Sometimes we just need to believe....

It was supposed to be a normal day, except that it wasn't. Within the time it takes for an eagle to take flight and reach the sky, we too would have soared into the other world with equal speed. Death remains largely a word abused in newspapers, in malnutrition, medical and statistical reports. It remains a word that is bandied about unabashedly many a time, without really, truly assimilating what it entails. A life gone. A breathing, functioning individual's breath ceases. Irreversibly.

On 7/11 our car skidded and in the Karnataka -Kerala Ghat section, we nosedived into the ravines. It was all that we have seen in the movies, except that we did not scream, we simply froze in shock. Perhaps someone said "Ah" like an after-thought, under the breath. But that was it. The gut perhaps had stifled the scream. Or maybe the brain failed to register. Within the moment of looking back to see what had happened, we were descending, fast. Dropping. Gravity seemed to be aching to see us land. And land we did. I toppled over. Hit my head somewhere. It hurt. But somewhere within, my heart was screeching, and all I was thinking was, will we live? Will my child all of 3 leave this wrangled mess without a scratch? Will we live to see the next day? And god forbid, if my better half and me do not survive, who will be there for my little one? Somewhere I had read or watched, do not remember where or which book, but that a near-death encounter often makes you relive the best moments of your life in the blink of an eye, well I did not see all of that. All I felt was utter fright and worry..for our future and hoped that we would be fine, hoped that the seat-belt and car-seat would see us through.

So there we were, suspended in possible mid-air, stuck amidst trees, that had thankfully broken our fall, looking at each other in shock. My little one who had till then been asleep, woke up when we landed with a bang. She cried, sought my eyes. I looked at her, she seemed unhurt. She murmured "Amma, take me", she begged. I didn't know then if I should move or stay where I was. I was told to stay put, because we don't know what may happen. Perhaps the car could tilt and may fall further below. I looked into the tearful eyes of my little one and asked her, "A, Can you be brave for me?" She nodded. "Yes, Amma I can be. Can you take me into your arms?" she asked. I cried, without tears. "I will my baby. Can you say Gayatri Mantra for me, please?" Her face looked tired, as she hung suspended but safely harnessed in her car seat she started murmuring softly, "Om Bhur....Prachodaya" She sighed and cried some more. The doors were jammed by the trees. We were trapped amongst trees, suspended perhaps between life and possible death! It was then that we cried for help.

We heard cars passing pay, almost nonchalantly, as if our feeble cries were inaudible. The sound-waves got lost in the midst of the three thick forest ghat ranges where we now lay hung in between. "No one can hear us, which means we are far below", he said. We were calm. An unreal calmness, like the one when the burden of finality sits on frail shoulders but somewhere human dignity, if you want to call it that, refuses to give in and yells, "Hell no, my time is not up. I have more life in me". That kinda calm. He broke the car window. The shards gave away easily, as if understanding our predicament. Sweat poured down his brow, but he relentlessly worked on getting out of the window. Imagine a man of height around 5 feet, 8 inches trying to wriggle out of a hatchback's car window that was precariously stuck between trees in a forest. He got out and slipped many times over to reach the highway and stopped vehicles for help. Many stopped. Very few wanted to venture in the ravine to help us. Curious onlookers I was told, started clicking photos of our mangled car, perhaps unknowing that two people were stuck in the car. A courageous local pointed out to my better half, let us try to get your family out, if we wait for the police, it might be too late.

The minute he stepped out, A had started calling out for him. Together it seemed was better but with her father gone, she seemed more frightened. She looked at me silently and cried some more. "Om Bhur....Prachodaya", we both chanted, with faith, fervour and fright, all tightly rolled into one. It must have been 5 minutes, seemed like an hour then, when my patience broke. And I called out to him. I could hear some voices followed by words like , "My wife, my child.." I yelled "help" again.  I heard his voice again, this time inching closer towards us. Someone said in Malayalam, "Are you hurt?" Feebly I said, "No I don't think so...please take my daughter out of this car. Please help!"  I held back my tears, I should not. Not now. Then I was asked to take A out of the car seat harness and pass her through the car window. I moved slowly lest the weight would tilt the vehicle, then when I realized it looked safe, quickly took A out and kissed her and passed her out of the window. There she was out. Now I could cry. Tears ran down as I stepped out through the window and trekked up on my bare feet wanting to simply hug my little one. "Thanks. Thanks..Thanks...Thank god for you." I said tearfully as I caught many helpful hands who had helped us get back to the highway. My daughter was with a lady from one of the families that had stopped to help us. A was busy looking at the candies that had been handed to her.

"A..." I called out. She saw me and came running. I hugged her and felt a hand on my hand. It was my better half. I hugged A and sobbed hard. She saw my bloodied feet, I didn't realize that a leech had sucked its way then. She hugged me tight. Except for some glass shards and some scratched we had come away unscathed. Sometimes you have to believe that everything will be ok, even when you fall 40 feet in a ravine. Sometimes you have to believe that everything will work out in the end, even if your teeth chatters with what could have been. Sometimes you have to listen to that voice that says that someone up there wants to remind you that the people who count are just beside you. Sometimes you just have to believe ...

Sometimes I need to believe that I am there in your prayers...and you need to believe that you are in mine...always!