Balakot: Help Never Reached Them

It is 0200 Hours 24th October 2005. I am just back from Balakot, the city of dead abandoned even before a concerted effort was made to rescue those that deserved it. The only activity seemed to be the hustle bustle of numerous national and international relief organizations looking for people they could feed. Tears have since dried and people move around silently with not a word to speak. They are broken down to every sinew and their wailings have since long given way to an eerie silence and resignation. As I stood photographing the cracked highway memorial, a small group from the mountains descended into the town. When they turned the last bend and took full view of Balakot, the awe and despair on their faces was noticeable. The man I met had walked for three days to reach Balakot to seek help for his family. He was shaken to see a city destroyed beyond recognition and collapsed with his head in his hands. I wanted to give him water but he refused saying that he was fasting. The brave but broken man had been walking for the past 13 hours with a very strong faith, only to see his hopes shattered. As Azan in the far distance sounded Iftar, I pretended to share those holy moments with him thinking, that if indeed this was the wrath of God then why on such simple people with such strong faith? As the sun set behind the hills a little child of three walked up to me in this ghost town. Uncle please search my shoes for me, he said as I looked down at his tiny feet stepping on the rubble. To him, he had lost his dearest possession.

This is my second visit to the area. The last time I visited was punctuated with hope for survivors from the rubble, and I saw people anxiously poking around and listening for signs of life amidst a stench of death. The piles of rubble looked the same except where they are cleared to make way for vehicles. All those who survived the initial jolt and kept imploring for help are since dead. There are no visible signs that an effort was ever made to rescue them. The might of disaster and weight and size of concrete slabs was well beyond the limited earth moving plant available in the area. The stench has given way to the strong odor of formalin, a disinfectant sprayed in the area. The line of slipped mountains passes right through this road bend sweeping with it some of the most beautiful roadside tourist restaurants on way to Kaghan, a spot I had frequented in the past to photograph Balakot down below on both sides of the meandering river. The sheer force of the quake has broken the road at every yard and raised or lowered portions creating bumps reminiscent of the people who once inhabited this area. Close by, there is a multi story school building collapsed like an accordion with one roof on another. Volunteers of ZINDAGHI TRUST told me that not a single child amongst the odd 500 inside was saved.

ZINDAGHI like many other relief organizations is doing a remarkable job in the area. Seeing a sign of the Cross on their camp, I stopped to meet the volunteers. Most turned out to be Christian Boy Scouts from Karachi who had just returned after ferrying loads to distant mountain houses on their backs. They were in very high spirits led by a serving army officer on leave. I kept wondering how motivation had worked wonders for these sea level people to climb mountains with heavy loads. Likewise many industrial houses like Dewan Salman, Dewan Mushtaq and Pepsi Faisalabad have set up their own relief camps. Most remarkable is the military hospital set up by UAE. Close by there is a relief camp and hospital operated by the Chinese as well as a Women hospital run by Catholic Nuns of Pakistan.

Signs of order are now more visible. I failed to discern if it were more due to the organizational ability of the army or resignation on part of the local communities. But one thing is for sure. Help never reached them in time. Now there are too few seeking it.

Silence

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