Surviving on the leftovers

The battle between life and death could not have been so tough. Caught in the gushing waters from three sides with screams renting the air, the scene was a picture perfect for a Hollywood flick.

On a sunny Sunday morning, I woke up to the murmur of the members of my family in Bemina Colony, which became the epicentre of nature's fury. As I peeped through the window, the water was gradually flowing into our colony with people still deliberating the pros and cons of the flood.

Panicked by the flow of the water, my wife and mother immediately entered my room and asked me to help them move the household things from the ground floor to the first floor. Dutifully I joined the task but was convinced that the water level would not reach a dangerous level. That is why I told my family that we would stay on the first floor and if at all the water arose, it will recede in no time.

A few hours later, the speed of the water suddenly increased. From inch to feet, the water level was increasing to a dangerous level. Amid worries, my cousin cruised through the waters and asked us to leave the house, "Leave the house. The waters are gushing like bullet. Take the kids out and leave before it's too late," said she.

My mother and wife started crying, pleading with my brother and I to escape to safety. Seeing the plight of my family members, we too decided to leave, though reluctantly. Without even carrying a second pair of clothing, we cruised through spine-chilling water for safety. When we reached the main road my mother-in-law and other relatives were waiting for us but my father-in-law was missing. He had decided to stay put in the house despite the looming floods.

With water level rising fast, my brother-in-law and I swam through the muddy waters to save my father-in-law from nature's wrath. After hectic deliberations, we convinced the old man to come out with an assurance that he will be taken to safety without any hassles.

By the time we hit the road again, the Jhelum had breached Chattabad, some three kilometers from Bemina Colony, and the water was travelling like a tsunami through our area.

By 4pm, we started our march. After walking half a kilometre, we saw hordes of people running in panic, signalling us to leave the area. Unable to comprehend, we kept on moving. When we reached a mosque, water tides were rushing as if the sea was overflowing on the shores. The women and children in our group started crying and screaming. Thanks to the maulvis, we were taken inside the five-storey mosque.

But the real struggle started in the mosque itself. More than 2,000 people had taken shelter on the 3rd and 4th floor of the mosque with little food and water available. From two-month-old babies to an 80-year-old man the mosque became a relief camp for the displaced people who had nowhere to go.

For six days, my family and I were trapped in the mosque with my seven-year-old son battling severe fever and diarrhoea. It was a famine like situation in the mosque. With little stock of food grain available, maulvis used to cook tahri (yellow rice flavoured with turmeric). The food was only served once a day. The preference was given to kids and women, if anything was left-over the men were allowed to feast on it.

A makeshift bridge was created from the first floor of the mosque to the neighbouring house to fetch potable water from the storage tank. Only one bathroom each was available to men and women which often overflowed. So nice were the maulvis that they used to flush the bathrooms themselves using the flood water.

Baby foods, medicines and milk were scarce. Thanks to the egalitarian men of the Boatman Colony, who used small shikaras (boats) to bring whatever little stocks they had in their homes to help the people in distress.

Some medicines started arriving after six days, but the life-saving drugs were still a far cry. My father-in-law, who is a chronic diabetic and heart patient, was feeling breathlessness as he had not taken his medicines for days. My son was shivering with cold and I had to literally beg for a blanket. There was no ORS available and I had to borrow sugar and salt to prepare a mixture for my ailing son.

After six days when water levels started receding, my brother-in-law and I decided to take risk. We swam to the main road to arrange a boat to ferry my family to safety. With Omar Abdullah's government again failing its people the local volunteers risked their lives to help the people in distress.

Two of the volunteers took my two kids on their shoulders and cruised through the water to safety. We arranged a boat and brought out my family including my ailing mother and mother-in-law from the mosque.

We walked through knee-deep water with my mother and mother-in-law crying in pain but we crutched along with the help of volunteers and crossed into the old Srinagar city. We then took shelter in the ancestral home of my father-in-law where the first thing we did was to buy medicines.

Local volunteers had set up community kitchens on roads and were feeding the flood survivors. At every crossing we were offered food and water. KIds were given chocolate and juices to pep them up. Doctors had set up medical camps and were treating patients on the roadside. Emergency medicines were given free to patients.

Shopkeepers had opened their shops only to ration the food items in a bid to reach out to the maximum number of people. Medical shops were selling the medicines in limited quantity in a bid to cater to the maximum people
As we comforted ourselves in the relative's house, the scars of ordeal continue to haunt us. We do not have any news of our house or household things. We are unable to visit our homes as water continues to remain at dangerous levels. We only pray to the almighty that our homes are safe. As they say 'let's hope for the best'.