கண்டி வீரன்

Translated from the original Tamil short story kaṇṭi vīraṉ (கண்டி வீரன்) by Shobasakthi. The original story is available at his website. If you have any questions or feedback, please contact ez.iniyavan@gmail.com.

Once upon a time there was a person in Sri Lanka called Kandy Warrior. Apparently, a Tamil militant group had sentenced him to death. It also seems that the same group had later rescinded the sentence. I am not aware of anything more regarding the story of Kandy Warrior.

However, such an event was extremely rare in the history of our struggle. Hardly anyone who was caught by a militant group managed to escape to freedom. In particular this was the only instance ever where a death sentence was rescinded. From the time I first heard about Kandy Warrior I could not help puzzling over how this came to pass. I was very eager to write the story of Kandy Warrior. But I was not able to even imagine how it might have happened.

Recently I read a short story by Leo Tolstoy called ‘Too Dear!’ (Дорого стоит) which he adapted from an earlier story by Guy de Maupassant. Ākụ̄r Ānandhāchāriyār had translated it into Tamil with an unusually long title meaning ‘who can afford to feed an elephant?’ Suddenly it occurred to me that this story that took place in Europe in 1897 possibly resembles Kandy Warrior’s story that happened in Sri Lanka in 1984. Tell me, how else could Kandy Warrior have cheated death!

Therefore, permit me to borrow Tolstoy’s story and shoehorn Kandy Warrior’s saga into it.

Around 1984, it is estimated that there were around thirty-seven armed Tamil militant groups, big and small, in Sri Lanka. The tiniest among the thirty-seven was called ‘Revolutionary Organization of Socialist Tamil Eelam.’ For the sake of brevity, they referred to themselves as ROSTE.

There were only six members in that group. Every one of them was in the twenty- to thirty-year-old range. The group’s Revolutionary Executive Central Committee consisted of all six.

ROSTE advertised itself as a movement on the extreme left of the political spectrum. Its political project was to rally farmers and workers to mount a continuous guerilla war against the Sri Lankan military to establish Tamil Eelam as a separate socialist country. At the time the Indian army was training many Eelam Tamil militant groups. Leading political figures in the state of Tamil Nadu in India, M.G.R and Karuṇānidhi, were competing with one another to provide funds for these groups. But ROSTE had resolved, as a matter of doctrine, that ROSTE would not rely on India. Every month, their Central Committee would pass motions to resolve that they would not use Tamil Nadu as base, and that their movement would be nurtured only on Eelam soil.

Despite being a tiny militant movement of merely six people. ROSTE firmly believed that theirs was the one fighting with a firm ideological foundation on the right path towards Tamil Eelam. ROSTE was second to none in publishing calls to action from time to time. It also invited other Tamil militant groups to ideological debates. When the armed military operations of other groups failed, ROSTE did extensive research as to why those operations failed militarily and published their conclusions as political pamphlets. Without fail, all those pamphlets ended with ‘When the people’s revolutionary army of ROSTE begins its military operations, it will result in great victories.’ Nevertheless, one must say that ROSTE received absolutely no support from the public. Members of ROSTE struggled to put food on their plates.

The ROSTE movement camped out in a small village eight kilometers from Jaffna town. A dilapidated large stone mansion surrounded by high walls served as their camp. The owners of the house were in America. Therefore, ROSTE occupied the house without succumbing to any guilty conscience. The village had a small main street with four kiosks. People always milled about on the main street, talking politics. ROSTE levied taxes on those main street shops. Because shopkeepers had to pay taxes for multiple armed groups, ROSTE’s share was indeed minuscule. Still ROSTE managed to scrimp and save from the two-rupee or five-rupee taxes they collected, by sometimes half starving themselves and imposing the self-discipline of rationing only four cigarettes per person every day. This way, ROSTE had managed to save two thousand rupees by then.

One evening, while they were out collecting their tax on the main street, they saw a mob of people beating up a petty thief who had been caught red-handed. The thief was tall, had a strong constitution, and had the complexion of a palmyra tree. His googly eyes were bloodshot. He was wearing a white sarong and a purple shirt. Despite all the beating, the thief remained silent, rooted to the spot where he was standing.

ROSTE intervened and rescued the thief from the mob. They removed his shirt and used it to blindfold him. They borrowed a piece of jute rope from a shop to tie his hands behind his back. That was in fact the first time people on the main street had seen ROSTE in an operation. Only when ROSTE went out to collect taxes the next day did they realize that this operation had raised their esteem in the eyes of the people.

