Where the cinnamon trees reached out over the road, Malini bent low with her sister’s hand in hers and scurried into the forest’s understorey of ferns and marga shrubs. From a tall malaboda tree hung a dense length of lichen, known as old-man’s beard. This provided a perfect screen and Malini bustled Banni behind it and sat with her sister clutched to her chest.

Banni asked, ‘Malini, what are we doing?’

‘Shh, Banni. This is what Appa wants us to do.’

‘Are we escaping?’

‘Yes, Banni, we’re escaping.’

‘But I want Appa and Amma to escape, too.’

‘They will, but not right now. Be still.’

The tramping of the people on the road and the shouting of the soldiers went on for another hour. Malini softly counted each minute as it passed, encouraging Banni to join in. ‘One fat elephant, two fat elephants, three … ’ What Malini really wished for was the freedom to cry her heart out. Her father had told her, ‘You must use your wits,’ but Malini didn’t feel clever; no, she felt like Banni must – desperate to be in arms of her father and mother.

Malini decided they should remain behind the lichen screen for a further hour, just in case. Banni had to be shushed every so often. ‘I’m thirsty, Malini. I’m hungry. When can we go home?’

To distract her sister, Malini whispered, ‘Let’s see what Appa has given us.’ She pulled out the bundle from inside her sari and unwrapped it. It was, as her father had promised, their spare mobile phone and also the charger.

Malini put the phone to her cheek as if it were her father’s hand.

Banni grabbed at it. She probably wanted to play Buzz, her favourite game that was installed on the phone.

‘No,’ Malini snapped. ‘Do you want to use up all the battery? Are you that selfish?’

Banni looked as if she’d been slapped – something that had never happened to her in her life. Her lips began to tremble and she threw back her head and wailed.

‘No, Banni. No noise.’ Malini covered her sister’s mouth with her hand and kept it in place until she was sure that Banni would be quiet, but the instant she took her hand away, Banni let out an almighty shriek.

‘Banni, shush! People will hear you.’

‘I’ll make the soldiers take you to jail!’

‘Listen to me, Banni. This phone is very precious to us. And very important. You know what happens when the battery is flat? We can’t talk to Appa when he calls us.’

Banni pointed at the charger. ‘Fill it up again!’

‘Yes, but where? We need electricity.’

‘At our house!’

‘Banni, we can’t go back to our house. The soldiers will see us, and they’ll be angry. We have to wait in the forest until Appa calls us and tells us what to do. And, if you are a good girl, there’ll be sweets.’

‘When?’

‘When what?’

‘When will there be sweets?’

Malini had no chance to answer. Gunfire sounded from the east, where the coast lay. A minute later, trucks rumbled down the dirt road. Malini glimpsed soldiers in the back of the trucks with their rifles pointing skywards, government soldiers in their green and khaki jungle-camouflage uniforms with gold badges on their berets. Malini counted twelve trucks, and two other vehicles with machine guns mounted on the backs. She could guess what was about to happen, and it filled her with dread. The SLA soldiers would attack the Tamil soldiers from land and sea, maybe from the air, too. The civilians who were meant to act as human shields, her mother and father included, would be caught in the crossfire.

Malini stared at the phone in her hand, willing it to ring. As she waited, the sound of gunfire increased. Banni was gazing at her solemnly, expecting comfort or guidance of some sort. It struck Malini like a blow that she was all that stood between her sister and the danger of the world. She did not want such responsibility.

‘Why are there guns?’ Banni whispered. ‘What’s happening, Malini?’

Malini didn’t respond.

‘When will there be sweets?’

Malini sighed and shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

Tomorrow Malini would have started her birthday week. She would have bathed in the part of the river set aside for women and girls, washing her hair in the current to bring out the shine. Once her hair had dried, her mother would have plaited flowers into the long locks and made her a belt of blooms for her waist. She would have performed a dance in the back garden of her house with her girlfriends, and everyone would have called to her, ‘Malini, Malini, your dancing does you honour!’ Then the guests would have called on Malini’s father to read a verse from the great Tamil poets of bygone days, and he would have replied, ‘But what verse can do justice to this daughter of mine who excels in mathematics and geography?’ Then he would have read the verse, with tears in his eyes.

Malini was wrenched back to the here-and-now by Banni, who whispered, ‘Do you hear something?’

Two loud planes roared eastwards across the sky – fighter-bombers.

Banni put her hands over her ears. ‘I don’t like them!’ she squealed.

‘Nobody likes them,’ said Malini.

She quickly murmured the Prayer of Destination for those starting a long journey, and hurried her sister into the shadows of the forest.