Sugandhi Alias Andal Devanayaki

by T. D. Ramakrishnan

‘I will try.’

  ‘Bye. Take care.’

  But her promise was weak, I knew.

  Peter’s words – ‘My baby is growing inside you’ – disturbed Juliet. She had desired access to Temple Trees. She had been willing to sacrifice her life for that. ‘But … Peter … He too is right,’ she thought. ‘I have no right to put my baby’s life in danger.’

  They used Gayathri’s home in Gampaha to plan Operation Nano. When Devanayaki reached there with Andrea, a CIA agent, Arulmozhi, Yamuna and Donald Hume were waiting for them. Juliet and Gayathri were right behind them in another car. There was a crystal bowl with mosquito drones on the table, and a one-foot high Buddha statue next to it. Hume had a huge hand-held lens with him. Once the doors were locked, he started talking.

  ‘Operation Nano is not the first time we are using mosquito drones. We have experimented with them successfully several times. But this is the first time we are using them for a political purpose. We don’t have the consent of the US government for this operation. We have not informed them about this. In such a situation, it is impossible to ask permission officially. So if this operation fails or we get caught, the US government will not take responsibility. They will only criticize us. I am saying this because I want to make it clear that this operation is planned with the full concurrence of SSF. But the US government is supporting us unofficially. They have only one intention: to curtail China’s strong presence and influence in Lanka.’

  ‘Mr Hume, we take complete responsibility for this operation. But we do have some differences of opinion. We do not support US policies completely. You’re not very different from China as far as imperialist dreams are concerned. Anyway, show us how this works.’

  Hearing Gayathri’s words, Hume realized that they were indeed forces to contend with. He lifted a mosquito drone very carefully from the crystal bowl. Then, he gave the lens to Gayathri.

  ‘Take a look, Miss Gayathri. For all purposes, this is a mosquito. Its wings will vibrate more than a thousand times per second. That’s the antenna which receives our signals. There is a micro-camera at the end of it. The proboscis, you can call it the sting or thorn if you wish. This big part is the stomach. It contains cyanide. The microprocessor beneath it contains the brain of the mosquito. Unlike a natural mosquito that draws blood from humans, this metal mosquito injects poison. It weighs barely three grams.

  ‘We’ll place it above the Buddha statue. It is too small to be noticed. And even if it is seen, it will be mistaken for an ordinary mosquito. You said you have seven minutes of stage time. One minute after Yamuna’s dance begins, the first mosquito must reach the target. With one or two bites, three milligrams of cyanide will be injected. You can use the second mosquito when the second dance performance is on. The target, immersed in the performance, will remain oblivious to all this. The two mosquitoes must reach the Buddha before the dances end. The success of the operation depends completely on the person who operates the remote control. You can do it from up to sixty feet away. We can watch its movements on the screen and control it.’

  Hume stood to one side with the remote control that looked like a smartphone. He used it to control a drone and made it land on Gayathri’s hand. She was horrified.

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s empty.’

  Hume gave a signal for the mosquito to inject. She didn’t feel anything. ‘As there is no itching, no one will feel its bite.’ The drone returned to the Buddha’s head.

  ‘Now you try.’ Everyone looked at Juliet, but Peter’s words resounded in her head: My baby is growing inside you.

  She took the remote from Hume and tried to operate it. But her hands were trembling. She couldn’t do it properly. Hume said, ‘We are moving a micro-object that weighs barely three grams.’ He held her hands and tried to teach her. But she was unable to do it. It would either land on Devanayaki or on the floor.

  ‘Sorry, she can’t do it. Someone else, please.’

  ‘No one else can enter the hall,’ Gayathri told Hume. He smiled, as he had expected this answer.

  ‘Okay. Then Andrea will do it. Our embassy can get her a pass. But it will cost you.’ Gayathri agreed. The fair Andrea resembled a Bond heroine. She operated the drone deftly.

  ‘Well done, Andrea,’ said Hume. ‘It’s not surprising that an agent trained at the Farm is so skilled.’

