The parallels include the pictures I have seen of devastation in Germany and Japan. But unlike these two, whose leaders surrendered to prevent further devastation, our deranged Sun God still pushes "his" people to guarantee total disaster.

Let me guide you to his A-9 territory.

Elephant Pass is no more. No buildings at all. Further down at Paranthan which with its chemical factory was once awash with light at night is just flat land. There are no buildings, just dust and rubble. Kilinochchi has a few remains of buildings, many with walls and roof tops blown off by artillery shell, rocket, grenade and bomb. In Mankulam, only two or three hurriedly repaired shops remain. And all along the way, on either side is empty land or just only remains of walls, very much emptier than the sparsely populated Vanni had ever been. Prabhakaran's people have deserted him by tens of thousands and are either in the South or abroad in the West and in India.

At the end of Tiger reach, Vavuniya has grown greatly over the war years and today appears far more bustling than Jaffna.

Every year or so, during the last five years, when in Sri Lanka, my wife and I have skirted the Wanni. We have travelled to Mannar, to near Mullaitivu, to near Tiriyaya, skirting Tiger areas but not entering them.

The main delay now is at Vavuniya where hundred or more vehicles queue up from very early in the morning. There are returning Jaffna residents in vans with taut, anxious faces. Tamil lorry drivers privately grumble at the delay and Tiger taxes.

Lorries are unloaded and checked for banned items, cars examined. At the Tiger end, things appear faster. Tamils become second class citizens as they are taxed; untaxed Sinhalese become first class. We are given extra attention by the friendly young Tiger operative and rushed through. After the checking, the journey is unhampered.

At Omanthai, a twenty-something Tiger cadre asks for a lift. I gladly accept. He is not one of those Tamils in East London pumping petrol or manning grocery shops collecting money for this destruction we see. But he seems to be pumping iron or doing its Wanni equivalent. I squeeze his steely sinews in admiration and gave him a thumbs up. He is smart and could be straight from a war movie. He gives us a prized possession, a picture of the Sun God.

The young man and I catch each other's eyes admiring Muralitharan advertising a food product. We both agree that he is No. 1. I say Murali would make a better President than Chandrika or Ranil. He does not respond.

We notice the Tiger "Police Stations" at Pallai, Mankulam and Kilinochchi and the "Tamil Eelam District Court" at Kilinochchi. Their name boards are newly painted, suggesting that it is only the MoU that has enabled this creeping institutionalization of a Tiger State. At the Pallai "Police Station", another young man ("Sergeant") introduces us to two Tiger "police women" and their "Inspector", a recruit from the Sri Lankan police. We take photos. They serve us tea; allow us to observe their work.

Men in an eatery tell us furtively what misery the Tigers' fight has wrought. In the two-storied Kilinochchi Central School, the roof has vanished. In the floor below, children study with the breeze blowing through walls opened up by heavy fire. Our car creates a stir. A teacher desperately tries to bring to heel the 9-10 Graders who stand up to stare out of non-existing windows. A mob of 10-12-year-olds surround our car, shouting in glee. Newer cars are a rare sight. They feel the body, inspect the mirrors, peer inside. Each wants a photo taken. Embarrassed at the "Suddah-tourist" treatment I quickly withdraw.

As events unfold, any self-respecting government must stop this separatist state making. It would mean annihilating the creeping annexation with its "Tamil Eelam" offices. It would mean - because the Sun God will not yield - further shelling, further deserts, and further emptying of the Wanni. It would mean tears replacing the smiles of all those older men at tea shops, the cadres at "Police Stations" and, youngsters screaming not with laughter, but with pain.

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