Tamil Tiger Sacrifical Rites

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Saivite Symbols, Sacrifice, and Tamil Tiger Rites Author(s): Michael Roberts Source: Social Analysis: The International Journal of Social and Cultural Practice, Vol. 49, No. 1 (

Spring 2005), pp. 67-93Published by: Berghahn BooksStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/23175295Accessed: 14-09-2015 17:05 UTC

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Saivite Symbols, Sacrifice, and Tamil Tiger Rites

Michael Roberts

Abstract: The hegemony of the 'secular' is challenged through an

exposition of the hero rites for the fallen among the Tamil Tigers. Over

emphasis on the secular strands in LTTE ideology betrays a textual

formalism and disregards the cosmological background of the cultural

producers-cum-audience. Such a perspective neglects the embodied

practices of Tamil followers. Tamil Saivite worship is permeated by

sacrificial symbolism. In Sri Lanka, belief in sakti, divine energy, is

displayed in diverse ways that can attract Hindus, Christians, and Bud

dhists. The rites of Hero Week reveal practices that echo Saivite forms.

The LTTE's investment in this event involves massive co-ordination.

The climactic moment is a simultaneous act of widespread commemo

rative grieving. The rite is also an undertaking that mobilizes, remem

bers, respects, legitimizes, transcends, inspires, and renews.

Key words: commemoration, cosmology, heroes, nationalism, sacrifice,

sakti, secularism, suicide bombers

Global surveys of 'suicide terrorism' present the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) as secular in focus.1 Peter Schalk, who has greater expertise in this field than most, presses a similar verdict. Focusing on "the official ideology of the members of the [LTTE] movement," Schalk's most recent article insists that the LTTE "is secular and is eager to maintain its secular status." In this view, "there are no explicit religious references in its symbolic representation of the state of Tamilîlam." It has adopted "the Indian concept of secularism" in contrast with the form of the present state of Sri Lanka, where Buddhism has an

official place (Schalk 2003: 393-394, 398; see also Schalk 1997a: 67-68, 78). Schalk's essays are organized in part by a comparison of the LTTE heroes

with the martyrs within the Judeo-Christian traditions and the shahld in the

Social Analysis, Volume 49, Issue 1, Spring 2005, 67-93



68 I Michael Roberts

Islamic world. He contends that the LTTE heroes, or mâvïrar, seek "no rewards

in the next life," that there is "no joy or cheer awaiting" them, and that they do not have "any thought that martyrdom could atone for sins" (Schalk 2003: 395).2 Some of the differences that he draws out are cogent, but his perspec

tive is directed by a narrow definition of religion. This leaning is compounded by an either/or epistemology that reads religion as an identifiable sectarian

phenomenon. Such an orientation toward textual definitiveness reveals the

Orientalist within Schalk. My amiable conversations with Riaz Hassan3 suggest that this is a wider phenomenon: what the book says, or what the organization says, is the defining context. To my perspective,4 this is Orientalism become

'organizationalism'. In the process, by concentrating on a movement's formal

frontage, this approach denudes a complex phenomenon of its agentive prac

tice, the embodied and existential sentiments of both cultural producers and

participating followers. Schalk's interpretations are also directed by the teleology of goal. As widely

agreed, the objective of the LTTE is to secure the safety of the Sri Lankan Tamils within the institutional form of a nation-state known as Thamilllam

(familiarly, Eelam in short), a state that would embody the principle of self determination and the ideal of vitutalai or cutantiram (both meaning libera

tion).5 In the contemporary context, this model of government is usually deemed

'secular' within the hegemonic conceptualizations derived from a Western

setting. In highlighting this aspect, then, Schalk is adhering to a conventional model and speaking to the West. His thesis also rests quite explicitly on the intentions of the Tiger leadership, especially the talaivar (leader), Vëlupillai Prabhäkaran (Pirapäharan).

In their propaganda and their commemorative rituals, however, the Tigers are also addressing a wider public, especially those people within Sri Lanka who deem themselves to be Tamil in distinction from the Sinhalese, Muslim Moors [Yon], Malays (Ja), Burghers, and other ethnic groups. On a priori grounds, I suggest that this audience-cum-constituency admits of several levels of 'proximity' to the LTTE's 'heart'. Thus, the LTTE's public encompasses, in the first instance, 'Region A', that is, the Tamils within the aegis of their control in the regions I shall call 'Tigerland' as a convenient shorthand. But it also extends to 'Region A Minus', those Tamils in regions of 'Eelam-to-be' who live under the thumb (in their view) of a Sinhala occupying army. It then expands to 'Region S', embracing all Sri Lankan Tamils and those called 'Indian Tamils' (or 'Malaiyaha Tamils') who live in 'Sinhalaland', namely, those living in areas

of Sri Lanka beyond the territorial limits of 'Eelam-to-be'. And finally, 'Region TM', the fourth part of their public, is made up of Sri Lankan Tamil migrants who live in other parts of the world. Beyond this public of their hearts, there

are also potential allies, whether Tamils in India or liberals and friends from

various nationalities, including Sinhalese, drawn into the orbit of the LTTE for

any number of reasons.

Insofar as those Tigers who compose poems, songs, prose, dramas, pictures, sculp

tures, and rites are addressing this Tamil-centric public, one must attach significance to the potential reception of their messages. As Schalk himself recognizes, albeit



Saivite Symbols, Sacrifice, and Tamil Tiger Rites | 69

in passing, cultural producers do not have total control over the reading(s) of

their work (Schalk: 2003: 398, 404). We must therefore attend to the diversity

of potential interpretations and the ramifications thereof. As such, the religious

and cultural backdrop becomes critical. It serves not only to guide those Tamils

who are attentive but also to direct the choices made by the composers in cen

tral LTTE circles, such as the poets laureate, Puthuvai Rathinathurai and Kasi

Ananthan, or those in charge of the Office of Great Heroes—an office that was

set up in 1995 (Schalk 1997b: 63).6 Framed thus, my essay will indicate that even the LTTE practices and statements are permeated by religious symbols. Further, it will contend that the idea of s'akti—namely, divine energy, essence,

power—is imbricated within the LTTE's ritual representations and practices in

ways that can engage both Saivites and Christians. In glossing over this central

notion of s'akti, Schalk perpetuates a glaring error.

In order to grasp the cultural ingredients in this work of promotion directed, on the one hand, by the Tiger leadership and, on the other hand, by those Tamils at the grass roots responding to the cues of circumstance and prompt

ing, one has to gain a reasonable grasp of 'folk Hinduism' and 'folk Catholi cism'.7 In brief, religious practices at the grass roots are a central dimension of

cultural conditioning. Such practices are rarely static or homogeneous. They

are a dynamic corpus subject to reworkings and transformations and charac

terized by diversity based on locality, caste, and class. Due to the complexity

of the material, my efforts to present a picture of folk religion that will enable

an understanding of the motivational-cum-legitimizing work of the LTTE must

necessarily be circumscribed.

The Social Composition of the LTTE

My emphasis on folk religion is pertinent because the majority of LTTE fighters have been drawn from the farmers, fishermen, and laboring poor in the Jaffna

Peninsula, northern Vanni, and the Eastern Province. In terms of the folk termi

nology common throughout Sri Lanka, one based implicitly on a stratification model of class,8 a broad overview over three decades suggests that the LTTE's

active cadre has a distinctly lower-middle-class and working-class character.

The number of upper-middle-class personnel in the ranks of those fighting within Sri Lanka seems to have been relatively small.

Tamil militancy developed from the 1970s in a number of locations: the Jaffna Peninsula, Colombo, and the cities of Western Europe. It included

strands of Marxist and socialist radicalism, espoused especially by students

and others in Europe and by those in Sri Lanka with familial and intellectual

links with the Ceylon Communist Party. These radical elements were most

pronounced in the groups known as EROS (Eelam Revolutionary Organisa tion) and EPRLF (Eelam People's Revolutionary Liberation Front). EROS had several migrant Tamils living in Europe and even a German journalist named

Birgitte Wolf among its leading members. The EPRLF had a significant number of personnel from depressed castes, radicals from middle-class families, and




even some Sinhala radicals in its cadre. It also had considerable support in the Eastern Province during the 1980s and early 1990s.

While there were diverse strands of support for Eelam, the mainspring of

revolutionary militancy during the 1970s and 1980s was the Jaffna Peninsula.

