Creative Writing

Short Story:

Jayapala (N)

Jayantha Ratnayake

Known to Sinhalese as Jayapala and among the Tamils as Jayapalan, he was a Tamil lived in one of those villages in the North Eastern Sri Lanka. People belonging to both communities viz Tamils and Sinhalese lived in the village.

Though, the people like us who come from outside would like to know which community dominates the village, the villagers who lived there for centuries never bothered to know or were unconcerned to which community they belong to.

The very presence of both communities in this village is not a classic example of Sinhala-Tamil brotherhood, as a politician would like to say, but it is a natural outcome of this village being situated in the border of Sinhalese dominated South and the Tamil dominated North. They spoke a mixed-language of Sinhala and Tamil.

Their main livelihood was paddy cultivation. They followed the same rituals in sowing, reaping and threshing paddy. All of them used to offer Pulleyar, the elephant-god, Kiri Bath from the first harvest. They did not know the limit of spending when they had enough money after the harvest and with equal nonchalance, had no difficulty in eating cowpes regularly when there is no rice.

Jayapalan too like others, cultivated his paddy field by rain water and during those periods where rain become too rare, he too cultivated a Chena along with another villager. He had his wife Mini and one son Raman to feed.

Everything started to change with the untimely death of his wife. She was attacked by a crocodile while bathing in the Wewa and died of the injuries sustained from the crocodile bite. Villagers were stunned to hear that a crocodile attacked Mini in the Wewa.

Of course, there were crocodiles in the Wewa but they never bothered to interfere with the leisure of the villagers.

Apart from that they were a lazy lot. Log like forms of crocks were often seen in the bank of the Wewa dozing off with their huge mouths cast open as if to gather any morsel dropping from the heavenly hands of those who lived in the deep blue sky and beyond.

Whenever any villager came for a bath, they just floated away noiselessly. In short, till now both omnivorous species; one with two legs and one with four legs, lived with a great understanding and co-operation.

The villagers knew that "their crocks" would never indulge in doing such a treacherous act. This must be a trespasser to the sanctity of Wewa with the recent flood. Therefore he must die!.

Jayapalan had no knowledge of these things and only thing he knew was his Mini is no more.

"Muruga, Muruga, Adawane. Mage Pombule"... he cried like a child. Observing how his farther is melting down, Raman, the son of Jayapalan too cried uncontrollably.

After deciding the fate of the intruder and signing his death warrant, for the execution of the sentence the villages sought the assistance of the police. As a result, the police made quite a few trips, had a few bottles emptied on the bund of the Wewa whilst waiting for the crocodile to make his appearance. Also, a few crocodiles bade farewell to this cruel world in the hands of the police.

The traitor could be among them. Neither the villagers nor the police knew for sure. However, after the shooting, crocks decided to severe the taciturn relationship with the villages permanently and never bothered thereafter to come to the bund to show off themselves.

That was the end of the crocodile problem to the villagers; but that was the beginning of the trouble for Jayapalan. It came from an unexpected quarter, viz from the police.

Prior to the trouble started between the armed forces and armed Tamil youth, the police roamed in the Tamil villages too at their will. But later, they were compelled to limit their movements in Tamil areas in the face of growing incidents of bomb attacks.

Simultaneously, the village where Jayapalan lived was marked as a border-village. The villagers had few knowledge on these matters.

Their knowledge of the growing conflict was limited to a news item which they read in the paper about a killing of some army officers by some Koti or something to the similar effect heard over the radio.

They talked of these things only when they had no any other important thing to do. For the villagers who toiled incessantly in the paddy filed or Chena, things such as "when could they expect next rain" or "whether they could get enough forest area this time to cultivate a Chena" etc etc. were more important issues.

For them, "these people" jabbering in a language not known to them, with their womenfolk wearing heavy gold jewellery in their shoulder-length-torn ears, with men adorning their foreheads with multicolored pottus could be the best protectors of Koti. Therefore it was quite natural for them to rely on a person known to them who has the birth-right to enter any Tamil village.

