2024, Routledge India This companion presents a critical collection of Sinhala resistance literature from Sri Lanka. It includes translated short stories and excerpts from Sinhala novels, written after the civil war in the country. Featuring national award-winning writers, the selected texts share a common theme of resistance as the writers write against an exclusivist nationalism that was propagated through mass media and platforms of party politics in Sri Lanka during the war.
The volume addresses crucial issues such as the fate of civilians in war, the role of religion in Sri Lankan polity, media censorship, the experience of women in war, as well as the current education system and youth problems in present day Sri Lanka. It highlights an alternate discourse that runs among the ethnic Sinhala group and contributes to the overall movement towards peace and reconciliation among the different ethnic communities in Sri Lanka.
A unique addition to the growing oeuvre of translated Sinhala literature, the companion will be indispensable to students, scholars, and researchers of ethnic studies, war and peace studies, peace and conflict studies, literature, cultural studies, political sociology, and South Asian studies, particularly those interested in Sri Lankan literature.
Uprooting the Pumpkin
Selections from Sri Lankan Tamil Literature, 1950-2012
Edited by Chelva Kanaganayakam
2016, Oxford University Press
The socio-political transformation of Sri Lanka that began in the 1970s, and continued for several decades thereafter, has been a major factor in shaping a literature that brought new and innovative forms of expression. This anthology brings together around forty poems, fifteen short stories, and one play in translation by eminent Sri Lankan literateurs, scholars, and translators dealing with Sri Lankan life at home and abroad spanning a period of sixty years. Voicing the agony, anxiety, and hardship of migration from different perspectives, this broadly representative collection is an important contribution to the study of exile literature.
Many Roads Through Paradise: An Anthology of Sri Lankan Literature
Edited by Shyam Selvadurai
2014, Penguin India
Shyam Selvadurai pieces together the best of Sri Lankan poetry and fiction in this anthology. From the Sinhala and Tamil writers of the 1950s to diasporic writers of today, from stories of love and longing to those of brutality and death, this masterfully constructed anthology will give you a rich sense Sri Lanka’s history, its people and the stories they have to tell.
From Martin Wickramasinghe’s Gamperaliya (1944), the first modern Sinhala novel, to the poetry of Puthuvai Ratnathurai, the official bard of the LTTE, who was among the thousands who disappeared after the end of the civil war in 2009, this anthology on Sri Lankan literature draws a long arc.
The island nation’s young crop of writers is winning international awards and starting conversations on their post-war society and its unique challenges
(From right) Authors Shehan Karunatilaka, V.V. Ganeshananthan, Yudhanjaya Wijeratne, Shankari Chandran, and Thushanthi Ponweera. | Photo Credit: Special arrangement
The past years have seen numerous Sri Lankan writers and those of Sri Lankan origin make their mark on the literary awards circuit. Recently, V.V. Ganeshananthan won the 2024 Carol Shields Prize for Fiction and 2024 Women’s Prize for Fiction for her novel Brotherless Night, which took 18 years to write. Australian-Tamil author of Sri Lankan Tamil heritage, Shankari Chandran, won the 2023 Miles Franklin Literary Award for her third novel, Chai Time at Cinnamon Gardens, which is set in contemporary Australia and 1980s Sri Lanka; her first book Song of the Sun God is being adapted for television, starring Bridgerton’s Charithra Chandran.
Author V.V. Ganeshananthan | Photo Credit: Special arrangement
Shehan Karunatilaka’s Seven Moons of Maali Almeida won the 2022 Booker Prize, while his debut novel Chinaman: The Legend of Pradeep Mathew won the DSC Prize for South Asian Literature and the 2012 Commonwealth Book Prize. Vajra Chandrasekera’s debut novel The Saint of Bright Doors was recently awarded the Nebula award for best novel, Locus first novel award and 2024 Crawford award, and was shortlisted for a Hugo award. In 2021, Sri Lankan Tamil author Anuk Arudpragasam was shortlisted for the Booker Prize for his second novel A Passage North; previously, his first novel The Story of a Brief Marriage (2016), won the DSC Prize for South Asian fiction.
Sri Lankan author Anuk Arudpragasam | Photo Credit: Getty Images
Sri Lankans — both resident in the island and in the diaspora — have been telling their stories for decades, but when literature is shaped by the marketplace and writing is ascribed value by literary gatekeepers of the western world, perhaps the world hasn’t been ready to hear these stories.
“The idea that Sri Lankan creative writing in English has come into the spotlight only recently is possible only when we focus on the international awards Sri Lankan writers have been winning of late. But writers living in Sri Lanka, as well as diasporic authors have been writing for a long time,” says Neloufer de Mel, Senior Professor of English (Chair) at the University of Colombo. “What has happened now is that a generation of Sri Lankan writers, who are between 30 and 50 years of age, are writing on the Sri Lankan war, its society, and its politics in new ways and voices. They also belong to a more global generation with international links and so, have been successful in getting their work internationally published and in circulation. It is this generational shift that I think is important to mark, and what is exciting is their new voices, figurative imaginations, use of language, and the stories they tell.”