By early 1987, the LTTE had become the most powerful organization working for liberation, after wiping out the leadership of TELO and EPRLF and side

lining EROS and PLOTE (People's Liberation Organisation for Tamil Eelam) (Hellmann-Rajanayagam 1994: 138; Narayan Swamy 1994: chaps. 7 and 8; 2003: 132-138). Governed by this teleology of fait accompli, then, I focus on the LTTE, the Jaffna Peninsula, and the formative period of the 1980s in delin

eating the social composition of the Tigers on the basis of data gleaned from

secondary sources and Tamil friends.

The Jaffna Peninsula developed a solid educational infrastructure in the nine teenth century as a result of demand as well as missionary enterprise. This foun dation enabled its people to migrate to other parts of the island, Malaysia, and

elsewhere during the twentieth century as members of the liberal professions and

as functionaries of various sorts. Families from the Vellâlar caste probably domi nated these lines of mobility, though some other castes were not totally excluded.

The caste structure of the Sri Lankan Tamils is unlike that of India. The hier archical pyramid is inverted, and there is no Brahmin caste of numerical sig nificance. The highest caste traditionally has been the Vellälar, and they were estimated to be 50 percent of the total population within the Jaffna Peninsula

in the mid-twentieth century in data collected by two anthropologists. Among the rest, the Karaiyar were computed at 10 percent, the Köviyar at 7 percent,

the Pallar at 9 percent, and the Nalavar at 9 percent. Thirteen other castes are

named, but none made up over 3 percent of the population in the peninsula

(Banks 1960; Pfaffenberger 1982: 47). In this context, it is striking that the LTTE in its formative decades was

"a Karaiyar-led and dominated group" (Hellmann-Rajanayagam 1993: 274).9 There was a point at which Umä Maheswaran (Vellâlar) was raised to a lead

ership position, but the sharp personal conflict that developed between him and Prabhäkaran led to his eviction from the LTTE (Narayan Swamy 2003:

43-47, 52-55, 62-63, 71). During the mid-1980s, apart from such examples as

Ponnamma, Kerdelz, Yogi, Rahim, and possibly Shankar, there were relatively few Vellâlar in the top rungs of the LTTE.10 Prabhäkaran himself, Mahattayä, Kittu (d. 1993), Seelan (d. 1982), Victor (d. 1985), Kumarappu (d. 1987), Baby Subramanium, and Soosai are believed to be Karaiyar.11 The Karaiyar are tradi

tionally associated with fishing,12 but their own lore points to roles as warrior mercenaries and sea captains in the distant past. The Karaiyar "[consider]

themselves something special" and have a general "reputation for toughness"

(Hellmann-Rajanayagam 1993: 264, 265, 268).13 A significant segment of the LTTE leadership came from the locality of

Valvedditurai, or Velvittathurai, widely known as VVT. Located on the northern

coast and including a number of fishing villages, VVT has a substantial concentra

tion of Karaiyar. It had long been a center of smuggling operations for contraband to and from India. Its population is mostly Hindu but also includes Catholics.




Just as significant is the fact that the LTTE leadership in the 1980s was from the middle to lower levels of the middle class, with its white-collar familial

background and vernacular-grounded education and orientation, in contrast

to the Western orientation and bilingual capacities of the Vellälar Jaffna elites of previous decades.14 Prabhäkaran's father was a clerk who became a district

land officer, and could thus be classified as aspiring to the middle class. But

others, such as Mahattayä, were from the lower strata of the Karaiyar as well as

being poorer in familial background. The lower-class dimension was accentuated

by the presence of a few individuals from the depressed castes—such as Thamil Chelvan (Ampattar: typically, barbers) more recently15—in the leading rungs.

Nevertheless, the LTTE has been careful not to alienate the Vellälar. It could not have sustained its hold on the Tamil peoples over the years since 1986 with out considerable support from the Vellälar, a caste grouping that has families in all three strata, middle class, lower middle class, and working class. Further

more, "the members of the movement ... include strong groups of Christians,"

as Schalk tells us [2003: 394). The vast majority of Christians among the Sri Lankan Tamils, roughly 90 percent of the total, is Catholic, and the Karaiyar community, especially in the Mannar region, has a significant proportion of Catholics. Seelan (Charles Anthony), Victor (Marcelin Fusles), and perhaps Soosai among the early leaders were Catholic, while the Catholic and Protes tant Churches in the Tamil areas have generally espoused the Eelam cause.

Udappuwa and Folk Hinduism

It is because of this particular social composition of the LTTE that the charac ter of folk religion among the Sri Lankan Tamils is critical for my analysis. In Sri Lanka as a whole, the religious practices among the working people and the lower middle class (and even among the higher classes) involve pluralism

and mutual exchange across the divides of Saivite Hinduism, Catholicism, and Buddhism.16 However, for my purposes it is sufficient that we concen

trate on the religion of the Sri Lankan Tamil majority: Hinduism, though more

properly called Saivism.17

Apart from the writings of Pfaffenberger, McGilvray, and Schalk, we are fortunate to have a detailed study of Saivite religious practices from a Japanese anthropologist, Masakazu Tanaka, as well as the work of Bastin at the Munnes waram temple complex. This essay will draw largely on Tanaka's findings.

Tanaka lived and worked during the period 1982-1983 in a village he refers

to with the pseudonym 'Cattiyur'; however, his map makes it evident that this

is the village known as Udappuwa. Tanaka's ethnographic picture of Udappuwa

is a conventional village study based on intensive participant observation.

While interviews with "some key informants—religious specialists and village elders" were an important source, Tanaka remarks that the "only significant difference" between them and ordinary folk lay in "the degree of elaboration"

(Tanaka 1991: xv). Tanaka makes it clear that his "book is about sakti," that is,

energy, divine power, essential power (Bastin 2002: xv, 133-144; Tanaka 1991:



72 Michael Roberts

ív; Wadley: 1977).18 While observing that the religious rituals serve the political

"unction of "legitimizing the power structure of the village," his presentation s designed to bring out both the personal-existential and the cosmological dimensions of meaning for the participants (Tanaka 1991: 19).

Tanaka's detailed exposition gains in relevance tor two reasons. Firstly,

Jdappuwa was basically a Karaiyar fishing village, since 295 out of its 311

households were Karaiyar. Secondly, these people were relatively recent

migrants from southern India: their ancestors had moved initially to Mannar in

:he mid-seventeenth century and then shifted to their present location in the

?arly eighteenth century. Tanaka's descriptions confirm the degree of overlap in religious belief and practice with those of southern India.19 Indeed, it is

because of their relatively recent in-migration that these fisher folk had not

adopted Catholicism, in contrast with those of the Mannar region and the Sin

halese, Tamil, and Bharatha fishing villages in their immediate vicinity.

Udappuwa was a large village of 4,321 people in 1982-1983. It was rather

unusual in being spatially discrete due to its location on the sand isthmus

between ocean and inland lake/lagoon, though it had good road connections

with nearby villages and towns. This discreteness was underlined by the man

ner in which the villagers sustained "a strong corporate identity based on a

shared history and local residence" (Tanaka 1991: 31). One facet of this com

munitarian identity was village endogamy: few outside women had married

into the village. Another was the overwhelming centrality of fishing as a source

af livelihood. Thus, Udappuwa was "a whole universe of being to the Karaiyar"

[ibid.: 32, and information conveyed by e-mail, September 2004). At first glance, this might seem to render Udappuwa irrelevant lor our

understanding of the Tamil peoples of the north. Not so. For many decades

before 1982, some of its personnel, both men and women, had migrated annu

ally (during the monsoon season along the western coast) to the coastal areas

3f the north-east, extending from Point Pedro to Batticaloa, in order to work

as beach seine laborers, while some women also worked on the salt pans near

Elephant Pass. A few women had even married men of that coast in virilocal

arrangements.20 Because of these links, moreover, one or two beach seine own

ers from the east coast were investing resources in the major religious festivals

and the beach seine operations in Udappuwa (Tanaka 1991: 51, 76). In sum, therefore, the Karaiyar of Udappuwa had ongoing economic con

nections with the Karaiyar, Mukkuvar, and others along the north-eastern

littoral. Both on a priori grounds and Tanaka's impressions, it can be said

that they shared much in common with the Karaiyar of the north-east. But

one can go further. To anyone familiar with religious practices in South Asia, it is manifest that most of the concepts and practices pursued so vigorously

in Udappuwa would be both meaningful and evocative to any Saivite, while

a few would be comprehensible to some Catholics and Buddhists as well.

