By Indran Amirthanayagam
All lovers of that riot of nature, that former paradise known as Sri Lanka, where 78,000 people have been killed in political violence since 1983, should remember the “metaphor of the rogue elephant This elephant has been cast out of the herd, Perhaps it is mad; perhaps it harbors some wound that does not allow it to graze in peace with its brothers and sisters. Soitleaves the herd, or is forced out and alone in the jungles it cats the dry leaves of loneliness. And ‘when it Spots a group of holiday travelers 50 yards down the dirt road—my family in a jeep—it charges.
We were lucky in 1965. The tracker who accompanied us spoke some commands in a tongue that the elephant understood, and the bruised animal stopped its charge, The tragedy of modem Sri Lankans is that far too many of us, living in Colombo or Jaffna, Toronto or New York, have forgotten. The tongue that will heal our differences.
‘That tongue is not Sinhalese, or Tamil, or English. It is all of these and much more. It is rooting out the unfortunate link between ethnicity and the bogymen from the books our children read. We don’t need to have a Tamil villain and a Sinhalese hero. And we don’t need to reverse the terms either, let our villains be people who commit acts against the order of society, whoever they are.
One such act took place on May Day, when a young man, bombs strapped to his chest, crashed his bicycle into President Ranasinghe Premadasa. Another was the shooting of one of Premadasa’s main rivals, Lalith Athulathmudali, a week earlier. And these are just the latest public violations—by villains, bogey men, Crazed boys, rogue elephants.
Violations, Rape. Murder.
Oh, but I can hear the allowances made at a bachelor party on a recent visit to Sri Lanka. There was a lot of drinking and a fight Started, A close friend of the bride punched a friend of the groom, Hands in the air. The wedding is tomorrow—come, come, let’s sorts it out. And the conciliatory voice of an adult: They are just boys, boorish boys. They get drunk, play tricks on their companions. The wedding will take place. The sun will shine in the morning. Everything will be all right.
Enough of these denials. The boys and men who come to kill are not just rowdy drunk. If only for a minute, the wedding could create a space in a Sri Lanka where there is no need for the explanation that smooths over the truth rather than defining it, [only we could wear our tropical suits and sing our hymns and drive home to parties that admit our various bloods and the bonds that unite us. ‘The British saw cricket as a savior, something they could offer to smooth over the harder aspects of their kingship over us poor native subjects. And we adopted the genteel ideas of sportsmanship. But we also called ourselves the Tamil Union Cricket Club or the Ceylon Moors, or the Sinhalese Sports Club, Perhaps we were honest, Perhaps we thought that even in cricket we must acknowledge the hatreds that eat away at our gestures of brotherhood and our adopted salutations — Good show, chap ! Well done!
Well done, Sri Lanka! Here we g0 again | the new President, D. B. Wijelunga, has said that he will resume negotiations with the Tigers. I welcome these first words, the nightmare rides upon sleep, Said Yeats about Ireland. Bat then we awake, as we must, And we Must go about our business, and raise our children, and welcome back the family that has dispersed to Canada, Europe, India, if only for a Visit.
And let us have a roaring reunion. Let us have Bharata Natiyam dancers and baila singers and pianos and tables. Let us have Hindu pujas and the rosary and the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism, Let us invite the burghers to return from Australia and the Tamil stowaways from the restaurants of Paris. Let us have a government of national unity. Let us care for the remaining herds of elephants, Let them have jungle and grassland, Let us develop potions heal the wounds of the rogues.
(Courtesy: New York Times).
Article extracted from this publication >> May 28, 1993
