Sri Lanka

By Nancy R. Gibbs

The sky was dark, promising rain, as thousands of office workers in Colombo hurried along Gasworks Street toward the bus station. Some passengers dawdled for a moment before boarding, to sip pineapple juice or buy a bag of plantains from one of the many kiosks. For some, that decision proved fatal. The explosion came at the very height of the rush hour, ripping through the open- air depot and setting buses ablaze. Those who were not killed instantly were stunned, deafened or knocked unconscious by the blast. "People were running and screaming all around me," said B.D. Premadasa, a government worker, "and two were burning inside a bus." The dying tripped over the dead as hundreds of terrified victims tried to escape flames and flying glass.

Bystanders arriving at the scene dragged the injured from the wreckage and helped load victims into private cars even before the first ambulances arrived. At Colombo's General Hospital, doctors and nurses worked through the night on hundreds of patients while relatives scoured the wards, searching for people missing since the blast. The official estimate of 106 killed was probably low, said a government spokesman, as police continued to sort through dismembered bodies. "We cannot count heads and arms."

The explosion capped the bloodiest week yet since the outbreak of civil war four years ago. The government of President Junius R. Jayewardene blamed two separatist groups for the violence: the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam and the Eelam Revolutionary Organization. Sri Lanka's 2 million Tamils have long protested against political and economic discrimination by the country's 16 million Sinhalese. While moderate Tamil leaders have attempted to negotiate a settlement of the conflict, the Tigers and other militant groups have demanded an independent Tamil homeland in Sri Lanka's Northern and Eastern provinces.

The bus-station bombing followed a killing spree that left at least 285 dead in six days. The carnage began over the weekend when Tamil rebels ambushed holiday travelers on a jungle road in Trincomalee district, gunning down 127 and injuring scores of others, including women and children. Almost all were Sinhalese. Three days later, Tamils fleeing a manhunt for the Trincomalee killers burst into homes in nearby Wanela, tied up 15 inhabitants and shot them dead.

The attacks seemed designed to divide the country even further -- and reduce the options available to the beleaguered Jayewardene government. Though many Sinhalese in Colombo have Tamil relatives and friends, the growing violence has forced moderates on both sides to drift toward the extremes. Some analysts speculate that this is the Tigers' intent: by provoking a backlash and polarizing opinion, they hope to preclude a negotiated peace. For many Sinhalese, any sympathy for the Tamil cause evaporated in the wake of last week's attacks.

Only minutes after the bus-terminal explosion, Sinhalese youths took to the streets of Colombo, stopping cars and demanding to know whether the occupants were Tamils. Stores were looted, shop windows shattered, Tamil neighborhoods invaded. To prevent the kind of ethnic rioting that took as many as 1,000 lives four years ago, the government sent police and soldiers into trouble spots. In Colombo, a curfew emptied the streets, as Tamil shopkeepers shuttered their storefronts. When the curfew was lifted briefly, residents rushed to buy provisions as though the city were under siege.

In Parliament, meanwhile, the government vowed to wipe out rebel bases. When dawn broke twelve hours after the bus-station bombing, four light air force attack aircraft headed north toward the heart of the Tamil stronghold in the Jaffna peninsula. Radio broadcasts and leaflets warned civilians to flee the guerrilla areas or risk being caught in a bombardment. The planes pounded suspected guerrilla camps, killing at least 80 rebels and an unknown number of civilians.

The raids seemed to signal a new government resolve to battle the guerrillas without regard for civilian casualties. National Security Minister . Lalith Athulathmudali told TIME that "if no distinction can be drawn between civilians and terrorists, it won't be drawn." Without a decisive military defeat of the Tigers, he added, "negotiations can't serve any purpose." But even as the government stepped up its attacks, angry Sinhalese protesters marched on Jayewardene's home, demanding the President's resignation for his failure to protect civilians and crush the rebels once and for all.

With both sides preparing for a major military confrontation -- and neither strong enough to achieve victory -- chances for a lasting peace were growing ever dimmer. Moderates on each side initially hoped that India, the home of about 55 million Tamils, might be able to broker a settlement. Yet New Delhi has seen its influence wane since military support for the Tamils began to decline about two years ago. J.N. Dixit, India's Ambassador to Sri Lanka, echoed the fears of officials in both countries. "We're trying to get people back to the table," he said, "but in the aftermath of these violent incidents, the prospects are difficult."

With reporting by Qadri Ismail and Ross H. Munro/Colombo