Noelnadesan's Blog

“The day we see the truth and cease to speak is the day we begin to die.” — Martin Luther King Jr.

During the time Visakan and I were living in Pondy Bazaar, one particular incident continued to trouble me for years.

Why does that memory still haunt me?

It’s the lingering sorrow of a lost brother.

Padmanaba, the leader of the Eelam People’s Revolutionary Liberation Front (EPRLF)—whom we often called Ranjan—visited our room one morning in 1984. With him was a young man, perhaps twenty or twenty-two. He asked if we could accommodate the youth for a few weeks, until arrangements could be made to send him back to his village in Sri Lanka.

Since the name he used was a pseudonym, I won’t disclose it here. He was broad-shouldered, with a North Indian complexion. At first glance, he bore a resemblance to a Bollywood actor. But his Tamil accent revealed he was from the Eastern Province—most likely the southeastern part. We never asked about his hometown or family, and he never volunteered the information.

Although he joined us for meals and movies, a quiet sadness always lingered behind his smile. He treated us like older brothers. Over time, we learned he was trained in karate and other self-defence techniques, including throwing knives and metal stars.

Many nights, after watching late shows in various theatres across Chennai, we would walk back to our place under the cover of darkness.

Eventually, he left. Padmanaba returned soon after to thank us for hosting him. He said: “He’s a Muslim comrade, trained in India, who worked with us for a long time. Because of the recent Tamil-Muslim tensions in the East, he’s emotionally shaken. He wants to return home. For now, staying with other comrades could make him uneasy, so I left him in your care.”

Sometime later, I was devastated to learn that this young Muslim comrade—after joining the Muslim Home Guards—had been killed by the EROS movement. We had shared meals from the same plate and lived under the same roof for nearly three months. His death grieved me deeply.

The division among minority communities—who had coexisted for generations in Sri Lanka’s Eastern Province—was not initiated by the Sri Lankan government, nor even by the LTTE.

In April 1984, violence first broke out in Karaitivu village in the Ampara District. While I can’t claim Muslims had no role at all, the initial conflict involved armed youth from the EPRLF and TELO. What began as an isolated clash among militants quickly spiralled into communal violence among ordinary people.

Before this, many Muslim youths in the East had joined Tamil movements like PLOTE and EPRLF, and some had even received training from the Indian army. However, in Karaitivu, Ampara district, the incident left them disillusioned. Around this time, a Sri Lankan deputy high commissioner based in Chennai coordinated efforts in Ampara to mobilise Muslim youth against Tamil militant groups, with some local Muslim politicians joining in.

Those who left the Tamil movements were recruited into the newly formed Muslim Home Guards. They were trained and organised by the Special Task Force (STF), operating under names like ‘’Fatah’’ and ‘’Jihad,’’ emulating Middle Eastern models. While most ordinary Muslims had no connection to these groups, these newly formed groups were used to sow division between the Tamil and Muslim communities.

These activities were essentially counter-revolutionary ones, orchestrated by then-Minister of National Security, Lalith Athulathmudali. His approach was cunning—almost Machiavellian—but he never received due recognition for it. Over time, these divisions became a powerful weapon against the LTTE because the LTTE was sucked into the blatant terrorist activities against the innocent Muslim people. 

Of course, the crimes committed later by the LTTE—such as the Kattankudy mosque massacre and the mass expulsion of Muslims from the North—were far more brutal. Those atrocities sealed the LTTE’s image globally as terrorists and perpetrators of ethnic cleansing.

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During my years in Tamil Nadu, I became close to many people from diverse backgrounds. Among the most unforgettable was Comrade Pandian, a senior member of the EPRLF. His family had migrated from Trincomalee to Chennai. He was about fifteen years older than I, but we shared a deep bond.

Pandian had roots in Valvettithurai and had once served as Deputy Mayor of Trincomalee. His wife was also from Valvettithurai. They had eight sons. It was a wealthy, well-established family. One son was a member of TELO; another worked aboard a ship.

One evening, I joined them for dinner. Casually, his wife mentioned, “The boys from our movement came this afternoon and had lunch before heading out.”

Her wording intrigued me. Pandian was with the EPRLF, but “our movement” sounded like she meant something else.

Later, I took him aside and asked, “When your wife says ‘our movement,’ who does she mean?”

“She means the LTTE,” he said calmly.

I was stunned. What he said next shocked me even more.

He explained that over 800 young men from Valvettithurai, including his son, were working aboard ships, and each was sending ten pounds a month to fund the LTTE.

I asked, “When your whole town supports the Tigers, why are you still with the EPRLF?”

He answered, “I’ve had a long-standing relationship with Naba [Padmanaba]. I can’t walk away from that.”

Pandian was a towering figure, nearly fifty years old and over six feet tall. His loyalty to Padmanaba, a man younger than him by over a decade, was striking.

This episode revealed a more profound truth: the LTTE’s rapid rise wasn’t driven only by external provocations from the Sinhala state in Sri Lanka. Internal factors—such as unwavering financial support from Valvettithurai and its long-standing legacy of smuggling—also played a crucial role. These skills were passed directly to the LTTE.

Even during the colonial times, Valvettithurai had been a centre of maritime trade between Sri Lanka and India. After independence, this once-legal commerce became criminalised. But the community never accepted this new legal framework. Perhaps they believed that laws written on land did not apply to those who lived by the sea.

In 1977, while I was a student at the University of Peradeniya, I campaigned with nine other Tamil students for a marginalised( Oppressed caste) candidate, Rajalingam, in Udupiddy. We canvassed in the town of Polikandy, part of Valvettithurai. What I saw there startled me: nearly every home used Indian products, and portraits of Indian leaders adorned their walls. That wasn’t unusual—Jaffna Tamils had long idolised Tamil Nadu.

But what shocked me most came from a 15-year-old boy who guided us for ten days. On our last day, he asked, “Aren’t you living among Sinhalese in Kandy? Aren’t you afraid?”

“There’s no issue,” I said. “Why do you ask?”

He opened his school bag, pulled out a small black revolver, and said, “Take this. If a Sinhalese gives you trouble, this might help.”

I stepped back, declining the offer—startled, even a little afraid. But what I still remember vividly is the disappointment in his eyes.

To him, Kandy was enemy territory. He believed I was living among enemies.

A friend from Valvettithurai once told me many houses in the area had hidden storage spaces for smuggled goods.

After independence, the Sri Lankan state didn’t initially establish army camps in the North to suppress Tamil political aspirations. Instead, early military bases—in places like Palaly and later Elephant Pass—were created to curb smuggling and intercept illegal boats coming from India. The real target was the cross-border networks based in Valvettithurai. Army camps in the North were not originally built to suppress Jaffna Tamils. They were built to prevent smuggling from Tamil Nadu and intercept goods trafficked by Valvettithurai traders.

These are two bitter truths:

It’s deeply ironic—perhaps even satirical—that the very heart of the Tamil liberation movement emerged from Valvettithurai, a town that had long flouted laws made on land.

Is it irony… or destiny?

Though they lived in Sri Lanka, the people of Valvettithurai had hearts, habits, and allegiances that leaned heavily toward Tamil Nadu.