When Gamini finished surgery in the middle of the night, he walked through the compound into the east buildings, where the sick children were. The mothers were always there. Sitting on stools, they rested their upper torso and head on the child’s bed and slept holding the small hands. There were not too many fathers around then. He watched the children, who were unaware of their parents’ arms. Fifty yards away in Emergency he had heard grown men scream for their mothers as they were dying. 'Wait for me!' 'I know you are here!' This was when he stopped believing in man’s rule on earth. He turned away from any person who stood up for a war. Or the principle of one’s land, or pride of ownership, or even personal rights. All those motives somehow ended up in the hands of careless power. One was no worse and no better than the enemy. He believed only in the mothers sleeping against their children, the great sexuality of spirit in them, the sexuality of care, so the children would be confident and safe during the night.