Writing as a team sport
In the 90s and early 2000s, writers such as Michael Ondaatje, Romesh Gunesekera, Shyam Selvadurai, Carl Muller and Michelle de Kretser were also successful in publishing internationally and reaching wider audiences. Currently, Yudhanjaya Wijeratne, Amanda Jayatissa, Nizrana Farook, Thushanthi Ponweera and Shyala Smith are among the new crop of writers making their mark in science fiction, thriller, and children’s writing, internationally. Their books display inventiveness in form and explore a variety of themes drawing from Buddhist mythology, Sri Lanka’s socio-political history, its civil war and more.
Author Shehan Karunatilaka | Photo Credit: Special arrangement
“I think it is always nice when writing — which can be very solitary — becomes more of a team sport where you are able to cheer for other people who are interested in the themes, ideas, people and communities that you are, and who have their own approaches and language and energy that they’re bringing. It just makes the conversation so much more interesting and exciting and less lonely. I think it’s the beginning of great things, hopefully, to come for writing connected to Sri Lanka and I hope that it will expand so that those who are working in Sinhala and Tamil also get more of the spotlight because I know remarkable work has been taking place in these languages for a really long time,” says novelist Ganeshananthan, who is based in the U.S.
Author Thushanthi Ponweera | Photo Credit: Special arrangement
While writing and publishing in English remains a niche market in Sri Lanka, the country has a long literary tradition of Sinhala and Tamil writing. Although there has been little overlap in recent years, there are ongoing efforts to encourage translations and cross-pollination between the three languages. “Translations are very important because this is the way you get to read each other’s work, particularly in monolingual societies as in Sri Lanka. There are very few people who work in literary translation here and this is a great setback. The Gratiaen Trust has offered the H.A.I. Goonetilleke Prize for translation of creative writing from Sinhala and Tamil into English since 2003 to encourage such translations,” says de Mel, former chair of the Gratiaen Trust. “University departments of English and Sinhala have also added translation, either as a course or module, into their curricula in Sri Lanka. These are good initiatives, but we need a concerted effort to encourage and train more literary translators because this is a special field in its own right.”
Author Shankari Chandran | Photo Credit: Special arrangement
Long road to publishing
While there is a welcome spotlight on stories about Sri Lanka, the road to publication remains long. In interviews, author Karunatilaka has spoken of the struggle to get Seven Moons published. It was seen as a ‘difficult’ book by many — the only publisher willing to take it on was an independent firm, Sort Of Books, based in the U.K.
Author Yudhanjaya Wijeratne | Photo Credit: Special arrangement
In 2022, Sri Lanka faced its worst economic crisis since independence, and is currently rebuilding from the aftershock. In a bid to increase government revenue, the state has imposed taxes on previously exempt industries such as publishing. For writers based in Sri Lanka, this is yet another challenge to overcome. “The price of books [fiction] is exorbitant, so writers find it hard to access contemporary fiction. Writers need to read and when a country levies high taxes on books, it dampens critical thinking and creativity,” says Ramya Jirasinghe, who recently won the 2023 Gratiaen prize for her unpublished novel, Father Cabraal’s Recipe for Love Cake.
A generation of Sri Lankan writers, who are between 30 and 50 years of age, are writing on the Sri Lankan war, its society, and its politics in new ways and voices. | Photo Credit: Getty Images
But for many Sri Lankan writers, the recent spotlight on Sri Lankan stories is encouraging. “If you accept how small this country is, how small our reading/writing population in English is, and how hard it is for local writers to access resources, what is happening now is groundbreaking. Shehan and Ashok [Ferrey] have broken into global markets becoming trailblazers for others and have shown that it can be done from Sri Lanka,” says Jirasinghe. “Sri Lanka is very unique even within South Asia, which means that our stories really must leave these shores and encounter readers from around the world.”
About the book: https://www.community.lk/history/442-ravana-s-lanka-sunela-jayawardene-s-quest-to-uncover-sri-lanka-s-ancient-civilizations
The Line of Lanka. Myths & Memories of an Island
Sunela Jayawardene, 2017, Sailfish
Sit back and let yourself be swept along in Sunela Jayewardene’s intrepid journeys across Lanka’s lush countryside. Join her and rediscover myth & legend, history & heritage as she adroitly describes nature’s enduring beauty and oft forgotten traditions that pulse to the beat of an unseen drum. Line of Lanka is a brilliant and unusual portrayal of a country and its people that will change your perceptions of Sri Lanka.
‘Water for Kings’: A poetic tragedy echoing Sri Lanka’s own divides
03 Sep 2024 | By Venessa Anthony
Taking the stage at Kolamba Kamatha over the weekend was ‘Water for Kings’, which captivated audiences with its powerful narrative and evocative performances. The production was staged from 29 August to 1 September, with an extra matinee show on Sunday (1) due to high demand.
The Daily Morning Brunch had the opportunity to witness this profound piece of theatre, and the experience was nothing short of remarkable. Directed by Mind Adventures Theatre Co. founder and Artistic Director Tracy Holsinger and written by Ramya Jirasinghe, ‘Water for Kings’ left us deeply moved, its compelling performances and resonant themes making a mark.
The cast, led by Prof. Saumya Liyanage, Brandon Ingram, Hidaayath Hazeer, Shala Amarasuriya, and Tharusha Kumarasinghe, delivered powerful portrayals that brought this tragic narrative to life. Supporting them were the versatile talents of Dinuli Mendis, Sonali Wanigabaduge, Nabeel Nooramith, and Udula Karawita, with Shala Amarasuriya also contributing as the Music Director, adding an emotive layer to this already impactful production.
