTTE was purchasing arms from abroad. Indeed on one occasion the rooms in our house were full of AK-47s and rocket-propelled grenades. Similarly, millions of rupees were also stored in the wardrobe of our room: a veritable treasure for any thief. The political office had expanded and had become well established. Media people from all over the world were frequent visitors. The organisation was publishing its official organ in Tamil. I was helping Bala in the production and publishing of the LTTE’s publication in English, the ‘Voice of Tigers’. It was this publication which took me to the refugee camps in Tamil Nadu.

Refugees in Tamil Nadu

Tamil refugees from Sri Lanka have always considered Tamil Nadu a safe haven. The language, culture, religion, etc have made it a ‘home away from home’ for thousands and thousands of refugees who fled in fear for their own and their family’s lives. Many Sri Lankan Tamil refugees had set up small businesses, bought homes and are well settled in Tamil Nadu. But many have not been so lucky. In the early part of 1985, an estimated twenty thousand Tamil people from the coastal area of Mannar island took to the seas in what was referred to as the Tamil equivalent of the Vietnamese ‘boat people’ fleeing from the persecution of the Sri Lankan army in the area. This sudden mass influx of destitute and distressed Tamil refugees landing on their Eastern coastal shores found the Tamil Nadu state authorities totally ill equipped and unprepared for such a huge humanitarian tragedy. The silo-like structure of cyclone shelters built for the protection of the local population in the times of climatic emergencies dotted the coastal area belt and became home to thousands of Tamil refugees from Mannar. I decided to travel to Kovalam in Tamil Nadu to hear their stories and take a look at their conditions and write an article for the ‘Voice of Tigers’.

The cyclone shelters are roomless circular structures, dotted along the Eastern coastal belt of Tamil Nadu. They are located here as a source of shelter for the surrounding villagers should cyclonic winds lash the coastal area, sweeping across Tamil Nadu as they did soon after the death of Indira Gandhi in 1984. After living through this frightening episode of nature’s fury, which uprooted everything that stood in its way and flooded the area with filthy waist deep water, as it swirled and whirled its way across Chennai, I could well appreciate the necessity of shelters being solid. But while they were appropriate for temporary, emergency accommodation against cyclonic winds and rain they were absolutely inadequate for permanent refugee accommodation. My heart sank when I walked into the building. Swarms of flies were everywhere. The roomless shelter had become a maze of ragged and colorful saris. It is one of the ironies of human life that, despite the commonality of situations of collective living, the people always revert to their basic social cell - the family. So in a desperate attempt for privacy, each family had cordoned off a small area -sometimes as small area of a few square feet - by tying their least needed saris together and hanging them as de facto walls, separating themselves from their neighbour. Behind these veiled walls, families of five, six, seven, eight, perhaps even more, the very old, the newly married and the newborn would stake their claim to survive. Smoke and fumes from kerosene cookers or makeshift wood stoves made the place eerie as well as unhealthy and dangerous. But when I started to talk to the people and looked around, I could see immediately that the population did not have enough to eat. Small pot bellied babies with skinny arms and legs and faded black hair were a common sight; naturally enough since milk or milk powder was in very short supply and mothers were feeding their babies on black tea with a little sugar or the water from the boiled rice. Coughs and colds, runny noses, fever, scabies and diarrhoea without any medicines for their treatment, were major health problems.

I felt both guilty and helpless when I saw this human tragedy: guilty because I was not one of them and helpless because I had nothing to offer. But most of all I was humbled, and I was to experience this repeatedly during my many years in India and Sri Lanka. Within the midst of this poverty and hardship it is quite amazing how people retain their humanity and struggle to maintain their dignity and civility. On this occasion, when scarcity was evident, with typical Tamil hospitality and generosity, people came forward to share with us whatever they had and offered us sweet tea, surely somebody’s rations for the day.

It was really quite easy for me to write about this human tragedy in an article for the paper, but it was not so easy to rid myself of the disturbing images of the general sub-human conditions the people were living in. In fact I was quite concerned about the prognosis of many of the young babies. Since the refugees were part of the nation we were struggling for, I could not just walk away from this situation. A liberation movement, which purports to represent its people, is duty bound to look into their welfare, apart from conducting the struggle in the politico-military sphere. Because I knew that although he was managing the organisation on a tight budget Mr. Pirabakaran could afford to spare me a pittance of 5000 rupees, I confronted him with the problem when he came to visit us and asked him for the funds to at least buy a few rations and medicine for this one camp. He readily agreed. Dr Jeykularajah, who had also escaped from the Batticaloa prison, more than happily agreed to accompany me to carry out medical check ups in the refugee camps and attend to the sick children. Through fund raising and donations the work expanded and our group attended many refugee camps all over Tamil Nadu. Finally we decided to regularise our work and Bala wrote a constitution and our work became registered as a charity under the name of the Tamil Rehabilitation Organisation with the objective of providing assistance to the thousands of Sri Lankan Tamil refugees in India. Dr. Jeykularajah became an active worker for this organisation and as time progressed the responsibility for managing and planning the programmes and projects was eventually handed over to others. Over the years, the TRO has become an effective, independent charity organisation providing various forms of assistance to the thousands and thousands of displaced Tamil people in their homeland in the Northeast of Sri Lanka.

India is a land of paradoxes. The most puzzling contradiction that amazes any stranger about the Indian social life is the irreconcilable chasm between the rich and the poor. There are exceptionally rich people in India as well as the extremely poor -the real wretched of the earth. Between these antithetical extremes there is the dominant Indian middle classes. My intention is not to offer a class analysis of the extreme poverty. I only wish to drive a point that in India one finds this extraordinary phenomenon of excessive wealth and extreme pauperism. It is true that I was deeply distressed over the crammed and inhuman conditions in which the Tamil refugees were living in India. Yet the conditions of poverty in Tamil Nadu were a disturbing factor also. I am still haunted by an image that profoundly affected me.

Our flat on the beach in Besant Nagar proved to be a great observation point for watching the world go by and there always seemed to be something going on to remind me of social injustice and poverty. I was standing, looking out the flat window in a lazy and pensive mood one afternoon. From a distance down the street in front of me I could see a gaunt figure zigzagging along the walking area. As the figure came nearer I deciphered a young man around the age of thirty. His hair was long and unkempt; his ribs showed through his skin. In fact he reminded me very much of the thin, longhaired statue of Jesus Christ we often see nailed to the cross in photos and churches. At a certain point I realised this young man was halting at the huge pipe-shaped rubbish bins placed at several points along the road. When I was able to see him more clearly I noticed he was scavenging the rubbish bins for food scraps. While seeing human beings scavenging for food was not uncommon in India, the scene to follow was. Eventually this young man moved towards the rubbish dump in front of our flat. Simultaneously a cow wandered from a different direction and the two met over the same dump and proceeded to share and feast on the pile of putrefying rubbish. While the young man gnawed on left over food scraps he had dug out of the rubbish, the cow muzzled the bin from the other side and chewed away at its pickings. This scene remains etched in my mind as a depiction of utter poverty, deprivation and the degradation of a human being.

