A gentle smile amid tough times
They ran after relief trucks and learned the way to survive in difficult times.
I met Azra at a relief camp in Sukkur. Her bright eyes and gentle smile gave hope that all was not lost in the grim situation that had suddenly enveloped the city, when a 100,000 people from Ghouspur, Thul, Sultanpur, Shikarpur and even Jacobabad had arrived. Many walked long distances herding their cattle along. In the camps everyone had become street-smart.
They ran after relief trucks and learned the way to survive in difficult times.
But Azra never moved away from her charpoy laid under a tree. I was attracted by her smile, which made me feel that she wanted to talk. I picked up courage and walked straight to her. She made room on the charpoy by pushing the relief stuff on one side. I sat down.
“Do you speak Urdu?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Where is your home?”
“Near Ghouspur,” she replied.
“Are you with your family?”
She did not reply this time.
I asked her this question again.
She started biting her nails.
“Is your family still in the village,” I asked her this time.
“Yes,” she said.
While talking to Azra, I noticed no man came to object why she was talking to a stranger. I wished Azra would tell me about her ordeal. I was about to ask her, when she started narrating her tale herself. It was so vivid and touching that one could not resist shedding some tears.
She said she could not forget that night. They were scared of the flood, but the elders of Ghouspur had assured them that the water would just pass by, as the village had the blessings of the pirs. But it didn’t.
The breach in the Tori Bund brought the devastation.
Here’s Azra’s story in her own words: “That night we were sitting on the rooftop and as there was no electricity, we were listening to the radio. Suddenly there was uproar in the town.
“Bund toutee weo ah! Bund toutee weo ah!” was the cacophony of noises on the streets. My father and brothers were out scouting for any news about the bund. I was sitting with my mother, two younger sisters and grandfather. My youngest sister started crying while my grandfather turned off the radio and stood up. My mother was nervous.
We heard the cries of people running about on the street. Those who had transport were driving away, while the rest were just running out of that place.
After a little while when my father and brothers did not show up, my mother told me to look after the kids while she went looking for the men.
Just when she was descending the ladder, we heard a weird sound and it kept coming closer. This was the flood torrent smashing into everything that came its way. And then I heard my father yelling, “Run! Run!” My mother was already downstairs. I helped my sisters get down the ladder.
I was pushing my grandfather to get down as well but he refused.
As we quarreled, I heard the gushing sound of the water right at our doorstep. I remember the muffled noises of my parents asking me to get down.
They did not want to leave without me. My mother even asked me to leave my grandfather upstairs and just climb down the ladder. She warned the water was rising and this was our last opportunity to escape.
I did not want to leave my grandfather. Then I felt that the voices of my parents urging me to come down were coming no more… just the gushing of water and rattling of household stuff. I plucked enough courage and peeked over the wall.
There was no one there. Floodwater was as high as the doors. “Where is everyone?” I asked my grandfather, but he didn’t reply. “Baba! Baba!” I said while pushing his shoulder. He collapsed on the charpoy.
I dropped on my knees and started crying for don’t remember how long when I heard Fayyaz.
TO BE CONTINUED
Published in The Express Tribune, August 27th, 2010.
They ran after relief trucks and learned the way to survive in difficult times.
But Azra never moved away from her charpoy laid under a tree. I was attracted by her smile, which made me feel that she wanted to talk. I picked up courage and walked straight to her. She made room on the charpoy by pushing the relief stuff on one side. I sat down.
“Do you speak Urdu?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Where is your home?”
“Near Ghouspur,” she replied.
“Are you with your family?”
She did not reply this time.
I asked her this question again.
She started biting her nails.
“Is your family still in the village,” I asked her this time.
“Yes,” she said.
While talking to Azra, I noticed no man came to object why she was talking to a stranger. I wished Azra would tell me about her ordeal. I was about to ask her, when she started narrating her tale herself. It was so vivid and touching that one could not resist shedding some tears.
She said she could not forget that night. They were scared of the flood, but the elders of Ghouspur had assured them that the water would just pass by, as the village had the blessings of the pirs. But it didn’t.
The breach in the Tori Bund brought the devastation.
Here’s Azra’s story in her own words: “That night we were sitting on the rooftop and as there was no electricity, we were listening to the radio. Suddenly there was uproar in the town.
“Bund toutee weo ah! Bund toutee weo ah!” was the cacophony of noises on the streets. My father and brothers were out scouting for any news about the bund. I was sitting with my mother, two younger sisters and grandfather. My youngest sister started crying while my grandfather turned off the radio and stood up. My mother was nervous.
We heard the cries of people running about on the street. Those who had transport were driving away, while the rest were just running out of that place.
After a little while when my father and brothers did not show up, my mother told me to look after the kids while she went looking for the men.
Just when she was descending the ladder, we heard a weird sound and it kept coming closer. This was the flood torrent smashing into everything that came its way. And then I heard my father yelling, “Run! Run!” My mother was already downstairs. I helped my sisters get down the ladder.
I was pushing my grandfather to get down as well but he refused.
As we quarreled, I heard the gushing sound of the water right at our doorstep. I remember the muffled noises of my parents asking me to get down.
They did not want to leave without me. My mother even asked me to leave my grandfather upstairs and just climb down the ladder. She warned the water was rising and this was our last opportunity to escape.
I did not want to leave my grandfather. Then I felt that the voices of my parents urging me to come down were coming no more… just the gushing of water and rattling of household stuff. I plucked enough courage and peeked over the wall.
There was no one there. Floodwater was as high as the doors. “Where is everyone?” I asked my grandfather, but he didn’t reply. “Baba! Baba!” I said while pushing his shoulder. He collapsed on the charpoy.
I dropped on my knees and started crying for don’t remember how long when I heard Fayyaz.
TO BE CONTINUED
Published in The Express Tribune, August 27th, 2010.