Approaching powerful deities for the alleviation of suffering, seeking darsan,

ami, varam, accaryam (blessing, grace, boon, marvels—all connected to s'akti), is a universal practice in most of South Asia (Bastin 2002; Obeyesekere 1975,

1977, 1978; Pfaffenberger 1979).




Remarkably, Udappuwa has four Hindu temples, three of which are Saivite,

besides a mosque and a church. Villagers may entreat the gods through a per sonal votive offering, known as arccanai, at any time, though the holy days of

Tuesday and Friday are generally favored (Bastin 2002: xvi; Tanaka 1991: xi,

117).21 The promises made by vow-makers on behalf of votaries (close kinsfolk)

or on their own behalf vary considerably. Quite often, an initial vow attached

to a request binds the votary to that deity for many years thereafter. "1 did not

come across any case in which a votary failed or neglected to perform a votive

rite," says Tanaka (1991: 90). The deities are feared too much for individuals to take such risks.

The vows can range irom a promise to offer gruel (ponkalJ on so many occa

sions to that of building a shrine. The more serious is the votary's affliction or concern, the more extreme the vow. Thus, the promises encompass rolling on

the ground around a specified temple, "ecstatic rituals involving self-mutila

tion," or acts of walking the fire (Tanaka 1991: 92-93). Furthermore, "[v]otive rituals are full of sacrificial symbolism. Consider a simple example. A man rolls around the temple fully stretched, holding a coconut and sprigs of margosa leaves over his head. After he has completed a round of the temple, he smashes

the coconut on a round stone in front of the temple ... The coconut is sacrificed

as a substitute for him. The coconut contains milk symbolizing [the] votary's evil aspect. When it is broken into pieces, the milk flows out and he becomes

purified" (Tanaka 1991: 93-94). This interpretation aligns with Bastin's findings (2002: 68): "[B]reaking a coconut is both a standard devotional act with strong interpretations from devotees that liken the nut to a human head, and ... a sub

limated form of self-sacrifice." I his conventional act should also be linked to the use of ash pumpkins

as surrogate vehicles of self-sacrifice in order to remove evil (bali) or seek

protection from envy. Thus, at appropriate moments, Tamil traders in many

parts of Asia cut a pumpkin, insert (bright red) vermilion paste as a sacred

symbol of blood, and smash the pumpkin on the ground in front of their shop. Besides securing protection, this rite also bids auspicious trade and is thus

seeking varam, a boon. The secular market context does not rob the act of its

'enchanted' cosmological perspective.22

Bhadrakah Festival in Udappuwa

Such existential rites of propitiation multiply when the festivals for Bhadrakali

and Draupadi—each a complex collective ritual for and by the village—are held

annually at Udappuwa. The point is that the s'akti of a deity is never static. It can wax and wane. The festival season involves an encouragement and expan sion of s'akti, thereby involving a dangerous but yet potent expression of divine

power. This power is not restricted to that of the deity to whom the festival

is explicitly addressed. All the gods that are represented in the iconography 3f the relevant temple are engaged in the ritual process. Indeed, each festival

begins with an invocation to the deity Ganesh as he is not only "a deity of the




boundaries and a gatekeeper" but also a jealous god (Tanaka 1991: 103; see also McGilvray 1998: 9).

Because of this assemblage of divine energy, then, a festival is a maximal moment

for supplicatory appeals to a deity or deities. Personal projects and collective goals are thus brought into the same path. Indeed, key functionaries at the Bhadrakäli festival—the two attendants who assisted the medium directing operations— were ordinary fishermen of devotional aptitude and/or individuals fulfilling previous familial vows that had sought cures for a kinsperson's affliction.23

The festival is organized by the origin myth of Bhadrakâli as understood

locally. Bhadrakâli is widely "considered to be Siva's consort," but the people of Udappuwa regard her as Parvati, the second daughter of Siva and Sakti

(Tanaka 1991: 102-103). As such, she is "[a form] of the overarching goddess Sakti, embodiment of the creative power of the manifest world {sakti) which is always female." Bhadrakâli is herself an encompassing form of Kâli, a figure who has many incarnations (Bastin 2002: 23, 142). Whether as Bhadrakâli or Kâli, she "has a close relationship with such fierce deities as Bhairava, Virabhadra and Mâtan." She is also a source of disease. In this characteristic,

she is the epitome of the numerous village goddesses of southern India. Invari

ably ambiguous creatures, with the ability to cause affliction as well as deliver

boon, they are regarded as beings that require appeasement and containment.24

At Udappuwa, Bhadrakäli's advent for the festival in her honor is from the outside in—that is, from sea to shore. The intermediaries, sheathed by prior rites of protection, conduct a ritual that transfers water from the sea into two

earthen pots (kumpam, or ritual pot). These pots are seen as "temporary

abodes for Bhadrakäli," receptacles where her divine energy will increase. The subsequent, highly structured ritual process, which takes place over ten

days, is designed as an act of transformation in which Bhadrakäli's "dangerous power" is "turned into protective power" (Tanaka 1991: 112, chap. 5).

A critical and climactic rite during the Bhadrakäli festival is the blood sacri fice known as velvi,25 Officiants hang a garland around the neck of a sacrificial

black goat and anoint the animal with consecrated water, waving incense over

it while the crowd shouts "arohara!" before its head is cut off. The villagers saw this moment as an offering (gift) to the goddess as a means to secure col lective protection for the village. Informed by the literature on India, Tanaka

suggests that the rite can also bear additional meanings. In his view, the goat

"is actually Bhadrakäli's devotee husband, and the sacrifice symbolizes their

marriage." At Udappuwa the garlanding of the goat and the erection of a can

opy [pantal) are also "suggestive of the marriage ceremony." Furthermore, the

word velvi has a connotation of marriage. Tanaka extends the analytical inter

pretation yet further: "This process can also be interpreted as a transformation

occurring in the goddess herself [that is, from fierce to benevolent deity]. If we

interpret the evil forces as Bhadrakali's alter ego, the blood sacrifice demon strates her conquest over her own negative aspect of epidemic fever and ani

mality. Such a transformation is the transformation or rebirth of the village as a whole, that is, from the epidemic-ridden place to a place graced with divine

protection" (Tanaka 1991: 119).




Symbolically, says Tanaka, [the festival] provides an occasion when the

village is infused with the divine power of Bhadrakäli and renewed" (1991:

128). This conclusion is in accord with Bastin's interpretation of the place of

Bhadrakäli within the patterned composition of the Munneswaram festival. The Munneswaram festival "ends on a bloody note of animal sacrifice for

the fierce goddess Bhadrakäli." At this moment, argues Bastin, "the theme of renewal is central." Critical to this transformative upheaval is the symbolic act of blood sacrifice, one conducted on the ninth day of the festival at Udappuwa and on the final day at Munneswaram. Conventionally, the sacrifice in front of the Bhadrakäli temple at Munneswaram was a gory affair: large numbers of

goats and chickens would be killed, and their heads piled up: " [T]heir carcasses

[would be] dragged out of the temple with the blood spilling into the sand, [while] in other sacrificial rites the carcasses are dragged around the temple in bloody rep lication of the timvila, the festival procession which is ... the turning of conscious ness that marks the origin and re-origin of the cosmos" (Bastin 2002: 198-199).