Unity and Separation

1985 had its own twists and turns. The Tamil militant organisations were exposed to new political and diplomatic challenges in their relations between themselves and in dealing with the Indian and Sri Lankan governments. After assuming power as the Prime Minister of India, the young Rajiv Gandhi inducted into the ruling structure his own confidantes, removing some talented and experienced persons who were loyal to his mother and had worked with her for many years. In this respect, the new Prime Minister made a serious blunder when he replaced his advisor, the sagacious G. Parthasarathy with the inexperienced and brash Romesh Bhandari as Foreign Secretary. Parthasarathy was an experienced and skilled diplomat with a profound understanding of the Sri Lankan ethnic crisis. He despised the racist politics of the Jayawardene regime and sympathised with the Tamil cause. Mr. Parthasarathy made it a point to meet Mr. Pirabakaran and Bala at his private residence whenever they visited Delhi. Bala conveyed to me that Mr. Parthasarathy did not trust Jayawardene and had cautioned Rajiv about the deviousness of the ‘old fox’. Unfortunately Rajiv ignored and undervalued Mr. Parthasarathy’s studied advice and finally ditched him. The disappearance of these two powerful personalities - Indira Gandhi and Parthasarathy - from the corridors of power in Delhi, enabled Jayawardene to practice his art of political deception with the impetuous, inexperienced Rajiv. The Machiavellian Jayawardene shrewdly manipulated Bhandari to entice Rajiv into his devious scheme of turning the Indian state against the Tamil resistance movement.

Watching with curiosity and scepticism the formation of an unholy alliance between Rajiv Gandhi and Jayawardene were the Tamil liberation organisations encamped in Tamil Nadu, India. Their future hung in the balance. Bala followed the events with keen interest and could foresee an emerging scenario where India would begin to flex its muscle to compel the armed liberation organisations to give up the struggle for self-determination and opt for a political settlement within the unitary structure of the Sri Lankan state. How to avoid a confrontation with the Indian government while pursuing the LTTE’s political project of self-determination and political independence was the issue that obsessed Bala during this period. We knew that India was the regional superpower and had a vital role to play in determining the resolution of the ethnic conflict and that any strain in the relationship could spell disaster. Though Bala, along with Mr. Pirabakaran, met senior Government leaders, party chiefs, Ministers, top officials of the intelligence agencies and argued their case for self-determination of the Tamils they were met with negative responses. India had serious internal compulsions of its own to resist secessionist struggles in her neighbourhood, though sympathy was shown, in some circles, over the plight of the Tamils pitted against the genocidal oppression of the Sinhala state. The impending pressure from India and the possible conflict of interest that might arise between the Indian Government and the Tamil freedom movement made Bala realise the significance of a united front of Tamil organisations to articulate a collective view. He felt that the LTTE alone could not confront the politico-diplomatic challenge that India might soon exert. An alliance between TELO, EPRLF and EROS under the umbrella organisation called the Eelam National Liberation Front (ENLF) had already been formed in April 1984. Bala felt that the LTTE should join the ENLF to strengthen the Tamil armed resistance movement and to inject enormous clout into the Tamil struggle for self-determination. Most importantly, unity between Tamil liberation organisations committed to a common politico-military programme would be an effective shield to confront the politico- diplomatic challenges posed by Rajiv’s administration.

Bala eventually succeeded in persuading Mr. Pirabakaran to join the ENLF. He also discussed the matter with the leaders of the constituent organisations of ENLF and they were pleased to embrace the LTTE into their fold. The unity between the organisations was to be a stage by stage development forged over time. Initially the four organisations were to agree on specific political objectives, then work towards the creation of a single military structure and ultimately finance would be bought under a central administrative system. The talks for consolidating the united front led to a historical meeting between the leaders Pirabakaran of LTTE, Sri Sabaratnam from TELO, Padmanaba from EPRLF and Balakumar from EROS. The clandestine meeting was held in a hotel suite in Chennai in April 1985. The four leaders signed the declaration of alliance and a common political programme pledging to fight for the political independence of the Tamil Eelam people.

In the meantime the Indian Foreign Secretary Bhandari’s frequent trips to Colombo had paid off. He secured President Jayawardene’s agreement for the Sri Lanka government to enter into direct negotiations with the Tamil militant organisations in India. The trade off was that India should stop supporting Tamil militants militarily and oppose their demand for a separate state. While it is true that India supplied military training and arms to the Tamil militant groups it was, as I previously mentioned, part of India’s aggressive diplomacy. But on Jayawardene’s second condition concerning the Tamil demand for a separate state in the island, India has never shown any sympathy to the secessionist cause. With Bhandari having secured Jayawardene’s concurrence to negotiate with the Tamil groups, the Indian government was about to wield the big stick to the armed liberation organisations. Subsequently, following rapidly on the heels of the LTTE becoming part of the ENLF, a cease-fire between the armed Tamil organisations and the Sri Lanka government was mooted in April/May of 1985 and effected in June 1985 to be followed up by negotiations in July/August 1985. The talks were held under the auspices of India in the Bhutan capital Thimpu and its government as the host to the negotiating parties. The Indian sponsored 1985 negotiations between the Tamil political organisations and the Sri Lanka government became known as the ‘Thimpu Talks’.

The Thimpu Talks turned out to be a remarkable event in Tamil political history: for the first time, the representatives of all armed Tamil liberation organisations and the moderate political party, the TULF, jointly and unanimously decided to project and seek recognition of the fundamentals of the Tamil national question. The core demands behind the national question the right to self-determination had already been invoked and mandated by the Tamil people in the 1977 general elections. On the basis of that right to political choice, the Tamil representatives enunciated four cardinal principles, which constituted the basis of the ethnic conflict. These are:

1. The Tamil people constitute themselves into a distinct nation or nationality.
2. The Tamils have a historically given homeland, an identifiable territory over which they have an inalienable right.
3. The Tamils, as a nation of people, have the right to self- determination
4. The Tamil people are entitled to all fundamental human rights and civil liberties.

