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Liberation
Tigers of Tamil Eelam
Gajaani:
The Tiger's Fighter Journalist
- "My dream is Tamil Eelam"
Courtesy Tehelka, 14 October 2006
A mesmerising story of innocence and brutality.
Gajaani became an LTTE member at 19, and has spent the
last 13 years as one of its official war photographers.
Scorching in its simplicity, her highly unusual account
tracks the making of a soldier
[see also Comments by K.Puvana Chandran from United Kingdom
together with response by
tamilnation.org]
I grew up in the 1970s in Kilinochchi, Sri Lanka,
where I was born. Kilinochchi was a remote area then, a
place with a small population and very poor
infrastructure. My parents talk of it as a peaceful time,
but the problems in my country were already
beginning.
During the riots in 1983, we had relatives
in Colombo who were taken in by Sinhalese friends. But a
mob stormed the house where they were hiding - six of my
family members were killed that day.
We in Kilinochchi were sheltered from such atrocities
then. Kilinochchi was one hundred percent Tamil; there
were some military camps around, but there were no riots.
We would all listen to the radio and the elders would
talk about the stories coming through. I remember my
family crying and being very upset through these times.
The stories were horrific, but I couldn't understand or
relate to what was going on. I was just a child.
At that time, the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE)
were still very young. I remember their fighters coming
to my house. Like many families in Kilinochchi, we would
help them as best we could, my Amma would dress their
wounds, we would look after them like they were our own
family. They seemed like such big people, they would tell
me and my siblings about the fighting, what it was about,
what the problems were with the country and why the
Sinhalese were treating us Tamils like this. I remember
hearing stories from the riots when babies were put in
boiling tar and women had their breasts cut off and the
symbol of 'Sri' branded in the wound where their breasts
had been. Those awful days made us mad with fear and
confusion. We were sheltered in Kilinochchi, but we were
very aware of events in Sri Lanka and the grief they were
creating.
In 1984, the military started an operation to wipe out
the LTTE. The military had many weapons and the LTTE had
small arms, nothing sophisticated, but they were quick
and clever and knew the jungle well. Within a few days
there were dead military bodies all over Kilinochchi -
they tried to kill the LTTE, but the LTTE finished them.
From this moment, we knew that we could take them on,
that they were weak and we were strong, clever and
strong.
Through 1984 to '85, Tamil people were being displaced
from Jaffna, Mannar, Trincomalee and other places, and
were coming to Kilinochchi. We made space for them in our
schools, and I used to talk with them a lot and help
distribute food and blankets. I met many children my own
age in these camps and they would be really scared and
upset; they had seen many horrific things and they told
me their stories. In the camps there were many LTTE
fighters too. They would talk about Prabhakaran.
I didn't really understand why he was such a hero but,
like many of my friends, I was completely enamoured of
him. I used to ask the fighters if they had ever seen him
and most would reply that they had not but they fully
believed in what he was doing and the way he led them. He
was 16 when he started fighting, just 16. I was nearly
that age, and I wondered what made him so special and so
brave. So I too tried to join the LTTE at age 16 - why
not, I thought. But the fighters kept telling me I was
too young.
After a while, the LTTE came into Kilinochchi. They had
only been in the jungle before this, but now they began
to set up bases in the town. My friends and I were very
excited; we made plans for joining a base, and finally
managed to enter one. It was a hard day; from morning to
evening, LTTE cadres talked to us, mocking us, telling us
we were too small, too weak, testing our resolve. I
remember telling them that if they could do it, I could
too and that I wasn't scared by them or their
discipline.
By evening, our families were very worried and came
in search of us. We all hid and begged the cadres not
to tell our families we were there. We could see our
parents talking to the cadres; their eyes were full of
tears, and we too were crying; our hearts felt we had
lost something. But, at the same time, we felt we were
about to achieve something better. At one point, our
parents came near the room we were hiding in; if they
had looked through the window, they would have seen us.
We crouched low and stayed very still, we were
completely silent. In that moment, I realised that my
life had completely changed. We have a saying in Tamil:
பெத்தமனம்
பித்து ;
பிள்ளை
மனம்
கல்லு -
peththamanam piththu, pillaimanam kallu. It means: the
parents' hearts are soft, but the children's hearts are
like stone. I thought of this saying as our families
finally went away.
The next night, we heard the sounds of shelling and
shooting very close to us. My friends and I were rounded
up by the cadres; they were frantic, running about,
preparing everything very quickly. Someone told us the
second Eelam war had started. Two vehicles arrived at the
base; my friends and I got in one and the cadres got in
the other. One cadre told us that they were off to attack
the Kilinochchi military camp and that we were being
taken to a base for our training. I can still recall her
face, she was ready for battle, she was hard and focused.
It was the first time I had seen that face, but I have
seen it and worn it many times since.