ROSTE marched the thief to their camp for further interrogation. A green vehicle belonging to a larger militant group came by. The leader of that group asked, “What is the problem?” One of the ROSTE members responded stiffly, “Comrade, we have taken responsibility for this problem, we will take care of it.”

Once at the camp, the thief was made to sit on the floor, surrounded by the members of the Central Committee. The interrogation proceeded, with the Central Committee throwing question after question at the thief. The entire interrogation was earnestly recorded in a register.

They learned that the thief was from Kandy. His name was Kānthirājaṉ. The group did not like this name in the first place. Therefore, they called him by referring to his hometown, ‘Kandy.’ They referred to him by this name in the interrogation report.

In contrast to his stoic silence when he was being beaten on the main street, he was garrulous in front of the Central Committee. He liked the discipline and the refined interrogation practices of ROSTE. The members of ROSTE, sitting around him, listened to his exploits with gaping mouths.

He was born in an estate in Kandy, a descendant of people who had fled to escape famine in the Sivagaṅgai region of Tamil Nadu to Sri Lanka, then known as Ceylon. When he was ten, he was taken to a home in Jaffna as domestic help. Astonishingly, his employers had also called him ‘Kandy.’

Kānthirājaṉ’s life of crime began when, at fifteen, he dropped a rock on the lady of the house that employed him, stole a little money, and fled to Kandy. Thereafter, his trajectory went through Colombo, Galle, Vavuṉiyā, and so on. There was no town that he did not wander into, no mischief he did not get up to, no fight he did not get into, no whore he did not bed, no police beating he did not endure, and no jailhouse he did not get thrown into.

Eventually, he ended up as a gangster for the Kandy drug dealer kudu bāss. He hung around in the area behind the Kandy railway station, known for retail drug trade. His job was to watch out for the police or the agents from the Division of Narcotic Control in disguise. Whenever fighting broke out between the gangsters of Sivam nānā, another drug dealer, and the gangsters of kudu bāss, Kānthirājaṉ was the first to jump into the fray on behalf of kudu bāss. He had the strength to down a man with a single blow.

There was a revolutionary party in Kandy. The party had its small trade union. The leader of this trade union was Raṇasiri. When Thaṉabālasingam mudalāli asked kudu bāss to rattle this trade union leader a little, kudu bāss sent Kānthirājaṉ’s to do the job. Kānthirājaṉ went alone to the union leader’s house, threatened to kill him, and returned. There were many witnesses who saw him utter the threat. A couple of nights later, union leader Raṇasiri’s dead body was found on the street, killed by stabbing.

Kānthirājaṉ tried to convince kudu bāss that he did not murder the union leader. But kudu bāss just swore at him, showering him with obscenities. Shortly thereafter, kudu bāss absconded. The police were on a manhunt to find Kānthirājaṉ who promptly escaped to Jaffna. The police’s jurisdiction did not extend to Jaffna. This was the time when the police, fearful of the various militant movements, were closing down police stations in Jaffna. There were a few places in Jaffna frequented by intelligence officers. They, too, were periodically gunned down by the militant groups. Thereafter, Kānthirājaṉ earned a living via petty theft.

ROSTE recorded Kānthirājaṉ’s confessions to the letter. Behind the main house that served as the camp, there was a small room by the rear wall within the same compound. Perhaps it was built as the servants’ quarters. ROSTE imprisoned Kānthirājaṉ in this room, designated one of their members to stand guard outside, and the remaining five analyzed and debated Kānthirājaṉ’s confessions in detail.

There were a number of charges against Kānthirājaṉ: violence, theft, thuggery, unbridled sexual relations, drug trafficking, and premeditated murder. The consensus within ROSTE was that he was an antisocial person beyond any reasonable doubt. Therefore, in accordance with the rules of their movement at that time, they sentenced him to death. It was decided that he would be tied to the lamp post on the main street and shot to death.

When the sentence was announced to Kānthirājaṉ, he protested “This is unjust sāmi, how can you punish me for a murder I did not commit?” Yet, there was no appeal to the death sentence that ROSTE had passed. Generally, they deliberated at length before making a decision. But once a decision is made, they stood by it firmly.

