A New India

The sun dipped behind the hills of Ceylon, casting long shadows over the tea plantations and the villages that lived in the landscape.

But the beauty of the evening did little to soothe the rising tension that if not checked carefully upon will soon swallow the whole country.

The news of the Rohan–Senanayake Pact had spread fast and wide and while some had hoped it would bring clarity, it had only deepened the divide.

People expectation both Sinhalese and Tamilians there were not met. For once both of them agreed that this pact was not right though for different reasons.

For the Indian Tamils who had worked these lands for generations, the pact felt like a betrayal.

But for the Sinhalese nationalists, it wasn't enough. They needed a pact which removed even the last traces of Tamilian out of this country.

To them, the promise of citizenship for even 300,000 Indian Tamils felt like a threat to their culture, their politics, their very way of life.

In the town of Kandy, a small but vocal group of Sinhalese protesters had gathered in the town square.

They held banners that read "No More Indian Tamils!" and "Ceylon is for the Sinhalese!"

Their voices echoed through the streets, anger boiling over as they shouted slogans that filled the evening air.

Mahinda, a local shopkeeper who had lived in Kandy all his life, stood at the edge of the crowd, his arms crossed over his chest.

He was a quiet man by nature, but today he was here to make his voice heard. He turned to his friend, Kamal, who was standing beside him, shaking his head in disbelief.

"They're giving them citizenship, Kamal. Citizenship," Mahinda said, his voice thick with frustration.

"We've been fighting for years to keep Ceylon as a place for the Sinhalese, and now they're just going to let them stay. Is the government even listening to our voices, this not what we asked for.

Kamal, a schoolteacher who had always been more cautious in his opinions, nodded slowly. "It's true, Mahinda. But what can we do? The government's signed the pact. The Prime Minister's already agreed to it."

Mahinda clenched his fists, his frustration rising over again and again.

"And what happens next, huh? First, it's 300,000. Then it's more. They'll start demanding political power, more rights. They'll take over our jobs, our land. And we'll be left with nothing.

Everything will soon be taken by them let alone us our kids will soon have nothing for themselves."

Kamal sighed, his brow furrowed in worry. "I don't think it's that simple, Mahinda. These people have lived here for generations too. They're part of this country. What can we do, drive them all out. It's important that we realised they are human after all, where will they go?".

Mahinda's eyes flashed with anger. "They are Human but not from this country. Maybe We should really drive then out of this country! They're not Ceylonese, Kamal. They've always been foreigners and will continue to remain so And now the government's just handing them our country on a silver platter."

The crowd continued to swell, and the chants grew louder.

Mahinda could feel the anger rising in him, the sense that something was slipping away, something that had been theirs for centuries.

He had never been a man for politics, but this, this felt personal.

Kamal placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We have to be careful, Mahinda. Violence won't solve anything. These tensions… they've been there for years, but they'll destroy this country if we're not careful."

Mahinda pulled away, his frustration not easing. "Careful? How long have we been careful, Kamal? How long have we sat back and watched as they took more and more of what's ours? We can't stay quiet forever."

Kamal frowned, sensing the depth of his friend's anger.

He knew Mahinda wasn't the only one who felt this way. Across Ceylon, there were many Sinhalese who believed the Indian Tamil community was a threat to their national identity, their culture.

And while Kamal didn't agree with the extremity of their views, he understood the fear. He had heard it in the conversations at the school, in the quiet talks at the temple.

There was a growing sense that something had to give and soon.

Meanwhile, deep in the central highlands, the Indian Tamil communities were facing their own crisis.

The news of the pact had brought little comfort, and now, fear was spreading.

Some whispered that they would be forced onto ships, sent to a country they had never known.

Others believed they would be left with nothing, abandoned by both Ceylon and India.

Ravi, who had spent his life working the tea fields, paced outside his home, his frustration increasing over as he spoke to a small group of neighbors.

His wife, Lakshmi, watched him from the doorway, her own heart heavy with worry.

"They expect us to leave," Ravi said, his voice loud enough to carry across the small gathering. "Leave the only home we've ever known. And for what? India? A place we've never even seen?"

Vikram, an older man who had lived in the village since his childhood, shook his head. "They've never cared about us. Not the Ceylonese government, not the Sinhalese. And now even India thinks they can just take us back, like we're some burden to be passed around. Our voices need to be heard".

Lakshmi stepped forward, her voice quieter but filled with pain. "I was born here. My parents were born here. And now they say we have to go? What kind of life will we have in India? We don't know that land.

We dont know those people. Even if we go there, we will still be foreigner"

The group stood in silence for a moment.

There were no easy answers. The pact had promised a future, but that future felt distant and uncertain

For the Indian Tamils, it felt like a forced choice between two impossible options, leave behind everything they had built in Ceylon, or stay and risk being second-class citizens, always seen as outsiders.

Ravi shook his head again, his frustration clear. "We can't leave. We've built our lives here. My father worked these fields, and his father before him. They can't just push us out."

Lakshmi looked at her husband, her eyes filled with tears. "What if they do, Ravi? What if they force us?"

Ravi's jaw tightened, the weight of the question hanging in the air. "Then we fight. We stay. This is our land too."

******

In Colombo, the protests had reached a boiling point. Crowds filled the streets, waving flags and chanting slogans, both for and against the pact.

On one side, Indian Tamil activists like Anand led marches, demanding their right to stay, while on the other, Sinhalese nationalists gathered, insisting that the pact didn't go far enough.

They wanted every last Indian Tamil repatriated, not just 500,000.

Anand stood in front of a growing crowd, his voice filled with defiance as he addressed them.

"This is our home! We were born here, we've worked here, and we belong here! No pact can take that away from us!"

The crowd roared in agreement, their voices echoing through the narrow streets of Colombo.

But just a few blocks away, a different crowd was gathering. Sinhalese nationalists, frustrated and angry, had come together, their chants just as loud, just as impassioned.

A young Sinhalese man named Nimal stood at the front of the group, his face flushed with anger.

"They're taking over our country! The government's selling us out, giving them citizenship like it's nothing! We need to take a stand!"

The chants from both sides grew louder, the tension in the air thickening with every passing minute.

There was a sense that something dangerous was building, that this fragile peace could shatter at any moment.

Back in Kandy, Mahinda returned home from the protest, his heart still pounding with frustration. His wife, Sita, greeted him at the door, her eyes filled with concern. "You went to the protest, didn't you?"

Mahinda nodded, his face grim. "I had to, Sita. We can't let them take our country from us."

Sita sighed, shaking her head. "This isn't the way, Mahinda. We can't solve this with anger. You know that."

Mahinda's jaw clenched, his voice rising. "What choice do we have? They're giving them our land, our jobs. They're making them citizens!"

Sita reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "But they've lived here too. They're not outsiders. They've been here for generations, just like us."

Mahinda pulled away, his frustration boiling over. "They're not like us, Sita. And if we don't do something, they'll take everything we have."

Sita's eyes filled with sadness as she watched her husband.

She had seen this anger grow in him over the years, fueled by the divisions that had plagued their country.

But she feared that this anger, if left unchecked, would only lead to more pain.