Fleeing Sri Lanka's war zone

By Dumeetha Luthra
BBC News, Sri Lanka

Civilians were caught up in the fighting when Muttur was shelled

Imagine an entire community having faced three days of continuous shelling. A desperate situation leads to a desperate solution.

This is what happened in Muttur in the north-east of the country.

Thousands upon thousands of the residents came together, and decided to flee; risking their lives amidst fire from the army and the rebels.

Carrying suitcases on their heads, babies in their arms. Leaving behind them a snapshot of their lives only minutes before.

Convoy plan

I had just arrived in the north-east to cover the conflict.

Officially there's still a ceasefire in place, but that's only a piece of paper. And as always, it's civilians who are caught in the middle.

We began our trip to meet the exodus out of Muttur, inching our way along the road, stopping oncoming vehicles to ascertain the situation on the road.

Suddenly a convoy overtook us. It was masterminded by a local Muslim community group to get their brethren to safety. It was a mish-mash of lorries, pick-ups, cars - even a motorbike, although I couldn't see how it would help in the evacuation.

This wasn't organised in any official way. They hadn't received any safety guarantees from either side, they were simply flying white flags, hoping that would be enough.

We joined the convoy, following their rescue attempt along this pot-holed road. The journey is the story of this dispute.

Aid bias claims

As we drove, there was a Red Cross vehicle ahead, in a Sinhalese village, surrounded by a Sinhalese crowd.

The perception amongst a large number of the Sinhalese majority is that international agencies favour the Tamil minority, and providing help in Tiger areas is in effect supporting the rebels.

This belief was being played out on a micro level here. A mob had gathered around the vehicle. Swearing and cursing they were banging on the bonnet of the four-wheel-drive.

Every kind of vehicle was pressed into action during the exodus

First the representative tried to placate, tried to explain, but the crowd wasn't interested.

It grew larger and more raucous. As the Red Cross vehicle retreated in defeat, the inflamed group gave it a final send off, punching in the back windows.

We slipped by, safe in the middle of the Muslim convoy.

Further on, a queue had formed at a water truck. It had been doing a daily round of the villages here since the disputed sluice gate of the Mavilaru waterway was closed.

There is resentment as I speak to the people. The closure of the canal has been a disaster for them.

No drinking water, no water for daily needs, but the real blow has been that this blockade not only affects their present, it affects their future. Although the blockade was lifted this week, it is too late for their crops.

They won't have earned anything to buy seed and prepare for the next season. Many here feel it has been the Tigers' equivalent of economic sanctions, and support the government's strong reaction.

'Special forces'

The military presence on the road is heavy. As well as the regular camps, official buildings in the area have been commandeered. A school serves as a bunk-down for a unit.

The men there are reluctant to talk to me. They point to their commander, who approaches me looking very alpha-male.

Muttur is now on the front line of the conflict

The bulging biceps, the combat trousers neatly pressed, a form fitting t-shirt with a small badge reading "special forces". When I ask about the insignia on his shirt, though, he goes all bashful on me. "Oh no" he explains, "this isn't my T-shirt, this is a friend's".

With each confrontation, the military media machine is polishing up its act. The Tigers realised a while ago that getting the message out is a fundamental part of any modern operation.

The government has been slower to catch up, but is now getting into gear - regular phone calls to update on the situation, quick denunciations of Tiger accusations; the language of defence - rather than offence - is being embedded into their lexicon.

Families split

Suddenly we arrived just outside Muttur, in the eye of the storm, a colourful chaotic mass of humanity. Relief, desperation, pain - all etched on their faces. They converged with the convoys of vehicles.

Families are now forced to take shelter as best they can

In the noise and confusion there was the sound of a woman wailing. Her young child clinging to her sari, her baby clutched in her arms.

She'd lost her husband and son along the way. She wasn't sure what had happened to them. Reluctantly, they got on a tractor, looking back down the road, hoping for a sign of their men.

The road from Kantale to Muttur - a stretch of some 60km (37 miles) - has become one on which the chapters of the current conflict are unfolding.

The heavy fighting in Muttur led to the exodus. Now it is becoming part of the front-line.

The final chapter will be when it is the road the people take to return home.