  Devanayaki was not satisfied with Operation Nano. Maybe it was because both attempts to use the Buddha statues had failed. The airport officials had confiscated the Buddha statue brought by the Saint Lucia team. The Sri Lankan government refused the offer of Buddha statues from Guyana, citing security reasons. ‘Maybe this Buddha will also let us down,’ she thought. ‘Even if the operation is successful, the death will be seen as a natural one and not create the desired impact. A cruel dictator does not deserve an easy death.’

  When Hume and Andrea left, Devanayaki secretly conveyed her reservations to Gayathri. She also requested her not to share them with Arul as that would demoralize her.

  ‘I too feel the same. Let them continue with this. We have planned something else.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘Fifty-five S-class Mercedes Benz cars have been imported for the CHOGM. Fifty-four cars are for the heads of state. As our president does not enjoy great support in the international community, most of the leaders are not participating in the meet. Mauritius has decided to boycott the meeting. Many countries like Canada and India are sending their foreign ministers or some other minister. They are the ones who will be using the new cars. These cars have been given special number plates. Cars bearing those number plates are permitted to cross security barriers. If there is a military jeep in front and behind, nobody will stop the car. We will drive a car filled with explosives, bearing the number plate CHOGM2L5. We will drive it to the venue as if the car belongs to a delegate who is late. We will have two military jeeps escorting us. Our people will be in those jeeps too. So we’ll be able to reach the Rajapaksa Theatre – also called the Nelum Pokuna, or lotus pond – early.

  ‘The event will begin with the national anthem, “Namo namo matha”. Even the commanders shut their eyes when the national anthem is sung. That’s when three people with explosives strapped to their body will jump up on the podium. Anyone who attempts to stop them will be shot down. Even if only one is able to reach the podium alive, the operation will succeed. We have estimated that it will take twenty-four seconds to reach the venue from the car. The car will explode. Yes, a lot of innocent lives will be lost, and we will also be among the victims. But we have a problem. The man who was supposed to drive the car was arrested by the TID yesterday.’

  ‘So how do we proceed?’

  ‘I don’t know, but everything else is ready. We are looking for a new person.’

  ‘Can I do it?’

  ‘How will you drive without your hands?’

  ‘I don’t need hands to drive.’

  The Commonwealth Business Forum was very grand. Though several industrial bigwigs like Rahul Bajaj were present, everyone was interested in what James Packer had to say. Packer did not disappoint. He began by praising the development policies of the Sri Lankan government to the skies. Analyzing the growth of the middle-class in countries like India, he pointed out opportunities for Sri Lanka to develop as a leisure destination. Sri Lanka, he said, is to India what Macau is to China. He also presented his project, Crown Colombo. Manju introduced me to him during lunch.

  Weak protests were going on all over the country against the CHOGM. The opposition and the Buddhist monks had protested strongly against Packer. But neither the president nor his aides were troubled by all this. The people from Channel 4 were not allowed to go to Jaffna. When I told Manju all this on the way back, she laughed.

  ‘Who is afraid of barking dogs on the street?’

  ‘What if there are rabid dogs among them?’

  ‘They must be beaten to death.’

  I was taken aback. We didn’t speak until we reached the apartmen
t. Then she asked me, ‘Can you give me this night?’

  I had to agree, but I was not able to pleasure her in the way she desired. I was gripped by an unknown fear. I lay sleepless beside her. Then I fell into a nightmare.

  Devanayaki came to the Nelum Pokuna from the skies, bathed in blood. Hearing her roar, everyone rose in fear. Her body moved in the forms of the Devanayaki Kolam. She asked, ‘Where is the queen of this empire? Where are the judges? Where are they hiding, instead of beheading him who cut off my breasts? If you don’t come here, I will take revenge for the tears and blood of millions of women. I’ll burn the Nelum Pokuna and the casinos. Where … where are you?’

  Her voice echoed until the ends of the world. A sea of blood rose. I was sinking in it. As I woke up, I saw someone in bed next to me. It was Devanayaki, with her hands cut off. I was weeping, holding my head in my hands. She got up.

  ‘Peter, what’s wrong?’ It was Manju. She was crying too.

  31

  They are fools who fight for freedom in a society where the majority are either religious fanatics or cowards or just plain selfish. But we cannot refrain from sacrificing our lives for that dream. We hold nothing dearer than freedom. We still dream of a day when the people will come marching to Colombo to wrest power from the dictator. We hope that our sacrifice will provide the impetus for an uprising. Goodbye to all my friends.