In a world where access to water is both a necessity and a luxury, ‘Water for Kings’ masterfully transformed this universal truth into a tragic tale that felt both timeless and eerily relevant. Written in contemporary verse, this play was more than just a theatrical performance – it was a profound commentary on power, inequality, and the high costs of social change.
Set in a mythic land divided into Wet and Dry Zones, ‘Water for Kings’ explored the stark differences between the haves and the have-nots, with water serving as the metaphorical lifeblood that separated them. The Wet Zone thrives, lush and abundant, while the Dry Zone, neglected and parched, becomes a symbol of marginalisation. The play didn’t shy away from drawing parallels to real-world issues, particularly those familiar to Sri Lankan audiences, where geographical and socio-political divisions continue to shape the nation’s landscape.
The power of water as a metaphor
Water, in this play, is more than just a resource; it’s a symbol of power, control, and the inequalities that arise when that power is abused. The deliberate restriction of water to the Dry Zone by the ruling class of the Wet Zone is a clear allegory for how resources are hoarded by those in power, leaving the marginalised to suffer. This is a story that resonates deeply, especially in a country like ours, where similar disparities between regions have historically led to conflict.
The play’s protagonist, Prince Muthukumar, represented the rare figure of a ruler who is not content to let such injustices continue. When he visits the Dry Zone, guided by Rani, a slave girl turned concubine, he is confronted with the harsh reality of the land’s suffering. This moment of revelation is a turning point, not just for the character, but for the entire narrative. The visuals of the Dry Zone, depicted as a wasteland of shrivelled, desperate souls, are haunting and powerful, driving home the severity of their plight.
A chorus of the forgotten
One of the play’s most striking elements was its use of a chorus made up of the dead from the Dry Zone. These spectral figures, embodying the ghosts of those who perished due to the lack of water, served as a powerful reminder of the consequences of neglect. Their presence was a constant, unsettling force that pushed the narrative forward, compelling Prince Muthukumar to confront the failures of his lineage.
Their influence culminates in a scene where they confront the King himself, forcing him to see the devastation his ignorance had caused. This confrontation, and the subsequent change of heart it inspired in the King, marks the beginning of a new era for the Dry Zone, as the King finally begins to take action to rectify the wrongs of the past.
The tragedy of good intentions
But ‘Water for Kings’ is not content to leave its audience with a simple tale of redemption. The second act of the play delved into the complexities of power, showing how even the best intentions can be thwarted by ambition and manipulation. The introduction of the High Priest, a figure who opposes the King’s reforms, added a layer of intrigue and tension to the story. The Priest, portrayed with a chilling intensity by Brandon Ingram, represented the entrenched interests that resist change, preferring to maintain control at any cost.
As the King prepares to abdicate, intending to pass the throne to his two sons, it becomes clear that his vision of joint rule is doomed to fail. The play poignantly illustrated how power struggles, even within a family, can lead to disaster. Prince Asvajith, the weaker of the two brothers, becomes a pawn in the High Priest’s game, manipulated into making decisions that ultimately bring about the kingdom’s downfall.
Muthukumar, the King’s favoured son and the architect of many of the kingdom’s reforms, tragically meets his end in a storm, a symbolic representation of the chaos that ensues when good intentions are not enough to bring about lasting change. His death, while poetic, left the audience with a sense of unfinished business – a reminder that change is often messy and incomplete.
A commentary on modern Sri Lanka
‘Water for Kings’ subtly, yet powerfully, comments on contemporary issues in Sri Lanka. The divide between the Wet and Dry Zones is a thinly veiled reference to the real-world divisions between the country’s north and south, where resources and opportunities are often unevenly distributed. The play’s exploration of how faith leaders can influence political decisions is also particularly relevant, given the country’s history of religious and political entanglements.
The play does not shy away from criticising those who are quick to dismiss the suffering of others simply because they do not share the same geographical or cultural background. The King’s initial ignorance of the Dry Zone’s plight is a stark reminder of how easy it is to turn a blind eye to the suffering of those who are different or distant.
Impressive performances and production
The cast delivered strong performances across the board, with standout moments from Hidaayath Hazeer as Prince Muthukumar and Shala Amarasuriya as Rani. Hazeer captures the complexity of Muthukumar’s character – a ruler torn between his duty and his compassion – while Amarasuriya brings a quiet strength to her role, making Rani the emotional core of the play.
The production itself is minimalist, but this worked to the play’s advantage, allowing the powerful dialogue and verse to take centre stage. The choreography was particularly effective, with the actors doubling as both the background and the set, creating a fluid, dynamic stage that enhanced the storytelling.
Sound design was another highlight, with the use of the venue’s acoustics adding to the overall atmosphere. The original orchestra music, performed by the actors themselves, added a layer of authenticity and emotion to the play, though some moments – particularly the love song between Muthukumar and Rani – felt slightly underdeveloped.
We found ‘Water for Kings’ to be a play that demands attention, both for its poetic craftsmanship and its poignant social commentary. While it is dialogue-heavy, as expected for a piece written in contemporary verse, the play’s message is clear and resonant. It’s a story that, while set in a mythical past, feels all too real in today’s world.