But there was a complication in carrying out the death sentence. ROSTE did not own a gun they can use to shoot Kānthirājaṉ. They decided to seek help from another militant group that was militarily better endowed. They sent a request to this group asking what it would cost to rent a gun for a day and purchase two bullets.

The other movement responded that they could not rent out a gun, but they could send a gun along with an expert gunman drawn from their ranks who could do the job cleanly and that this would cost ROSTE ten thousand rupees.

ROSTE was shocked to learn this. Why should they spend ten thousand rupees on account of this Kandy murderer? Where on earth would they find ten thousand in the first place? Could they not carry out the sentence more cheaply? They debated these questions at length.

They conjectured that the first group that they had approached had capitalist leanings, which explained the unreasonably exorbitant amount they greedily demanded. Besides, they also noted that this movement generally did not respect ROSTE. Therefore, the Central Committee decided to approach a leftist group in the belief that they would accord greater respect to ROSTE’s request. They then sent a request for help to a left-leaning group which also had plenty of arms.

This left-leaning group said they would charge five thousand rupees to send a comrade with a gun. They also said that if ROSTE only wanted to rent the gun, it would cost three thousand in rent, but would require a further six thousand as deposit. ROSTE could not afford this either. In the dire financial situation they were in, how could they justify spending so much money on a murderer? If they in fact had that kind of money, they could have started their own newspaper. With thoughts like these, once again they focused on researching how they could carry out the death sentence economically, staying within their means.

They wondered if they could implement the death sentence in some other way, thereby avoiding all this messing around with guns. When someone proposed stabbing with a knife, the majority in the Central Committee objected that it was an inhuman practice dating from the days of barbarism. Killing by beating was ruled out, not so much because none of the group members had enough courage to attempt it, but rather because Kānthirājaṉ was not frail enough to die when he was beaten. His body was like steel. Death by poisoning was also rejected by a majority in the Central Committee. That is the style of coup makers and conspirators. No revolutionary organization will ever resort to poisoning.

Finally, the Central Committee came to the firm conclusion that they would just buy their own inexpensive gun, even if it was rickety or second hand. On further inquiry, it transpired that even ancient guns from the Paṇdāravaṉṉiyaṉ era were not available for less than four thousand rupees. Where would they go for that kind of money! Even foregoing food to scrimp and save from the meager taxes they collect from the small main street would still take them another two full years to collect that amount. Could they continue to pay for the care of this Kandy murderer until then?

ROSTE’s rule book stated that prisoners need to be fed thrice a day and given tea twice a day. They could also get an oil bath once a week. First the prisoner was given four cigarettes each day. Thereafter, on the request of the prisoner, cigarettes were replaced by a bundle of beedis.

Like clockwork and without fail, food from the ROSTE camp kitchen was taken to the room where Kānthirājaṉ was held. Having eaten well thrice a day without having to exert himself, Kānthirājaṉ had noticeably put on weight within a month. There was a new shine to his skin. He led a cushy life, sleeping comfortably and enjoying smokes when he was not sleeping. At the end of the month, when the Central Committee inspected their accounts, they discovered that holding the prisoner had cost them about a thousand rupees. The Central Committee was utterly shaken once again.

They started to agonize again as to how to compensate for this loss of funds and how to reduce the expenses of holding a prisoner. There was consternation at the thought that this Kandy murderer from nowhere was consuming ROSTE’s hard-earned tax revenue from the people. They even entertained the idea of freeing the prisoner. But they hesitated, as rescinding the death sentence of an antisocial character without cause would amount to a doctrinal deviation.

It was then that one of the members put forward a good solution.

“Now we take turns guarding him day and night. Going forward, we don’t need to guard him.”

“But if there is no guard, he will escape.”

“Let him escape! With that, the curse on us will be lifted, too… What do we stand to lose if he runs away? The movement will save money.”

From the next day onwards, the guard in front of Kānthirājaṉ’s room was removed, and the door was left open. At mealtime, when no food showed up, Kānthirājaṉ shouted for food. It did not look like anyone heard him.

Hunger gnawed at Kānthirājaṉ. He stepped out of his prison room slowly, looked around, and walked over to the camp to ask for food. When he was given food, he walked back to the prison room to eat it and go to sleep. The same sequence repeated in the following days. He went to the camp thrice a day to ask for food, tea, and beedis and returned to the room to consume them. He was enjoying life. It did not look as if he had any intention of escaping.