Having called for the recognition of these principles, the Tamil representatives made it absolutely clear to the Sri Lanka Government that any meaningful and lasting solution to the Tamil national question must be based on these fundamentals.

At Thimpu, the Sri Lankan delegation was led not by a senior politician but by Hector Jayawardene, the lawyer brother of President Julius Jayawardene. Responding to the cardinal principles enunciated by the Tamil delegation, Hector Jayawardene refused to accept that the Tamils constituted a nation or that they have a historical homeland or are they entitled to the right to self- determination. Hector further argued that the principles enunciated by the Tamils constituted a negation of the sovereignty and territorial integrity of Sri Lanka and therefore were wholly unacceptable. The Sri Lanka Government and the Tamil political organisations stuck to their entrenched positions and the talks reached a stage of impasse. Mr. Bhandari, who functioned as the arbitrator, lacked negotiating skills and the diplomatic sagacity to bring about reconciliation, but rather made some imprudent remarks and was dressed down by Mr. Nadesan Satyendra who represented the TELO at the Thimpu talks.

Bala was in frequent contact through the telephone with Thilakar and Anton, the LTTE representatives participating in the Thimpu talks. A ‘hotline’ between the Bhutan capital and Chennai was established to enable ENLF leaders in Tamil Nadu to communicate with their delegates. This clandestine ‘hot line’, of course, meant a direct channel to Indian intelligence eavesdroppers. Bala’s access to the ‘hot line’ proved fateful for us. Knowing that the Indian external intelligence agency, RAW, would be more than curious to hear the nature of the dialogue between the leaders of the ENLF and their representatives in Thimpu, Bala conveyed only messages and avoided any exposition of background thinking to decisions and strategy of the ENLF leadership.

On 17th August 1985, when the negotiations at Thimpu were on the verge of collapse, a brutal massacre occurred in the Northern town of Vavuniya. Sri Lanka military personnel had gone on a wild rampage slaughtering scores of Tamil civilians. It was a serious violation of the cease-fire agreement, which formed the basis of the Thimpu Talks. Mr. Pirabakaran was furious and demanded strong action as a protest. Subsequently, Mr. Pirabakaran and other leaders of the ENLF leadership jointly decided to inform their delegates to walk out of the Thimpu Talks as protest. Bala was asked to convey the message to the ENLF representatives through the ‘hot line’. Bala did this. Delegates of all the six Tamil political organisations jointly walked out of the Thimpu Talks resulting in the break down of the negotiations. Delhi was annoyed. The LTTE’s political advisor was held responsible by RAW for the collapse of the Thimpu negotiating façade.

Bala’s Deportation

With many of our training camps well established in Tamil Nadu, we were aware that should India decide to flex her muscle and use our presence in Tamil Nadu as leverage to exercise politico-diplomatic pressure, we would be in an extremely vulnerable situation. While Romesh Bhandari used the threat of further assistance to the Tamil militants as leverage with Colombo, Delhi used the threat of dismantling of camps and expulsion from Tamil Nadu as sticks to compel the militant groups to talk to Colombo. Prior to the Thimpu talks, the senior officials of the Indian intelligence appropriately intimated this position to the LTTE and other Tamil militant organisations in Delhi. Now that we had walked out of the Thimpu talks and unceremoniously terminated the negotiations, we knew we had earned the displeasure of India. The collapse of the Thimpu talks created a rift between Delhi and the Tamil politico- military organisations. India felt that her mediatory role was undermined and that the Tamil armed organisations had become an irritant to her superpower projection in South Asia. We anticipated that India would show her displeasure by some form of punitive action against us. Bala and I had discussed the scenario prior to the talks and now, after their failure, we wondered what to expect. Furthermore, we knew that RAW misconstrued Bala’s role in communicating messages and instructions from the leadership of the ENLF to its representatives in Thimpu. Shortly afterwards we saw the outcome.

Ironically, we had been discussing over lunch the possibility of us being deported as an option for the Indian government. It was a very hot day and Bala had gone for a brief nap. He had not long woken up, washed, and was preparing to go to the office for the evening when a cavalcade of police jeeps swooped on our flat. Khaki clad policemen jumped out of their vehicles and took up positions, sealing off the exits out of the area. A delegation of police officers mounted the steps and knocked on the door. As is often the case with delicate or unpleasant situations, appropriate persons are handpicked to deliver the bad news. And so Mr. Jumbo Kumar, a friend of Bala’s from the Tamil Nadu Intelligence Branch whom we had known since our arrival in Chennai in 1983, had been dispatched, along with the police posse, to provide a semblance of civility to an otherwise hostile act by the Indian state. Mr. Kumar’s apologetic and polite tone softened the blow when he informed us that the Government of India had issued a deportation order against Bala. Bala and I looked at each other and he nonchalantly walked out the door like a man resigned to his doom, escorted by officious police officers determined that the order should be carried out. He was to await the next flight to London in police custody.

The arrest of Bala was swift and decisive. The police party arrived at our flat and ushered him out the door and he was gone. There was no mention of my position, so I assumed I was not included in this deportation order. I immediately took an autorickshaw and sped to our political office to inform Mr. Pirabakaran and other senior cadres of the event. Mr. Pirabakaran, away in the training camps, immediately went underground in anticipation of punitive action against him also.

I waited at the political office in Adyar for news of Bala and the time of the deportation. I was naïve enough to believe that the police would implement proper legal procedure and inform me of his whereabouts and so on. But as the darkness started to creep in, so did my concern, for I had not been informed of his whereabouts and my mind began conjuring up worst case scenarios. How could I be sure that, given the politics involved, an ‘accident’ would not happen and he would not have been killed etc, etc. Fortunately some of the cadres to whom Bala had been giving political classes and working with in the political office, were readily available to help me and proved to be loyal and reliable friends. I waylaid Guru, the young cadre from Trincomalee who came each day to collect us from our house and take us to the political office, and sped to the Headquarters of the ‘Q’ Branch Police Department in front of Marina beach. It was dark when we arrived and so was my mood. I was not only concerned about the treatment he may be subjected to whilst being held incommunicado, but the fact that he had left the house without his insulin. By the time I arrived at the police intelligence department, I was an angry woman with a mission, fired by determination and fearless to put things to right and find out where Bala was, to demand to see him and to learn of the plans they had for him. This was my first confrontation with the ‘authorities’ so to speak, and I felt as if I encountered a ‘them’ and ‘us’ situation and all my rebellion boiled inside me. I knew that the police had failed in their obligation and had more or less kidnapped Bala and were holding him incommunicado, and that knowledge infused me with tremendous moral power. Inquiries initially met with a conspiracy of silence. All the policemen and their officers knew whom I was talking about, but inquiries about Bala were met with denials of knowing what had happened and where he was. They passed the buck from one to another. Fortunately for me, I knew who the Intelligence Chief of Police in Tamil Nadu was and how he was literally running the state for the Chief Minister Mr. M G. Ramachandran and that he must, indisputably, have knowledge of what was going on. So when I caught sight of a senior police officer known to me I waylaid him. I told him in no uncertain terms to go and tell his boss, who I believed was in the upstairs office, that he would be accountable if anything untoward happened to Bala and that I intended to call a press conference. I did not have any delusions that threats from me were in themselves effective, but I must have touched a nerve for, after some confabulations upstairs with his bosses, the police officer returned and concurred that Bala was in police custody and would not be released. He agreed that I could deliver Bala’s insulin to him, but I too would be held in custody until after Bala was deported. I agreed to this.

