Masquerade

double agent

Based of off Anil's Ghost by Michael Ondaatje.

❤️ ❤️ 

Double Agent

War is war, no matter which angle you look at it from.

And to be trusted by even one side of the war is a big thing. To be trusted by both sides is an even bigger thing. Big yet dangerous.

The girl was once the thread between Palipana and the forest. Once upon a time, nature had called out to the epigraphist – and her.

After his death, nature fell flat. The leaves began browning, and even Palipana's beloved inscriptions became covered with a layer of sand.

The girl did not see any point in staying in the forest anymore. For the first time in her life, she disobeyed Palipana.

***

Two more Tamil's found dead today. The skin around their hands pierced with a dozen nails.

Lakma could not bear to look further.

The Tamil tribe from Gampola brought the dead in the early morning, having found the truck drivers on the road, their hands nailed to the tarmac. It was a risky manoeuvre for them to begin with, because not only were the narrow roads slippery with the recent rainfall, but their trucks were filled with batteries. 10 tonnes of batteries. And here in Sri Lanka, where even the dead did not escape judgment, where walls could carry hours of conversation, nothing was private.

And yet, Lakma knew deep down that the Tamil's would retaliate.

"Who are you?" Someone shoved her from the side, the force causing her entire body to sway before it rightened.

"She's deaf. Last week – bombing in Jaffna. Let her be." Curious gazes met her from every direction.

People revealed so much when they thought others weren't listening.

The two bodies were sent to another room. Cast aside. The families of the dead men, who lived in the neighbouring town were notified of the deaths. There were fewer tears than she thought there would be – in this grief-stricken war, people got used to death; accepted it. But it didn't get any easier.

The tribe leaders led the party to a round table. People sat down. Lakma was allowed to stay, given she was deaf, but the other servants were sent to another house to do their chores.

She stood in the corner of the room waiting, listening.

"Listen, how did they know that the trucks contained the stolen batteries?"

"That is what we need to find out. Those batteries were mainly collected from the road searches that took place. They were our only source to make the bombs."

"We can still make the bombs can't we?"

"With what though?"

"Nails, old pieces of metal or wood. Something that can pack a punch. Send the message we need."

"Why would we still need to do that after they took the batteries? And if we were to make the bomb, say, then where would we fire it? There's no place to do so without drawing suspicion."

"Look, there's no place safe anymore. I say we make the bomb and launch it someplace populated anyways."

"If we do that, we will 100% worsen the situation. And remember, they have the upper hand on us. They have our batteries."

"What I think we should do is make the bomb regardless, and instead of launching it somewhere, we can strap it to someone. Give them specific instructions about when and where to detonate it. Make the statement we need to and then wait for the retaliation. We will have more materials to make more bombs after that."

"There's one problem though: who would be willing to give up their life like that?"

The minister stared straight at Lakma; his black eyes gleaming. "She doesn't know what she's getting herself into. She's deaf. Put a blindfold on her and we'll be good to go."

Lakma felt her heart freeze.

That night, Lakma walked away from the town, close to the river's edge. Gunasena stood in the shadows, and when he saw her, began approaching her.

"What happened? Is everything okay?" His Sinhalese voice sounded so comforting, especially after a week of hearing nothing but Tamil.

"I'm okay. But listen, I don't have much time to explain this. They're planting another bomb. Except I don't know where. All I know is that it's going to be strapped to me."

"What?"

"They found two dead men – and, and someone from our tribe took their batteries. Do you know who?"

"No of course not, don't be silly – look, listen to me very carefully. You are in danger. Go to another town – I can take you there. Get out. It's not safe here anymore."

"But they'll know that I heard them. I'm supposed to be deaf. Why else would I leave?"

"It's too late for all of this. Just get out safely and adopt a new identity. We'll deal with the rest later.

Here, let me take you someplace."

***

The Sinhalese town of Nilaweli was an hour's drive from her Tamil tribe.

Cirumi, who are you? What's your name?"

"Anil."

"Anil who?"

"Anil Tissera."

From now on, she would take on Anil's identity – the prodigal, the one who left Sri Lanka after Sarath's death many, many years ago. Become an almost imperceptible shadow; a ghost. Anil's Ghost.