The play’s exploration of the consequences of ignoring expertise, the dangers of misguided opposition, and the relentless pursuit of power makes it a thought-provoking experience that lingers long after the final curtain falls. In a country still grappling with its own divisions, ‘Water for Kings’ serves as a powerful reminder of the costs of inequality and the urgent need for true, meaningful change.
Silence in the jungle is eerie. A man and a woman in their vibrant youthfulness move in silence. The silence of the woman is deafening. The audience eagerly awaits to hear her voice. She does not talk much. In fact, she is silent almost throughout the film as if she has taken a vow of silence. She speaks mainly with her eyes and face expressions. Those emotions embody and speak volumes about the tragedy of her life – a tragedy befallen on her for a crime not committed by her.
She is Tikiri, one out of the two protagonists in Gaadi, the latest film by Prasanna Vithanage.
Set in British Colonial period of Sri Lanka in 1814 Gaadi is a film about complexity of human relations, identity, political upheavals of pre-colonial and colonial Sri Lanka and the subjugation of an outcast community through caste system.
What Prasanna says is useful as an entry point to this review.
“In this historical epic journey, two people from two different social strata are brought together against their will and struggle to co-exist refusing to lose their identity. When pushed to the limits of survival, in order to survive, they finally come to realize that life doesn’t exist on identity itself.
I thought of using this theme as an allegory to question this illusion, in a world where humans constantly wage wars in the name of national or religious identity”.
This film is an epic of a particular historical moment in Sri Lanka at one level. At another level, it is not necessarily a story set in the past history of colonial times. We slowly begin to realize it only when we get detached from the story. This film is about the present and the future of Sri Lanka. It is about the identity politics at its worst. Prasanna tells us a story through the lens of history – a history that has not only been constantly repeated in the present times but also descended to an abysmal decay. While watching the film, we sense the uneasy and inevitable connection between the lives of the subaltern in the pre-colonial period and the lives of people living in the despicable conditions in the modern world. This troubling understanding originates from the following perspective of the artist.
“Generally speaking, art is an expression of man’s need for a harmonious and complete life, that is to say, his need for those major benefits of which a society of classes has deprived him. That is why a protest against reality, either conscious or unconscious, active or passive, optimistic or pessimistic, always forms part of a really creative piece of work. Every new tendency in art has begun with rebellion”. – Leon Trotsky’s Art and Politics in Our Epoch (June 1938)
The film wages a very conscious protest against realities of the past and the present times. The protest that Tikiri and Vijaya are waging in the film is not distinctly manifest. It is hidden yet palpable. Beneath that apparently simple storyline, there is the undercurrent of human desire to struggle against class and caste system, discrimination and social injustice. This struggle is not necessarily pronounced through direct presentation of visuals or dialogue. It is hidden deep inside the core of the film.
The Gaadi clan is obviously placed within pre-colonial and colonial times. The audience cannot miss the subjugation of the Gaadi clan within that socio-political context. The film provides a kaleidoscopic view of the subaltern in transformation. They beg; sing; dance; face violence; live in fear of the aristocracy. They are the “human dust” as scornfully pronounced by Ehelapola Adigar, Prime Minister of the kingdom.
But then they protest, not necessarily through a rebellion. Vijaya, the young man representing the clan demonstrates a silent protest. He survives the wrath of the aristocracy together with the woman joining him from the aristocracy.
In essence, Gaadi deals with identity of people. It surreptitiously demonstrates that our society is riddled with a structural crisis beyond the issue of identity. It shows that we are still deeply stuck in the quagmire of racial and religious hatred. People are yet to see the true opponent – the larger system that feeds on such division, inequality and social injustice. All these social realities are embedded in the cinematic language and brilliant artistry.
They say “art brings to our attention the greatest human concerns not in the form of scientific or philosophical reasoning but in pictorial and sensuous form, in concrete images which please or move or trouble or do all three”. (The Sky between the Leaves by David Walsh 2013)
Gaadi for sure does all three, particularly the last.
It is a film dealing with the stifled voice of the subaltern – a community subjugated by the aristocracy. In a larger perspective, it is about all people living in suppressive socio-economic structures looking for their freedom. However, freedom for Gaadi community proud to be Children of the Sun does not come easy. In fact, the price to be paid is heavy.
The last scene of the film with Tikiri and Vijaya standing on the edge of a mountain top and looking at the far away vista is telling. This is where Vijaya is pondering over what both of them should do after seeing mass killing of his clan.
This is where Tikiri speaks to Vijaya for the last time in the film.
“He (the Chief of the Clan) wanted to see you live and continue the clan.”
After two of them slowly vanish into the thick jungle, following postscript appears on the screening.
The British went back on the promise given to the Kandyan leaders. On 15th February 1815 Ceylon became a colony under the British rule. They abolished the influence of the caste system on the specification of professions. The members of the rodiya caste thus gradually changed their identity and integrated themselves with the other lower strata of society.
Truly the Gaadi community integrated themselves to the lower strata of the society and we come to realize that the lower strata of the current society remains at the lower strata fast descending to the lowest.
Deeply etched in to this socio-political setting of the yesteryear, it is also a story of blossoming love. The love that is unspoken throughout the film between an aristocratic woman condemned and a man of the Gaadi community oppressed.
