More than just material aid

Relief material has been pouring in. But, says GOUTAM GHOSH, relief is not just food, water and clothes. It is also about extending support to rebuild more than just shattered homes.

THE less-than-a-minute of fury, when the earth rocked and moved, has done all it could. Bhuj, Anjar, Ratnal, Bachhau and many other villages in Gujarat have been reduced to dust and a heap of rubble difficult to climb or cross and, at times, impossible to penetrate quickly to pull out anyone alive as well as those who are dead. Dreams lie crushed and twisted out of shape, no different from the fridges, steel plates, fans, dolls and almirahs torn to shreds like discarded cardboard boxes. Poles carrying power cables have snapped like dried twigs. Clotheslines in many an apartment complex, which has been split in half like a log of wood with an axe, still have clothes hanging, fluttering in the wind, never to be used again. The proud owners lie somewhere under the mountain of rubble on which you stand - waiting to be pulled out for a decent funeral.

"Maare paase kai baichu nathi. Badhu khatam thai giu. Man patni ane chhokra - su matlat chhe paisa (I have nothing left. Everything is lost. My wife and children. Of what good is money now?)," lamented Sujan in Anjar, where 400 children marching down Khatri Chowk to celebrate Republic Day were buried by the buildings which crumbled at 8-46 a.m. on January 26.

The stench of rotting flesh, which hits you hard is the only signpost that tells you unmistakably that someone's dear ones lie somewhere within the pile. Crushed beyond recognition by the rain of bricks and slabs.

Five days after the temblor, international rescue agencies still try to find if there is anyone alive under the mountains of debris. Hopefully trapped in some pocket of air. The British search and rescue team folded up their equipment and left at 5 p.m. on the dot, as if it were a 9 a.m.-to-5 p.m. service contract, but the jawans of Madras Sappers continued their task of extricating bodies sandwiched precariously within some cracked slabs. An accidental slip, or a minor temblor again and the whole pile would swallow the jawans like a leaf in a whirlpool.

The much needed relief is pouring in. Trucks carrying tonnes of blankets, medicines, grocery items and bottles of mineral water and sachets jam the National Highway 45, leaving little room for even an auto to sqeeze past at times. Truckloads of relief material jostle at the entrance to the Bochasanwasi Akshar Purushottom Swaminarayan Samstha (B.A.P.S.), the largest NGO in Bhuj, just as relief material reaches upto the ceiling of the makeshift warehouse next to the relief camp in the Open Air Theatre, Bus Station Road, Bhuj. Dedicated groups of volunteers take hours to sort this out while many in villages wait anxiously for aid.

Careless of the obvious dangers, Lilaben sits and sleeps in the by-lane behind Aina Mahal (a historic site, much talked about in the media), waiting for someone to come and help her pull out her mother-in-law's body that lies in a small building whose roof crashed during the quake. Concrete walls of the neighbouring buildings had collapsed on this tiny house whose two rooms were filled with debris almost upto the roof. "She could not have survived, but I want to bring her out," Lilaben said, trying hard to hold back her tears. It was difficult to reach the building that was trapped between highrises which had crumbled. It was even more difficult because the carcass of a cow lay rotting just in front her house. The calls for anyone inside were answered by a silence broken only by pigeons which flew away in fear, as if a disaster was imminent. Lilaben was right. Her mother-in-law could not have survived the Nature's fury, but relief to Lilaben and her husband would come only when her mother-in-law's body is pulled out and handed over for the last rites.

Relief, therefore, means helping the survivors locate their kith and kin who they fear lie under tonnes of concrete blocks, and bricks turned to dust. The army is doing an admirable job that requires sustained effort, complete coordination and a large dose of risk. Even when a body is seen it may not be possible to pull it out as easily. The body may lie trapped under a concrete beam and one has to excavate the debris from below. Despite the mask, the overpowering stench of rotting flesh forces the jawans to come out for fresh air once a while. Near the Old City where three highrises crashed killing dozens instantaneously, the jawans took hours to pull out a single corpse while hundreds of people waited anxiously on the road far from the site to see if it was of someone they knew.

