Oru Kanavu  

Oru Kanavu  

His lips quiver as our eyes meet. “Y-you? In a uniform?” Major Gunarathne whimpers, clasping his hands.

“Louder!” I snap while my finger grazes the rifle’s trigger guard. His once-raging gaze crumbles with fear. My laughter cracks like gunfire as his khaki pants darken. Moving in closer, I spit on his face and tug at the stars gleaming on his uniform. “These medals are soaked in the blood of my people.”

From the corner of my eye, I see three little girls cowering under the bed. Their wide eyes mirror mine from over a decade ago when their father shattered my world.

“History repeats, Gunarathne.”

***

Paati is making Thambi’s favourite meal – thosai and sambool. I run my hands over Thambi’s oiled hair. “You’ll come back?”

His eyes sparkle with pride as he brushes my hand away. “I don’t know. But if I don’t, I’ll make history.” He repeats Thesiya Thalaiver’s fiery speech, “If one is determined to die for the truth, even a common man can create history.”

His cheeks are still smooth, but overnight, my little brother has become a man. Scores of boys and men are leaving to fight for what’s truly ours. Our kanavu. Our Eelam.

“Promise me you’ll keep Paati safe. She’s all we have,” he whispers, hugging me so hard that my ribs ache.

***
The cry for Eelam is growing stronger. And so is the resistance. The government and army are leaving no stone unturned to suppress us. Tamil villages burn. The air is thick with the stench of burning homes, bodies, and hopes. The smoke clears in weeks. The cries never do.

One night, our neighbour whispers amid the sounds of distant explosions, “They’re coming to attack our village. We are escaping tonight. It’s safer further south.”

For a moment I am tempted. It’s our chance to escape. But Paati’s cough echoes in the dark, she is too frail to travel. That night I sleep with a knife hidden under my pillow and a prayer to my martyred brother to keep us safe.

***

“Please, spare us.” He begs.

It’s the same words we uttered that night when Gunarathne and his men burst into our home, brandishing their rifles. Walls shook as we begged, but their roaring laughter drowned our screams. When I finally came to my senses, I was furious.

Not sad.

Not ashamed.

Just furious.

I had failed to keep my promise.

I laid Paati to rest, but her blood lit my rage. I’d fight. Not just for myself, but for our dream. I swapped my skirt for the uniform. Jungles became my home, my comrades my kin, my rifle my voice, and Eelam my pulse.

***

My fingers curl around the trigger.

“It’s not my fault. We were at war. Please spare them, they are innocent,” he whimpers. The girls huddle in the dark, their silent plea echoing mine and Thambi’s lost innocence.

My kanavu burns, demands a choice. For them, for me: I’ve to choose.

***

(498 Words)

Oru Kanavu, is my submission for the monthly contest hosted by ArtoonsInn.

Prompt – Write your story inspired by the given image.

Image Credit–ArtoonsInn.