Sins Of Our Fathers

Chapter 1

God save us everyone

Will we burn inside the fires of a thousand suns

For the sins of our hands

The sins of our tongues

The sins of our fathers

The sins of our young

- Linkin Park

May 2009, Northern Sri Lanka

With eyes focused, Bala, a short, chubby, brown-complexioned boy let off a deep breath to relieve the tension. Hands stretched out and knees bent, he was ready to pounce in any direction. In front of him, Parthi, a tall and lanky dark-skinned boy placed a football on the sand, and took three steps backwards. This last kick of the ball will decide the winner today.

Bala looked right and left at the wooden sticks that were stuck into the sand to act like goal posts, and returned his focus to the ball. Parthi started to jog towards the ball. Which side will the ball go? Bala thought. Parthi is going to kick with his left leg. Tendency is, he would kick the ball to Bala's right. So he chose to dive to the right side.

Parthi took a swing at the ball with his expected left leg. Anticipating it, Bala dived to his right. Unfortunately for Bala, Parthi curled the ball to the left. The ball flew past; between Bala, and the left wooden stick, sparking off Parthi to celebrate the goal, running around with his fists pumped into the air. Bala slapped his forehead with his hand, and murmured a soft typical Asian phrase for getting pissed off, "Aiyo".

"Okay, fine. You won today. Tomorrow is my turn. You don't need to celebrate like you just won the World Cup" Bala said.

"Get going loser! Don't be jealous. One day, I will be a professional football player and play for Manchester United. The only Sri Lankan player in Man U, and even represent the Sri Lankan team. That is my dream!" said Parthi, looking up at the sky and puffing up his chest as if he can see the future in front of him.

"Okay enough. Now, go and get the ball," reminded Bala.

"Losers get the ball. I will go find for Shoba, and get water" Parthi replied, and walked away towards a small river, where Shoba, his five-year old sister with messy hair, was fetching water in a plastic bottle from the river bank.

"Shoba! Time to go home!" Parthi shouted at her.

"Coming!" replied Shoba, using her two hands to carry the 1.5 litres plastic bottle, which still had the red Coca-Cola label on it. Parthi took the bottle from her, drank the water from it, and kept some for Bala. He held Shoba's hand and walked towards Bala.

Parthi handed the bottle to Bala, who also drank the remaining water. "Come, let's go home. It's too hot already" said Parthi.

The three started their journey home by walking along the roadside. The road was once a busy one, with many shops along it. Thanks to the conflict, the road has become deserted. Only a few shops were still open, and there were barely people around. "Where are Arumugam, David, and Siva?" Bala asked.

"Their fathers and mothers have brought them to some other place. I saw them leaving on bicycles, and they had a lot of stuff packed on it. David's father told me to tell my dad to leave as well because it is dangerous here." replied Parthi.

"Did you tell your father to leave?" Bala asked.

"I did, but he refuse to leave. He told me that this is home, and soon things will get back to normal." said Parthi.

"Brother, can I get a biscuit?" Shoba asked Parthi, pointing to a small-corner provision shop. The three went to the shop, and bought two biscuits. One for Shoba. The other was broken into two halves and shared between Bala and Parthi.

"Where is your father?" Parthi asked.

"I don't know. Amma told me that he left to fight in the war a long time ago. He didn't even say good bye to me. He left us at night, and haven't returned yet. She wants to leave to some place also, but she will do that once Appa is back," replied Bala.

Parthi asked the shopkeeper for one more biscuit, and he handed out some coins. "For who?" Bala asked.

"For my Akka", said Parthi, refering to his elder sister.

Looking puzzled, Bala asked, "But she is not at home right?"

"She is at home", Parthi replied. The words caught the shopkeeper's attention.

"Appa had hid her in the home. I don't know why, but Appa always hid her in the day, and allows her to come out at night only. I really pity her. I don't understand why he does that. I think sometimes, Appa is crazy," said Parthi, and the three started to giggle together.

A hand reached out, grabbed Parthi's left shoulder from behind, and turned him around. It was the shopkeeper. "Where is your Akka?"

"Huh?" Parthi was stunned, and the question did not really register in his mind.

"You heard me right? Where is your Akka?" the shopkeeper asked again in a tone, that startled the three of them.

"I don't know!" replied Parthi.

"Really? You don't know? Is it fair that I had my kids taken away by the Tigers to fight in the war, while your father acts smart by hiding his daughter? What did my kids do?" the shopkeeper asked angrily.

"Parthi, let's go!" warned Bala, and carried Shoba, placing her on his waist. Getting ready to flee. Parthi kept looking at the red and teary eyes of the shopkeeper, and did not know what to reply.

Bala nudged him, and said "Parthi! Let's go!"

Parthi pushed away the shopkeeper's hand, and the three started to flee from the place. Parthi threw the plastic bottle away and did not dare look back at the shopkeeper while running. After a safe distance, Parthi turned his head back to see whether the shopkeeper was chasing them .

No. He was not chasing them. Instead, he was using the landline phone in the shop, talking with a lot of emotions and hand movements.

After gaining a safe distance, they stopped running. Bala placed Shoba to the ground, as they stopped to rest. "What happened?" asked Shoba.

"The uncle in that shop is a crazy guy, just like your father. He was going to catch you. That's why we escaped from him, " replied Bala.

"Stop saying things like that to her," said Parthi.

"Fine, I'm going home. I hope my Appa comes home tonight. I will see you tomorrow same time, same place. Okay Man U player?" asked Bala.

Parthi smiled back, and replied, "Okay. See you. Be safe", as they went their separate ways to their respective homes. Not knowing what the future had planned for them.

Bala reached home first, and saw his mother packing their stuff in a frantic way. "What are you doing, Amma?" Bala asked.

He could see that his mother was not well. Her face was swollen, perhaps from crying, and her eyes were red and teary. Yet, she did not answer her son, and continued packing her luggage. "Amma! Where are we going? Are we leaving also?" Bala continued his questions.

This time, his mother stopped whatever she was doing. Stared blankly at the floor, let out a huge sigh, dropping her shoulders. The sight frightened Bala. "Amma?" Bala whispered.

His mother wiped her face with her hands, walked towards Bala and knelt down in front of him, held both his hands, and looked straight into his eyes. She paused.

"Your father has passed away," she whispered, taking another pause. Bala was shocked, and did not know how to react. His eyes started welling up , yet still looking at his mother's eyes for any hint that this could be a sick joke. It cannot be a joke. No mother in the right frame of mind would joke to her own son, saying that his father has died. His mother was telling the truth, and he was very sure about it.

"Your father's friends came over to tell us about him. We need to leave this place, Bala," his mother continued. "We need to leave".