January 26, 2001 at 8:46 AM, a 7.7 scale earthquake hit Gujarat, India. 20,000 to 25,000 people were killed and approximately 167,000 people were injured. I assisted in a medial relief effort. The following is a passage from my diary.
28 January 2001
6:20 AM: We arrive to an area that was obviously impacted by the quake. Though it is still dark, it is easy to make out many destroyed structures. The place is quiet. It appears abandoned as if something bad, very bad, happened here. The whoosh of the wind and the caw of crows is all that is audible.
The driver stops the bus and the team bolts out the door and into a field in search of a tree, rock or crevice to relieve themselves. It appears that the waning darkness is the only cover they will have for the rest of the day and they profit from it to do the needful. They are native to this area and must know the ropes, so I follow their lead. After stumbling about for quite some time, I conclude that there is no adequate privacy possible in these parts. With no other option, I choose a space hoping no one is near. But that hope is short-lived. As soon as I fertilize the field, I hear someone present just meters away doing the same. All I can do is close my eyes and pretend he can’t see, hear or small me. Perhaps, he closes his eyes in a valiant attempt to pretend I can’t see, hear or smell him.
After our fertilization, three spiny pigs appear from nowhere and battle it out for their meal of poop and toilet paper. Their fight is fierce and rightfully so given the fresh and bountiful lump of dump delivered to their doorstep. It’s a feast, indeed. I watch in amazement, wondering what it is exactly that the porkies find so delectable in what we left behind. I swear I will never eat a porky again.
On my way back to the bus, I notice a group of people sleeping on blankets outside their partially-standing residences. In spite of their tragic losses, they graciously offer us tea and biscuits. One woman tells us she was teaching in a school when she heard an explosion, like a bomb. “The building started dancing, and the walls started to collapse on the children, and all I could do was watch the adjacent building fall into rubble,” she painful recalls. “It lasted for one minute and five seconds when the earth moved like waves in an ocean,” she adds.
On the road once again, we continue our search for an area needing our attention. As we pass through village after village, we see entire buildings that are crippled or leveled. People camp out in lines along the sides of roads. A dead animal lies on a hump of rubble. A man sits alone in front of a mound of rocks. He stares at it. Was it once his house, his life, his hope? And are his wife and children buried beneath it? Another man sits in front of a pile of stones, probably something important to him once-upon-a-time. This moves the emotions. The space between my questions is emotional. A feeling of helplessness installs itself in the heart. In the chaos with moving vehicles, people and animals scurrying about, one forgets the pain carried in these people’s hearts.
1100 AM: Total chaos. Roads are jam-packed with transport vehicles filled to their brim with donations to help those who lost everything: water, food, clothing and whatever else can carry people over tough times. People congregate in masses to acquire something—anything—more than they now have. Whatever they can carry and then some is fair game. Some people are hoarding and stockpiling what they can perhaps sell for whatever, wherever, whenever. Among the chaos, some people strive to support friends and neighbors. However, the loss and uncertainty of tomorrow puts most people into a haphazard, downward spiral that lands them in a survival of the fittest mode—a me, not we mindset. It’s the human thing to do.
Destruction is everywhere. Disorganization is ubiquitous. Devastation is commonplace. People are camped along roads. Bed sheets serve as walls and roofs to create temporary abodes. Dust blows, herds of cattle hang out, endless bumper to bumper transports vehicles edge along as aid workers drive in circles trying to make some sense of this chaos in order to best serve the people.
It’s nearly noon and we still haven’t found an area to assist. Where are the injured? People are dredging through rubble dumped by trucks in open fields, hoping to find something of value. Aid workers furiously try to come up with some plan to best offer assistance to victims of the quake, but there is no coordinating body, no administration, no government official in charge. As a result, everyone talks and nothing of any substance comes of all their efforts. Hours pass with us going in circles.
Eventually, we arrive at a site, which is completely leveled. Every single structure is damaged or reduced to rubble. We are told that a school crumbled by the quake, crushing sixty of the children inside.
