He checked the route to the airport over and over again, although he had made this journey many times. He memorised a new route that would take them through the Sinhalese neighbourhoods, then along the outskirts of one Tamil neighbourhood, then into the country roads where it was safer. He couldn’t find a path that circumvented all the Tamil neighbourhoods, or what was left of them. They were all so intermingled in Colombo, so intermarried until now. He calculated the mileage to get there and back, and factored in that he might need to make deviations if he encountered the mobs. He calculated the petrol he would need for the journey, giving himself a generous buffer, and filled his tank accordingly.

Nala watched him and said, ‘Fill the tank right up. You’re so economical, even now. You’re so … so Tamil, Rajan.’

‘Yes, I am Tamil,’ he replied, closing the cap. ‘I won’t give the mobs our petrol. I won’t be bathed in it. They can use their own petrol for that.’

He saw her bite hard on her lip. He called in Sinhalese for the servant boy who had just returned from the outside and was relocking the heavy gate. The boy was carrying a packet wrapped in newspaper. Rajan took the packet and walked over to her.

‘Is everything ready?’ he asked quietly.

‘I think so. I just need to get the child. She’s sleeping.’

‘Let her sleep, it will be a long journey.’ He opened the packet and her eyes filled with tears as he took out a jasmine garland, the kind she bought every week outside the temple: their temple that was now blackened beyond recognition. She tried to pin it to her hair, but he stopped her.

‘Not yet, leave it in the shrine, for when we get back,’ he said gently. She understood.

‘It’s time,’ he whispered.

Rajan knew the Negombo area around the airport well from his days as a young house officer at Negombo Hospital. He liked the refuge of the beach town. It was quiet, people only spoke when they had something to say, and they generally meant what they said. Not like the people they socialised with.

He knew that the main route to Katunayake Airport would be targeted for Tamils trying to escape the country, so he had planned to go to Negombo and swing back to the airport from behind. If there were any problems, they could stay at Negombo Hospital, the staff would recognise him.

He stocked his medical bag, packed his car, and set off with his stubbornly protective wife and sleeping grandchild.

‘Are you sure you know where we are?’ Nala asked. He could sense her trying to control her voice and the rising panic. They had doubled back so many times. She even asked him if they had accidentally re-entered Colombo.