From this episode I was able to gain some insight into the anguish, fear and frustration many ordinary people must feel when they are confronted by a conspiracy of silence when they go in search of ‘disappeared’ at the police stations or perhaps in army camps, which is more the case in Sri Lanka.

I immediately jumped into a waiting police car and was driven home. I collected Bala’s insulin and a few clothes, and was taken to the place where he was being held in custody. To my surprise his ‘prison cell’ was a room in a remote two story modern house on the outskirts of Chennai. I was puzzled as to why the police would be using unofficial residences in which to imprison him, but experience has since taught me that intelligence agencies and the police often use nameless houses for illegal interrogation purposes. As we approached the house I was amazed to see hundreds of policemen guarding the building and the area. Inside the house also, policemen were everywhere. I found Bala alone in an upstairs room. He was not distressed or worried, but he was glad to see me and had been concerned that he did not have his insulin with him. He had not been harmed in anyway; in fact it was quite the opposite. He had been well cared for by his embarrassed friend, Inspector Jumbo Kumar, who was a frequent visitor and provided him with whatever he required. In conversation he commented that the heavy security was a precaution against a possible LTTE raid on the house to rescue Bala.

The earliest flight to London was the next evening so we hung around in custody until a few hours before his departure when I was once again taken home to find Bala’s passport and to pack some clothes for him. It had been suggested that I could travel with him but I refused: I had no wish to leave either Tamil Nadu or the struggle and since I was not issued with a deportation order I decided not to go.

I felt that Bala’s deportation order was an expression of India’s displeasure over the collapse of the Thimpu Talks and that he would be called back if Rajiv’s administration was seriously concerned about a negotiated settlement. Bala also encouraged me to remain behind, assuring me that he would be returning to India within a couple of weeks. Just prior to his departure to the airport, Bala requested Inspector Kumar to allow him to visit the LTTE’s political office to send an important message to Pirabakaran who had gone underground. At the political office Bala held a brief meeting with the LTTE cadres while the police were guarding the building. He explained to the anxious cadres the reasons behind the deportation and advised them on the campaign for his recall. Bala also sent a message to Pirabakaran through a secret channel. Thereafter we left for the airport followed by a convoy of police and LTTE vehicles.

On the following morning almost all the Indian national newspapers, both English and Tamil editions, highlighted Bala’s deportation. Newspaper reports were sympathetic towards the LTTE. Some editorials were critical of Rajiv’s administration for the ‘hasty, imprudent action’. Soon after Bala’s expulsion from India, Tamil Nadu political parties took up the issue. Mass demonstrations were organised protesting Bala’s deportation and demanding his return.

The collapse of the Thimpu talks, Bala’s deportation and Pirabakaran’s retreat underground effectively put an end to future negotiations with Sri Lanka - a situation India had not bargained for - unless Bala was returned to India. Mr. Pirabakaran, as well as the other leaders of the ENLF, demanded the return of Bala if a dialogue with India or Sri Lanka was to be re-initiated. And so Indian intelligence agencies sent messages of reassurance to me that Bala would return to India soon. Finally the Indian High Commission in London issued a visa and an air ticket for him to fly to Delhi. In the meantime, Indian officials arranged for me to travel to Delhi to meet him.

Although Bala had returned, the relationship between India and the LTTE was strained, with a deepening distrust of India’s intentions. Asserting itself as a regional superpower, India consistently aimed to subjugate the LTTE to its strategic and national interests. Nevertheless, aware of this tenuous situation, the LTTE continued its activities in India. Sri Lanka too pursued its aggressive strategy. On one hand, Jayawardene pretended to backup India’s aspiration for a negotiated settlement to the ethnic conflict. But on the other hand he systematically strengthened the Sri Lankan military machine for major military offensive operations in the Tamil homeland. In the meantime, we remained ignorant of a nefarious plan being hatched by a government Minister in Sri Lanka: the assassination of Balasingham. The attempt on Bala’s life which took place on December 23rd 1985, came three months after the revocation of his deportation order, capping a hectic year for us and teaching us many more lessons about the desperate and unscrupulous nature of the satanic forces we were confronted with.

The Assassination Attempt

Part of any counter insurgency strategy by an oppressive state is the option of assassination of the leaders of the opposing freedom movement. Bala and I often discussed this rather ruthless and desperate tactic operated by states throughout the world. In this context retrospectively it was rather foolish on our part not to be more alert to potential assassination attempts. Mr. Pirabakaran lives with the threat and adapts his security to prevent it. But Bala, perhaps rather too modestly, did not consider himself important enough for anyone to take the time to plot and kill him. If they did, he felt, then that was part of the struggle. He, personally, has never been overly concerned about his security and left it for others to attend to. It was in this rather negligent and unguarded atmosphere the attempt on his life was made. The plot was hatched by Lalith Athulathmudali, the former Sri Lankan Minister of National Security and a close confidante of President Jayawardene.

Ironically, Bala had personally known the perpetrator of the attempt on his life ever since the assassin arrived in Chennai in 1984. Kandasamy was his name, an ex-Sri Lankan intelligence officer. He was one of those unprincipled persons who use and are used by people to get and plant information for his many masters. I call them ‘intelligence prostitutes’. He imposed himself on Bala during his strolls on the Besant Nagar beach. From the nature of the discussions with him, Bala guessed that he was a double agent. But although Bala strongly suspected the integrity of this person it was only after the assassination bid did Bala correlate this man’s background and the attempt on his life. Indeed it was Bala’s correct judgement of this man’s character that led to him being taken in for questioning by the Tamil Nadu Special Branch (Intelligence) officers during which he broke down and confessed and was charged with attempted murder.