***
29 January 2001
10 PM. The day closes. It is finally time to rest.
What was it like today? We set up camp in the middle of a field that is surrounded by tents and hundreds of people at the edges of their personal piles of rubble. We worked many hours re-bandaging, cleaning and helping people assaulted by rocks, bricks and earth. Just four days ago, the “earth danced.” Everyone present witnessed it and danced along with the earth. In front of their very eyes, they watched their village completely disappear. What is left? Mounds of stone.
People’s stories are beyond tragic. One man shares that he lost both his children, three and five years old, and his wife, too. His entire family and house are gone. When I ask the people what they intend to do, they just sit silently waiting for some sign from Bhagwan—God—who is clearly at the helm. They wait for his guidance and directive. Others simply say, “I don’t know.” I don’t know either. How will these thousands of survivors go on? They were desperately poor before the quake and now they are beyond destitute. What can they do? What resources are there to help them? How is this tragedy possible? And what about the elderly? They have nothing and have no chance of beginning again.
People sit in together and support each other. They sit around campfires and freely share their food, love and conversations with each other. When conversation is no more, they chant bajans and sit peacefully together. Many villagers ask me to join them around their fires. I think my presence is a ray of hope for them. Someone from far away bears witness to their pain and suffering and this somehow comforts them.
The night is quiet, the air cool, the stars many, and all is peaceful. What will happen to these people? Someone in our medical team says that he has never witnessed or experienced such human compassion before. I personally have experienced this tremendous human capacity to care in other natural and man-made disasters in the world. What a blessing it is to see people at their best.
I feel like I could stay here among these people forever. They have nothing—absolutely nothing—and yet offer me their food, water, companionship and friendship. Wow. I am so lucky to witness this.
***
30 January 2001
The bus shakes from side to side in the middle of the night. Immediately, my heart beats so hard that my body rocks. Initially, I think of more tremors or another earthquake. The bus movement turns out to be just someone shifting in their sleep, or at least, that is what my mind conveniently wants to believe to keep me centered.
A near sleepless night because of the intense cold in this uninsulated bus. I slept on the floor of the bus with two blankets, two shawls, and a T-shirt. I also could not sleep because I ruminated on the people’s plight, the moment that their world collapsed then stood still. I’m told 600 to 700 people died in this village of 2000. No one has been spared. Everyone has experienced death in their families. One might say those who survived were spared, but looking around at this catastrophe, I think those who died have been spared. Not having to endure this may indeed be God’s blessing.
The people are remarkably resilient, but what are they going to do? The government and aid agencies want to help, but everyone knows the reality: Much of the money destined for the survivors of this earthquake will evaporate like magic and end up in pockets far away from the earthquake’s epicenter and circuitous fault lines.
I leave the bus after shivering for hours while entertained by my inner theatrical reenactment of the earthquake. The scene sur scène included the “dancing earth,” the explosion, falling walls, trapped people and crushed children. No wonder I couldn’t sleep. Instead of being an audience to a stage wrought with tragedy and permanent termination, I join a group of people nearby sitting around a small fire. Ten people sit around a campfire and talk all at the same time. They laugh and discuss whatever, about who knows what. It sounds and looks so primal, as I imagine the world was initially designed and orchestrated before humans became humans. No one cares what the outside world looks like, if their clothes are dirty, if their hair is brushed or nails polished. Lipstick, hairspray, perfume, fur coats, status and all the other tasty syrups we pour over our desserts don’t matter here. All this makes me think of the time I lived in Angola when a villager approached me with a diamond he had just found in a river. He asked humbly if he could trade it for a plate of rice and beans to eat. None of it matters in the end.