Differences in opinion within the Central Committee began to emerge, lamenting “For how long can we put up with this wretch?” The person who made the suggestion for removing the prison guard also took on the responsibility for handling this problem. He said, “If we wait passively for him to escape, it will not come to pass; we have to trick him into escaping.”

He casually strolled towards the room where the prisoner was imprisoned. Inside, the prisoner sat cross-legged, happily smoking a beedi. When he saw a ROSTE member approach, he hurriedly put out his beedi by squelching it on the ground, stuck the extinguished beedi behind his ear, and stood up respectfully. The visitor started chatting.

“What is up, you look as if you are feeling down today. You must be missing your wife and kids.”

“Let them be, sāmi. Asses!”

“Why are you so hard on them? They must be distressed, not having seen you for so long.”

“It will be difficult for them if I am there.. Now they have peace of mind.”

“Somehow, I pity you. Even though you say this, I am sure you want to see your wife and children. You have not been guarded for a while. Why don’t you run away? If you need money for the bus, I will give it to you. I will also persuade my comrades not to come after you.”

The prisoner sat down again cross-legged. He then lit a beedi as he talked.

“That wouldn’t be right, sāmi. You removed the guard because you trusted me. How can I betray your trust?”

“It is no betrayal, Kandy. We won’t worry if you run away.”

“Where can I run away to sāmi? The whole world knows that you sentenced me to death. Who will employ me now? How will I survive, tell me?”

The ROSTE member was at his wit’s end. He started to walk back to the camp. The prisoner called out behind him:

“Sāmi, please shut the door behind you.”

By now it was crystal clear to the Central Committee that the prisoner had no intention of escaping. Once again, they strained their brains and came up with a solution. The decision was that no matter the cost — even if it meant pawning one of their own heads — they must immediately acquire a gun to carry out the death sentence.

In those days it was routine for militant groups to carry out bank robberies. ROSTE too decided to rob a bank to buy a gun with which they could get rid of the prisoner.

They chose a small rural bank as their target, and meticulously planned the robbery. They drew up detailed maps. There was only one guard at the rural bank. Before ten in the morning, there was hardly any human traffic in the bank or the street it was located in. The metal gate of the bank always remained closed. The guard stood behind the gate holding a long staff. He first interrogated each visitor, allowed only one person in at a time, and closed the gate behind them. Only after the previous visitor exited the bank would he admit the next one.

Members of ROSTE would drive to the bank at nine in the morning, pretending to be intelligence officers in civil garb. Asserting, ‘One of the bank employees is a terrorist suspect, we have come to arrest him,’ they would enter the bank and proceed to burgle it. That was the plan.

The primary flaw in this plan was that the bank guard would be deceived only if a purported intelligence officer was able to speak to the guard in Sinhala. But no one in ROSTE could speak Sinhala. After a day of intense debate, the Central Committee resolved to incorporate the prisoner Kānthirājaṉ into the plan because he could speak Sinhala flawlessly. Besides, his height and build made him a very plausible intelligence officer. Scarcity and hunger had made ROSTE members look malnourished weaklings compared to the dazzling appearance of Kānthirājaṉ.

On the planned day, ROSTE rented a car to take them to the rural bank. Kānthirājaṉ, smartly dressed, led the way, followed by three members of ROSTE. Another acted as the getaway driver and kept the engine of the car running.

During his career, Kānthirājaṉ had encountered more than his share of intelligence officers and interrogations. So, he could play the role of a senior intelligence official to perfection. Only when they neared the bank did they notice that the guard had a gun.

The three ROSTE members behind Kānthirājaṉ began to falter when they saw the gun, their legs turning to jelly. They gaped at one another as if to ask, “Should we run away?” The intelligence they had gathered from their earlier reconnaissance was indeed flawless. How could they have known that, just the previous day, the escalating bank robberies in the North had prompted the government to issue older repeater rifles even to the guards at rural banks?

But Kānthirājaṉ maintained his confident stride even after seeing the gun. He marched up to the guard, and swiftly raised his right hand to his chest. Startled, the guard snapped to a proper salute. When senior officers meet someone junior in the forces, they usually offer a grudging, half-hearted salute, hand raised to their chest. When Kānthirājaṉ barked out a couple of words in Sinhala, the iron gate opened wide. As soon as he entered through the gate, Kānthirājaṉ grabbed the guard’s gun by his left hand while slapping his cheek hard with his right. The guard fainted and collapsed. Kānthirājaṉ held the gun aloft and beckoned to the ROSTE members to follow him. They scuttled behind him, with Kānthirājaṉ leading them into the bank.

