AFP

WHEN Sri Lanka's president, Mahinda Rajapaksa, declared victory over the ruthless Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) in a speech to parliament on May 19th, he should have addressed a full house. In fact, over 20 opposition chairs in the 225-seat chamber were frostily vacant. Keeping away were members of the Tamil National Alliance, the largest group of parties representing the Tamil minority, elected in the north and east of the island. It was a reminder to a triumphant government of an unhappy truth: the Tigers may be dead, but the bitter ethnic divisions that fuelled the 26-year war live on.

Some hours later only a few bursts of firecrackers were heard in Colombo when state television aired footage of the dead Tiger supremo, Velupillai Prabhakaran. There had already been two days of noisy celebration at the end of one of Asia's longest wars. Firecrackers were sold out; national flags, with their dominant lion insignia representing the Sinhalese ethnic majority, had doubled in price.

Prabhakaran was shown with a single shot to the forehead, a cloth covering the top of his skull, which appeared to have been blown off. Blood seeped from the yawning wound into the muddy ground he lay in. A soldier turned his head from side to side for the camera. In death as in life (see our obituary), the man many had thought invincible wore an impenetrable stare. LTTE 0:01, read his dog-tag; blood group, B-negative.

The army reportedly located his body beside a lagoon a day after the state media had first announced his death. In the absence of photographic evidence, Sri Lankans had begun to dread that he had escaped. Then, on the afternoon of May 19th, after the president's speech, the army chief, General Sarath Fonseka, revealed that the corpse had been found.

This soon raised questions about the circumstances of his death. Some speculated he was shot by an infantryman who had stumbled upon him during mop-up operations. Others claimed he was killed after being tricked into turning himself in. The International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) reported that the LTTE had offered to surrender to the government through them and that this offer had been suitably conveyed.

The government heightened the confusion by insisting that Prabhakaran had died in battle the previous day, a claim belied by the evidently fresh state of his corpse. All other senior Tiger leaders, including Sivershankar Pottu Amman, who led intelligence, and Thillaiyampalam Sivanesan, alias Soosai, who commanded the naval unit, were reported killed, as was Prabhakaran's oldest son, Charles Anthony, who had run the nascent air wing.

For Rajan Hoole, a prominent Tamil human-rights activist, how the fighters died is less important than the government's plans, if any, for post-war reconciliation. The war, he argues, has left the minorities feeling less Sri Lankan. So if the government does not act wisely, Tiger leaders might come to be seen as martyrs to the cause of a separate homeland. Sulochana Ramaiah, a Tamil journalist, hopes the end of the war heralds a new era of prosperity. But she worries that Tamils might have to live in fear under a pro-Sinhalese government that is now cockier than ever.

In a more understated speech than had been expected, President Rajapaksa attempted to allay some of these concerns by drawing a clear distinction between the Tigers and the Tamil people. He promised equal rights for all. But any response to the long-standing grievances of the Tamil minority must be home-grown, he stressed. Sri Lanka had no time to try out solutions put forward by other countries—an implicit dig at Indian attempts at intervention.

Much of the world has been sickened by the cost in human life paid for the government's victory. Thousands of civilians have been killed or severely wounded in furious crossfire. The government blames the Tigers for civilian casualties. There is indeed evidence that they shot civilians when they tried to escape. But it seems likely, as UN officials and others have suggested, that many, or most, perished in heavy artillery- and mortar-fire from the army. Feverish last-minute attempts by Western nations to bring about a humanitarian pause were rejected by Mr Rajapaksa. He said it would serve no purpose when the rebels were clearly holding civilians as human shields.

European Union foreign ministries have already urged an independent inquiry into alleged war-crimes by both the LTTE and the government. At a meeting in Brussels, they said they were appalled by the high number of civilian casualties in the fighting. Separately, David Miliband, Britain's foreign secretary, noted on May 19th that, though exact numbers may never be known, thousands of civilians have died. More than 250,000 have been displaced by the fighting and interned by the government in camps, to which the access of the international humanitarian agencies is still restricted.

The ICRC has been excluded from the area of north-eastern Sri Lanka hardest hit by fighting in recent weeks. So it has been unable to obtain first-hand information about the needs of civilians and wounded people, including those needing urgent medical care. Many of those crammed into internment camps require humanitarian assistance that the government is not financially equipped to provide. The territorial conflict may be over but a humanitarian disaster is still unfolding.