The Tearful Flower of the Black Tiger

President Nila
Jul 5
3 min read

A Tribute to Vallipuram Vasanthan – First Black Tiger (Martyred: 05 July 1987)

I. Breath and Soil

When the land itself becomes breath,

And the tongue becomes the voice of the mother—

When all of it was vanishing,

A young Nandi blossomed into fire.

Just twenty-one and a half,

Born into a green, rooted Saiva tradition,

The middle child of a family steeped in custom,

Beloved of his mother’s father’s kin—

Vasanthan was not raised in comfort’s courtyard.

He was the brave soul who tried to turn dust into destiny.

II. Operation Liberation – A Sinhalese Military Horror

In the final days of May 1987,

On Jaffna soil, under the name “Operation Liberation,”

The Sri Lankan state unleashed its Sinhalese army—

Ransacking homes, shattering thresholds,

Aborting the people’s dreams.

More than 40,000 civilians—

Sisters, brothers, daughters, elders—

Fled without food or belongings,

Becoming landless in their own land.

And the blood-soaked soil they left behind?

Vasanthan lifted it in his own hands.

III. Becoming the Black Tiger

He made his decision then:

“To turn myself into a weapon,

And explode the army of ignorance and terror

With my own body.”

Thus he became a Black Tiger—

Where humanity failed,

Scientific sacrifice rose.

There was no traditional spear upon his shoulder.

Instead, he carried explosives upon his chest,

And in his journey—destruction became deliverance.

IV. The Chariot of Fire

When the Sinhalese army set fire

To the sacred Chithirai temple chariot,

A strange anguish erupted within Vasanthan:

“Oh Lord Murugan, they burned Your chariot—

I shall become a chariot myself, and avenge it!”

Like Murugan’s spear,

He pierced through barricades with his own body,

Turning the people’s pain into flames of resistance.

V. The Sacred Flame

“No more tears from a child,

No more tears from a mother

Shall fall upon this land again.”

That was their vow.

Our arms were taken up

Not for conquest, but for our right to live.

In the path carved by selfless Black Tigers,

Vasanthan’s blood remains a guiding flame.

You did not dissolve in death, Vasanthan—

You dissolved to awaken a nation.

In each wave of your heroic sacrifice,

The dawn of Eelam will be seen.

VI. The Cost of Resistance

More than 40,000 lives were lost

In that first wave of war—

And with their pain, our era was born in 1987.

Sacrifice and resolve became our compass.

By 2009, the fallen became mountains.

Blood etched deep scars on our land.

Eelam folded into silence,

Its dreams hidden in grief.

But from the heat of resistance,

We now light the lamp of knowledge—

And move forward toward victory.

VII. Memory as Compass

Vasanthan rose draped in love.

Beyond flesh, he fused himself with science—

Lifting explosives, he met the enemy,

With the same pain they caused

When they torched the Chariot of Chithirai.

The land where over 40,000 fled,

And thousands died—

Still remembers sorrow, and sorrow alone.

Until 2009, Tamil lives fled in waves.

Exiled, displaced—

They searched for shelter on distant shores.

200,000 hearts now beat with grief woven into blood.

Memory today is our lantern,

Our compass toward a free Tamil Eelam.

We carry both knowledge and resolve,

Not for despair—but celebration.

VIII. Victory Through Memory

Defeat will never be our language.

Through the heat of war,

We rise like rivers toward justice.

Even the dead now live,

In the sound of our ongoing struggle.

Tamil Eelam is not just memory—

It is our final vow of love.

Where devastation once ruled,

Science has triumphed.

From the darkness of exile,

We light the fire of return.

One day soon, our dawn shall rise—

And we shall honour the fallen,

And proclaim the life of Tamil Eelam.

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SMALL DROPS