The latter remark is Bastin's explicit analytical extension rather than an

apinion of the participants. The interpretation is informed by Bastin's familiar

ity with the patterns within southern Indian temple myths clarified in the work 3Í Shulman and others. Along one dimension, therefore, this investigation would profit from an exploration of the rich world of Tamil Saivism in India. Shulman has revealed how even the great pan-Indian religious stories take specific form in southern India—for instance, by establishing territorial par ticularism through association with named shrines, unlike their north Indian

versions—so much so that he refers to the "Tamil belief in a rooted, localized

godhead" and "an early idea of sacrifice ... at the basis of tradition of many shrines" (Shulman 1980: 47-48, 9). Against this background, it is significant that the LTTE's hero rites are also organized in this manner, with mâvïrar from i locality being honored by personnel from that locality.26

My preliminary explorations of southern Indian Tamil culture reveal several

facets that resonate with the cultural practices of Sri Lankan Tamils. For one, in

:heir profound inter-personal exchanges, Tamils are prone to 'say it with flow ers', for flower symbols have been at the root of Tamil literary theory since the Zankam Age and are widely implanted in folk life-ways.27 Again, despite the Sanskritic reform (ägamization, as it is called by some) of Saivism in the Jaffna Peninsula begun by Navalar in the nineteenth century, fierce guardian deities îre worshipped by the mass of Sri Lankan Tamils, while cultic practices are

especially prevalent in the northern Vanni and Eastern Province.28

Besides the influence ot Cola history in encouraging the Tiger leaders to

idopt the figure of the tiger for their flag, there are other deep-rooted southern

Indian traditions that have been mined by the LTTE in order to consolidate

heir appeal. The innovative introduction of the concept mävirar,29 as well as

he burial of their dead in what are now referred to as nadukal (hero stones, ilso written as nätugal and natukal, literally meaning "planted stones"), can Dnly be understood by reference to threads of folk practice in southern India,

likewise, the "LTTE never buries its dead, it plants them" and regards the bod

es as vitai or "seeds" that will be reborn.30 Indeed, Schalk (1997a: 81) tells us




that the LTTE "stipulates that every sepulchre of a dead hero is a seal by which

the LTTE confirms its ownership of the land." To my mind, on a priori grounds it appears that these perspectives are

informed by southern Indian Saivite culture, specifically by the idea of the

temple tree as a divine seed and by the persistent conjunction of milk/seed/

blood in Tamil thinking. Thus, in some cosmogonie myths, "the creative seed is carried in a pot"—itself a symbol of a womb (Shulman 1980: 45-46, 64-65). Tamil Saivism in effect underlines a basic proposition "in Hindu thought," namely, that "life is born out of darkness; Death himself is the Creator" (ibid.: 42). A fundamental principle in this perspective is the concept of a deity born in violence, the idea of "creative destruction" and the "creative sacrifice," so that "the symbol of the new life produced from the sacrifice is the fiery seed"

(Shulman 1980: 90-91, 108; 1985: 343). Without such evocative religious traditions to draw on, the LTTE's spin

doctors in cultural production would have possessed no foundations to work

on. Without being existentially part of this world, they could not themselves believe in the webs they spin. Both the effective demagogue3' and the effective

priest are already immersed in their respective congregations. It is their belief in the ingredients of their cause that secures affective effect.

Hero Rites in Tigerland, November 2004

A brief visit (23 to 29 November) to the Jaffna Peninsula (within 'Region A

Minus') and the town of Kilinochchi in the heart of 'Region A' during Heroes' Week 2004 permits me to present a picture of the LTTE's work of self-renewal

and mobilization. Such a short ethnographic stint by a person without Tamil

speaking ability cannot, of course, supply in-depth depictions of the senti ments of the Tamil populace who participate in these activities. What I can do is to present an outsider's overview in ways that may help readers grasp the

massive effort that is invested in this commemorative endeavor by the LTTE and enable them to make a preliminary appraisal of my claims in opposition to those of Schalk.

Ever since the ceasefire and memorandum of understanding (MOU) of

early 2002, the LTTE has been able to undertake political work in govern

ment-controlled territory; thus, the honoring of their fallen during Mâvîrar Week has been pervasive throughout the Tamil-speaking areas in the north

and east. This work of commemoration is a multi-media operation, a virtual 'assault' on the senses. Using 'assault' is misleading, insofar as the activities

appear to have participatory support from all classes of the population, but

the term is useful in conveying the many dimensions of cultural activity that

take place. One's ears and eyes are constantly subject to a varied array of

messages within an overarching theme of homage to the idea of sacrifice and the mâvîrar. Music is pervasive, with loudspeakers conveying lament songs as

well as martial renderings and other popular lyrics that speak of the sacrifices of past mâvîrar.32



Saivite Symbols, Sacrifice, and Tamil Tiger Rites \ 77

At strategic spots one finds pandals, that is, temporary arches, bearing the standard LTTE symbols—such as a soldier carrying a victim of state oppres

sion, or an upturned-and-planted rifle as an epitaph. Red-and-yellow buntings and flags adorn many roadsides and are especially concentrated at crossroads.

Red-and-yellow shades also feature heavily at the tuyilam illam (resting places) where the LTTE dead are planted (see figure 1). Here let me note that red and

yellow (gold) are Hindu colors and carry a religious ambience by any reading of cultural practice.33

The Tigers support these visual and aural aids by producing CDs and vid

eos, as well as prose literature and cybernet reportage. The daily newspaper

Eelanddu allows them to reach a wide audience. An ethnographic incident

brought home to me the evocative force carried by the Tigers' tales of sacrifi

cial action by mdvïrar in the past. I was residing at a cheap guesthouse whose

two Tamil proprietors were proficient in Sinhala. At breakfast one morning, 1 conversed in Sinhala with a fellow guest, a trousered plantation Tamil from

Colombo, who was visiting Jaffna on business. In response to his inquiry, I told

him that I was interested in the mdvïrar and the rituals associated with them.

In the evening, I was reading in the lounge when he intervened with that day's

Figure 1 Tuyilam Illam or 'Resting Place' at Vadamaradchchi, 25 November 2004

Note the rods with an oil receptacle that lie beside each gravestone (or nadukal). They will

be inserted upright by 27 November to be ready for the lamp-lighting ritual at the climax of

Mâvïrar Week. The red-and-gold shades may also be temporary features in preparation for

the big day.

Photograph by Michael Roberts, late November 2004. Full-color versions of the photographs that

appear in this article are available in the online edition of this issue on the Social Analysis Web site.




Eelanädu in hand. He proceeded to translate a news item conveying stories of

suicidal acts undertaken by Tigers in order to protect comrades or secure some

military purpose.34 At one moment, he paused, held his heart dramatically, and

said that he was consumed by dhalraya (inspiration, courage). He then added that all plantation Tamils are for the Tigers, at which point one of the proprietors, who had been silently attending to our exchange, interjected "apit koti" (we too are

Tiger), meaning here that the Jaffna people are also for the Tigers.

Another aspect of Mdvïrar Week is the installation of temporary commemo

rative sheds or mdvïrar mandapam (MM) at selected spots in the major towns

and villages (see figure 2). Each MM is normally rectangular in shape and has tables covered in cloth along the three enclosed sides. These tables display

pictures of dead Tiger personnel with code names, real names, and dates of

death. Though Shankar, the Tiger whose death is the focus of the rites on 27

November, featured in many MM, the fallen chosen for each site are usually

associated with the locality and/or the institution responsible for each MM. The walls of each MM are not plain, but depict scenes of a varied sort. Together

Figure 2 Commemoration Shed in Tirunelvely

This shed, set up within the precincts of Jaffna University in Tirunelvely, depicts the fallen

from the locality together with special mdvïrar such as Shankar, who is the central focus of

this ritual. The fallen include both men and women. The shed has been placed alongside a

statue honoring Sir Ponnambalam Ramanathan, who fought for constitutional rights for the

Ceylonese in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, but became increasingly con

servative and anxious about the future of the Sri Lankan Tamils during the 1920s. Because

of his forewarnings at the time, he is now regarded as a Tamil hero of the past, though the

Jaffna Youth League of the late 1920s saw him as a crusty reactionary.

Photograph by Michael Roberts, late November 2004




Figure 3 Photographs of Mavirar

These photographs are displayed along the walls of the commemoration shed set up within

the precincts of Jaffna University in Tirunelvely.


with the color schemes of the upper walls and ceiling, the overall aesthetic

effect is garish (see figure 3), but this reading on my part is surely a foreign, elitist viewpoint at odds with the preferences of the mass of Tamil people.

