While the paramedics and rescue teams were in their best form , galloping from one trail to another, somewhere under a discreet corner was these four people; swathed under dilapidated thatched roof of a flower kiosk.
Oblivious to be traced by rescue teams, these people were still struggling for breathing. An old man,a lady with an infant and I. The news channels were red alert on torrential rainfall that led to “Marryquake”. Many people got killed, many were maimed and many like them went missing.
For the first few days we survived on the bread packets that I have purchased to try a new “chicken sandwich recipe ” from my favourite cookery show. Luckily I bought a ” Buy one get one free ” packet. After sometime as the time was passing , our resources were turning scantier. Batteries of our cellphone had already given up long ago.
Paroxysm of extreme fewer was engulfing the old man, Mr. Wilson, who was claustrophobic.
He crouched like a timid animal and started breathing heavily. Suddenly we got acquainted with all the fears: Claustrophobia, Bathophobia, Arachnophobia. Yet, our mind was the only thing that we needed to rein in ,to survive out of that situation.
I quickly gave some water to Mr. Wilson.They will find us… They will.. I was reinforcing this phrase to everyone , feigning the mask of defiance. Last four breads were left, but whatever we share we would make sure that the lady and her child get the biggest share. Often it was just half a bread crumb more.
Lady named Elizabeth need to breastfeed her five months infant ‘ Allen’.
Two days later we heard some prancing over the roof and an instant energy of hope lot in us. But everyone was walking past them. Nobody has a small clue that beneath their feet were four , fighting for life to keep themselves alive.
Perhaps, we were buried too deep, to a point where all the squealing and yelping were of no avail.
To make the despair of depth worse it started raining and then there was a sudden transcendental from ” Death from asphyxiation” to ” Death from drowning”. Still we collected some water in the can and plastic bottle that we had.
When given to choose between two, we always go for the one which reap us maximum benefit yet worrying about ” What if the other choice would have turned better ?”.
Our situation was indifferent. From here whatever we choose would only abate our death from the other but the conclusion was same: We were going to die.
First time I was seeing water from a different vision. It was not to quench our thirst but to extinguish us as a ” Despicable monster”.
The rain is relentless. I heard it thrumming on the metal roof and running down the broken pipe into the mud and moisten my cracked lips with my tongue. I wonder if they will bring me food and water. I wonder if were coming at all.
“Can you pass that rod?’
I started pivoting the brick by all my might.
Slowly we all were lifting rocks. But even if we used our all power ,we could have not been able to lift the bricks.
Days were rolling by and we still didn’t made any headway from the point we started lifting. The
only source to keep us alive was ” Fire”.
We would look for somebody to drop their food: half eaten and half rotten.
As soon anything dropped off from the above ,we would nibble our share of bite out of it.
But when dropping off food became an uncommon scenario ,” Fire Came To Our Rescue”.
Ants..Rats… Cockroaches.. became our menu for the survival of the fittest.
I anticipated the dreadful fear , which was: Would we turn into cannibals in few days?
One night we had a bandicoot for our dinner.
I clicked my tongue with this thought. It was a struggle to survive each day.
I sharpened the rim of my spectacles and cut my finger. What are you doing?
Everyone exclaimed in unison.
Dipping my finger in blood and wrote “HELP” on my handkerchief alongwith our names and address of flower kiosk we were buried underneath. With all my power that I could muster I catapulted the handkerchief.
But sometimes your hardluck have a longer venture.
We did not receive any response past one week.
Mr. Wilson banged his fist against the wall and we all sat in despair.
He banged it again and this time something strange happened.
There was a hollow metallic sound.
“Can you hear that?’
“What”?
I banged on the wall again . This..
Perhaps, if not from above we would dig our way out from the tunnel.
Oh Yes..This is how it is supposed to be.
“Are you in stupor, Peter?’ Asked Mr. Wilson.
Give it a chance , please.
We started digging by the edges of sharp rocks which we have sharpened by scrubbing.
After few days of digging we started losing our energy to dig further. Is death more horrendous than the situation we were stuck at?
For a split second I contemplated slitting my wrist and make it easy instead of watching death creeping me slowly.
But then I saw them and the hope in their eyes.
Truth was : We were not alive owning to grilled bandicoots and ants. Hope is another synonym of life and we were bestowed with this power.
“How badly do you wanna fight this?”
‘I will fight it every tooth and nail’ ,said Mr. Wilson.
‘ I will fight it for my child.’
And this five months child was the protagonist of our brave journey. He acclimated himself to the situation since so many days and stopped crying when unable to feed him enough.
‘Oh God! Am I hallucinating?’
I shrugged Mr. Wilson from the sleep.
‘ Mr. Wilson ..look at that.
Sunlight was right above us and rescue team also came to save us.
Tears rolled down our eyes and we hugged each other.
Ladies and Gentlemen ! This is the brave story of Mr. Peter. Thanks for sharing it with us today.
Just one last question: What impact this incident had in your memory?
Well, it took me years to find my passion and I still couldn’t have that epiphany until this incident. Often what the world perceives passion as : Something that serves you big purpose.
But back in there saving ourselves from that situation became my ambition. And soon after I was rescued I joined the voluntary rescue force.
Also..I have two families: Biological and Survival family.
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