This is how it happened. About two weeks before the assassination I was sweeping at the front door of our flat. I noticed a beautifully dressed young woman going up the next flight of steps from our floor to the roof of our flat. She was startled when she saw me and asked if anyone was living upstairs. When I replied in the negative and that there was only the roof upstairs, she turned around and walked nonchalantly down the steps and out of the entrance door of the block of flats. This was the first time I had ever seen anyone going up the stairs past our flat to the roof. Not even the owners of the two-storey block, who lived downstairs, used the roof or came near our flat. I thought this was out of the normal and in petty conversation of the day’s events, commented to Bala the incident of an unknown, beautiful girl on the staircase. He didn’t take the incident seriously.

A similar situation occurred on the previous evening of the day of the bomb blast. I was home alone at around 7pm. I was expecting Bala home from the political office when I heard somebody walking on the steps. I peered out through the glass peephole in the door and saw a young woman proceeding up the staircase to the roof. “That’s strange”, I thought to myself, “Perhaps the people from downstairs are taking something to the roof”. I went into my room to attend to some matters, where I heard the downstairs gate squeak. Thinking Bala must have arrived home I looked out the window to see if it was him. To my surprise I saw this young woman leaving the flat. But what raised my curiosity was the direction she turned after going out of the gate. If she had been visiting the family downstairs, she would have turned to their door. But this woman turned in the opposite direction and disappeared into the dark. Bala arrived home not long afterwards and I once again relayed the story. I was not frightened, nor did I think this young woman was carrying out reconnaissance work for an assassin. I merely thought it odd behaviour. The plot thickened, when, at about ten o’clock at night I heard the door to the roof banging in the wind. The door only has a lock from the inside and I always kept this door locked precisely so it wouldn’t bang at night and as a form of security. I then realised this young woman had entered the building and opened this door. In doing so she made it possible to get the block of flats from the servants entrance at the back of the building. In other words, it was possible for anyone to reach the roof by climbing the steps at the back of the block. The unlocked door at the roof permitted entrance into the block of flats, to our front door, then down the steps and out through the ground floor entrance which also had an inside lock only. I asked my nephew who was living with us to go upstairs and lock the door; which he did.

On the morning of the assassination attempt our faithful pup Jimmy uncharacteristically started to bark and jump up at one of the windows. I got up and looked at the time; it was precisely 5.55a.m. I went over to the dog and patted her. The dog then jumped back up on her chair and kept quiet. I looked out the window to see what was causing her such concern. I couldn’t see anything; but I did hear the gate squeak. I attributed the disturbance to some of our cadres coming for early morning exercise on the beach and leaving their bicycles downstairs. There was a chill in the air so I took a bed sheet and covered Bala and then laid down again myself. I was lying there in a wonderfully relaxing half sleep at 6 o’clock in the morning listening to the chanting from the temple over the loudspeaker when the whole world seemed to explode. Our flat shook and I could see the windows shattering; smoke and dust filled the room; Jimmy ran for her life. My first thoughts were “My God the gas cylinder has exploded”. As I got up, I could hear the tinkle of broken glass all around me from the shattered windows. I looked at Bala. The bed sheet I had covered him with was now heavy with broken glass and had him pinned down. The shattered glass window had flown over me - closest to the window and landed on Bala. I peeled back the sheet, wrapping the glass as I did so. With some disbelief we went to the sitting room to see what had happened. Smoke and dust clouded the air and rubbish littered everything. I then realised there had been bomb blast. My nephew, visibly shocked, covered from head to toe in white dust, wandered around in a daze. He received the full impact: the bomb had gone off on the roof directly above his room. Only one week earlier, we had exchanged rooms so we could have the beach view. Since we were still alive I wandered if the assassins hadn’t planted another bomb as a contingency plan, and we stood in the sitting room waiting to be blown away with another explosion. I also shouted not to go out; the assassin could have been waiting to shoot us if we ran out. Within a few minutes uniformed police were mounting the staircase and the public had gathered outside. Our cadres informed Mr. Pirabakaran who had heard the blast at his home, several kilometres from our flat.

Obviously, the assassin had come up the back steps, onto the roof and, finding the door to the flats locked, panicked and placed the time-bomb on the roof before fleeing in the direction he had come. If the door at the roof had been open, as the female reconnoitre had arranged, the assassin would have entered the flats, placed the bomb in front of our door and proceeded down the steps, unlocked the door to the entrance to a get away motor bike.

Interestingly, a few days before this operation, the potential assassin had asked to meet Bala alone on the beach in front of our house at 10 p.m. It was Mr. Pirabakaran who advised him either not to go or to take a cadre with him. Bala was escorted by one of our cadres; otherwise I have no doubt he would never have returned from the beach rendezvous.

When the dust had settled, the smoke cleared and the initial shock was over we had a look at the damage done to the flat. All the windows were broken; the doors were gone. Every wall had a crack of a different degree. But it was in our nephew’s bedroom the full impact of the blast was revealed. The force of the explosion had torn away mesh wire and iron bar structural work and about a one- foot thickness of cement to create a four-foot diameter hole revealing the sky through the ceiling. The staircase was also badly damaged. A huge hole in the wall had been blown away. Had the assassin successfully placed the bomb in front of our door, the entire structure would have collapsed, killing not only us by the family living downstairs also.

People from all over Tamil Nadu visited us to express their concern. Hundreds of people passed through our house immediately after the incident. The leaders of all the organisations, EPRLF’s Padmanaba, Sri Sabaratnam from TELO, Bala Kumar from EROS, Sidharthan from PLOTE, Mr. Sivasithampuram from TULF came as a show of Tamil solidarity. The Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu, Mr. G. Ramachandran was to visit us, but for security reasons can- celled his visit. The police began their investigation. They heard my story and showed me a fair woman for identification. The investigation took a different turn with the police suspecting the explosion to be an internal job by the LTTE. Eventually, at Bala’s suggestion, the real culprit was put under observation and was caught making a telephone call to his Sinhalese boss in Colombo - Lalith Athulathmudali. The potential assassin was taken in for questioning and, in a fit of guilt, broke down and told the story. His female accomplice was his niece.

The offender remained in custody in the Chennai central jail for many months. All efforts undertaken by the state police to register a case of attempted murder were frustrated by the authorities of the Central government since it implicated a senior Minister of Jayawardene’s cabinet, with far reaching implications in the interstate relations. Both the Governments colluded in hushing up the entire episode and Mr. Kandasamy was eventually released and mysteriously vanished to Sri Lanka to live in peace and without the stamp of criminality.

