When soldiers cry
OCTOBER 8 was a day of incredible disaster and yet it seemed as if it was a wake-up call for slumbering Pakistanis. Television was constantly beaming scenes of destruction and death. Suddenly everyone wanted somehow to make a difference, and so began the donations of tents, blankets, warm clothing, food rations, etc.
Collecting the goods was a comparatively simple task. People generously opened their hearts and gave with fervour and enthusiasm. Now came the tough part — the distribution itself. Everyone was determined that they would personally go and participate in this noble cause. Misty-eyed, we visualized ourselves tenderly distributing supplies to groups of orderly and grateful villagers. Reality struck just 24 hours later.
We set off for the Mansehra district accompanied by three trucks containing tents and sundry supplies. Our proposed destination was a village by the name of Soum. The trip was an unqualified disaster. The moment the villagers saw the trucks, they stampeded. The men began clambering over the trucks. If they had taken what they needed and left, it would have been bearable, but for some unfathomable reason each was viciously bent on denying the other his right. The women of the district who were out under the open sky with their children, true victims, watched helplessly as their men physically attacked each other.
Since the purpose was being defeated, we fled. It was an ignominious retreat. It seemed intolerable that the people had deprived themselves of what they so desperately required. We had three trucks and no sound method of distribution. The options included getting the help of the army. All vehemently rejected this particular option. The army was inefficient, uncaring and too apathetic, they said. We had all seen the image of a slumbering colonel on a pile of blankets.
It was decided to leave the trucks in the care of a prominent local. After all, we assured ourselves, no one could say we hadn’t tried. And yet the seeds of doubt remained, fostered by growing rumours of hoarding by unscrupulous men. After a sleepless night, we all decided to return. We set off in a mood of gloomy foreboding. There was an increasing atmosphere of panic over reports of looting, a sense of pessimism that it was all in vain. It now seemed a hopeless cause, for who could help a nation without protectors, a nation intent on self-destruction? Someone again feebly suggested turning to the army. Again the option was ruled out.
We were to change our tune very shortly. We had requested the person to whom we had entrusted the goods to return them to us. He consented but we were alarmed to hear that the truck drivers had been threatened by prominent bigwigs of the district. There was only one way out. We drove to the Mansehra army relief camp with fearful misgivings about what lay ahead.
We entered the camp cynically expecting to find an abundance of neglected supplies. Yes, there were trucks but they barely occupied one-tenth of the vast grounds. On one side of the compound rested a pile of blankets that seemed insignificant when compared to the magnitude of the disaster. We had expected to be curtly refused entry in the compound; after all we were mere civilian nobodies.
However, the officers on duty readily agreed to meet us. We were ushered into a starkly furnished room which was teeming with hectic activity. On one side of the room was a screen with boldly outlined maps on either side. The officers in the room were all engaged in some busy task.
Hesitantly we approached the officers. They heard out our sorry tale and understood our desire to distribute the goods on a personal scale. In fact they made us a magnificent offer; we could come the next morning and witness the relief operation for ourselves. When they saw our surprise at their helpfulness, they asked some shrewd questions. Sheepishly we confessed to our negative thoughts.
Upon hearing our doubts they seemed resigned rather than surprised. A campaign of negative propaganda had been launched regarding the army efforts. This was eroding the meagre remains of a cynical nation’s confidence in its defenders. We interviewed the colonel who had been photographed while asleep. The explanation was moving and brought tears to our eyes.
The men had been working tirelessly since morning supervising the rescue operations. Helicopters were bringing in an endless number of wounded victims and survivors. One helicopter brought in a little child of two years.
He described her saying: “I have never in all my life seen a more beautiful little girl. To my horror the surgeon who had examined her had detected gangrene in her hand. To prevent further infection her hand had to be amputated instantly. As a soldier you become familiar with the faces of death and I have seen numerous jawans die before my eyes. But somehow the sight of this exquisite little child losing her hand was more than I could bear. A sense of faintness overcame me and I leant back against a pile of blankets and closed my eyes. After all I am human. That unguarded moment was recorded by a foreign reporter.”
By about eight the next morning helicopters had begun flying in. The incoming trucks were brought into the inner compound of the Mansehra cricket stadium, where the officers were supervising unloading of goods. The different items were sorted into different piles. No one sat idle, everyone seemed to know exactly what they were doing. The helicopters were loaded with provisions which they would deposit in the affected area.
