Rain of death

Amidst the confusion of the amno fire, a town found itself

SUKHMANI SINGH

If at first it was like a spectacular war movie played out on a giant screen, soon it struck too close for comfort. For the residents of the crowded Sadul Colony, opposite the government hospital in the heart of Bikaner, the recent ammo fire brought death and destruction late in the evening, three hours after it had started...But only for a select few, destined it would seem, to die.

Take 16-year-old Narender Singh, training to be a car mechanic in distant Hoshiarpur. The young lad had just reached that morning to celebrate Lohri with his favourite bhua (aunt). The same evening he was felled by a seven foot long rocket launcher, which fell on the dividing wall between his uncle, compounder Sucha Singh’s house, and that of his Muslim neighbour, Majid Khan. The house collapsed like a pack of cards, pinning the family under the bricks.

For Narender who had just come down from the roof, death was instantaneous. His bhua was rescued, but part of her left hand had to be amputated as it had developed gangrene. His ten-year-old niece, Parminder, standing awestruck on the rooftop and gazing at the fire, cannot hear properly from one ear. Strangely, this was the only shell which exploded here.

Yet calamities bring out the best in otherwise bickering humans. For amid the chaos and panic, residents came valiantly to the rescue. Hospital attendants Moti and Vijay Singh rushed to pull Narender’s body out from under the rubble. Forty-year-old Sakida manually carried her 25-year-old niece, Hasina, to the hospital. Still attending on her, she looks back on that day,‘‘Her leg was hit by rocket splinters. It was bleeding profusely and I knew I should get her medical attention as soon as possible.’’

Others grabbed vegetable carts to transport the injured of the two families to the hospital. In their time of strife, they were not Hindu, Muslim or Sikh, just humans in need. Till today, Sucha Singh’s two daughters are in the loving care of their Muslim neighbours.

In the war-like situation that ensued, the entire city came forward to help. Residents of over 12 heavily populated colonies had to be evacuated and given food and shelter for the night. Hoteliers, owners of dharamshalas and community halls volunteered their services. Even the owners of the city’s four movie halls offered their premises for the evacuees.

People diligently packed food packets in the hundreds, so much so that many of them went waste. Rumours of course flew thick and fast — many stated that a group of militants had set the ammunition at the depot ablaze. It was their first sight of war, albeit accidental, and the destruction it can cause.

For people residing in posh, sequestered colonies as well,it looked as though the fire was moving menacingly towards them. Yet, with customary resilience, many residents returned to their homes late that night once the danger had subsided. Some stowed away pieces of shell in empty bags of flour to keep as a memoir. And now the survivors shrug with typical fatalism,‘‘Jo takdeer mein likha hai wohi hoga(only that which is destined will happen). We had heard these misiles can travel even a thousand kilometres. Now we know.’’