It is a human relation in transformation. From beginning to the end of the film, the audience accompanies two human beings in their journey. The audience witnesses their struggle and critical events that test their patience, endurance and trust. They are confronted with personal as well as socio-political events of the time. They know that they will survive or perish in those circumstances.
There is careful weaving and gradual building of their unspoken love. It is deliberately built up from one visual to the next creating a great deal of curiosity in the spectator. The audience feels that mthe tension between Tikiri and Vijaya is being built up to a crescendo. The conflict between the two creates tension. Tikiri cannot come to terms with the reality that she has become part of an outcast community. Her deep-seated aristocratic roots do not allow her to take on the new identity thrust upon her. At the end, she reached a stage where she goes through a change based on the gradual development of human connection with Vijaya.
One of the unique characteristics of this film is its simplicity.
The film maker adopts linear story telling technique. The film maker does not allow the form to override the content. The form is an integral part of the content. There is no enigmatic and unfathomable film technique or flashbacks. It does not mean such techniques are essentially bad. But this film does not seem to require them. At one level, it is simply historical story retold with an interpretation of film makers’ imagination and creativity.
There is one distinct characteristic or signature of Prasanna’s films. He adheres to minimalism religiously. If there is dialogue in this film, it is because the film cannot exist without it. Frugality is his forte. One ideal example to prove this point is his use of music in the film. We find only three instances where he decides to play background music. And when he does that, it creates the ultimate impact. When Vijaya and Tikiri run for their life through the jungle, they emerge on a rock with an expansive view of mountainous range. Then we hear a sobering music piece with a violin expressing its love and affection. This is the expression of Vijaya’s love for Tikiri. This music piece takes us to the heart of Vijaya filled with love and affection for Tikiri..
He relies heavily on the visual and character development. He allows characters wander freely in relation to their particular circumstances. He lets them encounter life experiences and present them to the audience visually. The audience slowly comes to grips with gradual development of the characters from skeletal forms to fully enriched human beings. These human beings are compassionate, loving, empathetic, violent and egoistic and full of contradictions.
Special mention should be made to the quality of cinematography and editing. Editing of the film by Sreekar Prasad, the Indian film editor seems seamless. When the soldiers of the King’s army ride on horseback to capture the family of Bulathgama Adigar, we hear the pounding on the door of the house by the soldiers. We do not see them. We only see the family members running for cover. When they hear the breaking of the door, the camera is zooming on the close-up of family members’ faces. Mortal fear is written on their faces. This is a marvelous moment of cinematography and editing. The audience never sees the soldiers entering the house.
We frequently encounter close-up shots in the film. When the women march towards their death one after the other, camera is zooming on the faces of the women with full of anxieties. Face of Iragani Serasinghe, one of the women, has nothing but pride. She is proud to be retaining her honour before she jumps into her death. The camera focuses on the anxieties of other crying women as well.
What Sreekar Prasad says in general about editing makes a great deal of sense and applies very much to Gaadi.
“The selection of shots and their duration on screen is crucial to create the desired impact in the given scene. When you string various shots together while sustaining a certain emotional level you are invariably setting the momentum of the entire film. The more seamless a film appears the better it has been edited. When a performer is doing a fabulous job, you cannot interrupt him or her with cuts, even though you may have the option to do so. If an actor is fabulous in a long uninterrupted take, the editor should not intervene. The cardinal rule is to strike a balance between the narrative pace and the performance.
Eventually it all boils down to a good sense of judgement. For example, if a shot in a film has a girl crying you can keep it on for 10, 20 or even 40 seconds, but as an editor you should be able to gauge the film’s impact on the audience”.
Careful casting of the actors and actresses has positively contributed to the above depiction. Dinara Punchihewa’s debut into the film world as an actress is unique. In her role of Tikiri, she has the challenge of conveying complex human emotions mainly through face expressions. She truly embodies the transformation of her character from being stubborn and relentless to a compassionate and empathetic woman in the film. Sajitha Anuththara playing the role of Vijaya exudes an ebullient and captivating presence with an impish smile on his face and some antics when his character demands such behaviour. He tries his best to enchant Tikiri. But it takes him to the end of the film to break through the barrier to her heart. Ravindra Randeniya as Ehellapola Adigar establishes his overarching power within the short period of his acting in the film. He gives life to that character of authoritative aristocrat. Shyam Fernando as seemingly loving husband of Tikiri later discarding her for self-grandeur lithely demonstrates the transformation of his role.
When we step away from the storyline, we may start reflecting on some of the following questions.
What is identity? How is this concept being interpreted and misused over the years in theory and practice? How do we understand identities claimed by the diverse communities living in Sri Lanka or elsewhere? To what extent should we treat identity as an important social phenomenon? How do we deal with the question of integration of diverse identities (forced in certain cases) to supposedly create a common identity? What is the connection between pluralism and identity? How does question of identity play in the societal and inter-personal human relations? How do we understand nationalism and identity in a class society?
This film does not directly raise these questions. It does not also provide any answers and there is no need for it. However, the film provides the space and inspiration to reflect on those questions.