One helicopter was loaded with shrouds, another with food, blankets, etc. Each helicopter would leave laden with supplies and return with casualties. Although these trips were based on the analysis previously made by the pilots, they also took additional notes on their return. The co-pilot would conduct an aerial survey and mark any affected areas they might have missed.
One village called Kiavi reported a death toll of exactly 50 per cent of its inhabitants. Death might have been the more merciful alternative for many. A young unmarried girl of 18 was flown in. She seemed absolutely fine until you noticed that her legs were folded to one side of her body. Each helicopter carried two jawans. One of our group had offered to go in place of one of them. When he returned his face was ashen.
When he was able to speak he told us about that young girl. He described how he tried to occupy as little space as possible so the girl could have maximum room. Suddenly he noticed her feebly gesture with her hand as if she wanted him to be comfortable. She had lost her legs, possibly all chances of a normal happy life, and yet such sensitivity to the needs of others. Almost without realizing he found tears pouring down his cheeks, and when he looked up he saw the accompanying soldier had also turned his head to the other side.
The morning wore on but the helicopters never ceased. An endless round of goods being sent and casualties brought back. We learnt that there were 26 sorties daily. In the space of a couple of hours we saw our trucks efficiently disposed of and realized that the swiftest method of providing relief was through the army — the inevitable difference between amateurs and professionals.
The words of one officer in particular were unforgettable. We had been complaining about the behaviour of the villagers we had encountered. he smiled and said; “That’s human nature. You must make allowances for these people. Sometimes we land our helicopters in an affected area and they pelt the helicopters with stones. We have come to rescue them and this is how they treat us. But just think of all that they have experienced. As a father I too would expect instant relief for my child. So why should they be any different? They have a right to be angry.” When we asked about the allegation that the victims are being haphazardly dumped we were told that they actually do their best to prevent separations. A helicopter had just brought in a young mother with a dismembered leg. This young women was from the village of Paras. she had been separated from her daughter, so they managed to send the mother to the hospital where that little child was waiting. We spoke to many of the survivors. There were families, orphans, with accompanying uncles or other relatives. What we saw helped us realize that a specific method was being followed.
The army is following a strategy of forward dumping. In layman terms they have established camps which provide basic first aid and even surgical facilities. The camps are shifted forward as the roads clear. Each camp comprises a basic team of doctors and soldiers. The second purpose of the camp is to provide a base for other soldiers to head out on foot.
Volunteer doctors have offered to accompany the soldiers who would be trekking a distance of eight hours or so. The soldiers would carry the backpacks containing medical supplies.
We asked about the long-term goals for rehabilitation of the victims and received the honest answer that this is the first phase: the rescue operation. As for the rehab it can only be achieved if the entire nation is involved. The officer commented perceptively that as a nation we are initially enthusiastic and then we forget.
The tales of despair spreading rapidly…stories of lootings, abductions…all true, yes. But there are other stories too, of pilots making perilous journeys to save total strangers, of acts of heroism, nobility and selfless sacrifice that remind us of why this nation was created.
Any man’s death diminishes me because I am involved in Mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.
Source: The DAWN
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October 30th, 2005 at 4:28 pm
Reading this story made my heart cry but what it did was to make me beleive that there is good out there and every individual can make a slight difference. I hail from the family of Allama Iqbal and currently live in London, we as Pakistanis must help our fellow brothers , sisters in this time of need. I know there are good people out there and this story made me feel that.
Regards,
Faisal
October 31st, 2005 at 12:44 am
I have a brother in law who is one of the pilots running these sorties in hrd areas for relief.Thank God someone finally acknowledged their contributions instead of portraying them as villians.I think The media should play a more positive role than what they are doing now and the people should thank Allah that is in the army taking care of them Not Bibi or Sharifs r many of the others who would have eventually begged the army for halp after they were done eating what help was sent.
October 31st, 2005 at 7:17 am
I have several friends who went to pakistan to work in
a trauma center to try to help save victims of the earthquake for a couple weeks. This story gave me
a written snapshot of some of what they must be facing.
thank you. My heart goes out to the people of pakistan.
October 31st, 2005 at 4:48 pm
Yea, While we agree that nation has come forward united to help the victims, we shouldn’t that army is from the same nation. Their hearts and minds no less affected than us.
October 2nd, 2006 at 6:29 pm
This story was very moving and inspirational. Every word is a true picture of the tragedy that struck the northern areas of pakistan. I was really surprised at the army response.