I sit at the fire, very warm, very comfortable. The people laugh and talk, and laugh some more, as they prepare chai. When it’s ready, they serve me first. There are no teacups, but there is a teacup saucer. Once I sip my chai, from the saucer, the men are then served. Once they finish their tea, the same saucer is then passed to the women who wait patiently and quietly. Everyone’s eyes are tender and expressive. It’s like having an open door to their souls. I see no pain. I see surrender. I see no tears. I see solidarity. I see no rage. I see devotion. I see no jealousy. I see camaraderie. I see no hopelessness. I see God-awareness. I see family. I could live here forever and be one hundred percent. How lucky I am to have this prasad, to see such devotion to each other, such simplicity, such inner peace without ever having searched for it, such surrender to God without ever having been formally taught, or proselytized in religious institutions. They have no expectations, demands, misgivings, guilt, depression, family feuds, worries, anger or inner turmoil. They live the moment. They live in the present. The quake is over; their children are dead; their houses are decimated. They never had dreams of kingdoms or aspirations to conquer. These things are future. The future doesn’t exist. Only the present exists. Only the present is real and this is where they live and remain. I wonder if it’s necessary to be poor to be truly in the present.
I want to retreat into the inner world of meditation, but so much happens on the outside that I want to stay in the moment and experience it all.
***
31 January 2001
A full day from morning to night. I couldn’t sleep last night because the mind contemplated these people’s misery. Death to entire families. Two tremors buzzed the bus. I thought it was someone shifting in their sleep, but it was actually the “earth dancing.” We saw many patients, mostly orthopedic problems and infected wounds. Prior to our arrival, there were a number of aid workers who came through and sutured people’s wounds. Unfortunately, these good deeds the good-deed doers did got infected and need debridement and additional medical care. Our coming is therefore timely. It’s good we are here. Today, we were able to help a lot of people.
The locals are so appreciative of our work and dedication to their well-being. They generously make us lunch and dinner, despite the fact that they have so little to eat themselves. It’s touching and inspiring. In the evening, people huddle together around fires they feed with twigs and branches to stay warm. I can go to anyone’s fire and be graciously welcomed to sit and sip tea together. They cover me with blankets and make sure they tend to me as lovingly as I tend to them. I write my diary and they find this fascinating. They are illiterate and wonder how it is possible for anyone to make out anything from this jibber that I scribble. I can’t understand them when they talk and they can’t understand me when I talk, but words aren’t necessary to communicate in these conditions. The heart takes the lead and does the talking.
This evening a child is brought in emergently. He is dehydrated from diarrhea and barely breaths. Sumat Sureka, the two other doctors on the team, and I try everything to save his life. He is so dehydrated that we are unable to get intravenous or tibial access so we can’t rehydrate him. There is nothing we can do. The child holds my finger, which makes it harder to stop trying to revive him. He wants so much to live. He is only three-month-old, but has a tremendous will to live. Why was he brought in so late? He survived the earthquake then dies senselessly from diarrhea. It is very difficult giving up. I give him mouth to mouth for nearly three hours. If his little finger releases my finger I can let him go, but he wants to hold on. The other doctors stand by and give me the time and space to yield, surrender and grieve. They knew it was hopeless hours before and were able to separate. I cannot. I have to believe he can be saved. But after several hours of the same without any sign of hope, I surrender and put the barely living child into his relative’s hands, so that he could feel the child’s last breaths. Why is life snuffed out so quickly, so senselessly, so pre-maturely and so ruthlessly here?
Stories of the earthquake are staggering. One boy was doing puja in the temple next to his house. The earthquake hit and his family’s house collapsed, killing his sister, parents and grandparents. He and his brother were trapped under rocks in the temple for twelve hours. People came to help, but quickly left because they were frightened the building would fall on them. So, they left them to die. Miraculously, a tremor came hours later and shifted the rocks, and they were able to free themselves and escape death. While trapped, the boy tried to kill himself in order to put an end to his suffering. He slashed his wrists with glass, but he didn’t die. Today, he came in for dressing changes and now assists us in our work to help his people. He and his brother are the only ones left in his family. Nothing remains. No one else remains either.
Most of the people are in shock. They don’t react. They remain in a daze and live peripherally to life itself. How could they not be in shock? In addition to their own losses, they see dead, trapped bodies partially buried under rubble everywhere. These corpses are unable to be freed for burial at the moment. The focus is now on the living. The dead will be attended to later. For now, people who have survived sit in front of the bodies of loved ones trapped under mounds of rocks. They just sit adjacent to their beloveds and refuse to leave them.
20,000 to 25,000 people died in not even one minute.