by Kahnu Dhir, MA,M.Phil (JNU)
(Bhubaneswar,Orissa, India)
It was a sunny afternoon (April 16, 1978). The sun?s rays were unusual?straight and scorching; warm wind blew from the south throughout the day time. At about three o?clock, instead of sun the sky overhead as far as the horizon was a low blanket of ominous metallic gray portending an approaching violent thunder storm. By that time, I was in the midst of friends including my sister in the village mango orchard. This was a practice in every summer that we had inherited from our fore fathers?to rush to the orchard and compete among ourselves to collect the raw mangoes nipped off by wind. Gradually, the sky was getting darker and we all experienced a cool breeze blowing from the north-western side. An old man shouted at us. ?O kids! leave the orchard or else you might be hurt by the branches of the trees broken by the storm?. In following his advice, my sister and I started running back home, but the speed of the wind which was gathering the sand and spreading it all around did not allow us to move further. However, we could reach a thatched house which was being used as a grocery shop. All of a sudden, the dust storm receded and we thought proper to go back home where my mother would have been worried in my absence. As we stepped out, my father?s younger brother who present there was asked us to witness a giant, V-shaped cloud that was looming over the agricultural field in the north-western side of the village, and it couldn’t have been two to three kilometres away! This piece of hanging black cloud was looking like the trunk of an elephant, which was trying its best to touch the ground at any moment. Gradually the north-western sky was turning vermillion red, instead of the previous metallic gray. My dada, father?s younger brother anticipated a strong dust storm and shouted ?the hatia sundha (trunk of an elephant) could cause massive destruction, so everyone outside should get inside the shop.? I distinctly remember the funnel, the clouds building up on the storm’s trailing edge. We watched them— literally forming in a cloud mass that wasn’t moving, but was rather growing towards us. I had never noticed anything like this before, and it was a little weird.
By the time my sister and I burst in to the grocery shop, it was densely packed. However, we could get a little space in one corner, adjacent to the main door of the house. We were holding our hands tightly and praying a horde of lords for life. No one seemed altruistic: not thinking about others? survival, for every one?s own life was most precious for him/ her at that moment; others? were secondary. The intensity of the storm was incredible; its sound was getting louder, like a roaring giant steam engine. The rain and wind let up for just a bit, and then started moaning again. It became progressively darker: nothing was visible. The demolition of houses and other structures gave the impression of the burst of crackers all around. The gust picked up stones, and other objects, heavy and light and pelted us. Sometimes I felt like being hurt by pellets fired from guns. It reminded me of the bombardment of Hiroshima and Nagasaki that I had read in the history books at school. I could hear people snared by the gust gossiping that, it was bombardment over the ferrochrome factory situated on the other side of the hill. All of a sudden, in the midst of the roaring sound of the wind, the sky was made visible like dawn, after the thatched roof was blown away. I could see branches of trees, clothes and other belongings of the villagers flying away in the sky. The visibility was temporary, for darkness followed it within seconds. I felt as if the storm was gathering momentum from time to time. As it started twisting the house, we were moribund?at every moment we were being near to death. I do not remember when my sister was separated from me? the time she freed herself from my clutches, voluntarily or by force of the wind. The bamboos, wooden objects and other house building materials started falling all over our bodies. Although the crowd inside the grocery shop shouted God?s help at the highest pitch, we could not hear to each other: the speed of the wind triumphed over our voices.
After about half an hour, the storm receded and I could discover myself around rubble and debris. The entire village was razed to the ground? dwelling houses of the villagers as well as the public buildings were destroyed; trees were uprooted and there was no blot of human existence. The grocery shop which sheltered us during the storm was twisted to such an extent that the existence of a house on that spot was questionable. I felt as if I was the lone survivor of this disaster. But my father?s voice, after a while surprised me that he was also left mercifully by the storm. The first casualty that we witnessed was my sister; she had already succumbed to injury caused by the fall of a strong piece of wood, which fell straight on her head . Had it fallen on me, the things would have been different. Her death struck me dumb. I sat beside her dead body for a moment?until my father lifted me with his hands. We left her dead body unattended and started running to the houses where other members of our family stayed during the storm. As we moved about fifty feet away, father took a pause, turned back, and collected some straw scattered all over. He walked straight to my sister?s dead body and covered it with the pieces of straw he gathered so that it could be protected from the dogs and other carnivores. No sign of human existence was seen in the damaged grocery shop: it was just a heap of rubble. As we proceeded to our dwelling place which was of course a furlong away, we saw dead bodies of unidentified human beings and animals on our way; the fallen trees and rubble had blocked the road. We could cross the barrier by climbing over the bodies of the fallen trees. As I moved a little farther, I could identify the carcass of our cow. Her calf had sustained rigorous injuries caused by some wooden elements that pierced her body. Both the mother and child were sucked to air from the cattle shed and left from above by the storm. The cry of the calf disturbed me and I took a pause near her. My father advised me not to stand idle, for we had to look for other family-members who must have been stranded beneath the debris. At the entrance of the sahi (the place of habitation), a RCC house was still standing unaffected. It was filled with injured ones. They were shouting for food and water. Some of them were crying, for the pain was unbearable. The most terrific picture, as I still remember was a person?s throat pierced by a metallic element and his cry for help. Although his brother poured water through his mouth, it came out through the hole beside the throat. The touch of water to the wound would have been very painful! Amidst the dead bodies of known persons, we were in search of the bodies of my sisters, either dead or alive. My father?s younger brother?s wife (Khudi),who was rescued from a damaged house was crying nonstop. A portion of a brick-concrete wall fell on her leg and gashed it. Later, there was no other option but to amputate the leg in a medical. In order to check the gush of blood, my father swathed the wound tightly with his towel. Thanks God, the flow of blood stopped within seconds and she was saved from a sure death due to hemorrhage. Since there was no instant availability of water, her thirst due to pain could not be quenched. Father, thereafter, dashed off to other spots in order to look for the other members of our family. One of my sisters, left unaffected by the storm was panic stricken and dumb found. She was standing in one corner of a damaged house. After a while she could indicate the spot where my mother and others were cuddling up to each other during the day time. A few seconds later, I could hear the tone of voice of my elder sister. It was very sluggish?it lacked energy. The voice was coming from beneath the rubble strewn all around. I could locate her: she was compressed by the fallen walls made of late rite stones. After lifting a small piece, we could see her head. Perhaps the burden on the skull was lessened to a great extent. She opened her half-closed eyes. Father was trying to remove the stones, but he was not capable of doing so. There was no body to listen to his cry for help. Although I was supplementing his efforts, it was not enough. He was shouting abnormally, begging for the neighbours? help, but the response was negative, for everyone busy clearing the heaps of rubble to rescue his/ her near and dear ones. I was crying louder, but there was none to pay attention to it. I took a brief pause, looked at her face. The movement of lips gave an indication that she was still alive: perhaps she was trying to speak something. The throat was squeezed, thereby not allowing the tongue to move to any direction. To our utter surprise, we could hear an oriya alphabet ?pa?. All I could guess, she was asking for ?pani? i.e., water, which was a rare object at that point of time. We ran here and there lest some drops of water could be found to meet her need. Thanks God, the storm followed by the downpour had left some amount of water on the ground: in the potholes. I collected some drops, which my little palms were capable of, and dashed to her. As two or three drops touched her lips, she breathed her last.
