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| Sunday, 13 April 2003 |
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| News Business Features Editorial
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Short story Unbelievable but true I sat on the cement floor of the bus station bent in two. I had hardly the strength to walk; I could barely recognise where I was. The long journey seemed to end nowhere. I got down at the bus station because a voice behind me said "Get down", I couldn't proceed much further from the bus stand for two reasons; I was still weak and my legs felt wobbly. Besides, the city scenes that I once knew so well were blurred and did not make sense to me. When I heard someone calling out "Raj" a little while later. I just looked up blankly because that was my name and I responded to it with eyes upturned. But that slight raising of the head was enough. When they recognised a man whom they unsuccessfully searched everywhere for six long months, who was assumed dead and buried in an unknown grave somewhere in the city, where he was last seen. I must have appeared like a ghost before their unbelieving minds. But their eyes and ears confirmed that it was their father who was before them. What joy they would have experienced! But there was no joy on my part, because I couldn't make out my own son and brother-in-law. They rushed towards me took me, by my hand and lifted me My son shed tears of joy and embraced me affectionately; weeping loudly; meanwhile, my brother-in-law held my hands tightly and streams of tears were flowing down his cheeks. He would have uttered a prayer of thanksgiving, I am sure, because he was a religious man. It seemed impossible to them that I should be reunited with them. Yet, all this was 'puzzling' to me, I was hardly conscious, too dazed, to try to make sense of it all. Why was I dazed and wobbly on my feet like a drunken man ? Why did my family assume that I was dead and buried in an unmarked grave ? Fateful On a fateful morning bright, warm and clear, I had arrived by bus in the capital the previous evening from my home 120 kilometres away. I do this trip, once in a while. This time I came to complain about the computer I had purchased sometime ago from a shop nearby. The guarantee period was still on. I also intended to meet someone dear to me. Whenever I was in the capital I never failed to meet an old school pal of mine at his office. When I visit the capital I normally stay with my brother-in-law who lives in a spacious bungalow in the heart of the city. It is a comfortable place. I had the luxury of a room for myself with meals. Late So, I woke up rather late that morning because I was tired by the long journey the previous day. Also, the shops opened only at nine am. I knew the computer man wouldn't be there before nine. So, I got up at about eight in the morning, had a wash and breakfast and coffee and read the newspapers for sometime. The print media seemed to proclaim that the city was at last safe because there were no incidents of violence for some months. So, with a feeling of well-being I got ready to go to the Central Business District (CBD) of the city to attend to my work. There was no foreboding of what was in store for me that day. Computer I took the 212 route to the CBD area and got down at a halt a hundred metres from the computer shop. The computer man was extremely nice and obliging to me that day. He directed me to present the computer to their agent in my hometown and assured me that they would put right the problem for me. He also promised to phone up the agents about me and that I would be meeting them soon. The fact that I could find a solution to my problem so satisfactorily increased my feeling of smugness and comfort even further. Now it was 10.30 in the morning and was the ideal time to meet my friend. It would be the short break for him so that we could have a cup of tea and reminisce. Short Walk My friend's office was only a short walk from the computer shop. He worked in the headquarters of the company that employed him and this building was in the adjoining street. This particular road could be called the artery of the CBB area because on either side of this wide street were tall buildings that housed many banks, including the Central Bank, and airline and other offices. A narrow street connected the road I was in to this broad highway where my friend worked. I walked along this road and as I entered the intersection the broad tree lined avenue, the heart of the city came into view. At that moment, a thunderous explosion, louder than any thunder clap burst with a blinding light. That was all I could remember. At that instant I must have passed out into unconsciousness. Now I know that it was 200 kilogram car bomb that had exploded, the effect of which struck me at a distance of 100 metres. I was saved because the solid buildings in the corner of the street bore the brunt of the blast. The waves of dust and debris struck me only partially. Otherwise I would not be living to tell this tale. As for the events that followed, to the point of my relatives discovering me dazed and wobbly at the bus station, I can only conjecture. They are as hazy and mysterious to me as a five-year old child's first recollections of his early