This is a difficult, convoluted and oftentimes tragic story of what has been broadly termed the Malayan Emergency—the in-between years after the surrender of the Japanese following World War II when there was chaos, and order, as most people know it, was not restored till at least ten to fifteen years later. Historians, of course, will tell the same story in different ways, as will those who were directly involved and engaged—men such as the Chin Peng, whose own book My Side Of History, is well worth reading to better understand what our own author is trying so sensitively, yet boldly and robustly, to share. I was still a young boy, growing in the Kinta valley, surrounded by the Kampar hills in Perak, when much of what is narrated in And The Rain My Drink took place. I do remember, though, that as young kids we were often given baskets laden with vegetables, fruits, meat and cooked food to carry to the cave temples built within the limestone hills to hand-over to the temple-keepers. What we didn’t know then was that these baskets we dutifully carried and gave to the men and women fronting the hill temples were actually meant for those known as ‘communists’ who were hiding in the dense, thick jungles around the hills! Often, as I came to know later, buried beneath the contents of these innocent-looking baskets were notes that conveyed news to those fighting for justice and equality under the banner of the MCP (Malayan Communist Party; mostly led by Chin Peng). We were then living in small villages collectively known as New Villages (described in Han Suyin’s book) where the authorities had settled displaced citizens and those perceived to be ‘troublesome’. These New Villages were like our present-day ‘gated’ communities and no one could get in or out without express permission from the security guards who patrolled them and had their posts in box-like structures specially built at various entry/exit points. I remember passing through these ‘points’ quite easily when carrying the baskets; however, it was often harder to do the same when returning with our allotted provisions of rice and sugar which were given out on a weekly basis by the ruling powers. Altogether it was a confusing, confused period with very few knowing what really was going on. I remember hearing my elders speaking in whispers (we kids were told to go away and do our own thing!) and often people we knew who lived in the community left and never returned. Later in life, I discovered that my late Uncle Bill was actually one of those who sometimes sat as a ‘judge’ in the jungles and there were stories that Bill did send a few to their death. This uncle had, in his time, been gruesomely tortured by the Japanese when they learnt that he was in cahoots with the MCP (the MCP was composed chiefly of Chinese, though many Indians and Malays and some Eurasians were also members, even ‘inner’ members) and it would be almost natural to expect that when he sat as a judge he took revenge on those exposed to be spies.