We arrived that night at a base in the jungle. I had
never stayed in the jungle before; I kept waking up
through the night with the strange sounds around me. As
dawn broke, I looked about. I saw the cadres sleeping
nearby. I also saw many tomb stones and realised we were
in an LTTE martyrs' graveyard. I froze. I had gone to
sleep a civilian and had woken up in the LTTE graveyard a
cadre. It was like a rebirth. I was 19.
 The base became
a second school to me. There were many new friends to
meet, people from all over the country, so many different
faces and stories, people with the different accents of
my Tamil language. Our leaders became like our parents.
They treated us very well, and helped and encouraged us
to succeed. The training itself was very hard. I was not
used to so much exercise, and we had to learn to become
strong and prepare ourselves for battle. It was hard and
heavy work. I remember crying with pain and exhaustion,
but our leaders would say that the boys could do it, so
we girls had to as well - and then our determination
would make us succeed.
We would also do drama and painting workshops and, as
we were the juniors, we had to cook too. I had never
cooked in my life, but here we sometimes had to cook for
700 people. I remember one night the leaders came to the
kitchen with a goat and asked us to prepare a mutton
curry. We had never handled dead animals before; we did
not even know how to skin it. So we hung the goat from
the ceiling and one at a time jumped and hung onto its
cut parts to rip the skin off. It was difficult but we
had great fun.
After our training, we were divided into groups. I was
the leader for one of them. My first posting was the
Palaly Front Defence Line in Jaffna. We were to block the
military from moving forward.
The first battle was very difficult. I was used to the
sound of guns and bombs and I had no fear for myself, but
when a fellow cadre is killed, it is a terrible moment.
These were girls that I had known and been through so
much with, and then suddenly they were gone and I was
left alone on the battlefield. I cannot really describe
the feeling very well - we have a Tamil word, urayinthu.
It means to freeze with emotion. At these moments, I had
to recover very quickly as I still had a job to do and
needed to get focused. Afterwards, I would always fight
much harder, I just wanted to fight and fight and
fight.
I participated in many battles in my first couple of
years with the LTTE. All through this time, I still had
such a desire to meet Prabhakaran. In the middle of a
battle, I would sometimes think, 'How can I die before
meeting our national leader,' for this is why I was
fighting, for him and our people.
 I
remember in earlier times, before I joined the LTTE, I
would ask the fighters I met how they could be in the
LTTE without meeting Prabhakaran. I had now been in
battles for one-and-a-half years, and I still hadn't met
him. Then came 1991; I was being trained for Aniyiravu
(the Battle of Elephant Pass), and Prabhakaran came to the base. As
soon as I met him, I felt ready to go to battle and die
for my people. I was so happy that no matter what
happened from then on, I had met Prabhakaran. My
aspiration in life had been fulfilled.
He was there on the morning of the battle, sending us off
into war. We fought so hard that day because of this. It
was the most unforgettable day of my life. I was 20 years
old and the battle was called Akaya Kadal Veli Samar (the
Sky-Sea-Ground Battle). Elephant Pass is a very difficult
place to fight, and the Sri Lankan Army had planes, boats
and ground troops; we just had ground troops and had to
defend and attack against all types of weaponry.
I was injured in the Elephant Pass Battle and was taken
to the LTTE medical wing for treatment. I was there for
three months. During this time, the LTTE began to develop
its Media Wing and Prabhakaran asked leaders to find
cadres to join it. The leaders of my team put my name on
the list, but I was not interested in photography then -
I was just focused on being a fighter. However, I finally
agreed. I arrived for my first lesson just as the class
was taking their first practice with a camera. I was
handed the one camera we had at that time, and was told
about the focus. I took the camera and twisted the focus
from left to right, unaware that it is a very delicate
and sensitive manoeuvre. It was the first time I had
handled a camera, I didn't know what I was doing but I
enjoyed it.
I was asked to take a picture. I felt shy as I didn't
know what to do. Behind me, there were many other cadres
waiting their turn. Then I gently applied the shutter
button, and the camera took the picture. When the photos
were printed, mine were not so good - the exposures were
all right but everything was out of focus! But, after a
few weeks, when we had an examination, I got the highest
mark in the group. I even got a prize - a camera of my
own.
After this, I could not stop taking pictures. The year
was 1993. I remember the most important picture I took. I
went to visit an Internally Displaced Persons' (IDP)
camp; outside a hut, a small child was eating raw fish
and there were flies and blood all over his face and
body. I think this was the first time I had been exposed
to extreme poverty. Kilinochchi is not an affluent place
but these IDPs were so poor, they didn't have anything.
The sight really upset me. I began to think about
poverty, what it was about, how this situation happened
to people and, most importantly, what I could do to
change it.
I took a photograph of this child and sent the image to
Prabhakaran. I asked for his opinion of what I was seeing
and photographing. He was very pleased and said that
Tamil people and the world needed to see such things.