The background scenes within the MM at VVT included a depiction of a

grove where, as I initially read it, an ascetic's nadukal formed the centerpiece, with a kneeling lad washing the feet of a sage (figure 4), and another scene of a smiling young woman cradling a pot, who looks down benignly upon the mâvïrar heroines below her (figure 5). The background tableaux often included

two birds, more often than not a pair of peacocks (figure 4). Palatial buildings

in Western architectural form (e.g., figure 3) also seemed to be common, out

numbering the occasional pastoral scene in which the houses could be deemed

simple and indigenous. One background painting was immediately interpreted by a Tamil family in Adelaide as a scene from the Rämäyana, wherein Rämä

and Lakshmana receive an offering from the aged ascetic lady, Shabari. Yet another was read as Rävana (Sri Lanka) dismembering the vulture king/eagle, Jatäyu, who sought to protect Sita.35

In sum, one found an eclectic mix of settings framing the heroes and hero

ines. To Hindus, the peacock is a sacred, regal animal since it is the vehicle of Murugan, the warrior king/deity.36 To me, the young woman with a pot

suggests auspicious fertility, a form of s'akti, but this view was dismissed by




a couple of Tamil ladies in Adelaide when they were shown the photograph. The unusual appearance of Western buildings that seem to resemble Euro

pean palaces or chateaux (as in figure 3) and Swiss mountain chalets may represent signs of monumental achievement. They could also be interpreted

as a form of Valhalla, where the brave dead are rewarded with fabulous bour

geois comfort.

Clearly, the iconography of pandals, billboards, cenotaphs, and MM taken as a totality requires careful analysis by researchers with adequate expertise.

Any such study must embrace both artist-producers and the attentive public. Significantly, the iconography in praise of the LTTE is created by workaday spe cialists who also produce temple imagery. A Tamil art historian observed that

the composition of such works replicates the form associated with religious art

(interview with Shanaathanan, 23 November 2004).

Likewise, the flagpoles installed at virtually every LTTE office in the admin istrative center of Kilinochchi were set in a pedestal with white jasmine flow ers surrounding the base. In Tamil culture, dating from the Cankam period,

Figure 4 Ekalavya Story Depicted at Valvedditurai

This is the first scenic backdrop on the left as one enters the commemoration shed at Vele

vidditurai, Prabhäkaran's familial village. The Ekalavya tale is part of the Mahabhäratha

and refers to a tribal lad and his relationship with an ascetic guru, Drona. This scene reveals

Drona's shock at coming face to face with his own tombstone. I am indebted to Rajesh

Venugopal of Oxford for this clarification. Venugopal added this note: "The story has a

strong association of caste injustice and is used widely in lower-caste and dalit [untouch

able] political mobilisation in India."





Figure 5 Female Mavirar at Valvedditurai

As I interpreted it initially, this backdrop of a female holding a pot seemed to symbolize

fertility and auspiciousness, for that is what a pot represents in Tamil culture. It seemed to

signal the principle of sakti, or divine energy and potency—cast here as a benign encourage ment for the endeavors of young Tiger fighters. However, some Tamil ladies from a profes sional background poured scorn on this reading. I leave it to specialists to decipher the

implications attached to such a scene within Tamil popular culture.


the jasmine flower (mullai, malikai, nitya kalyäni) stands for the stoic for titude of a female lover waiting for her warrior hero,37 while being widely

favored by the populace for temple worship {puja) because of its fragrance

and its color white.

The principal focus during Heroes' Week, however, is directed toward the 21

tuyilam illam, or resting places, where LTTE personnel are 'planted'. These cem eteries are kept in immaculate order in aesthetically landscaped arrangements.

Those at Vadamaradchchi and Kopay were bustling with preparatory activity when I visited them prior to the big day. The climax of Mdvïrar Week is at 6:05 PM on 27 November, the moment when Shankar (Selvasintiran Sathiyanäthan)

died of his wounds in 1982. At this moment, the central flame of sacrifice at

each site is lit by a designated LTTE leader, to be immediately followed by the

lighting of oil lamps on stands in front of each nadukal by the kinsfolk of each dead fighter. Since there were 17,780 mdvïrar in 2004, this means that roughly

19,000 lamps were lit at the same moment.38

In this orchestrated moment of unity, a vast body of Tamil people act col

lectively and in similar fashion to honor and mourn their mdvlrar. This is




akin to the "homogeneous time" that Anderson [1983: 30) highlights when he

analyzes the work of print technology in its mass-newspaper form.39 But this

is not empty time; rather, it is profoundly meaningful for a majority of partici pants. A community of suffering is engendered and reiterated in and through profound depths of emotional outpouring and the annual repetition of this existential experience. The mâvïrar homage of 27 November is not just another formal rite. The relatives of each of the fallen express their feelings in forms of unrestrained emotion, through rivers of tears, wailing, rolling on the ground,

and bodily collapse.40

The widespread significance of this unifying moment of collective suffering gathers weight from the efficiency of the LTTE in ensuring that everything is in immaculate place and that kinsfolk are transported to wherever their fallen are

commemorated in stone. In effect, this means that many Tamil people crisscross their territory during 26 and 27 November in order to reach the place where their warrior relatives lie. The significance is underlined by the massive popular participation in the act. At the resting place at Pudukudiruppu near Kilinochchi, the assembled mass of people was perhaps 150,000; at Kopay, it was around 50,000. Consultations with Joe Ariyaratnam permit me to speculate that perhaps half the

Tamil population of the northern reaches attended the rites at various sites on 27

November 2004. This participation is without coercion. Although it is difficult to measure the influence of suasion from popular expectation, I accept the observations of grass-roots journalists, such as Ariyaratnam, who find the people's involve ment to be substantially voluntary and strongly committed. In my view, the

mdmrar rite of 27 November is both heartfelt and massively widespread.

Transcending Grief: From Suffering to Joy and Achievement

Grief and suffering are not the only motifs that run through these ceremonies

and their contexts. The explicit aim of the LTTE is to commemorate and honor

their fallen through homage,41 marking the achievements of these personnel

(and thus of the LTTE). There also is a celebratory dimension to the remember

ing that one can interpret as a form of transcendence.42

This is not purely a manufactured artifact of LTTE work, though years of

Tiger mävlrar propaganda may well be a causal influence in the outcomes that

my ethnography documents. The celebratory facet of mâvïrar homage dawned on me slowly. The initial inspiration on 25 November arose from three idiosyn cratic images of the mâvïrar placed on their own on a bench at the center of the

commemoration shed in VVT, where all the other pictures were arrayed along the walls. These three pictures differed from those placed around the walls

because they were three-dimensional, that is, each rectangular frame also had a

depth of about one or two inches. One of them even had electrical wiring inside the rims. I took these three to be special family 'altars' that had been temporar

ily loaned to the LTTE for display. In this sense, they may be atypical. Picture A showed a young girl seated on a chair against a bright pink back

ground that also had white and red flowers threading the arena. It was a happy



Samte Symbols, Sacrifice, and Tamil Tiger Rites \ 83

scene. Picture B had a smiling young man (presumably a Sea Tiger mdvirar)

cradling a heavy machine gun, a photo imposed upon a scenic picture of bright blue sky and sea, with the sea being traversed by a large passenger ship.43 It

was a sunny scene: very, very sunny. Picture C depicted a solemn man located

within a gilded arch that one could associate with a marriage ceremony. Pic tures A and B were those that set me thinking.44 A day later, on 26 November,

now at Kilinochchi, I presented my reflections to an ex-Tiger fighter, RSM, with whom I had traveled to the town and whose English was impeccable since he had lived in the West for a while. This intelligent man observed that as a

teenager he had attended several funerary ceremonies for kinsfolk, weeklong affairs that left him totally drained. This remark was a preamble to his pensive agreement with the thrust of my suggestion, namely, that the LTTE way of

treating its dead transformed sadness into something more positive, a sort of celebration. Two days down the track, on 28 November, I used a quiet moment

to ask RSM if he had cried when attending the mdvirar rite at Mullaitivu.45 He

said that he had, but his quiet smile suggested that it was also a proud moment

in recognition of heroic sacrifice by so many. In this manner, the homage to the dead on 27 November every year since

1989 is a gathering of strength and an act of renewal. It mobilizes, remembers, respects, legitimizes, transcends, and inspires.

Loncluding Remarks

the strengthening of hearts and minds, in my analysis, is secured in part by many a Tamil person's belief in sakti and its associated extensions. Homage to the mävlrar in specific ways that parallel the manner in which they approach the deities enables those Tamils who are so inclined to appeal to the divine forces and convince themselves that their actions, and those of the LTTE, are in harmony with the cosmological arrangements.