Accordingly, the police sought the assistance of Jayapalan to gather the intelligence not because of any distinguished physical feature or characteristic of this man but merely he was the husband of the woman who was killed by a crocodile. After all, they have "helped" him in eliminating the croc.

Jayapalan had no qualm in helping the police whom he knew. Apart from that the things the police wanted to known are trivialities such as "how many members are there in the family of Podiyare of Kunjimale"?. "Are they all staying with him for a long time?". Is there a Tamil boy called Sella who came to the rice mill recently etc etc.

Knowing of some of these information did not take much time nor they hampered his day to day work in the paddy field. Therefore, Jayapalan went on helping the police.

Jayapalan had no an iota of an idea of the nature of the information gathered by him or the purpose of the same till one night he was made aware of the gravity of this by an unexpected and uninvited visit made by three young Tamils.

Jayapalan was in the realm of the deep slumber when he was rudely awakened by loud banging on the door. He got up and opened the door with an annoyed countenance. There were three youths, who addressed him as Anna. They wanted basically Jayapalan to desist from helping the police.

'What is wrong with that. They are my friends'

'How can they become your friends. They are B... Sinhalese. They are the enemy of the Tamil'

"Thambi, I don't understand. I am a poor man. I lost my wife also."

In fact Jayapalan could not really understand some of the 'big words' uttered by the 'boys', ultimately they went away after warning him not to become a traitor of the 'Tamil Liberation Struggle'.

After they left, Jayapalan squatted under the tamarind tree and pondered as to what they just said. His little mind could not comprehend how could Sinhalese become the enemy of the Tamil.

Tamils and Sinhalese had no difference whatsoever in the village. Of course, once in a way there were squabbles in the village; specially involving womenfolk. They were perhaps Tamils vs Tamils or Sinhalese vs Sinhalese or Tamil vs Sinhalese. But nobody bothered to know who is involved and everybody enjoyed these as those incidents supplied much needed variety to their routines and tepid life.

Sometime after the visit of the 'boys' the police came seeking the assistance of Jayapalan again. This time they wanted him to hand over an important letter to the Post Master of Kanchikulam. He did what he was asked to do and was returning on the foot-path on his push cycle. On the way, he was stopped by a few youths.

Their looks gave Jayapalan a churning sensation in the stomach. But still he did not see any reason to lie upon their enquiry. He said that he went on an errand for the police.

He had hardly finished the sentence when the first blow hit him. After that they hit him right and left, till he started screaming asking for mercy, till he started bleeding. Ultimately, they hit him with his own cycle and went away with a threat that next time if he gets caught having done any favour to the police, they will send him home in a coffin. Jayapalan really got frightened this time.

Thereafter, whenever the police came for him he stealthily left his home and sauntered towards Wewa. But one day he got caught to the Police. The way they spoke and treated him bewildered him whether these are the same people from the police known to him earlier.

They did not stop there. They took him to the police station and threatened him with bodily harm and a few days in the 'lockup', Jayapalan got a shock of his life and out of fear for his life and the 'lockup', he agreed to cooperate with the police.

This time he was assigned to cut some trees to make a few huts which the police was planning to build in the border of the village. These huts were called "Wankers". Police gave him a few names of fellow villagers and asked him to get the support of them too.

When these names were uttered, it struck Jayapalan, that really they were Tamil names and therefore they are Tamils; a realization hitherto unknown to him. According to police they could not do this by themselves as the jungle is infested with terrorists and further these Wankers are built in order to protect the villagers from Koti. If not they will come and kill all the villagers.

This reasoning really frightened Jayapalan. If the 'boys' like those who beat him happen to come to the village, they will of course will kill all of them.

Later Jayapalan took some of his colleagues to the jungle and pulled down some trees, got the logs and rafters needed and built a few Wankers. They thatched the huts with Mana leaves and also built a mound of earth in front of each hut which looked like small hillocks.

A few days after this job was done, Jayapalan had another nocturnal visitation by the 'boys'. They told him that they are aware that Jayapalan helped the police to build bunkers. (Only then Jayapalan realized that those huts are called bunkers; but not Wankers.) He started shivering like when one was attacked by malaria. But the 'boys' did not touch him. They wanted only a place to sleep in the night. Jayapalan happily allowed them to use his verandah as their sleeping quarters.

