At about eleven miles, I heard somebody screaming my name. It was my Philadelphia friend. He knew my name, Ghose, and had remembered it. He was inside the bus that was carrying the dying soldiers, and he was waving at me. He had won his “victory”.
After eighteen miles there was another bus. All together, there were two or three buses carrying those who had dropped out. Another bus invited me to enter, but I said, “No! It is better to die.”
RB 103. 7 October 1979↩