“Stories matter. Many stories matter. Stories have been used to dispossess and to malign, but stories can also be used to empower and to humanize. Stories can break the dignity of a people, but stories can also repair that broken dignity.” – Chimamanda Nģozi Adichie
Herstories project is based on the idea that generally, women and children are the most affected by war and peace. Yet, women’s voices are the least heard mostly because they are oral histories, and are hardly ever recorded. As it passes from their memory and ours, it will also vanish from history.
HERSTORIES attempts to address this gap, by collecting mothers’ narratives from the ground (South, East and North Sri Lanka). Primarily because mothers are guardians of memory – narrating stories, collecting photographs and keeping the family history alive – when a mother is asked her story, she speaks not only of herself but of her family, neighbours and village. As a result she creates a composite view of a time period, a place and a set of identities that is truly unique. Together, these lives of others even though very personal individual stories, create a collective set of narratives that add faces, names, places, character, hopes, dreams, challenges, strength, courage and ‘flesh’ to an era in Sri Lankan history that must not be forgotten.
A mother of three from Kilinochchi speaks of her struggle to survive and wishes for a better future
English: I have three children. We had a terrible time during the war, no food, no water. We were in Manukulam when a shell struck my husband. I was 22 when he died. We lived in a refugee camp in Chettikulum for about a year after that. When their father died I told my children that they should not worry because I will take care of them. I always do my best to provide them with what they need.
Tamil: எனக்கு மூன்று பிள்ளைகள். போர்நடந்த காலத்தில் உண்ண உணவோ குடிநீரோ இல்லாது நாம் மிகக் கஷ்டத்தை அனுபவித்தோம். நாம் மாங்குளத்தில் இருந்தபோது எனது கணவர் செல்லடிபட்டார். அவர் இறக்கும்போது எனக்கு 22 வயது. அதன் பின்னர் ஒரு வருட காலமாக நாம் செட்டிகுளத்திலுள்ள அகதி முகாமில் வசித்தோம். தகப்பன் இறந்தபோது எனது பிள்ளைகள் எதற்கும் கவலைப்படக்கூடாதெனவும் நான் அவர்களைப் பராமரிப்பேன் எனவும் கூறினேன். அவர்களுக்குத் தேவையானவற்றை வழங்குவதற்கு நான எப்போதும் என்னாலானதைச் செய்வேன்.
InCaste and its multiple manifestations. A study of the Caste System in Northern Sri Lanka (2021, Baby Owl Press, Sri Lanka), Selvy Thiruchandran studies how language structures go hand-in-hand with caste structures:
“A question raised by a low caste person to an upper caste person mainly the Vellalar takes an interesting form. It is considered rude or impolite to ask a question or make a statement on equal terms or with an equal status with a Vellalar. For example, questions like “are you going?” or “what do you say?” have to add a phrase akum in order to sound respectful. Instead of directly asking poreenkala (Are you going?), “akum is added at the end, thus saying poreenkalakum\ Or, instead of asking ennasollureenka (What do you say?) they say “ennavaakum sollureengal The interrogative marker has supposedly made the address polite and dispels the status of being equal in the conversation. Etymologically aakum cannot be explained or broken into syllables to signify a meaning other than a derived contextual meaning as it appears or it seems expressing a sense of uncertainty like, maybe’. Unlike other forms of speech formation aakum was a Panchamar construction. How it originated and why it originated remains a mystery ” (p 63).
Forms of respect as well as derogatory comments can be conveyed through the use of specific language structures. People belonging to low-castes could be referred to in the adu (it / animal or object form): “A person of high caste, when he wants to ask the question “Where are they?” phrases it as “atukal enge?”(thus referring to them as inanimate objects) instead of “avarkal enge” Where are they?)” (p 64).
In When I Hit You, Meena Kandasamy reflects on how language shapes her identity or rather how she can see herself:
“Language determines who you are, but also who you are shapes the language you use “English makes me a lover, a beloved, a poet. Tamil makes me a word huntress, it makes me a love goddess. There is a linguistic theory that the structures of languages determine the mode of thought and behaviours of the cultures in which they are spoken. In an effort to understand my life at the moment, I have come up with its far-fetched corollary, a distant cousin of this theory: I think what you know in a language shows what you are in relation to that language. Not an instance of language shaping your worldview but its obtuse inverse, where your worldview shapes what parts of the language you pick up. Not just: your language makes you, your language holds you prisoner to a particular way of looking at the world. But also: who you are determines what language you inhabit, the prison-house of your existence permits you only to access and wield some parts of a language. Now in Mangalore, I know the Kannada words eshtu: how much; haalu: milk; aanda: eggs; namaskaram: greetings; neerulli: onions; hendathi: wife; illi: here; aadu: that one; illa: no; saaku: enough; naanu naandigudda hogabekku: I want to go to Naandigudda” (p 92).
Identities beyond a single language
What happens then when one moves from one language to another and faces what Yaa Gyasi has eloquently phrasely: (speaking of her mother from Ghana, who moved to America) “I think, rather, that she just never figured out how to translate who she really was into this new language” (Transcendent Kingdom, Yaa Gyassi).
