A SHORT STORY ---WHEN STORM BLEW AWAY-1

WHEN THE STORM BLEW AWAY-1

(Serialized Story)

1

The sky was dark. In fact, it was pitch dark. One could hardly see 20 feet away. Air was still—absolutely still—not even a leave stirred. There was an uneasy calm in the atmosphere. It was not evening but 10 AM in the morning. The overcast sky had made the scene very scary—nay, very very scary.

Amit, sitting in the balcony of his house, could feel the pulse of a ravaging storm that was undoubtedly imminent. To be very frank, in the months of May and June, storms are a regular feature in North India. They occur with regular periodicity with devastating effect. They are the harbinger of death and destruction. Storms are often followed by lightening showers which provide relief and succor to the people.

Irony is before the relief and succor, there is a naked dance of devastation, unleashed by dust storm. Trees are uprooted. Houses collapse. Roofs are blown away. Electricity .poles and old trees are a mangled mesh on the roads, blocking the traffic. Water pipes get choked. In a nutshell, it takes a while before normalcy returns. You need effective administration to do this. Once the normalcy returns, everyone forgets about the nasty storm and its devastation. Human memory is not only short lived but it also jumps from one crisis to another.

Amit suddenly realized that the incoming storm might cause heavy damage to open windows and doors of the house. As he got up to shut the doors and windows, he noticed his grandma standing in the terrace, next to him, and gazing at the dark clouds. She was completely immersed in her thoughts. Amit yelled, “Get inside, grandma! Get inside. A heavy and a severe storm is likely.”

“You know Amit, Storms are known to cause damages but there is one thing very funny about them”, Grandma responded.

“What is it, grand ma?” Amit shot back.

“You see the people who weather the storm, do not enjoy the peace, harmony and serenity that follows it. Invariably, the people who enjoy the good times following a storm, are those who desert and hide in the safe heavens when storms unleash their wrecking fury.” Grandma sermonized.

“Well, grandma! You are getting philosophical and hyper sensitive. I reckon it is their practical wisdom, grandma.” Amit dismissed grandma’s theory.

“Practical wisdom? My foot! It is sheer dereliction of human, social and official duty—whoever you are. Their enjoyment rests on the sacrifices and blood of those brave people who give their lives away to checkmate the storm?” Grandma chided Amit.

“Fine, grandma! No more harangues and pontification. Let us stop this session on moral values and ethics. Let us worry about the imminent danger of a weather-storm which is due any moment.” Amit tried to deflect his grandma’s mind.

“Oh, I see! You are trying to classify ‘Storms’!! ? What did you say –“Weather Storm? You mean to say it differs from Social and Political storms? Does it? No, my son the end result of all storms is same. They all affect human lives. They all leave debris behind. They only bring misery and pain to those who dare to combat them. In their aftermath---the cowards, who escape to avoid its fury----come back later to enjoy the benefits of harmony & peace?” Grandma retorted.

“Grandma, you are unduly getting emotional on a non-issue. Remember, what you always sermonize me? You always caution me that EMOTIONS MAKE ONE BLIND. Overpowered by emotions, one loses control of one’s rationality because mental faculties have their shutters dropped. Hope you are not its victim.” Amit hit back with an equal punch.

“No, it is not emotional outburst. It is my visualization of the times ahead on the social, political and national platform. You see-----“, “Stop it Grandma”, Amit Interrupted and pulled his grand ma inside the room.

By now, a very fast wind was blowing. Laden with dust particles, it was hitting the eyes in such a manner that it had begun to obscure vision. Open doors and windows of the house were banging against each other to produce deafening sound. On top of this the whistling sound of the wind was ripping apart the ear-drums. Storm was growing in intensity every second. Amit was running around the house to shut open windows and doors but dust in the air and poor visibility was making his task difficult. He was moving around almost with closed eyes.

In this melee, while he was closing the windows of the drawing room, a strong puff of wind hit his face and he lost control which sent him flying over the sofa. The window pane hit the iron grill in a lightening speed and glass was broken. It made a big banging sound. Shattered pieces of glass were all over the body of fallen Amit, causing multiple cuts and bruises on his arms, hands and face. As he was slowly getting up, taking care not to touch the scattered glass pieces, he found his grand ma standing some feet away an asking,” Have you been hurt, Amit?”

