Special issue with the Sunday Magazine
From the publishers of THE HINDU

REACHING OUT: April 08, 2001

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Touching lives

Goutam Ghosh

Though the Republic Day quake in Gujarat had uprooted and shredded power lines, poles and telecom lines like a lawnmower, emergency phone service was restored quickly but power lit only some parts of Bhuj on January 31.

Goutam Ghosh

A phone booth next to an NGO-run relief camp in Bhuj threw open its doors, allowing local, STD and ISD calls free of charge. People stood patiently in the queue for hours, just as one did to book railway tickets not long ago. Unlike the occasional flares-up those days at the railway booking counter, people here stood quietly, some unable to hold back their tears. They needed to reach out and touch their dead ones far away, and they knew well that the person using the handset was as desperate.

The ruins of huts, some built of blocks of roughly hewn granite, that lined the Airport Road on the way to Bhuj less than two kms away, hid a proud lot - the poor - who had pitched tents using saris, pieces of tarpaulin and PVC sheets. Children happily welcomed the rare pardesis who bothered to stop by for a chat. Women were more withdrawn, still traumatised by the violent earthquake that ruined what they may have taken years to build.

Just a km away, army jawans ignored the stench as they tried to pull out those who refused to part even in death. A mother hugged her younger son while the elder child lay next to her, crushed by tonnes of concrete that had crumbled on them. The clenched fists showed the pain they suffered but it was a telling victory of love over the instinct for self-preservation. "It will take us at least four hours before we can haul them out," said Maj. Thakur and Maj. Sukhvinder. On the other side of this mountain of rubble was a dishevelled young man who stuck his head into a small gap again and again to trace his wife buried deep within. "He has found her but cannot reach her," said some others who stood patiently, in case the young man needed a hand.

At the Jain Apartments, where three buildings had crashed on one another, with one building tilting at an impossible angle after having shaved the third building brutally, the jawans and other volunteers had found a family of three, where the husband held his wife and child in a hopeless attempt to save them, even at the cost of his own life. Desperate to retrieve the bodies for the last rites, the jawans with a lasso pulled out a fridge that was blocking the cramped access under the mass of debris. The fridge broke to pieces in the tug-of-war and out popped bars of chocolate, cold cream, vegetable packets and butter. The fridge, that was a prized possession once and was kept spotlessly clean, was dumped like a paper wrapper. The owners who were dead needed relief more than the fridge which they would never use again. The jawans finally managed to drag out the man's body, sprayed antibacterial powder and deodorants on his rotting remains and took it on a stretcher to the street. Hundreds zeroed in to see if it was someone they knew. Though none claimed the body, the jawans had given it an opportunity for a dignified funeral, instead of leaving it to rot and waste away under tonnes of debris.

At the relief camps, all were welcome for meals at any time of the day or night. Despite the numbing trauma, the refugees, many of whom had lost their all including dear ones, showed a warmth that is rare even at the best of times elsewhere. "Please take the blankets. It is very cold at night. And we will be honoured if you stayed with us," said some seniors in the camp to this correspondent and his friend who chose to brave the chill in Khegar Park instead.

At Anjar, the young Khatri and his relations stood directing an earthmover to dig carefully. "I am looking for my 20-year-old sister. Nine out of 25 in our family died here. We have recovered eight. Only she remains," he said. One giant scoop at dusk, and he shouted "Stop!" The knot of relatives reached the body of the young woman which was pasted precariously on a beam of the crushed building. One of the richest families in Anjar, the Khatris tried to protect the modesty of the young maiden's putrifying remains. Tearing apart expensive sarees, they covered her body quickly, placed it on a stretcher and carried it out for burial. The young Khatri sat for a moment on a huge chunk of plaster-and-bricks, looking down at the rubble that remained of his family's dreams. One drop of tear that was sucked in by the sand-laden building material said it all. He had retrieved his beloved sister - to bid her adieu for the last time.

In the Jain mahalla, Anjar, the residents were restless. "There has been no help from the Government or anyone. We got the excavator to do the work," said a senior resident. "We do not need you. Please excuse us," he said. Later the whole group came around, and in a voice trembling in anger and anguish narrated what happened. By then a girl's body had been found. Wiping their eyes with the handkerchiefs they later tied across their nose, they lifted the bedsheet-wrapped body, and cried "Har har Mahadev!" They knew that many more waited to be relieved from the crushing burden of poor building material and the possibility of disappearing without a trace if not found soon enough. Not far from here, a man stood forlorn, staring into the ruin that was being moved by an excavator. He knew he couldn't hug the rotting bodies but he was certain he would at least see and touch his near ones - for one last time. He waited patiently.

In Ratnal and Sukhpur, men and women hunted among chunks of remains to fish out even a twisted plate, if they could. For that is all they had. They waited for the anxious world that wished to reach out to them - with tents, blankets, medicines and water. Whenever a truck stopped to distribute water and food, children and women stormed it for more. Though many such relief carriers saw them, only a few thought of stopping to give them a part of the tonnes of relief material heading for Bhuj. So the unfortunate lot had to save whatever they could for days when they got nothing.

Hundreds upon thousands of people have been touched by the tragedy in Gujarat, and are trying their best to bail out all they can. There are truckloads of aid, mountain-high piles of blankets and used clothes - enough for children and women to survive the bitter cold. Clothes are often piled in the open for people to pick up what they needed. But many were seen carrying huge bundles. That subtly deprived those who could not reach the spot.

Yes, the traumatised lot are reaching out for help. And there are thousands of benevolent souls across our nation and the world who are reaching out to help, to wipe off the tears and to extend a hand to the unfortunate but proud lot. The two young women social workers from Mumbai, who ignored their personal safety and were willing to suffer the pain of living in the open at night, had come to Bhuj determined to stay and help the quake-hit people.

Whenever the outstretched fingers touch, a bond is forged forever instantaneously. But like Michelangelos "The Creation of Adam" on the ceiling of The Sistine Chapel, Vatican, Rome, there seems to be a gap. God's finger does not touch Adam's. In Gujarat too, the fingers of the benevolent and those in need have not always touched.