A mere audience I was, listening or should I say, overhearing the conversation happening on th eother side of the phone. The voice of the persons on the other side, apart from the holder of the phone was hardly audible to me. the words mde hardly any sense but the voice did.
As a part of our relief centric activitie, Batulda had gone to JBC (JanakiNagar Branch Canal), around 40 KM west of Purnea. His narrative is what I could get to understand the plight of human beings been bought to the margins of life over there. What he told me was heart wrencthing but more touching than that was the agony in the voice of the old lady talking to him.
People have been forced to take shelter under some temporary arrangements made of bomboo shoots with no walls to protect them from the transgression of weather nuances or nothing to lie down on other than the mother earth. Mattress or a rag would still be a luxury for those who do not even have a mat to spread on the earth to put their bodies on. Food is a luxury and hunger a reality. with death staring in their eyes and life whipping them to live on, the struggle is going on for them.
The old lady was pleading for some light during night. She wanted a lantern for spending the nights. Sir’s assurance that bigger candles would be provided was of no use, probably because the unabated whiff of air would not let the candles burn.
What was most disturbing was the tone of her voice. May be that old woman had never asked for alms ever in her life or may be she would have struggled to keep herself up and reach an economically respectable situation. But she had lost everything and now was forced to ask for alms and bound to live on sympathy. The way she was going on an on about the loss that the flood caused and about how her house, cattles and all wealth ws swayed away in the flood..
I realised one thing: More than anything else, they yearn for sympathetic listeners to let their agony be poured out.