Despite the inevitable sense of loss in this process of translating identities, there is also the possibility of creating new ones, as Lauren Collins brings out in When In French. Love in a Second language:
“ Bilinguals overwhelmingly report that they feel like different people in different languages. They do so for a multitude of reasons, some of which are less attributable to any language in particular than to having a new language itself. A person may be a loan shark in his new language when he was an opthalmologist in his native tongue. Perhaps he spoke Polish to his first wife but speaks Portuguese with the second. He may have scaled or slid down the ladder of class. He may have changed his politics, or his name.”
“It is often assumed that the mother tongue is the language of the true self. And in many ways it remains the primal vehicle, the first and most effective responder in moments of celebration or crisis. A person who has spoken English most of her life is always going to speak English when she stubs her toe. But if first languages are reservoirs of emotion, second languages can be rivers undammed”, and even “A fresh language can be a solvent to heartache.”
Selvy Thiruchandran’s book, Caste and its multiple manifestations. A study of the caste system in Northern Sri Lanka (2021) is insightful and informative. Going through language forms and cultural practices that depict caste structures, the book also brings out a contrast between strategies in India and Sri Lanka with regard to avoiding caste: Referring to Periyar (1993) and Ambedkar, the author explains: “They both held the view that Hinduism was the biggest or the only cause for casteism. Ambedkar was perhaps ignorant of how Buddhist monks in Sri Lanka have to be of a specific high caste to adorn the high positions of Buddhist order and institutions. Daniel’s ancestry was originally Hindu of the Turumbar caste, the lowest in the caste ladder. He was converted to Christianity and assumed the Christian name Daniel. Daniel raises the question through his novel whether conversion is the means of caste liberation. He answers in the negative and calls it, Kanai — a mirage/an illusion or an illusory image of water with inverted reflections.”
After mentioning the key figures who perpetrated caste-based structures (Arumugam Navalar) and those who fought against them ( , the author also deals with long-lasting consequences of caste, especially in the context of conflict. Speaking of the refugee camps set up after the end of the war, she refers to the socio-economic disadvantages that are accentuated by caste: “Does caste play a role in the lives of the people who live in the refugee camps? One could say that it starts very early in the composition of the inmates. Those of the high caste have escaped the violence of the war by migrating to other countries or by moving to the city of Colombo. They were also able to return to their former habitats during the periods of ceasefire and continue to live there. Those who belong to the lower strata of a caste became internal refugees. It is estimated that there is a disproportionate presence of the Panchamar caste in the refugee camps. (Silva, Sivapragasma and Thanges (2009:65) That they have to live for long periods in these centres (e.g. Alady camp) is symptomatic of continuing inability to move out due to lack of resources. In addition to this they also face a disadvantaged status by being subjected to other socially unjust discrimination relating to caste ” (page 137).
Ajith Balasuriya inLegacy of Palmyra: The Victims of Dual Horizontal Inequalities in Northern Sri Lanka(Colombo University Press, 2023) uses caste as the main focus in analysing the conflict in Sri Lanka. “Considering the duality of the protracted conflict in Sri Lanka, this study clearly identifies caste-based socio economic inequalities within the Tamil community as one of the fundamental causes of the conflict. Caste based socio-economic inequalities are not a unique phenomenon in the Tamil community, but parallels can be seen among the Sinhalese as well” (p 106).
“(…) this study argues that Horizontal Inequalities can be seen in a dual form within the ethnic Tamil community, among lower and upper castes. Lower-caste Tamils have been discriminated or affected by HIs twice. First, from the inequalities imposed by majority Sinhalese, and secondly from the inequalities from upper-caste Tamils who are a part of their own ethnic group” (107).
Sri Lankan police have arrested two army corporals for their suspected involvement in anti-Muslim riots in the central highlands district of Kandy last month, police said on Tuesday.
The Centre for Policy Alternatives (CPA) has released a report on social media, “Weaponising 280 characters: What 200,000 tweets and 4,000 bots tell us about state of Twitter in Sri Lanka”. The report is available for immediate download here.
The report is a collaboration between Sanjana Hattotuwa, a Senior Researcher at CPA and the head of the Civic Media Team and two leading data scientists – Yudhanjaya Wijeratne, based in Sri Lanka and Raymond Serrato, based in Germany. It is a response to an unprecedented social media phenomenon in Sri Lanka, with disturbing as well as potentially deeply disruptive implications for the health of the country’s democratic dialogue and electoral processes.
The recent violence in Kandy brought social media under renewed scrutiny for its role, reach and relevance in contributing to the production and spread of violent, hateful content. Starting late March, weeks after the cessation of the violent attacks, Twitter users began noticing a tsunami of accounts with no bios, no tweets and the default profile picture following them. Several fake Twitter accounts were identified to be promoting false or misleading content during the violence in Kandy. This, coupled with the heightened production of suspicious Twitter accounts raised red flags amongst Twitter users.
Given the scale and scope of the infestation, CPA’s English language civic media platform Groundviews, for the first time in the Sri Lankan Twittersphere, took the step of making public its block list, which other users could import. Even this measure though was not enough to address the high frequency with which new, fake accounts were being created, attaching themselves to prominent Twitter users in Sri Lanka. A preliminary analysis of 1,262 accounts, a subset of the larger dataset used for this report, indicated that the majority of suspicious accounts following Twitter users were bots.