The LTTE had to pay for the huge reconstruction work on the flat but that was not enough to convince the landlord to allow us to remain in his very suitable accommodation. The owner lived downstairs with his small children and they continued to tremble and live in fear after the blast. Understandably, landlords in Chennai were not too comfortable about renting their property to the Balasinghams after the bomb blast. Eventually a Muslim family was courageous enough to do so. Our new accommodation was conveniently located near the political office and surrounded by our cadres. But this new residence once again exposed me to new experiences in India.

Domestic Labour in India

Throughout this book I have occasionally briefly touched on incidences or narrated observations which have indicated widespread social contradictions and poverty in Tamil Nadu. Apart from the middle classes and the wealthy who live in their own houses and rented apartments in the cities, the majority of the poor live in villages and urban shanties. Socio-economic deprivation and hardship condemns millions of people in Tamil Nadu to live in the limited accommodation of small thatched huts. There are no bedrooms or kitchens or bathrooms in these huts. They are just one-room structures where the family cooks, eats and sleeps. There is no gas supply or electricity either. Shrubs, bushes or long grass either conveniently growing out the back of the hut or within walking distance, constitute the toilet. Domestic rubbish quite often litters the surrounding environment. Within this poverty and squalor, women struggle to maintain their dignity and keep their families alive. Compounding these difficult conditions of existence is the unavailability of immediate access to a water supply in the hut. Most of these families acquire their daily water needs from a common water pump in the area and, in general, fetching water is woman’s work. Women are inducted into this domestic chore at a very young age. Indeed it is not uncommon to see girls as young as six or seven pumping water and carrying the pots home. Queuing and pumping water eats into women’s time and patience. If, as is often the case in summer, the water supply is insufficient to meet the needs of the local population, women are compelled to search the neighbourhood for access to a water supply. Groups of poor women in search of water would often gather at our front gate and ask to use the water pump in the front compound of our house. In summer, middle class families too are affected by the water shortage and have no option but to search for water or to wait for a bowser to deliver rationed water supplies to the neighbourhood.

The problem of an adequate, clean water supply is critical in India. It is very common for rural women to trek long distances for a few pots of drinking water. So, during the earliest days of our visits to Tamil Nadu, we became aware of the potential of water in determining the quality and standard of living in Chennai. It goes without saying that when we went to live permanently in Tamil Nadu, one of our first priorities when looking for accommodation was to inquire about the water supply to the house and in the area. Armed with knowledge of this social problem we were able to find accommodation with a reliable water supply and I was spared the incessant concern of many women to maintain this basic amenity in the house. But our residence after the bomb blast was in an area where the water supply was often unreliable and in short supplies, particularly in the long hot summer months. So it was not long after moving to the new house that a plethora of problems associated with water supply began to affect on the quality of my life.

Although I considered myself to be highly privileged to have a hand water pump in the front compound of the house, the supply was erratic and would gradually decline with the creeping intensity of India’s summer. Early into the summer months, the water supply to our house was reduced to half an hour a day during which time I would gather all the water pots and hand pump water and store it for the day’s domestic use. Needless to say there was no running water in either the kitchen or the bathroom. And it was only when I was deprived of an endless supply of running water that I understood how these taken-for-granted resources and conveniences impact on our life style and standard of living. Trivial as it may seem to the reader, it is quite extraordinary how a taken for granted resource such as water can become a major issue, occupying the mind as one ponders strategies to preserve water and employs cooking and cleaning procedures so that the one bucket of water set aside for cooking is used thriftily. All sorts of washing up techniques also are applied to learn which is the best method for washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen with the limited amount of water available. Ultimately the easiest strategy was to carry the dirty pots and pans outside, sit on a low stool, soap the utensils and then rinse them and let them dry in the hot sun before returning and stacking them in the kitchen.

Added to our problems was the upstairs bathroom to where water had to be hauled. It was quite amazing to learn how single bucket of water can be sufficient for personal washing. But at least with this one bucket I was fortunate enough to be able to douse myself daily from the searing heat. In general, although my life was made less comfortable by the water problem, I was indeed privileged in comparison with the plight of millions of women in India, who invest a great deal of time and energy in acquiring this basic amenity for their families.

But with or without a water problem, domestic work in India is, in my view, laborious. Cooking, for example, is labour intensive and extremely menial work for women. Scraping coconuts, peeling small onions, dicing meat, cleaning fish, finely chopping vegetables, cooking and draining rice are time consuming aspects of cooking and bore one to death from the monotonous and repetitive nature of the preparation. The duration of cooking is compounded by the fact that, in all likelihood, one has to use a gas cylinder stove with only two jets; one jet will be used for half an hour to cook the rice (depending on the quality of the rice) leaving only one remaining jet to cook the main dishes. The other option is a firewood stove with one, two, or, if one is lucky, three cooking places. But the actual cooking of the meal is only part of the preparation of food, which is women’s main responsibility. Added to this list of necessities of food preparation, is the washing and drying of rice for grinding or pounding, the browning of ingredients in chilli powder preparations, the primary cooking of flour for special dishes, the soaking of grains, the grinding of food between two stones (ammi) as complimentary dishes to the main course and so on.

During our years in India, we had no access to washing machines either. Our clothes were washed at home by hand in cold water: except when I felt lazy and couldn’t be bothered with washing or being concerned about the water supply. I abandoned my concern and gave my dresses and Bala’s shirts to a lady who visited the house on certain days of the week to gather the clothes and take them for washing. My only worry was whether or not the clothes would be washed in shallow ponds of dirty water and the risk of infection that entailed. But the clothes were always returned to me washed, ironed and neatly folded and I was happy enough with that. Added to all this was the daily shopping for the fresh vegetables, fish or meat. These extremely petty, routine and boring domestic chores place an enormous burden on women’s time, energy, and mental development and condemns her to a life of basic survival. So there were many times when I reflected on Marx’s axiom, that it is social conditions which determine consciousness, and concluded he was absolutely right. The drudgery and persistence of domestic labour allows little space for ‘higher’ thoughts to creep in. This experience of everyday domestic work in India brought with it a greater understanding as to why many women, if they have the resources, prefer to employ domestic servants. I often dreamed of a competent housekeeper to whom I could entrust everything; but I never had one. As a feminist I was fiercely opposed in principle to employing a female servant. The very idea of using another woman to cook and clean up my dirt and rubbish was repugnant to me. It has been my position that all the members of a household should share in their own domestic work. Secondly, I had no wish to exploit the labour of these very poor women by paying them the pittance they usually earn as domestic servants. Furthermore, in my view, the employment of a small girl as domestic help for even less money, which many people do, was totally unacceptable. Indeed one of the major contradictions I observed early every morning as I sat and drank my tea on the verandah, was to see many small girls between the age of six to ten years going to their domestic servant work, while, on the other hand, little girls from wealthier families would be setting off in their crisp clean uniforms to school. The contradiction is glaring when we observe a situation where a small girl domestic servant arrives at a house early in the morning to help cook the breakfast of her contemporary who is preparing to leave for school. The small domestic servant will, in all likelihood, then wash the uniform and clothes of her school going employer.