The empirical material derived Irom the research conducted by Tanaka and

Bastin is significant because it displays the cosmos that surrounds and nour

shes many a Saivite Tamil from their early years. Sacrificial symbolism is part their everyday world. Tanaka's work, moreover, was among fisher folk. Con

Tonting the dangers of the sea and dependent on its capricious bounty, fisher blk are particularly attentive to the forces of nature: wind, current, wave,

hunder, and rain. Risk is an inherent part of their life. In places such as VVT, he element of risk is accentuated among those who work at the border of state

aws by smuggling goods. In southern Asia, people in high-risk occupations, such as smugglers, crimi

nals, businessmen, and politicians, are among those who frequently propitiate ieities and invest in expensive protective rites, as well as helping to subsidize he building of temples, churches, and shrines. In recent years, cricketers have oined the queues of devotees seeking boons and protection through votive

ites at religious shrines that possess s'akti. Sirimavo Bandaranaike, the former nrime minister of Sri Lanka, is known to have visited the Munneswaram temples




for protective rites, though rarely in the public eye. Former President Premadasa

was more open in his visitations to sites vested with religious power. In such a

context, one would expect that some individuals among the militant groups that

emerged during the 1970s and 1980s in the Jaffna Peninsula—and the WT local

ity in particular—would have approached the deities for protection.

Fragmentary data on Prabhâkaran's career indicates that he himself 'spread

his risks' by approaching appropriate deities now and then, in addition to rely ing on technological rationality to guide his actions. When the first international

shipment of arms purchased by the LTTE from abroad reached a safe haven

within their networks in India, it appears that the Tiger leader "tonsured his head as a mark of thanksgiving to the Hindu gods fand] quietly traveled to [the] pilgrim town of Palani to pray at the hill temple of Murugan, his favorite deity" (Narayan Swamy 2003: 110). Prabhäkaran is also said to be wary of the numeral 26 in his proceedings, carefully avoiding important decisions on such days of the month.46 Likewise, on 26 November 2004, the temple priests at VVT used

loudspeakers to request people to offer püjä (worship, offerings) for their talaivar (leader) on his birthday.47 While the latter request was not an official

action, it was not considered incongruous, nor was it disallowed by the LTTE.

Indeed, it was inserted within the thematic presentation of music in homage

to the mâvïrar.

Such indirect detail from outside the formal fold of the LTTE can be supple mented by particulars from LTTE practices to illustrate their attentiveness to enchanted symbols and divine forces. Schalk himself states: "[T]he dead body of a fighter undergoes a special ritual aimed at the transformation of his [and her] existence" (2003: 396).48 Further evidence displays the religious threads within LTTE activity. In the poetry produced by sympathizers and relayed in LTTE pro paganda, the term velvi, used in the sense of donation and self-sacrifice, is not

infrequent, while a Catholic priest and Saivite priest light an oil lamp together at some mâvïrar rituals (Hellmann-Rajanayagam 2005). During Mâvïrar Week,

every LTTE office along the main road at Kilinochchi had a flag set within a ped estal. Jasmine flowers encircled each flagpole. This was not happenstance. It was a routine choice that is significant because so mundane. That which is taken for

granted, as any anthropologist will tell you, can be insidiously powerful. The evidence of such traditional practices can be set beside innovative

practice. In the rich iconography adorning Kilinochchi town during Mdvïrar

time, one of the images featured in the LTTE's billboards and pandals was that of a gravestone-with-clenched-fist-emerging-from-within (see figure 6).49

The clenched fist was rendered internationally famous during the 1960s by the

Black Power movement in the US. Since then, it has been popularized by sports

stars celebrating a milestone in performance by punching the air in triumph. By inserting this symbol into their standard epitaph of a tombstone, what, then, are the Tiger media personnel conveying?

Innovative iconic symbols, of course, are open to diverse interpretations. It

is tempting to suggest that this symbol conveys the idea of resurrection, but I

bracket this idea only as a possibility. 1 prefer to stress the inter-related ideas of defiance and of emp>. . ¡cut through sacrificial death as tlr 'hvious



Figure 6 Bodies That Fight On

iiít «ai m nuat or tmmu m»«

Photograph courtesy of Vaitheespara Ravindiran, late November 2004




messages conveyed to Tamils (and the world) by this image. "My death," says each mävirar, "has not been in vain: the struggle continues and transcends my

demise."50 This vitality and refiguration in death is in harmony with the Tiger concept of bodies as seeds {vital, vittutal) and with their practice of donating coconut seedlings to all kinsfolk of mdvïrar on 27 November.51 Though Schalk

dismisses the concept of vitai as "just a metaphor" (2003: 395), he had previ

ously dwelt on the inspirational power of the "image of the dead hero as a flame

[and] a light," a symbol that is "remembered in history" (Schalk 1997a: 79). I go further. Icons can be polysémie in their content and meaning. I contend

that the gravestone-with-clenched-fist-emerging-from-within is a new configu ration of the nadukal of yesteryear. It is another deified hero stone, imbued with s'akti in the same manner as the hero stones that remain planted in the

southern Indian countryside (Krishna Sastri 1974: 223, 230-234; Rajan 2000; Whitehead [1921] 1983: 35, 103). This material embodiment of body-as-seed (vittutal) not only provides the LTTE with a claim to space but also anoints the

soil [man]. The "laying of bodies ... and the building of tombstones," contends

Sangarasivam, "inscribe the presence of the honored dead into the land [and] their physical substance coalesces with the soil of the land to create a culturally

circumscribed sacred space" (2000: 300).52 To gloss over the concept of sakti—and such associated phenomena as arm,

darsan, accaryam, and varam—in reading the hero rituals of the LTTE is to denude them of their vitality. This dimension of their 'work' does not dimin ish the significance of the organizational and technological rationality that is a

powerful aspect of the LTTE regime. Such enchanted practice works alongside,

and within, rational action. In delineating this dimension of the LTTE life-world, I do so from outside

their fold, in contrast to Schalk. However, it is not difficult to find evidence in the work of those sympathetic to the LTTE cause—for instance, in that of

Hellmann-Rajanayagam and Sangarasivam—that supports my thesis.53 Conclu sive support comes from an article by a Catholic priest named Chandrakanthan that eulogizes the LTTE. Chandrakanthan affirms that Saivism informs the rites

adopted by the LTTE and its supporters: "Prabhâkaran ... requests the people

to venerate those who died in the battle for Eelam as sannyasis (ascetics) who

renounced their personal desires and transcended egoistic existence for a com

mon cause of higher virtue. I have seen hundreds of shrines erected in Jaffna

by the friends and relatives of those LTTE cadres who have died in various actions; and the rituals performed with offering of flowers and lighting of oil

lamps are those normally reserved to Saivite deities and saints" (Chandrakan

than 2000: 164-265; emphasis added). He states that people bedeck these

"shrines of Martyrs" with offerings of flowers and oil that they normally proffer

in their temples or holy shrines. Chandrakanthan's experience encompasses practices in the Jaffna Peninsula

from the late 1980s to 1995 and subsequently among migrant Tamils in Canada.

His reading of LTTE rites should be set alongside the conventional forms of Saivite worship that I have described previously. Chandrakanthan's interpreta tion also gains support from Schalk's detailed account of the soteriology of Sri




Lankan Tamil refugees in Stockholm who appeal to the god Ganesh, identified

by his appellative, vinäyakar or "remover of obstacles"—a god who is one of

the most popular gods in Jaffna District, if one is guided by the number of

temples (157 out of 466, or 33.7 percent) dedicated to him in the 'homeland'

(Schalk 2004: 24). Framed thus, my essay can be treated as an elaboration of facets of LTTE

iconography that adds specifics to Chandrakanthan's broad statement. Together,

both interpretations call into question the efforts to depict the LTTE as a totally

secular movement. That a secular face is imposed on the LTTE seems to point to

the cultural sway of Enlightenment philosophy and Cartesian rationality in the Western world that Schalk is addressing. In such a context, 'mystical interven tions' and appeals to 'divine power' are usually regarded as embarrassing.54

Sri Lankan Tamils who reveal commitment to the LTTE cause do not have

to be thinking of future, otherworldly benefits or deriving their inspiration

explicitly from some textual reference for their actions to be religious in some

degree of mixture with non-religious concerns. Where they pay homage or püjd to deities in order to reap benefits or assuage anxieties in their contemporary life, their 'practical dispositions' involve cosmological forces and the energizing force of s'akti. Such dispositions cannot but be 'religion' informed by strains of

Saivism. Arguably, this statement could even be extended to Catholics among

the Tamil Tigers. Sakti can be energy attributed to the Holy Spirit, Virgin Mary, Jesus, and the iconic Cross. Or s'akti can even be immanent—in the sense of

arul—within a mdvïrar's tombstone (nadukal) or can emanate from a picture

of a mdvïrar embodying the ideals of the movement for TamilTlam.55

Michael Roberts is Adjunct Associate Professor, Department of Anthropology, Uni

versity of Adelaide. His special interests are in cultural anthropology and historical

sociology, and his research work tends to straddle the field of politics, history, and

culture. He has published a host of articles and a number of books on Sri Lanka.

