The grenades had exploded - the smoke swirled around and most of those frightened by the explosion had fled. Blood was everywhere. I could not flee. I had to wait until something happened. I had only the blood splattered clothes, so immaculate in the morning, to contemplate upon.
Lying as I was on the ground, I was not uncomfortable. But I was helpless because I soon realised that I could not move. The shoes still stuck to my feet but they could carry me no more.
All were thoughts - until I head someone say "Menna Lalith" - I could not recognise him but I recognised the voice as that of Mahendra. He stroked me hard on my cheeks, sincerely attempting to stroke me to consciousness but I could not tell him that I was conscious. He summoned others.
I can remember the voices of Merril, Weerawanni and Ranjith - and more than his voice the burly presence of Nandalal. I wanted to tell them a lot of things to do but there was nothing I could do. There was not power enough to translate my thoughts into speech.
But they did the right thing - better than I could have asked them. They carried me up through the triple door route - out of the Committee Rooms - along the corridor and into the opening known as Members' Entrance. Some how at that moment, my mind's eye refused to accept the word "Entrance" and tabbed it with "Exit."
Everyone around assured me that I was all right but somehow, sub-consciously, intellectual integrity demanded to know whether it was my exit from parliament. Such things churned around in my mind. They sought no answers, however, for the general discomfort was increasing.
In the car, Ranjith excelled in his kindness, a kindness I had experienced for over 40 years. He kept assuring me "You are all right". The first time, I believed it. As we went along he kept repeating himself, reassuring me like a doctor reassuring his patient.
Then, the more he reassured, it struck me that the danger was all the more real. "Methinks he repeats himself too much!" I thought that I should reassure him that I was all right, but again, not much voice could get into action.
As the car speeded, it all dawned on me. This was possibly it - the end could be inevitable, it could be near - it could be soon. I had to be ready for it. There was, surprisingly, no fear.
The first worry related to those for whom I should provide? Had I forgotten any? Quickly, I was reminded that Had done all that I could. There was no pain in leaving them if that had to be so.
I then thought about those who had wronged me. One or two of the current ones came to mind. I could not think of them all. I quickly forgave them and dismissed them from my mind. All problems became trivial, small problems.
I thought of those whom I may have wronged. I could not think of anyone specific in a personal sense but, nevertheless, if there were any I hoped they would forgive me.
I thought of those who might feel wronged by my exercise of public duty, sometimes even against my moral preferences and I hoped that they would one day be generous enough to understand.
For a moment, I thought of those who had helped me - those who had suffered with me - those who had worked with me, those who believed in the causes I believed in. I needed to thank many of them. I needed to thank all the people of Sri Lanka who had been so kind to me.
The social being in me asked what they all thought of me. The moral being within intercepted my thoughts and said "what is important now is not what they think of you but rather, what you think of yourself and what you are going to do with yourself."
Religion told me that this must have happened to me numerous times in my journey through Sansara. So it was not anything new. I had accepted it before and I was accepting it now. The end could be near and there was no pain and no fear.
Loud shouts suddenly started me. My driver had tried to take the car on the wrong route to Jayawardenepura Hospital and had come up against the barrier. There was confusion as we were trying to gain an honourable passage through an illegal entrance.
I remember saying, probably inaudibly, - "Let's go around the right way." I thought to myself that the discipline of the law had not yet left me. As we turned back and hurried along on the long but correct way the signals came fast to my mind.
Contemplating the end was natural. Pondering over death was inevitable but I was alive and being alive means I had to fight to remain alive. There was no giving up.
Intellectually, I had accepted death. Emotionally, physiologically and psychologically I was trying to stay alive. Determination seeped through me.
I arrived at the hospital and there was a lot of confusion. Ranjith had brought me to the correct place. His presence seemed to bring order to everything. Everybody around me was fighting for my life.
I heard Suriyakanthi's voice. I remembered that she was the wife of a student of mine. I heard Kenneth and then, after something, I heard Yoga. They were all fighting for my life but only I knew that I, too, was fighting for my life.
I vaguely remember Ranjith saying once again, "Lalith, you are going to be all right."
He need not have said it. I knew I was going to be all right. I hd to fight, along with all the people around me, who were working at a speed which was unbelievable. They fought with an enthusiasm I hardly deserved but with a dedication which had already won widespread respect.
They pricked me with a number of things all to revive me. Later, much later, I came to know that this was because I had no pulsed and they had to revive me. My mind, although I remained clear, did not know this at that time. Perhaps that was one fact I was properly ignorant of.
I lay on the couch as the doctors debated. They were of two minds. Yoga probed my stomach, "Do you feel pain" he asked. I, perhaps still seeing a fine point, said "No pain but discomfort." My mind could not abandon its analytic habit even now. This was inconclusive for Yoga.
Suddenly, Srimani appeared on the scene. She was asked to question and her consent had been obtained. A little later Yoga probed again. I said "yes" to the question whether I was in pain.
Yoga said "Do you consent?" I knew his question was about whether to open me up or not. However, when I consented I knew I was consenting to many more things.
They took me into the theatre. I said to Kenneth, "I remember the theatre being too cold." May be this time I was going into the cold. As the general anaesthesia took its effect I was going out - at peace with life and with death but determined beyond anything else, to fight every step of the way.
Life is never to be given away - it can only be taken from us.