Noelnadesan's Blog

While my wife was working at the hospital operated by the Sisters of the Holy Family in Jaffna, our daughter was born there on 18 June 1984. On that very day, a pressing question arose: What’s next?

Bombs were constantly exploding in Jaffna. The military camp in Gurunagar was located near the hospital where my wife worked. Following my advice, she began making arrangements to leave for India.

Meanwhile, in Chennai, my future remained uncertain. What’s next? was the same question haunting me as I wandered in exile, separated from my homeland and community. My wife had already made it clear she wasn’t interested in pursuing further studies in India. I, too, was unhappy with what I was doing. I had recently turned down an invitation from the LTTE relayed through Kuhan (Ponnamman).

In this state of limbo, I reconnected with Gunasekaram—nicknamed “Kunchi”—from the Eelam People’s Revolutionary Liberation Front (EPRLF). We had studied in nearby classes at Jaffna Hindu College and stayed in the same hostel.

One scorching evening in Chennai, in heat so intense it felt like being trapped inside a furnace, we sat near a tea shop in Choolaimedu, drinking tea. I lit a Wills cigarette while he took long drags from an unfiltered Charminar, exhaling smoke as if it was rising straight to his brain. Stroking his beard, he asked me in the stern, didactic tone of a schoolteacher:

‘Why don’t you come to Kumbakonam and stay with us? What are you doing here?’

That was how he spoke.

“I haven’t made any decisions yet. I’m not clear about this liberation struggle. But I do want to help our people,” I said, looking into his sharp eyes.

“You can operate freely. Our movement doesn’t require you to join officially,” he said with a smirk.

Ignoring his sarcasm, I replied, “My family is arriving from Jaffna in a few days. I’ll think about it after that.”

I’ll get you sorted to stay at Stalin’s sister’s place in Kumbakonam. Don’t worry about a thing,” he said.

Kunchi was a member of the EPRLF’s central committee and managed the group’s finances. He was also reportedly involved in the Batticaloa prison break and had a talent for secrecy and stealth.

At that time, I knew the EPRLF’s training camp was in Sivapuram near Kumbakonam. Other militant groups had their camps scattered across Tamil Nadu—in Orathanadu, Salem, and Theni.

My wife and children arrived in Chennai via Colombo and were temporarily staying at my mate Paranthaman’s place. EPRLF members gathered there. It was Padmanabha himself who welcomed my newborn daughter.

Two weeks later, we relocated to Stalin’s sister’s house in Kumbakonam. Stalin, a lawyer who had studied with Vaiko, was a fierce supporter of the Dravidian movement. After the ideological splits that followed EVR Periyar’s death, Stalin remained loyal to the original ideology. He was a tall man with a moustache, resembling a young Mammootty—a dedicated supporter of the Eelam liberation cause and a defender of the EPRLF movement.

People came and went from his house at all hours. Cooking was a daily routine, and at least two people were always around.

During our stay, tensions escalated between my mother-in-law and me. She accused me of leaving my daughter in a house full of strangers, without a proper bed or adequate care, even though she had just given birth. Her complaints grew worse each day.

I couldn’t find a suitable job in Kumbakonam. I visited the EPRLF training camp, situated on a large property beside the Kaveri River, just outside the town. They only had a few weapons at that time, and the training mainly focused on physical fitness. I even saw a small workshop where rough grenades were being made.

During a visit, Padmanabha handed me an AK-47. I held it for a moment and then handed it back.

I’ve never been interested in weapons. Even as a child, although we had a gun at home, I never touched it. While working as a government veterinary officer in Medawachchiya, I never fired a gun during hunting trips—my mates did. I’ve always thought that people who lack confidence often rely on external validation. Still, I recognise that a world without weapons isn’t realistic.

What shocked and impressed me most at the EPRLF training camp was that many of the recruits were illiterate—a surprising fact, especially for someone from Jaffna. Yet, what truly inspired me was how they left the camp able to read and write. Many of them came from oppressed communities, both from Jaffna and the Hill Country.

I also observed the hardships they endured to access proper meals. Most days, they ate boiled chickpeas or lentils. Rice was a rare treat. Members would visit nearby villages with donation boxes or gather rice and pulses from local shopkeepers.

Unlike other armed groups, the EPRLF was the only one that collected funds from Tamil Nadu’s peasantry and labourers. This was mainly due to Padmanabha’s links with Marxist-Leninist comrades influenced by Maoist thought.

Among the mostly poor and illiterate recruits were also university students from more privileged backgrounds, some of whom had dropped out to join the cause. They were not only willing to suffer for liberation but also to live and train with the working class. Under Padmanabha’s leadership, the EPRLF briefly operated as a genuine social reform movement.

If a strong leader like him were to emerge again among Sri Lankan Tamils, the people might rally behind him once more. In a country like Sri Lanka—where the middle class and agricultural workers rarely unite outside of racial politics—Padmanabha managed to bring them together, at least for a few years.

No one — not even Padmanabha — could have predicted India’s intervention or the LTTE’s brutal tactics.

After moving into our own home in Kumbakonam, our family life became more stable. Around that time, I reconnected with my old friend from Jaffna Hindu College, Kirubakaran from Karaitivu in the Eastern Province. A big, broad-shouldered man, he had been in the hostel with me since eighth grade.

He was full of hope. “Eelam will come. RAW is training our comrades in North India,” he said.

He also had an insatiable sweet tooth, and I often bought him gulab jamun.

Over the following weeks, I met several people who had trained in Uttar Pradesh. One story stood out—they had been trained to survive in the jungles of Sri Lanka, learning what was edible and what was not. Aside from kabara-koyya (a type of crocodile), they said all meat was considered edible. I even saw two of them chasing a scrawny stray cat. Whether or not they posed a threat to the Sri Lankan army was uncertain, but the cats in Kodambakkam were clearly in danger!

One significant event shook everything: on August 6, 1984, a bomb meant for Colombo exploded prematurely at Meenambakkam Airport, killing several people. Maheswaran of the Tamil Eelam Army was reportedly involved. The blast shocked India, especially Tamil Nadu. Although the Hindi magazine Surya had previously reported on India’s covert training of Tamil militants, the government had always denied it. This bomb blast revealed the truth.

During my time in Kumbakonam, I often travelled to Chennai. On November 1, 1984, I woke up and went out for breakfast in Pondy Bazaar—only to find the entire area deserted. Not just the big stores, but even the street vendors had vanished. My usual idiyappam stall, run by a Malayali, was closed. There was no sign of life. As I walked further, I saw a man under a tree who looked like a beggar. He said, “Yesterday, India’s Prime Minister Indira Gandhi was assassinated.”

Hungry and stunned, I headed towards Choolaimedu. Near the flyover, I noticed a small shuttered tea stall with some voices coming from inside. I knocked.

There’s a curfew. Bugger off, sir,” someone yelled.

“I’m starving,” I replied.

They handed me four half-rotten bananas and said, “Quick, go home, sir.”

But how could I tell them I had neither a home nor a destination?

They declined to accept payment.

Eventually, I reached Choolaimedu and dined at the EPRLF’s “Epic” Kitchen. Over a meal, we discussed Indira Gandhi’s assassination—and what the future of Eelam liberation might hold without her.