childhood. They ask me "who took possession of you?" "Where were you living?" I still can't reply those questions. Some gracious soul must have picked me and driven me to his home. Why that good samaritan did not admit me to a hospital is still an enigma to me. Could it be that he too was running away, like many others, from the scene of danger and death breathlessly? So his first reaction was to drive home to safety and assure his family of his lucky survival. Or did he think that I was just dazed temporarily without major injuries and that I would recover shortly, so that like him I too could reach home soon and announce the glad tidings to my wife and children. If he thought so, he made a very big mistake. I had to be kept in his house and nursed back to life over a period of six months. I must have gone into a coma, deafened and shattered by the huge explosion. He did not know who I was and where I was from. But still, his kindness towards man and his love of humanity was so large that he fed, clothed and housed me, a stranger, for six long months. His wife and children too part took of this humanitarian task, I hazily recollect. The weather there was at times cold and wet. The skies were often cloudy and dull and the horizon through the window of my room showed mountain ranges. Was it the hill country? Why was I taken such a long distance? Was it because it was the hometown of my good samaritan? I wish these questions would one day be answered for me. Anxiety In the meantime, my family knew that I must have been around the site of the bomb explosion on that fateful day. Fifty people had been killed, many more maimed and blinded that day. My brother-in-law who knew where I was going that day would have told them. So they began to search for me. They waited for me till evening and when I didn't arrive, they knew that something was amiss. The anxiety grew by the hour. The next morning the search continued. At first my brother-in-law and my son went to the scene of the bomb blast by that time the police had cordoned off the area. Having drawn a blank and very little information with them they began to visit every mortuary in the area. I just can imagine how traumatic it would have been for them to examine every mangled body looking for their 'dead' relative. Then they visited the hospitals and saw all the dying and injured. What a gory sight it would have been for them to see the suffering indescribable pain. I feel the suffering that was imposed on my close ones who underwent such experience would have been worse than death, catalytic to say the least. Not finding me in the hospitals either, someone told them that the police had arrested some men who were found in the vicinity. By the fifth or sixth day they began visiting every likely possible Police Station where the suspected criminals would be held. The police at the end had asked them to try the prisons. Then they went to two or three prisons in the city. At the same time most of my relatives both here and abroad assumed that I was dead. But the real agony was for my wife and children. Their reason told them that there was a possibility that I was somewhere because they hadn't yet seen my body. But their emotions persuaded them, that since every possibility of a search was over, their hope was in vain. One month passed, then two and similarly with each passing day and week my family gave up hope of ever seeing me again. The police were informed that I was missing. Once on the missing list in my country very few are seen again. Prayers were arranged even a religious mass was done for the repose of my soul. Meanwhile my earthly guardian angel had no way to know who I was. I must have been in a coma for most of the time that I was with him. When my memory began to comeback six months later, I must have told him who I was. He neither wanted to take me home himself and hand me to my relatives nor did he want my relatives to come to his place and fetch me. Why ? Did he fear legal complications and a possible police inquiry ? Or was it that he was such a good samaritan that he did not want the world to know his kindness to his fellow beings. These questions are still unanswered. The steps he took to send me home mystifies me even more than his kindness. He gave me the bus fare to the capital and told a fellow passenger to shout in my ear "Get down" at the final destination. That is how I came to be seated on the floor of the bus station. Meanwhile he had phoned my family that I was on my way to the city. There is one more part to complete this mysterious but true story. Fact is stranger than fiction, they say. When I was picked up and taken home. Oh, the joy in the hearts of my wife and children. They had assumed almost a hundred per cent that I was dead and that was in an unknown grave. To see their 'dead' father walk back into their lives is a joy, an exhilaration that few have experienced! The emotional scenes at my home on that day was a mixture of joy, surprise, shock, even pain at the re-grafting of a part that was dead in them. How many of us have tasted the exhilaration of the renewal of a part that was previously painfully incised ! Only the privileged, the blessed of God, I presume. Shirley W. Somanader |
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