Towards the day-break suddenly Jayapalan was awakened by a scream. At once his son Raman came to his mind. But by this time, Raman was also up and looking around with frightened eyes. "Appa..." he was about to cry. Jayapalan had no time to console him. He rushed out and joined the villagers who were running towards the jungle at the end of the village.

When they came to Dingiri Banda's house they saw the reason for the scream of the sister of Dingiri Banda. Entire family of Dingiri Banda, including his three children and his wife had been hacked to death and the house too was on fire.

'They have then attacked our village too this time' some body in the crowd said. Jayapalan realized that they were talking about Koti. He also felt a mounting range in him. "If they wanted to kill them they could have killed grown ups sparing these little ones." he thought.

By this time he had forgotten the 'boys' stayed overnight at his place. But his memory on them was recalled by the presence of the police in the afternoon.

Later he was taken to the police and given him a good beating, 'till he got the taste of the first spoon of milk in his mouth'. They wanted to know the names of those who were staying at his place on that dreadful night but Jayapalan was unable to give any names.

He felt very miserable. More than the bodily pain, his mental agony was unbearable. He has done nothing wrong. Later he was taken to Anuradhapura and was presented in the Courts and thereafter remanded for three months. During his prison days nobody from the village came to see him. Night and day his thoughts were of his son. He had no way to know as to what was happening in the village.

After an eternity, he was set free. When he went back home, many things had changed. The village had been attacked by Koti twice and all the Tamil families had left the village and settled down at Sungammalai. Raman had been taken by his maternal aunt. That was the only consolation he had. Now the boy would be well looked after.

One day a 'boy' cycled to Jayapalan's place and wanted him to come to Podiyare's home the following day. Jayapalan went there since he had no guts to refuse. There, he met a few 'boys' and was well spoken to. He was asked to support on their 'struggle'.

When he goes back to the village he was to reestablish the connection with the police but to help them whenever they needed. On the way back home Jayapalan considered his position. "All these troubles are due to these 'boys'. Now onwards I will have nothing to do with those b..... police or these useless 'boys'. Therefore, he did not bother to reestablish relations with the police.

Slowly he realized the cold attitude of his fellow villagers towards him. One day it became very clear through Suriya who was drawing draught at the boutique when he went there to buy some dry fish to cook his lunch.

"I say Mudalali, why the b... Tamils still lingering here. When they have their "Eelam" to go"

He was the only Tamil present at that time in the boutique and hence he realized this was aimed at him. But he is not a person to get excited over this type of remarks from a just weaned podiyan like Suriya. His reaction was just a flashing stare at the boy. Jayapalan and his clan lived here for centuries. What Eelam for us, he thought.

One day he was contacted by Koti again and they wanted him to check how many policemen were manning at a time in a bunker and how many guns they have. Since he had already determined not to get involved in the battle of "whales" he just ignored the order.

Again he was asked to meet the 'boys' at Podiyare's place. Since there was no way for him to avoid it, he went there. There he was told by the 'boys' that they have opened a camp in the 'reservation jungle' and he should go there to get training on how to use fire arms. Jayapalan declined this as he did not want to get into trouble in the first place and secondly he saw no reason to learn how to fire a gun. 'boys' got furious and threw mouthfuls of raw filth and went away.

Jayapalan went home. After a few days bunkers were attacked by the Tigers and a few policemen died. Thereafter police went berserk and took revenge from the only remaining Tamil in the village; Jayapalan. He was hammered till he started bleeding from the damaged nose and the mouth. Later he was dragged to the Police and was locked up for four days.

"Enough is enough" he thought. "I am harassed by the police as well as by the 'boys'. Not only that, the villagers who were with him for years are not in good terms with him now. I have nothing here now. If I remain here, either the Police or the 'boys' will kill me. I have only my life left with me" By the time he reached home, he has taken a decision. "I shall go to Sungammalai where my son Raman is living.