  Meenakshi Rajarathinam

  Seeing Meenakshi’s Facebook post on 15 November 2013, the day the CHOGM was to be inaugurated, many people – including me – were shocked. Leaders like Gayathri had been taken into custody, and the Sri Lankan military had tightened security. The military and the Chinese espionage wing, the MMS, who unofficially helped the government with security for the CHOGM, started searching for Meenakshi. The cyber wing of the TID made enquiries to find out the location from where the Facebook post had been made. By 7 a.m., the post had thousands of comments requesting Meenakshi to turn back. But she didn’t respond. When I rang her, she was unnaturally emotionless.

  ‘Ananda, we have nothing to lose.’

  ‘Is your life of no value?’

  ‘Our lives are not more valuable than the millions of lives lost in the freedom movement. Our lives are not more precious than those of Rajini Thiranagama or Lasantha Wickrematunge who were killed in the resistance movements for freedom and peace.’

  ‘But you said that you would never be like the Black Widows of Chechnya?’

  ‘When I said that, I still had some expectations from the people of this country. I dreamt of them rallying behind us with the strength of a tornado.’

  ‘Can’t you sensitize the public through your writings? You are a writer, after all.’

  ‘I don’t believe I can. Even the so-called intellectuals didn’t react after reading the story of Devanayaki. That was a story potent enough to rewrite the history of Sri Lanka. Is it because there is a dearth of writers in the country? Of intellectuals? They are merely trumpet-blowers to the fascist overlord – greedy for pittances, like the titles of “Sri Lanka Sikhamani” and “Sri Lanka Thilaka”, that are thrown to them. Writing is futile here.’

  ‘Then why did you write the story of Devanayaki?’

  ‘Because that was my story.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That it is, indeed, my story. Devanayaki, who lived hundreds of years ago, continues to live through me. You have read it, haven’t you? This is my last birth as a human being. This time, I will give up this body and attain nirvana. The soul of Nissanka Vajran has told me that it is time to return. To put one foot on Sinha Saila, the other on Sripada, and to fly to the skies. I desire to go to Kanthalur Salai and sing “Margazhi” before Lord Padmanabha. I wonder if the guru will allow me to do so.’

  ‘How can you be radical and mystical at the same time?’

  ‘Nothing is simple, Ananda.’

  I hung up, not wanting to listen to her any more. Had she gone mad? Was the writer trapped in the last story she wrote? After a while, I received a text message: ‘Plz chk ur mail’.

  Dear Ananda,

  I know that you are confused. But I spoke the truth. I received enlightenment the night I lost my hands, while I was writhing in pain at the hospital. It was Mother who awakened my memories. When she narrated Devanayaki’s story, even she did not realize that it was my story. She still doesn’t know. Devanayaki’s story is repeated in different ways in her different births. If her breasts were cut off then, now it is her hands. Her line will not end with me. The fight for a woman’s honour and freedom will continue with others. I thank you for giving me pleasure that enabled me to experience the thousand-petalled lotus for at least one night in this birth. I wish Juliet and your unborn child all happiness.

  Devanayaki

  The Rajapaksa Theatre was a glowing tribute to contemporary architecture. It was a replica of the lotus pond built in the twelfth century by Parakramabahu in Polonnaruwa. It had the shape of a lotus with eight petals. It had a main auditorium with a seating capacity of 1,288 and an open-air auditorium on top. It was built with funds the Chinese government had given in return for the use of important strategic locations in Sri Lanka. Though it was called the National Performing Arts Theatre previously, it was renamed Nelum Pokuna Mahinda Rajapaksa Theatre for the CHOGM.

  As the invite had said that entry was only until nine, I reached there before time with Manju. We were subjected to a thorough security check a kilometre before the venue.