Strained Relations

Though the Indian sponsored Thimpu Talks of August 1985 failed to bring the Sri Lanka government and the Tamil militant organisations any closer to a negotiated settlement, India persisted with her diplomatic efforts to find a political solution to the ethnic conflict. Several sojourns to Colombo by Indian Ministers and officials resulted in conferences and dialogues with the Sinhala leaders and the working and re-working of ideas and proposals for constitutional change in Sri Lanka. In the meantime, the relationship between Delhi and the LTTE never returned to the 1983 days. While Delhi was displeased with the collapse of the Thimpu talks, the LTTE became increasingly sceptical over Delhi’s moves following Bala’s deportation and its relationship with Colombo. A determining indication that the LTTE and other militant organisations no longer enjoyed or could rely on the patronage of Tamil Nadu and Delhi was adequately demonstrated by a major ‘security’ operation undertaken by the Tamil Nadu police led by the D.I.G. Mohandas on November 8th 1986.

Already the Tamil Nadu Police and Intelligence agencies were nervous and apprehensive over the growing number of armed cadres of Tamil militant organisations and their freedom of mobility displaying lethal weapons. Though the LTTE maintained a high level of discipline in Tamil Nadu and had a good public relations record, there were incidences of violence perpetrated by other armed groups that annoyed the state police. A major incident of violence that compelled the Tamil Nadu Police to take serious action took place on the 1st November 1986 at Choolaimedu, in the heart of Chennai. In a minor altercation with an autorickshaw driver a senior leader of the EPRLF, Douglas Devananda (now a Minister in the Sri Lanka government) sprayed automatic rifle fire, instantly killing a young Tamil lawyer and injuring scores of other civilians. The incident caused an outcry in Tamil Nadu and the media demanded urgent punitive action. For D.I.G Mohandas, Head of Tamil Nadu Intelligence and the prime guardian of law and order of the M.G.R administration, the incident was an opportune moment to crack down on the Tamil militants from Sri Lanka. This shooting incident, coupled with a request from central government’s Home Ministry for stringent security arrangements for the forthcoming SAARC conference to be held in the neighbouring state of Karanartaka at which the Sri Lankan President J.R.Jayawardene would attend, provided the impetus for sweeping, draconian disarming operations against the Sri Lankan Tamil militant organisations. Although the LTTE cadres were not in anyway involved in this tragic death of the young lawyer, the population generally classified all militant organisations as ‘Tigers’. So the disarming operation of the Sri Lankan militant organisations on 8th November 1986 by the Tamil Nadu police became perniciously known as ‘Operation Tiger’.

It was around 6.a.m when we saw a posse of police barge through our front gate. The haste in their movements indicated something serious was underway. We had no idea of what was happening or why they had come, but we guessed by the aggressive invasion of our private residence that it was not a friendly act towards us. Sensing that we might be arrested, I quickly rushed to hide my pistol to prevent it from being confiscated. I grabbed it and threw it on the roof, hoping to reclaim it later on. Once inside the house the police officers proceeded, without permission, to search the house. The house was thoroughly combed. My parents, over from Australia on a visit, stood and gaped as the swarms of police unapologetically occupied and took over the house, preventing anyone from coming or going. They stood aghast as the police tipped out the contents of their suitcases and bags and rummaged through their possessions. They had either read or heard about these things happening to other people but never dreamed that they themselves would be exposed to such heavy handed police tactics. Naturally enough, their opinion of the Tamil Nadu police force quickly diminished. We still had no idea what they were searching for, since at this stage our house was not used for the storing of weapons or explosives. Outside the house, we could see that police vehicles and contingents of policemen had cordoned off the entire area and a massive search was underway in all the LTTE residences. A state wide dawn sweep on all the camps of the militant groups was in full swing. Having completed their search of our house and found only the pistol I used for personal security, the police officer in charge asked Bala to accompany him to the police station. At the local police office, Bala was extremely humiliated and belittled when the police took mug shots and fingerprints of him. Mr. Pirabakaran was subjected to the same humiliating treatment at a different police station following his being taken into custody under similar conditions. After several hours of questioning, Bala and Pirabakaran were allowed to return home but were immediately placed under house arrest. A group of police with rifles at their side took up positions in the driveway of the house and Bala was permitted to see visitors, but was not allowed to leave the house. The same conditions were clamped on Mr. Pirabakaran. This, they argued, was for Bala’s ‘security’. Security from whom and why at this stage when he had already been the target of an assassination attempt they failed to explain.

Both Bala and Mr Pirabakaran were outraged and disappointment at what they construed as a deliberate act of intimidation and harassment by both Tamil Nadu and Delhi. None of us was naïve enough to believe that such a major police operation with far reaching political implications could be undertaken without both the state and Central authorities having knowledge of it. Although political differences had often figured in the relationship between the LTTE and Delhi, such aggressive police action, in the LTTE’s perception, was unwarranted. Any security concerns could have been discussed and suitable arrangements arrived at. The nature of this aggressive action against the LTTE and its leaders indicated the shallow understanding the police intelligence had of both Bala and Pirabakaran. Had the Tamil Nadu police any deeper insight into the Jaffna psyche, they would have known that such humiliation, rather than intimidating and cowing down Bala and Pirabakaran, would have bruised their pride and dignity and made them defiant, defensive and hostile - which it did. Furthermore, such action certainly confirmed many of the suspicions both Bala and Pirabakaran already entertained concerning India’s commitment to the Tamil people and Delhi’s real intentions. Nevertheless, one week later, the policemen on guard in front of our house suddenly picked up their belongings and left as quickly as they had come and the house arrest was lifted, without an explanation from anyone.