 The two greatest influences in my life
have been Prabhakaran and Col Kittu, a photographer and
artist based in London. He would send us photographic
assignments and give me so much encouragement that it was
a joy taking pictures of things he asked for. Due to the
security situation, it was very difficult for me to send
the pictures to him, so I would send them to Prabhakaran.
He would choose the good ones and would send back advice
and comments.
My first photography field experience was on Thavalai Pachchal (Operation Frog
Jumping) in 1993 in Poonakary. I already had much
battle experience and knew my place on the battleground,
so I was comfortable being there. However, being a
photographer on the battleground is very different. I
only had my camera, I had no rifle. It felt very strange
at first to be there with no gun. I was excited and ready
to take good photographs, but it rained all day and I
couldn't get any pictures.
Since then, I have taken photographs of many battles and
it is a very dangerous job. The real danger is where I
have to stand to take pictures. When you are a fighter,
you get to stay in camouflage, undercover and in the
bunkers. When you are a photographer, you have to be
outside getting the pictures of the fighters. I don't
think about death when I'm on the battlefield, I just try
and get the best pictures of my cadres - that is my
mission and I don't feel any fear.
I remember one time the LTTE started attacking Jaffna,
they were moving forward and the Sri Lankan Army was in
retreat. I reached a beach I thought had already been
captured by the LTTE. I was walking without any fear; it
was difficult to walk because I was tired from the
battle, but it helped me gather my thoughts after the
past days and hours of war. I saw some coconut trees,
they were very beautiful, they were bending as they grew.
I wanted to take a picture of them, after so many
photographs of the fighting. I began to move closer to
them. Suddenly, I noticed a bunker under the trees and,
at almost that moment, bullets came towards me. I froze,
realising it was a military bunker. I dived behind a
nearby tree and took cover, my heart pounding. There were
only 10 metres between the military and me. I had no
choice but to run, and I did so as fast as I could. A
rocket-propelled grenade (RPG) passed over me and
exploded in front of me. As I ran, I laughed to myself -
they had used an RPG shell for one girl!
About 50 metres from the military bunker, I reached the
cadre bunker. I was breathing heavily and then I heard
the sound of a different gun, a sniper. I looked at a
female cadre who was beside me. She smiled at me. I
understood at that moment that someone in the bunker had
taken the bullet. I checked myself to see if I was
injured. I was not bleeding, I was okay. The girl beside
me was slumped against the side of the bunker, still
smiling at me. The other fighters were frozen still. I
shook her. There was no reaction from her; I couldn't
bear it. Those rounds had been aimed at me but they had
hit her. I cannot describe what I felt at that
moment.
I can never get over the feeling when a cadre is killed.
We share meals, laughter and adventure together, and then
they are gone. I never get over that loss. I too can die
in the next second when I think of the people who died,
and when I see them die, I grow strong and fierce - like
a Tiger. I touched her gently, she rolled onto her back.
There was no bleeding. I released the holster around her
chest and suddenly the blood shot out. Everyone
understood what had happened. Immediately they began
first aid. We stopped the bleeding, and sent her with the
other cadres towards the medic. The military kept
shooting at them as they ran. I took up the girl's rifle
and started to fire to give them cover. Other cadres also
began to shoot and then the military stopped firing. My
camera was hanging around my neck, I didn't even think to
take it up. In this situation I failed to take good
pictures. It is very difficult to be in battle as a
fighting photographer and a journalist.
I've met many difficulties when I try to take pictures of
fighters when they are under cover, under trees and in
the bunkers. I have to use my brain well. I have to
observe the enemy, where they are, what they are doing,
what weapons they are using, what formation they have
formed. When the time comes, within a split second, I
have to take good pictures and get back to safety. My
eyes and ears are completely focused on the
objective.
There is a high respect for photography in the LTTE and
among the Tamil people. I show my pictures to my whole
team and to Prabhakaran and the other commanders. They
all encourage me, and say that I should do more. Some of
my photographs have appeared in newspapers in Sri Lanka,
but they don't always take the full picture, they edit
and cut the image. I remember how I once sent pictures of
the Point Pedro killings, there was so much bombing and
shelling at that time. They put the photographs in the
newspaper, but censored them; they only showed the faces
of people, not the wounds or the amputations - it upset
me because it did not represent the truth.
My dream is Tamil Eelam. I have
heard my people, men
and women, crying and screaming, I have seen them dying, I have experienced the
tragedy of my people and my society. I
have experienced far too much violence and so many people
suffering - from all this, my dream is to see these
people smile, living in a free homeland, living a
happy and good life.
Within the
LTTE, I have gained many experiences, I have studied
about the world, about other struggles and wars, I have
got to know many things. One thing that we learn in the
LTTE is that when you are given a job, you should do it
one hundred percent perfectly. There is little room for
mistakes in the LTTE.
I am very proud that people are taking my photographs
seriously now and that they are going to other countries.
I am very pleased that people are taking an interest in
my war-torn homeland. I am very thankful and happy that
this is happening, and I hope that people will understand
them without discrimination.
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