There was hardly anything in the bank. An exhaustive search only yielded a hundred or so rupees in chump change. They grabbed what they could and escaped, with Kānthirājaṉ sitting smartly in the front seat of the car. They abandoned the car next to a deserted beach and walked back to the camp. When they reached the camp, Kānthirājaṉ retreated to his room carrying the gun. ROSTE members, watching this, gulped.

The credit for absconding with the gun was entirely Kānthirājaṉ’s. It rankled ROSTE to acknowledge that they had played absolutely no role in it. In fact, the bitter truth was that ROSTE members were prepared to run away as soon as they saw the gun-wielding guard. Therefore legitimately, Kānthirājaṉ was the rightful new owner of the gun.

But ROSTE thought that it was dangerous to leave such an antisocial criminal in possession of a gun. Besides, how could they sleep peacefully knowing that their prisoner had a gun. How could they be certain that he would not bump them off in their mats as they slept? Furthermore, they needed a gun urgently. It was what could help them carry out the death sentence against Kānthirājaṉ. Therefore, the Central Committee resolved to confiscate the gun from him.

The six members of the Central Committee prepared themselves for any eventuality and marched to the prison room. Kānthirājaṉ sat squatting on the floor with the gun disassembled and laid out before him.

“This is a really ancient gun, sāmi. It is not in a usable condition. It should be oiled and repaired if we want to make use of it.”

“Kandy, do you know how to take apart a gun and put it back together?”

“Yes, I know sāmi. I have gone hunting with my friends.”

The Central Committee returned to the camp. Seeing the gun disassembled and spread out on the floor in so many pieces eroded any confidence they had in using it. They proceeded to debate late into the night, sacrificing sleep. At four in the morning, their camp was surrounded by another militant group.

This other group was a big one. It did not like competing groups. It planned to attack and eliminate such groups when the opportunity arose. The big group could not tolerate the fact that ROSTE carried out a bank robbery. Therefore, they had come to the ROSTE camp with the intention of banning ROSTE. Because they were fully aware of ROSTE’s ‘strength,’ a mere four people had shown up. Two of them carried modern guns.

Even at that juncture, ROSTE was ready to negotiate. But that was not the style of the big group. They had got ROSTE’s Central Committee to strip down to their underwear and had them kneel against the wall. They only spoke in obscenities. One ROSTE member was slapped hard on his cheek. His scream was heard throughout the village. Finally, the ROSTE Central Committee spoke in one voice:

“Brothers, ban us if you will, but do not disgrace us like this.”

Hearing this the fighters from the big group laughed out aloud. They also took pity on the plight of ROSTE. Right then, two loud explosions were heard. The two armed members of the big group collapsed one after the other, with gunshot wounds on their foreheads. Because the remaining two could not tell where the fire was coming from, they disappeared like a flash into the night. Such was their training.

Kānthirājaṉ, having sniped from the darkness through the open window, entered the room with his gun drawn. Everyone in ROSTE realized that the big group would show up in a matter of minutes and annihilate ROSTE. No matter to which corner of this country ROSTE would run to, they knew that the big group would follow them and obliterate ROSTE.

Kānthirājaṉ told them to get dressed again, and they obeyed him without a word. Holding the gun, he led them out of the back entrance, and through the village fields. By the time they reached a coastal fisherfolk village, dawn was beginning to break.

Kānthirājaṉ went to the fishermen to ask for help. He explained that they were a rebel group and that they needed a speedboat urgently. The fishermen came forward eagerly to help. Immediately a boat captain was found, and a speedboat with two fifty-five horsepower engines was also readied. Carrying the ROSTE Central Committee and Kānthirājaṉ, the speedboat quickly disappeared over the horizon into the open sea.

Only when the land receded from sight did the members of ROSTE breathe easy. The speedboat was galloping over the waves, spraying everyone wet. Kānthirājaṉ was busy trying to light a soaked beedi. One member of ROSTE asked, “Kandy, where are we going now?”

“We can head to Sivagaṅgai sāmi; I have a ton of relatives in that area. No problem,” said Kānthirājaṉ.

October 2014