HERSTORIES

My son was 4 days shy of 20 when he died. When my son wanted to join the army I said, no. But he was adamant, I remember how he’d hit the wall with his fists, he wanted to join so badly. He said he didn’t have a proper job and needed one now that his father was dead. My husband didn’t have a permanent job, being a gem miner. He also hadn’t saved any money. We had some assets including a vehicle, but my husband’s parents, in their anger that I wasn’t giving them my children, took it all.

I lost my mind because of my son’s death. I would spend almost all my time sitting on his grave. I have come here because this house is my son’s house. I got this house because of my son, my only son. I brought him up with so much love. I keep his picture garlanded like this because of the extent of my love for him.

*I mourn for him much more than I mourned for my husband. It’s an unbearable pain I feel when I think of him. It was when I came to this village that I was able to come to terms with my loss. It was because I saw other people who had similar experiences and had all gone through so much.

My three daughters are very strong women. My eldest daughter married from the army, but a mortar struck her husband and he is wounded. The other is married from Ratnapura.

My youngest daughter is going through so much because she married a man who is not very good. That’s why I am taking care of her kids. The daughter works in a garment factory. I use my son’s salary to take care of these children.

Even now, there is some anger I feel against Tamil people. But there is a story that goes like this: If we cut ourselves, it’s the same blood that we see. So then, what’s the point of hatred?