Rajan usually loved the smell of Colombo at this time of the year. The frangipani trees were in bloom and they competed with the white starry jasmine, filling the night air with its seductive perfume.

Tonight was different. He tried to turn his head away from the smell of Colombo. The acrid smoke had penetrated the protection of Colombo 7, even if nothing else had, and he could not wash it out of his clothes, his hair, or his memory.

Red clouds illuminated the night sky as he worked. He placed their little granddaughter’s bag in the back seat of the car but changed his mind again, moving it to the boot. Ayah had prepared a flask of coffee for him, a bottle of water for all of them, and potato curry sandwiches for the little girl. ‘Her favourite,’ she commented proudly to no one in particular as she wiped her eyes.

She had also placed canisters of water, wet towels and wet blankets in the boot. They were creating a small pool at the back of his lovely Peugeot, ruining the upholstered base that he cleaned every weekend. He didn’t chastise Ayah. He removed the little bag from the boot, silently closing it. He doubted the water would help them if it came to that, but he recognised the love behind the futile gesture.

He argued one last time with Nala. ‘I’m taking Smrithi to the airport by myself. It’s a ninety-minute drive to Katunayake and back. I won’t be gone long. I’ll be fine.’

‘Nothing is fine about this plan. Try the President’s office again,’ she implored. ‘They will help you, they’ll send a driver.’

‘I’ve tried, Nala, the phone lines are jammed, I can’t reach anyone.’

‘If you’re going then I’m going with you.’

‘Nala, there’s no point in both of us taking a risk.’

‘You admit, then, this is a risky journey,’ she cried jubilantly. He shook his head, defeated. Of course it was a risky journey, but they had no choice. Dhara objected to the plan too. She begged him to let her take Smrithi.

‘She’s my child. It’s my duty,’ she argued.

‘No, mahal, you have done your duty,’ he replied. ‘You are my child and she is my granddaughter; this is my duty.’

He should have spoken to Priya and Dhara—he should have made them change their minds about the child. It was too late now. All he could do was this one thing.