Intensified diplomatic efforts between Delhi and Colombo to work out a political solution to the ethnic conflict in time for an announcement of a breakthrough at the SAARC conference in Bangalore had been underway for months prior to the summit. Propelling these efforts was an aspiration on Rajiv Gandhi’s part to gain political capital at the SAARC summit, which an announcement of a breakthrough would certainly have yielded. Proposals which included a plan for trifurcating the Eastern Province were put forward by Sri Lanka along with various suggestions for devolution. The Indian and Sri Lankan officials carried this totally unacceptable proposal to Bangalore and Bala and Pirabakaran were shuttled to the capital to discuss the issue. ‘Proximity talks’ on the proposals failed to produce the expected announcement of a break through. The talks became known as the ‘Bangalore Talks’. Mr. M.G.Ramachandran, the Tamil Nadu Chief Minister was bought in to assert his moral influence over the LTTE delegation, while the Indian Foreign Secretary, Mr. Venkadeswaran, a Tamil was involved to persuade the Tigers with the logic of rational dialogue. The LTTE found the proposals totally unacceptable and refused to discuss them with Sri Lankan leaders. Contrary to popular belief, Mr. M.G. Ramachandran agreed with the explanation provided by the LTTE delegation for the rejection of the proposals.

The failure of the Bangalore Talks deprived Rajiv Gandhi of the political accolades that would have come his way had he announced a diplomatic scoop in the political search for a solution to the ethnic conflict at the summit. On the contrary, he was considerably embarrassed when Jayawardene decided to use the summit platform to deliver a lengthy peroration on India’s support for ‘terrorism’; referring of course, to India’s covert support for the armed Tamil liberation organisations.

The LTTE’s uncompromising rejection of the political proposals put forward as a basis for a solution, severely disappointed the Indian government and was a contributing factor to a further shift in India’s relations with the LTTE. The Indian Government and Intelligence agencies with the Tamil Nadu Chief Minister’s knowledge opted to send a clear, unequivocal message of their disapproval to the LTTE and to indicate to all the militant organisations that their stay in India could not be taken for granted. The Indian government, with the co-operation of the Tamil Nadu intelligence agencies and police force, launched a second crucial operation to seize vital LTTE communication equipment.

Deepening Crisis

The confiscation of Mr. Pirabakaran’s communication line to the North-east of Sri Lanka as an expression of India’s disapproval of the LTTE’s rejection of the political proposals at Bangalore, dealt a further blow to LTTE - Delhi relationship. This was, literally, the straw that broke the camel’s back concerning Pirabakaran’s perception of India’s intentions, and ultimately led to a deep-seated scepticism on all matters related to India as far as he was concerned.

While Bala and Mr. Pirabakaran were conscious of India’s displeasure at the outcome of the Bangalore dialogue, they in turn were dejected and deeply disappointed with India’s political expectations of them. A trifurcation of the Eastern Province - one of the proposals mooted -in the Tamil homeland, was the antithesis of their aspiration for recognition of the North and East as a single Tamil territorial entity. If Delhi could be supportive of such a Sri Lankan proposition to divide the Eastern Province, Bala and Pirabakaran assumed the gap between India’s expectations and the LTTE’s goal was irreconcilably wide. The move to confiscate Mr. Pirabakaran’s communication equipment after the Bangalore Talks further substantiated their concerns and soured the already strained relationship.

Mr. Pirabakaran thundered into our house for consultation with Bala after news of the seizure of his equipment reached him. He was furious with Delhi for taking such a dramatic and damaging decision and annoyed with Chief Minister M.G.Ramachandran for permitting the police to embark on the operation. Furthermore, this action against him led to a conviction that in future his life could be in jeopardy. But his primary concern was to retrieve his communication equipment before he made the move to dismantle his camps and return to Jaffna. That unshakeable and irreconcilable defiance so characteristic of Mr. Pirabakaran’s personality, welled up in him and he decided to fast unto death demanding the return of his equipment. His large, dark protruding eyes were aglow with fury as he launched his tirade against India and vowed that only his dead body would leave our house if India refused to return his equipment. From that moment onwards he launched a fast unto death in our residence and neither food nor water passed his lips. Bala could do nothing in the face of such dogged determination but at the same time sympathised with Pirabakaran’s point of view. Tamil Nadu politicians, political activists, journalists and supporters from all walks of life visited our house in their droves, offering their support to Pirabakaran. Some of his commanders pleaded to join him in protest. Demonstrations in support of his fast and criticising the Tamil Nadu government and Delhi started to gather momentum and crowds often gathered in front of our house chanting their approval of his action.

The Chief Minister, M.G.Ramachandran, was in Salem, several hundred miles from Chennai, when Pirabakaran’s equipment was seized. Faced with a potentially explosive situation, both he and Delhi denied knowledge of the incident and shifted the blame on to each other. M.G.R was disturbed to learn that Pirabakaran, whom he loved and respected, had embarked on a fast-unto-death campaign as protest. He also knew that the Tiger leader was deadly serious if he had taken such a course of action. Already there was mounting opposition from wider sections of the Tamils to the state Government’s provocative action. He also was aware that there would be far reaching political implications if anything happened. to the legendary hero of the Eelam Tamils. On the second day of the fast, there was an urgent call to Bala from the Chief Minister. M.G.R. pleaded with Bala to persuade Mr. Pirabakaran to give up the fast and that he would later meet the LTTE leader to explain the reason for the police action. Bala told the Chief Minister bluntly that the Tiger leader would never give up his fast until and unless the communication equipment was returned. M.G.R realised the seriousness of the issue and ordered the immediate return of the seized equipment. A weary, but committed and defiant Mr. Pirabakaran ended his fast forty-eight hours later, amidst wide press coverage, the patronage of local politicians and a large crowd of supporters. Several weeks later, the Chief Minister, having had a lengthy discussion with Pirabakaran and Bala, ordered the return of all the confiscated weapons of the Tigers - as well as the weapons of the other militant organisations - to the LTTE.

Within a matter of weeks after the fast, Mr. Pirabakaran, always a firm advocate of self reliance in the struggle, had finalised plans to severe the patronage of India and to re-establish their independent existence in Jaffna. In the early part of 1987 he secretly left the shores of India to return to his homeland. Bala and I were asked to stay in Chennai to carry on with the political work until the time came for our departure. This long and often bitter experience in dealing with the arm-twisting and aggressive diplomacy of Rajiv’s administration inculcated within the ranks of the LTTE, a clear vision of the intricacies of the Indian political system. The prospects for a negotiated political settlement of the conflict mediated by India - in the near future seemed out of the question. As 1987 unfolded it proved to be the momentous and turbulent year in the history of the Tamil political struggle since the anti-Tamil riots of 1983. It was during this period, the Indian intervention took an unexpected and devastating turn with profound implications on the psyche and politics of the Sri Lankan Tamils.