“You can’t smell death at 3,000 feet up in the air. Nor can you see death at that height. You can only spot pockets of destruction. Patches of desolation. Yes, you start realising something is amiss. Three helicopters and yet no villagers waving frantically at the flying machines. Something terribly wrong. Dead towns, you see, do not wave, even if the helicopter happens to be ferrying the Prime Minister of the country.”