His expertise encompasses social mobility and social history, agrarian and tenurial

issues, peasant protest, popular culture, urban history, caste in South Asia, prac

tices of cultural domination, and issues in ethnicity and nationalism.

Notes

1. Peter Coleman summarizing Christoph Reuter's book My Life Is a Weapon: A Modem

History of Suicide Bombing, Weekend Australian, 3-4 July 2004, 10; and Riaz Hassan in

ISM Newsletter, 14 June 2004, 8.

2. Schalk's article is bedeviled by contradictions. While a few of these will emerge in the course of my analysis, a detailed clarification is beyond the scope of this article.

3. Riaz Hassan is a friend and a professor of sociology attached to Flinders University. We were discussing the LTTE in the context of his ongoing survey of 'suicide terrorism'.

4. This article builds on the speculative thesis in Roberts (forthcoming). Since the

initial draft, I have gained access to the unpublished works of Sangarasivam (2000)




and Hellmann-Rajanayagam (2005), both of which bolster the line of argument that I am

building. Their material is rich, and it has not been possible for me to incorporate the

details here in the fullest way. 5. Following Schalk, the term vitutalai is an element in the lexicon of the Dravidian move

ment, whereas cutantiram comes from Sanskrit. The LTTE uses both terms to denote

"liberation" (Schalk 1997a; 2003: 403). 6. Regarding Rathinathurai and Ananthan, see Schalk (1997c), Sangarasivam (2000: 318

325), UTHR (1994: chap. 6), and Hellmann-Rajanayagam (2005). 7. Roughly 11 to 12 percent of the Sri Lankan Tamils in Jaffna District in the mid-twentieth

century were Christian, while 43 to 47 percent in Mannar District were Christian. The

vast majority of Christians are Catholics, and the Catholic Church has generally sup

ported the Tamil liberation struggle. 8. There are three tiers in this folk model: middle class, lower middle class, and working

class. Occasionally, there are references to an upper class in ways that suggest that the

middle class has an elite layer, the crème de la crème.

9. On Karaiyar domination and the reservations of Vellälar conservatives in the Jaffna Pen

insula, see Hellmann-Rajanayagam (1994: 138-142). 10. Shankar (27 November 1982) is depicted as a "non-Vellälar who became Vellälar" (inter

view with K. Sivathamby, November 2004). Karuna and Karikalan from the Eastern Prov

ince, who emerged as senior commanders in the 1990s, are also Vellälar (interview with

Sivaram, 26 October 2004). There is uncertainty and contradictory information regarding Pottu Amman's caste.

11. When they met several times in London, significantly, Kittu managed to convince Dag mar Hellmann-Rajanayagam that he was Vellälar in background (1994: 38; e-mail note

2004), but I take K. Sivathamby's identification to be conclusive. Note, however, that the

Indian journalist, Balachandran, described Kittu as a "Karaiyar become Vellälar." Mahat

tayä was virtual second in command till he was imprisoned and then executed by the

LTTE, allegedly because he had drawn close to the Indian spy agency, RAW (Research and Analysis Wing).

12. This does not mean that even the majority of Karaiyar in the twentieth century relied

on this occupation, although it is probable that the Karaiyar constitute the biggest single

group among fishermen.

13. Hellmann-Rajanayagam also notes that the Karaiyar networks within the LTTE have used

this background to present the LTTE as Kshätriya warriors and protectors of the Tamil

people, and that the Tigers attempted to "appropriate the symbols of 'Tamilness' ... and

extend them horizontally and vertically" (1993: 278, 251). Earlier, 1 conjectured that the

Mukkuvar of the Eastern Province and the Karaiyar have stronger roots in the popular cults of southern India than the Vellälar (Roberts 1996: 265).

14. This summary is largely based on conversations with Sivathamby and Vaitheespara Ravindiran but is also informed by a number of written works.

15. Thamil Chelvan was one of Prabhäkaran's trusted bodyguards before rising to senior levels.

16. See Roberts (forthcoming) for a summary based on Stirrat (1992), Obeyesekere (1975,

1977, 1978), Bastin (2002), and Pfaffenberger (1979). 17. This label derives from Bastin (2002) but is also supported by Schalk, who provides the

correct transliteration, 'Caivism', with, of course, appropriate diacritics. (Here, I prefer to

use the non-accented form in current usage. ) My conversations with K. Sivathamby (in

Colombo, November 2004) consolidated my impression that Saivism among the Tamils

is quite distinctive and merits the label 'Tamil Saivism' in order to differentiate the phe nomenon from Saivism and Hinduism in India-writ-large.

18. Thus, "shakti is neither moral power nor physical power, but both" and "Hindu deities

are power-filled," that is, shakti-sanpaiui. There is also a goddess Shakti and in this

sense shakti implies "the female energy of the universe ... [S\hakti does not mean just female power ... but power in general" (Wadley 1977: 138, 139).

19. See Krishna Sastri (1974), Shulman (1980), and Whitehead ([1921] 1983).




20. See the map in Tanaka (1991: 22). This has been supplemented by additional informa

tion from Tanaka via e-mail.

21. I have followed Bastin's transliteration rather than Tanaka's (aruccanai), being informed

here by Schalk (2004: 188) but restricted by my computer ware.

22. Information from personal knowledge and Bastin (16 January 2005). As Bastin says else

where in his description of the Navarätri Festival at Munneswaram, the offering/smash

ing of an ash pumpkin is a "surrogate for human sacrifice" (2002: 139-140). 23. The medium was from the Pantäram caste and was thus a religious specialist. The atten

dant (cQrapali) from 1975 to 1981 was a man fulfilling his elder sister's vow, which was

considered to have cured him. His son took up the function of cürapuli in 1982. In 1983, 'death pollution' ruled the family out, so the role was fulfilled by the devotees referred to

above. Note that the roles of medium and cürapuli are as exacting as they are exhausting (Tanaka 1991: 104).

24. See Shulman (1980: 350-351), Whitehead ([1921] 1983: 112-117, 166-167, and passim), Krishna Sastri (1974: 223), and Tanaka (1991: 112).

25. I have followed Hellmann-Rajanayagam in the transliteration, correcting Tanaka. Using an etymological dictionary and in conversation with K. Sivathamby, let me stress that

velvi has multiple meanings: spiritual discipline, the site of a rite, service or worship, and thus a desire or offering in search of a goal. Sivathamby added that it is related to

the mythological image of kalavelvi, in which the pey (evil spirits) dance on the battle

ground and make gruel iponkal) from the gore of the fallen (personal communication, November 2004).

26. For instance, see the Black Tiger Day commemoration in Sampur in Muttur East of Tïin

comalee District on 5 July 2003 (www.TamilNet.com). 27. The comment about literary theory is an opinion presented by Ulrike Niklas (personal

communication, 21 October 2004). Thaninayagam provides perhaps the best exposition. At one point, he says that "different flowers ... signified different strategic movements"

(1966: 34). The myth of origin of the Tirupati shrine in southern India is clearly linked to

the jasmine and the symbolism of red blood and white (Shulman 1980: 107). Note that

Cankam poetry emerged from oral traditions and that strands from the erudite works

returned to these roots (conversation with K. Sivathamby, November 2004). Shulman

stresses that village cults seem to preserve features known from the oldest layer of Tamil

civilization (1980: 5, 8, 11). 28. This information was obtained from several Tamil informants, including S. Visahan of

the Tamil Information Center in London (November 2004), who lived in the Vanni for a

while and whose mother visited a shrine associated with the Nacchiyar cult. 29. While there is a feminine form for mävlrar in Tamil, the LTTE usage is effectively unisex

and embraces their female fallen. Prior to the 1980s, the term tiyaki was used in Tamil

as a gloss for the concept of 'martyr', but mâvïrar is more widely deployed nowadays as a rough approximation, though tiyaki is also used, especially for those who fasted to

death as a protest action. For further clarification, see Schalk (2003: 397-399) and Hell

mann-Rajanayagam (2005). For hero stones in India, see Settar and Sontheimer (1982) and Rajan (2000). Note that cremation was the favored rite of passage for the dead in

the Jaffna Peninsula and Colombo from the nineteenth century onwards, but burial was

widely prevalent elsewhere among the Tamils.

