Combatants come and go again and again on Japanese motorcycles, two by two. That morning, the front appeared to be as quiet as the waters of the lagoon, the Tigers of the Eastern coast waiting for the night to start the combat. The LTTE rules over the place. This son of a fisherman who first won fame by his first feat at the age of 21, when he assassinated the Mayor of Jaffna in the middle of the street, and whose posters hang at the walls of shacks hides in the depth of the jungle, further in the North. The LTTE requests daily support from the peasants.
Absolute discretion is legal currency.
In his house with pastel green walls, the chief of the place, one of the cadres of Prabhakaran, prepares the next offensive. Wearing a little moustache and his eyes red with tiredness, Nizam, looking both like war chief and political commissioner, refuses it and demands total independence and nothing else. He imposes a discipline of iron on his combatants. No sexual relations, no alcohol. On our way under a blazing sun, we see for ourselves that the bushes do not present the austerity of war zones.