  Juliet was in front, receiving guests. There was a long row of hostesses clad in white, blue and yellow saris. I thought that Juliet looked beautiful in her blue sari, worn low on the waist in the Sri Lankan way. She led us to our seats. Though she didn’t approve of Manju’s presence, she didn’t show it as she was very tense. I was also under great stress. Manju was oblivious to all this. She was happy at having got the opportunity to participate in such an important event. Christie and Mary were upset that the Queen wasn’t coming for the programme. Somehow, they didn’t much care for Prince Charles. Mary kept saying that it was the first time in history that a meeting of Commonwealth heads was taking place in the Queen’s absence.

  As their names were announced, the heads of state came up on stage. There were hostesses to lead them to their seats. When she saw that it was the foreign affairs minister Salman Khurshid who was representing India, Manju got upset. She said that the prime minister or the president should have come. I ignored her. After the heads of state, Prince Charles and the president came on stage. Everyone stood up for the national anthem. ‘Sri Lanka matha … namo namo matha’. Selected students from various schools sang the anthem. When everyone sat down, Manju asked me. ‘Who wrote this, Peter?’ ‘Ananda Samarakoon,’ I whispered in her ear. I told her that, succumbing to superstition, the Lankan parliament had changed the song and Samarakoon had committed suicide, unable to bear this interference. Manju turned to me, ‘What madness is this? Those mad people are responsible for the bloodshed in this nation.’ I didn’t say anything more as there were people all around.

  After the welcome dance titled ‘Ayubowan’, the president got up to address the gathering. The audience welcomed him enthusiastically. He presented matters in a dignified manner. He stressed that we should worry not about wealth, but about poverty. It was a cleverly written speech. Each sentence conveyed his ability to project the development of the nation and to suppress any criticism against him. When Mary said, ‘A wonderful man. Why do people criticize him unnecessarily,’ Manju agreed with her. I sat in silence, looking at the stage.

  Next was a dance showcasing Sri Lankan history. It used the stage to the fullest extent. It utilized the three movable stages and enhanced the performance with videos. It portrayed an oyster rising out of the Indian Ocean. A beautiful dancer emerged from the shell. Though I wanted to congratulate Juliet, she was nowhere to be seen. After this was a fusion dance performance from all the different countries present. I felt like slapping the Kathakali dancer for performing badly and spoili
ng the entire experience. But where was Arulmozhi Nangai? Yamuna? Margazhi Thingal? The programme that had started at ten ended at twelve, but there was no sign of Juliet.

  Neither Peter nor Devanayaki knew that Arul and Yamuna had been arrested. The TID had arrested them the previous night from Hume’s room. Xiang, a Chinese spy, had tipped them off. She had been watching Andrea and Hume from the moment they had landed in Sri Lanka. As they were US citizens, the government asked them to leave without creating any fuss. The US embassy put them on the first flight back home.

  Though Arul and Yamuna were Canadians, they were not given any preferential treatment and were taken to DP for interrogation. They were tortured. It was a serious charge – attempting to assassinate the president at the CHOGM. The chief Wickrama Ranatunga ordered, ‘First rape, then question.’ He had been an assistant at DP when Devanayaki had been tortured with acid. Ranatunga felt that terrorists should not be treated with kindness. As neither Arul nor Yamuna had been trained by the Iyakkam, they would have broken down easily. But the officers approached them as hardened terrorists who were ready to take great risks in spite of tight security.

  Arul was questioned by Lieutenant Caesar, a very tough officer. The girl was still trembling from Ranatunga’s commands. Caesar saw her and just said, ‘Take off your clothes.’ Arul did not fight back. Scared, she pulled off her jeans quickly. She was too frightened by the stories she had heard to feel embarrassed by her nudity. She was praying for an escape route. The next command was to lie on the bed. Though she obeyed him meekly, he jumped on her like a lion on its prey. She shut her eyes in fear. When he finally stopped, there was not an inch of her body that did not bear the marks of his nails and teeth. She felt that she would die. He punched her in the stomach and asked, ‘You whore, are you Gloria Fernandez?’ She said, ‘No … Sorry, I’m Arulmozhi Nangai.’

  ‘Oh, so you do know how to speak the truth. Now get ready for the interrogation.’

  He came back almost immediately. She was sobbing uncontrollably as she replied to his questions. When she told him she was a singer, he said, ‘That’s why your cries are melodious. I’ll really make you sing.’ Then he asked, ‘Who is Meenakshi Rajarathinam?’