30. Quotation from an LTTE leader in Schalk (1997a: 66, 79) and www.TamilNet.com, 6 July 1999. One of the headstones described by Hellmann-Rajanayagam (2005) has an epitaph that reads: "Hush! "Iïead softly. Here have been put to rest the Heroes' Bodies as Seed."

In southern India it is conventionally understood that the spirits of the dead enter the

hero stones (Rajan 2000: 8ff., 43-44, 61 ff.). 31. See Kapferer (1988: 82-84) for an elaboration of this argument vis-à-vis politicians. 32. I played snatches from three cassettes during my interview (December 2004) with M. Pon

nambalam (a Left-leaning Tamil poet). One entitled "Gravestone Songs" was deemed an

innovative version of lament songs. The second was prophetic and stirring, albeit syncretic.




The background music, said Ponnambalam, was by Kannan, who has been resourceful in

creating new styles despite access to meager resources. The third was cheerful and harked

back to the Cola and Cankam periods in its word content. For useful analyses of LTTE

poems and poetry, see Sangarasivam (2000) and Hellmann-Rajanayagam (2005). 33. In my very first conversation with Sambandan, the Indian correspondent in Sri Lanka for

the Hindu newspaper, he indicated that the LTTE's political assemblies are permeated

by the religious colors of red and yellow (gold). Shown a picture in my possession of a

Pongu Thamil pageant, Arthur Saniotis, who has studied in Delhi, immediately defined

the scene as one permeated by Hindu colors.

34. This news item is entitled "At the Beginning of the Armed Struggle [ayuda porakkam] the Tigers Used Cyanide" (Eelanädu, 23 November 2004).

35. These opinions were conveyed by Family R, including Mrs. SR (professionally qualified) and her mother (also with professional skills) from Jaffna, who was visiting Adelaide, as

well as SR's nine-year-old daughter, Vaishnavi. It was the young girl who identified the

ascetic lady by name and produced an illustrated cartoon story of Valmiki's Rämäyana

(English version) to vividly demonstrate this particular scene. See also "The Story of

Shabari" in Mysticism of the Rämäyana, by Swami Jyotirmayananda, 184-185, in which

it is said that Shabari attained enlightenment after her act of beneficence.

36. Personal communication from Bastin (16 January 2005). Mrs. SR also linked peacocks to

"Lord Murugan." 37. Hart ([1975] 1999: 164-165, 187) also notes that jasmine symbolizes the heat of desire

and the smell of love-making because it is associated with the expectant heroine waiting at dusk for her hero-chief to return from war. Elsewhere, Thaninayagam (1966: 33) also

refers to its evocation of pathos when a poet addresses the jasmine in his elegy at the

death of a chief. Collectively, these tropes emphasize the degree to which the jasmine is

associated with critical conjunctures or passages. It appears to be the liminal flower par excellence in Tamil culture, in Victor Turner's sense of the liminal.

38. The precise number is taken from www.TamilNet.com, accessed 24 November 2004. If auxil

iary LTTE personnel are also included in the lamp lighting rites, and we add the LTTE offices

and camps where lamps were in place, the number would even be over 20,000. Note

Sangarasivam's emphasis on fire as the symbol of auspiciousness in Hindu culture (2000: 317). 39. Borrowing from Walter Benjamin, Anderson refers to the idea of "homogeneous, empty

time," in which "simultaneity is ... transverse, cross-time, marked ... by temporal coin

cidence, and measured by clock and calendar" (1983: 30). 40. Graphic images of kinswomen lamenting at gravestones during 'everyday' visits can be

found in Hellmann-Rajanayagam (2005). 41. This point was stressed by Sivaram, editor of TamilNet, in conversation (26 October

2004). Also see Schalk (1997a: 79). 42. In speaking of MävTrar Week as a moment of "edification" and "rising," Schalk makes a

rather similar point (2003: 404). My argument does not exclude other dimensions in the

implications attached to mâvïrar commemoration, for instance, Schalk's emphasis on the

wrathful vengeance encouraged by the reflections inspired on these occasions (ibid.). 43. I would conjecture that the picture was from the Bosphorous Straits, because of the

verdant green land to one side.

44. Due to equipment malfunction, I was not able to take photographs of these two mcMrar. 45. RSM should not, I stress, be confused with Vaitheespara Ravindiran, the historian.

Though we all stayed at the same resthouse at Kilinochchi, on the evening of 27 Novem

ber, RSM went to the ritual at Visvamadu near Mullaitivu (near the LTTE headquarters) with Tiger mates, Ravindiran went to Mankulam with a friend, while I was driven to the

assembly at Kilinochchi in the van we had hired for our entire trip. 46. See Pratap (2001: 87). Note that the tsunami hit the coastal areas of the north and east

(and elsewhere) with devastating impact on 26 December 2004. Since then, the LTTE

have nominated 26 January as a day of mourning for tsunami victims (www.TamilNet. com, accessed 23 January 2005).




47. I was visiting VVT on 25 November with a research assistant in order to gain some sense

of place and to see the shrines in that area when these announcements were made.

48. Schalk fails to provide us with critical details. An LTTE film showed young girls waving

margosa leaves over the dead bodies of fallen Tigers after the Pooneryn battle (informa tion from a trusted friend in the West, December 2004). Margosa is deemed a cooling substance and is widely used in religious rituals as well as in curing practices.

49. I am indebted to Vaitheespara Ravindiran for bringing this to my attention. He read it

as an evocation of resurrection, an interpretation that aligns with that of Sangarasivam when she speaks of "new bodies" rising from the memorial stones (2000: 302). Also see

the variation of this theme in the cybernet picture that Hellmann-Rajanayagam (2005)

deploys on the first page of her essay. 50. These analytical extensions are partly inspired by a dialogue with Rohan Bastin on this

issue (personal communication, 16 January 2005). 51. On 27 November 2004, the roads of Kilinochchi featured all sorts of individuals on

bicycles, tractors, and other vehicles bearing these coconut seedlings homewards in

every direction. With this brilliant idea, remembrance and transcendence are thereby made both productive and vigorous.

52. On vittutal, also see Hellmann-Rajanayagam (2005). 53. See Hellmann-Rajanayagam (2005) and Sangarasivam (2000: chaps. 6, 7, 8). See proviso

in note 4 above.

54. Where one presents such imagery to a Tamil informant or friend (referred to as X) in the

migrant world of the West and taps his or her readings, an investigator has to take note

of a methodological problem: Would X respond truthfully to one's inquiry about whether

the pot in picture Y is a representation of s'akti or a surrogate for a god? Or whether a

lotus-shaped billboard showing Annai Püpati in red associates her with Durga and/or Käli? A few would, I speculate, deny such linkages. Others would say they do not know.

But how many of the latter would be feigning ignorance? While I cannot, of course, answer that question, my contention is that most Sri Lankan Tamils facing a Western

ized academic would seek to avoid entanglement in such issues. They are only too

aware of the inferior place accorded to 'magic' and 'mystical interventions' in the West, for those are the disparaging labels attached to the phenomena that Saivite devotees

regard as 'cosmic forces' and 'divine power'. In certain contemporary contexts, it would

be deemed demeaning to openly display attachment to such ideas as ami, accaryam, darsan, varam, and s'akti.

55. Clearly, this is a probabilistic argument with all of the caveats attached to generaliza tions. Since literal readings seem to occur nowadays, let me stress that the emphasis is

on the 'can be' in my argument. For my contention to be deemed valid, there does not

have to be an 'is' for every Tamil in every instance.

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Documents

Tamil Tiger Sacrifical Rites