There, if I can not get a paddy field to cultivate, I shall drive a kerosene-cart. It is better to do that rather than living here like a dog. Before that I shall go to 'reservation Jungle' and inform those b... 'boys' also that I am leaving for good."

He did not have much to take with him. When he was in the police lock up, whatever he had, had been taken by the villagers. "What to do with these clay pots and pans. Let them take those as well", he thought. He wrapped a sarong and a shirt, his only remaining possessions, in an old news paper and left home.

It took him about half an hour to reach the 'reservation Jungle'. The land-marks which were given to him by the 'boys' the other day have already been faded away from his memory. But he believed that he could find the place. He went forward through the thickening jungle. He could not go far. A volley of gun fire rained on him. He had no time even to say "Muruga"!.

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The king of faction

Pioneer of novelistic reporting -Norman Mailer:

Norman Mailer was the pioneer and prophet of a culture in which fact and imagination overlapped

Mark Lawson

In the week that Norman Mailer died, the most talked about movies included "Into the Wild", drawn from the diaries of an American man who perished in the wilderness, and "In the Shadow of the Moon", a film about the Apollo astronauts, that show the new box-office power of cinematic documentary.

And, on Broadway, down the river from the author's hospital death bed, the two new hot plays - Tom Stoppard's "Rock 'n' Roll and Aaron Sorkin's "The Farnsworth Invention" - both dramatise historical events. One of Mailer's intellectual eccentricities was a fascination with astrology, and these items suggest that, at the time of his death on November 10, the artistic stars were in the right alignment.

New journalism

Throughout his almost 60-year career, this author was the prophet and pioneer of a culture in which fact and imagination overlapped. Mailer steered the journey to a world where journalism and documentary routinely borrow the techniques of fiction, while a majority of movies and plays seem to be biographical and novels regularly conclude with extensive lists of the volumes consulted as research.

The credit - or, depending on taste, blame - for novelistic reporting and documentary novels has tended to go to other American writers: Truman Capote is generally said to have invented "the real-life novel" with in Cold Blood (1966), while Tom Wolfe and Hunter S. Thompson are regarded as the fathers of the new journalism in which the reporter shapes and takes a place within the story.

But these are false lineages, allowed to stand partly because Mailer, always keen to be remembered as a novelist rather than a journalist, was reluctant to shout about his role in the rise of news driven fiction and fiction-driven news.

Daring merger

He was, though, absolutely the daddy of faction, his novels or journalism reporting every conflict from 1939 to Iraq and biographising Americans including John F. Kennedy, Marilyn Monroe, Muhammad Ali and Neil Armstrong.

The subtitle of his magnificent account of an anti-Vietnam march in Washington The Armies of the Night (1968) is "History As A Novel, the Novel as History", which couldn't be more explicit about his mission to mix up newsprint with Jane Austen's two inches of ivory. His merger of journalism and fiction is more daring than anything Capote attempted, with the author even third-personing himself as "Mailer".

When I interviewed Mailer in January, for Radio 4's Front Row - his knees and breathing going, but his mind ferociously and provocatively intact - I pointed out that his major books all had a slab of fact behind them, whether billed as fiction (his Second World War novel of 1948, The Naked and the Dead, or 1991's Harlot's Ghost: A Novel, about the CIA) or as non-fiction (1995's Oswald's Tale, which applied to Lee Harvey Oswald the techniques perfected on Gary Gilmore). Mailer's reply was that he would rather spend his energy on prose than plotting, but he also acknowledged a deeper reason: that he had lived through a century in which a writer's greatest stories were as likely to come through his eyes as his mind's eye.

Such was the drama of Mailer's personality and life that he will almost inevitably be the subject of biopic movies in the future, as Capote has recently twice been.

Perfect epitaph

And docudramas would be the perfect epitaph because, though Norman Kingsley Mailer dreamed of being the monarch of the American novel, he was finally the king of faction, the man whose greatest books, a nightmare for any librarian hoping neatly to classify as fiction or non-fiction, consolidated the now standard view that reporting is as important to storytelling as invention.

Courtesy: The Hindu