‘Look, I’ll try to get you transport in one of the helicopters but at the moment it is difficult. I had hardly sitting space myself,’ said my friend the Superintendent.

He drove off and I realized that I would have to go and wait in the camp. I had to be patient. It would take time. The press and TV crews were using the helicopters and the search operations were still continuing. I had to have faith in my friend. I was a survivor in the eyes of the others. A survivor and a terrorist. How had I managed to escape?—was the thought uppermost in their minds. I was still not safe.

In the camp the soldiers were young boys, younger than myself. They were almost like my students. I did not want them to be the first to begin asking me questions. I would have preferred to be the one asking questions. We got talking. The soldiers were curious but wary. They wanted to know about the massacre on the prawn farm. They wanted to know how much I knew, how many deaths had taken place. They knew how many of their own men had been killed preparatory to the operation. They asked me how many had been blasted in the land mine explosion. I could not tell them all I knew. My safety lay in concealment. I had to pretend that I did not know much. I did not tell them the exact number of the dead. I said that only a few had died, five or six. I concealed my true self like a wily prawn that goes deep into the pond to escape being netted, settling itself in the silt, not letting its antennae appear above the surface of the water. I felt myself metamorphose into one of those crustacea. I felt so much safer then in my mind. My human role could only have spelt vulnerability.