14.2 Suvadiva Uprising

Dirk Wyse Dwire observed the crowd by the waterfront in Malé through his binoculars. C-Queen, a steam-powered boat, reached the island to pick him.

Dwire was not able to meet the prime minister that day instead, Orchard and Hills, two representatives met him. He asked, “When is the boat leaving?”

“Next week,” replied Hills.

Dwire knew that Prime Minister Virgo had called on volunteers and several hundred enlisted to board a vessel to go to Suvadiva.

“Stop the offensive!” he ordered.

Hills replied, “No sir!”

“I called the RAF Command. They have a frigate ship and a destroyer. If you happen to cross Zero-Degree Latitude, you’ll be shot.”

“Listen, lord,” said Hills, “you don’t tell us what to do. We know the British will shoot. It’s a shame.”

“Stop talking to me like that!” uttered an erratic Dwire and turned to head back to his hideout in Doonidoo.

As he watched through his binoculars, a cargo vessel called Maldive Star was getting ready in the outer waters of the capital. Barges alongside the ship loaded food stuff, bags of rice, flour and sugar, barrels of fuel, water and boxes full of requirements.

On the following day, it was cloudy and the sea a bit rough. Still the images were clear. On land, there was activity on Marine Drive. A truck outside a Bora bistro was getting loaded with beverage. Bora merchants from Bombay controlled trade by the waterfront. Boras came under British intervention in the past and now a grown feud too.

Dwire called on his walkie-talkie for the boat to pick him. He reckoned that the ship would set sail that day.

Meanwhile, some womenfolk climbed the boats in front of the Court of Cannons. They rowed with boduberu drums and singing choruses. One vessel turned towards Maldive Star and women climbed from the side hidden to Malé but facing Doonidoo. A secret plan not to reveal the identity of the women and a wile that did not enter into records. Gamar wearing a black shirt and a pair of white slacks climbed Maldive Star with two dozen women.

A lorry stopped at the jetty and Reena, wearing a pastel blue tunic and white leggings with a folder in her hand, jumped down from the cabin. Two female nurses from Kanbafan Hospital and a doctor climbed down.

Doctor Sevilla, a Tamil from Ceylon, continued to complain, “I have a family to look after. My wife and kids…”

Reena wasn’t paying any attention to him, “Load the emergency medicine and relief kits.”

A Bedford lorry stopped by the water’s edge and Sardar Lahuth supervised the guards load Lee-Enfield rifles, ammunition boxes and Kalashnikov automatics to a boat.

Lance Corporal Moosa Manik was there to capture the images. Sayye Saeed joined him by the waterfront, “Where are all those women going?”

“They are climbing the vessel,” replied Mosanic.

“Why?” he asked in shock, “You cannot let women go! Who is in command?”

“Prime Minister himself,” said Mosanic, “Hills and Orchard are going. Defence Minister Rock is staying back. Officer Gold and Sardar Lahuth are advisors. Many senior officers are on the ship. Ali Fano and Katib Sputnik from Gado have climbed the boat.”

“How many are on the ship?”

“Seven hundred national guards and volunteers. A medical team and a civilian crew of which I don’t have a figure.”

Meanwhile, six doni full of women were bearing down on Doonidoo. Tahera stood on the prow with a foot lifted to the breasthook, her eyes narrowed and focused. She paid no attention to the noises of boduberu, chanting and clapping. She wore a mauve sundress with open back, a highly embroidered bodice with deep V-neck and crinkled skirt. A hand rested on her hip and a cigarette on the lips, looking for assertive action.

Tahera dropped her leg and taking no notice behind, slid the slings off her shoulders and discarded the dress to the bottom. She returned to the same pose to stand with a foot on the breasthook. She stood stark naked and not even a girdle on the hips. She had grown tan, reddish pink and golden. Some followed dumping their bodices too.

When the boats banked on the shore, a herd of women jumped into water to climb the island. Dirk Wyse Dwire stood stunned and not exactly knowing what was going on. Here the women came to hanan – to bathe him in the shoal. A lot did not know, Dwire may not be a lord or knighted but he belonged to a peer class family and a nobleman so revered in the Kingdom.

Boduberu drums and chants went on loud. Tahera did the ugliest dance he ever saw. African maybe – snapping limbs, elbows high, head between shoulders, crab walking, tooting and hooting, stomping those long slim legs.

Women grabbed his arms. Dwire did not resist since they were women – a hundred of them.

Tahera began to unbutton his clothes. He did show little resistance and she placed a finger on his lips to shush. She dropped his trousers and screeched, “Vaka Hangandu!” in a shrilly voice.

Women shepherded him into the water. Tahera trotted in front and posed to knock her buttock on his hip. She yelled, “Ding!” every time on impact. In the water and on the beach, women pranced around.

Maldive Star passed in their eyes heading to Suvadiva to launch an offensive dubbed ‘Operation Haevola’. That was 14^th July 1959.