After racing on the ground, the airplane climbed up in the sky. After lifting off the flight continued.
My emotions were running high: I was struggling to fly out of the birthplace…!
Eluvaithivu, Nainathivu, Jaffna, Peradeniya, Medawachchiya and Padaviya, Are they going to be my dreamlands in future?
To which country is this plane taking me? Country I had seen only in the geographical map, is it going to be my own country?
The sweet soil my feet embraced, will it become entirely strange?
Did the seeds and fruits of ethnic hatred sown during a quarter of a century perish my own dreams, rights and relatives?
Chitra appeared to understand my feelings. She touched my hand slowly and looked hard at my eyes.
After holding her hand in my palms, I told her in a low voice,
“Do you know that there is an ancient Tamil name for Padaviya Tank?”
“What is it?”
She winked her beautiful eyes, which looked like fluttering butterflies. That wink provided me with connectedness and security.
I wanted to ask her from where she had caste her eyes that resembled butterflies.
“There are ethnic riots in Sri Lanka. Singhalese are killing Tamils. Am I going to ask for refugee status?”
The woman seated next to me, she had given up her birthplace, relatives and her community. If the cordiality of the Butterfly tank expands to the whole of Sri Lanka…!
From my seat I could not see anything through the window glass.
Is it the tears or the clouds of the sky, that lurk my sight?