“Yea, grandma! Didn’t you just now say that those who weather the storm invariably get hurt? But, thanks God, it seems only a superficial injury—my eyes and head have escaped the disaster.” Amit responded.

“What happened?” Mrs. Raj Rathaur, Amit’s Mother, came rushing into the drawing room from the kitchen.

“Amit fell down while closing the drawing room windowpanes. He has been hurt.” Amit’s grandmother informed her daughter- in- law.

“So many times, Amit, So many times I have told you to be careful. But no, you are always in a hurry. You are 30 years old, working out a career in journalism, when will you grow up, Amit? Look at it what have you done to yourself?” Amit’s mother scolded him.

“Come on, mom! I was only trying to do your job. The damn wind was so intense and hurting to the eyes that I lost my grip on the latch and the window banged the iron grill with a lightening speed” Amit tried to explain.

“I knew it, Amit, I knew it. You will not admit your fault. This is what is wrong with your damn generation: you people seem to be ready with justifications and excuses at the drop of a hat. Too damn obsessed with self-righteousness. I do not like it; just don’t like it.” Mrs. Raj Rathaur burst out angrily.

“Come on, Raj! Do not behave like the boss of a HUMAN RIGHTS ORGANISATION: always missing the woods for trees. You are not appreciating as to how much damage Amit has saved to our house. You are only concerned about the breaking of one glass of your window. Exactly like these human rights organizations—just obsessed with only finding faults. The fault might not be entirely of Amit. In rush of things, when deadlines are to be met, some mistakes do occur inadvertently.” It was grandma scolding his daughter- in- law.

“But mummy1 you see his arrogance? He tells me that he had been doing my job. Do you think it was only my job to do al house-hold jobs such as closing of doors and windows; making of beds; cooking; cleaning the house; dusting so on and so forth? Is it my job alone to keep everything in the house in order? Don’t you think, we all who live in this house, have a collective responsibility?” Raj vehemently protested.

“No. it is not your job alone. All of us must share the responsibilities equally. But you must understand in the course of discharge of one’s duties and responsibilities mistakes do occur. After all we are all human beings prone to errors of judgment. Think of it this way if afraid of committing mistakes people shy away from their responsibilities how much damage could be caused to us. The SWEET mistake might have probably saved us a catastrophe. Same way, Amit too was trying to discharge his duty when he decided to close all window sand doors before the storm. If he won’t have done so, a lot of dust and muck would have made a mess of your house. It would have damaged more windowpanes. Please understand and appreciate his efforts rather than crying hoarse with his one unintended mistake” grandma moralized.

“But mummy, we can not condone wrongs. It leads to a bigger wrong later--------“Mrs. Raj Rathaur was trying to justify when Amit yelled in anger.

“To hell with your “RIGHTS” and WRONGS? If you are so peeved at my inability, why do you want me to do a job for you when I can only commit mistakes? Do it yourself, then. Stop talking of your moralities and ethics—also do bother to care for my cuts and bruises You are just not concerned about my bleeding face and aching arms.” saying this Amit walked away in protest, murmuring to himself, “I will never do anything in this house, even if you beg me.”

He took out his mobile and dialed a number. He checked about the confirmation of his air ticket from New Delhi to Kolkotta. He was scheduled to go this Wednesday to report on a very important court case of alleged encounter between a terrorist couple and CAT SQUAD of Punjab police. He was covering the case for his news channel. He calculated that he might have to leave on Monday itself to be able to tie up certain details at New Delhi. He had only one day left to go. Amit decided to get some medical attention from a doctor after the storm had subsided. He was now thinking of the case of late BASHIR KHAN and his wife SABINA BAI –the alleged terrorist couple killed by Punjab police in an encounter on May 17, 1993. On Wednesday, the trial court was to deliver the judgment. This case had whole nation glued to it. The media was hyperactive. Policemen had become the villains in the media trials of the case. But Amit decided to wait for the judgment day before making any final comment in his report.   

(Author’s note:- This is part one of this serialized story. It will run into ten sections)