Not a single house in these towns and villages is inhabited today. People have put up tents for shelter by the roadside, sometimes far from their own residence. They are therefore worried about the security of their belongings. As many alleged in each town and village, almirahs had been wrenched open and valuables, including cash, stolen. Therefore proper relief also implies providing security to devastated buildings from fortune- seekers who overlook the tragedy and the people's plight to pilfer and hoard whatever they can.

The camps visited had one thing in common. All the families were affluent. Puneer Thakkar, a volunteer at the Open Air Theatre relief camp on Bus Station Road, Bhuj wanted his maternal uncle, a businessman in Coimbatore, informed that all in his family were well. Mahesh Pujara, a photographer, was in the camp with his family even though his house survived the quake without a single crack. The really poor were far from these well-endowed camps where relief material was almost freely and sometimes carelessly distributed.

Thoughtful relief also means sorting out the material at the point of origin and sending it direct to some quake-hit village instead of routing it to a central agency to be carted later. The need for water, food and blankets (the temperature plummeting to 4' C at night) cannot be kept on hold for days. A European, who was sunbathing atop cartons of mineral water at Bhuj airport, may have been a photographer's dream come true, but it was also essential aid that the quake-hit people, particularly the poor in Kukma and Ratnal villages by the NH 45 on the way to Anjar, were denied because there was no transport to carry and distribute this crucial input for survival. As Dr. Venkat Aiyer, a medico with BAPS, said, "There are reports of a large number of people suffering from gastroenteritis in the villages around."

By the eighth day, there were definite signs that life goes on as people ventured to find if there was anything left in their homes to be reclaimed. A tea-shop opened early in the morning just a 100m away from Gokul Apartments of 40 flats which is believed to have buried hundreds alive. Children had begun to laugh and smile. The trauma seemed to be wearing off. But it was still a long way to go, and months before the rubble at Anjar, Ratnal, Sukhpur, Bachhau and Bhuj could be cleared. Till then, those who remain, like Lilaben, will nurse their fears, waking up with a jerk at the sound of an airplane taking off ("It was the same sound the day the quake struck," said Khatri Kasam Hussaini at Anjar), and looking forward to someone helping them fish out the remains of their loved ones.

So relief, after a calamity as stupendous as in Gujarat where life was twisted, tossed and torn sooner than it takes a pop song to end means more than just providing material aid. It means a support that extends to more than just daily food and water. Though one cannot help appreciating the immense fortitude of the survivors in bearing the brunt with a brave face, the fact remains that many, especially children and women, need reassurance. Not just promises from faraway Delhi by policy makers who toured the devastated area in the virtual security of a helicopter flying 300 metres above the ground, but by social workers across our vast nation who can stand firm and placate the restless people, and build the towns and villages brick by brick.

The answer to quick recovery lies in direct adoption of villages by agencies, with a history of unquestioned integrity, which could be assigned the task of handling the aid. To help rebuild the shattered lives of all - the rich and the poor.

* * *

When no one is watching

"CABIN crew. Close and arm all doors," was the cryptic directive from the captain of the special flight from Bhuj. Outside on the tarmac stood airport officials and security personel waiting for the engines to roar. A load of mineral water bottles waited to be carted away for the water-starved people of Bhuj. The security personnel promptly tore open some cartons and handed out bottles to their colleagues. Some carried these to a jeep waiting just beyond the tarmac while others held them close to their chests. Some opened the bottles to quench their thirst. Only a handful had the sense to refuse the windfall.

By the time the plane rolled out towards the end of the runway for take-off, five cartons had disappeared. I was reminded of Dudhaben, who refused to accept a part of the cash relief I was given by three individuals of Chennai who wanted it to be distributed to the quake-affected in Bhuj. Dudhaben had said, "I don't need money. My children need water. I need wood and food."

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