A visualisation of the number of accounts targeted by the bots revealed that leading diplomats, Ambassadors based in Sri Lanka, the official accounts of diplomatic missions, leading local politicians, the former President of the Maldives, media institutions, civil society organisations and initiatives, leading journalists, cricketers and other individuals were amongst those who had large numbers of bot followers.
Considering bots are now a permanent feature of Sri Lanka’s Twitter landscape and will likely grow in scope and scale leading up to elections or a referendum, it is important to ask how to address the issue at scale, given the number of citizens – directly connected as well as influenced by those connected – involved.
Even with its limited scope and data, this report is a clear snapshot of the political landscape we now inhabit, and projects in the future real dangers that result from just the visible investments made around key social media platforms, which are today the key information and news vectors for a demographic between 18-34.
This report by CPA follows the path-breaking data driven study into the bots and trolls associated with a prominent politician in Sri Lanka, published in January 2018, which was also a collaborative research exercise with Yudhanjaya Wijeratne. Download Namal Rajapaksa, bots and trolls: New contours of digital propaganda and online discourse in Sri Lankahere.
For further information and media inquiries, please contact Sanjana Hattotuwa on sanjanah@cpalanka.org.
‘Stories of Resilience’ is a project by the Adayaalam Centre for Policy Research (ACPR) that aims to document and share stories of strength, courage and resilience of Tamil communities before, during and after the armed conflict. ACPR intends to preserve these stories for current and future generations of Tamils in Sri Lanka and the Diaspora as part of a broader conversation about Mullivaikkaal
This project aims to contribute to efforts around the world to document and share stories of Tamil survival, by documenting stories of those who still live in Sri Lanka and continue to persevere.
This project currently features two series’ of stories:
“Stories of Mullivaikkaal”: This series presents alternative narratives from survivors of Mullivaikkaal which does not narrow their lived experiences to helpless victimhood but rather promotes and accepts their agency. We hope that this series will raise awareness about the struggle and resilience of the survivors of the last phase of the war and broaden the conversation about assisting those who suffered mass atrocities during the end of the war.
“Stories of Vaharai“: This series presents a variety of narratives from Tamil individuals who have survived the war in and around the Vaharai region in the East. We hope that this series draws attention to the often overlooked ongoing plight faced by Tamil communities in the East, and the significant trauma they have experienced.
If you would like to be notified when new content is added to the website,
you can directly on ‘Stories of Resilience”s website.
“Friday et Friday” de Antonythasan Jesuthasan alias Shobasakthi.
Nouvelles traduites du tamoul (Sri Lanka) par Faustine Imbert-Vier,
Élisabeth Sethupathy, et Farhaan Wahab
Une enfance à Allaipiddy, au nord de Sri Lanka, la guérilla tamoule, l’errance, l’exil en France… Autant de motifs et de personnages qui habitent l’œuvre d’Antonythasan Jesuthasan : Diana la Ronde, pétrifiée par le bruit des bombes, qui remue ciel et terre pour obtenir son abri ; Pratheeban, le demandeur d’asile, floué pour une poignée de kilomètres ; les 37 Mouvements de rébellion, bien décidés à se tailler la part du lion ; Layla, la petite dame du numéro 7, que son nom de code – Oiseau jaune – finit par trahir, ou encore le chevalier de Kandi, condamné à devenir un coq en pâte aux frais du Comité central.
À travers tous ces portraits, c’est aussi celui du narrateur qui se dessine, tout en humour et en finesse – le roman d’une vie, le miroir d’une âme et d’un peuple qui sait que c’est parfois en perdant de vue le rivage que le cœur se remet à flot.
A propos de l’auteur
Si l’on connaît son visage grâce au superbe Dheepan de Jacques Audiard (Palme d’or à Cannes en 2015) dont il est l’acteur principal, Antonythasan Jesuthasan est surtout écrivain reconnu – auteur de quatre romans, plusieurs recueils de nouvelles et de nombreux essais, pièces de théâtre et scénarios.
Antonythasan Jesuthasan – alias Shobasakthi – est né en 1967 à Allaipiddy, un village à l’extrême nord de Sri Lanka. Ancien enfant soldat du Mouvement de libération des Tigres tamouls, il arrive en France en 1993 où il obtient l’asile politique. Il vit désormais à Paris.
Son œuvre est traduite pour la première fois en français. L’adaptation cinématographique de la magnifique nouvelle Friday, qui se déroule dans la communauté tamoule du quartier de la Chapelle, à Paris, est en cours de réalisation.
The International Movement of Tamil Culture (Sri Lanka chapter) in association with the University of Jaffna will be holding a two-day special conference on ‘Challenges and Initiatives of Tamil Language and Culture’ at the University premises on August 5 and 6.
In April this year, when Rajani’s colleague Rajan Hoole was about to launch his book ‘Palmyra Fallen: From Rajani to war’s end’ and tried holding a discussion around it, a similar response came from the University of Jaffna, where Rajani was heading the Anatomy department until she was gunned down, yet again bringing to focus the concern many share about the lack of space in the University.
This companion presents a critical collection of Sinhala resistance literature from Sri Lanka. It includes translated short stories and excerpts from Sinhala novels, written after the civil war in the country. Featuring national award-winning writers, the selected texts share a common theme of resistance as the writers write against an exclusivist nationalism that was propagated through mass media and platforms of party politics in Sri Lanka during the war.
