GRACKSUN: Tragedy of the Plebeian

GRACKSUN: Tragedy of the Plebeian: Catharsis would fail to assuage pain and melancholy surrounding the air of Khuwara, a village 17 Kms from Nurpur. Khuwara, a sle...

Tragedy of the Plebeian

Catharsis would fail to assuage pain and melancholy surrounding the air of Khuwara, a village 17 Km from Nurpur. Khuwara, a sleepy village in district Kangra has found itself on the front pages of newspapers for wrong reasons-these images of the village are not only disturbing but numb chilling. An image captures the present, to be reminiscent of the moment in the future. These images will reverberate the pain and despair of the grief-stricken families for years to come.  Monday, 09 April 2018 was supposed to be the start of the promising new academic season for 12 children (all aged 4-12 years) from this village. The day that promised to start of laying the foundation for the bright future of these children, delivered ruination. The school bus while returning the children and teachers back to their homes plunged into the gorge skidding off the slippery road; killing 27, out of the 23 were children. Khuwara has secured a name for itself in the annals of history, not with the deeds of these children, but with their untimely death. The history of this village will have the blood of these innocent children in its hand. Spare a thought for the bereaved family, calamity had struck their lives, from all sides. Their children: most valuable treasure robbed, their future dreams dashed and hope of prosperity ceased. Prima facie suggested negligence on the part of the demised driver. The first day of the new academic session turned out to be the last day of their life for these ill fate children. 

The incident moved us all; in fact, it bedeviled us. We are broaching over the incident and will continue to do so for days. I, myself is guilty of not paying heed to this calamity; agonizing images in the newspapers made me realize the magnitude of the accident. Some might even vent their spleen on authorities by staging a protest. Social media will be popping up with messages of melodramatic trite. There is a palpable sense of loss on every face but at the same time, our ostrich mindset acts as scruples in raising our voice and making it heard. We, as a society, have failed: the fact that the cremation place was replete with corpses and places didn't suffice. Forget about road safety for the moment. An incident as such does not make any democracy proud, be it mature or developing.

The administration sprang into action: it was announced immediately that a committee will be formed soon to avoid such accidents in the future. District administration annulled all cultural function that was to be organized in the next 10 days. The Hon’ble High Court has taken suo motu cognizance of the accident and issued a notice to the state government and appointed amicus curiae, a former Advocate General in the last government. Politicians are pouring into the village to offer bromides and console the bereaved families. The state government ordered an ADM level inquiry to find out the exact causes of the accident.

 The mass cremation was carried out on the next day; the scene was heart-wrenching: cries, lamentation, chest-thumping, tears flowing profusely like streams from the eyes of one and all. The people, of all age group, thronged the cremation site, to offer their homage to the dead. The cremation site had no proper road, a path had to be laid out with the help of a JCB machine. Development is yet to reach cremation sites in our country, it seems. Some say had there been a crash barrier tragedy could have been avoided. Such comments have become archetypes after every tragedy. It’s a matter to be broached on another day- maybe on another platform. A village has lost posterity; calamity has left the village in the void forever. Time will surely stop the tears and heal the wounds, although scars will remain as a milestone to reflect the gravity of the agony and suffering.

Back to the capital of the state, it’s raining incessantly, for a change. In all possibilities, God is also crying his eyes out to the tragedy. The road here is like rivers of cars, meandering gracefully and cacophony offering the painful music. The school cabs teeming with children crammed in them. Children of the plebeian, maybe, maybe not. There are splashy big cars with conspicuous red rubric engraved in front on an errand. Red rubric: speaks for power, sense of authority, a possible immunity, almost everything except accountability. As long as we have two different sets of cars – one crammed with children other too commodious for one or two inmates- carrying children to the schools, we may never find an answer or solution to such accidents. Soon political swords will be drawn out from the sheath to wage a war.  Meanwhile, we have a tragedy to mourn- a tragedy of the plebeian.