Liberation of Kosovo: The baby was named K-For. She lived for two days later she died

K-FOR DIED yesterday morning. She was only two days old and lay inside a coloured dishcloth in the arms of a relative as her father, Mehdi Lahu, walked up the filthy lanes of Vranjevac on his way to themakeshift graveyard beneath the trees.

"She was conceived when the Serb police were oppressing us," he wept. "She was carried inside her mother for two months on our flight through the forests. And she died after her mother hid with me for two hours in the basement while the police raided our home."

It was the last raid by the Serb police, on the night British troops of K-For arrived in Pristina. Mehdi and his wife, Hajrie, had wanted to celebrate the child's birth as a moment of liberation but the baby came late and - because of the last Serb looting spree - was born without medical aid. Mehdi's elderly mother cut the umbilical cord with a razor.

"Then it happened this morning: she just died. We wanted to name her K-For and we wished to ask Mr Jackson to be the godfather but this could not happen. We hope that the life of K-For is longer than this little girl's life and that they will bring us freedom for the first time in 120 years."

He meant every word he said. He did believe that General Sir Michael Jackson would be his child's godfather. And all the while we talked, little K-For lay under the dishcloth in the arms of Lutfi Lahu, the father- in-law of Mehdi's sister. It was a heartbreaking sight.

Perhaps K-For is the last Albanian victim of the war. Or maybe she is the first to die in peacetime. Mehdi had no doubt who was to blame.

"We are refugees from Glamnik," he said. "The Serbs ordered us from our homes on the day in March that the OSCE delegates left Kosovo - and we walked the forests in hiding for the next two months.

"Hajrie was very pregnant. She was not in good condition and the baby was born five days late. We were in a relative's house here in Vranjevac and every day the police would break into our home. And each day we had to hide in the cellar. We'd been there for two hours on Saturday and after the police left our baby was born."

A small crowd of Albanians had gathered round us in the cobbled roadway with its open sewer, a burnt Albanian home behind us, the trees of the graveyard just up the street.

Mehdi wept as he spoke: "We want to go home to Glamnik. There were many houses there that were burnt. We had one of the three that were still undamaged. But we've heard now that the police were living in it and that they burnt it when they left." Another man, in a pink shirt, asked if he could speak. "I am Mehdi's brother Nexhmi," he said. "I arranged my brother's wedding on 24 May last year and I want to tell you about it.

"In our tradition, the bridegroom's friends and family all travel to the bride's family to collect the girl on the day of the marriage. That day we could have had 100 cars to go there. But the Serb police would not allow it. We were so afraid. We could send only two cars. And we couldn't fly our flag."

Mehdi listened, wiping away his tears. From time to time, Nexhmi gently took the almost weightless bundle in the dishcloth from Lutfi and held it to his chest.

"Our baby was born at nine o'clock in the morning," Mehdi kept repeating. "We had electricity but no water - only enough to sterilise the knife. I helped my wife to give birth but my mother is old and could not help much. Now my only concern is to find medicines for my wife. I have lost my baby but I still have her."

Mehdi Lahu is 30 and a mechanic by profession. Hajrie is just 24. It was their first child. "We don't blame Nato for the suffering of our people," he said. "We only blame them for starting the war late. Our baby didn't die because of Nato but because of the lack of medicines." Nexhmi interrupted him. "Our people have a belief about life," he said softly. "We say that it's never too late."

We all shook hands and they walked away beneath the trees, Mehdi with clasped hands in front of him, Nexhmi clutching the bundle. And then they disappeared round the corner of the burnt house.