NARRATIVE WRITING-THE TRAGIC BEATS OF A FLOOD

 THE TRGIC BEATS OF A FLOOD 

It was an ever memorable period of my life- the terrifying flood of about one week- that fired several new thoughts and visuals in my heart. I realized the grief of separation, loneliness and indeed helplessness.

THE FIRST STORY

It was an ordinary day with my usual routines. I completed all my duties as a religious in my ministry and was getting ready to return back to my provincial house. As soon as I got my things packed, I rushed to my superior father to say a bye bye. And at that sparking instant, I understood water had raised it's hands over my way and blocked all possible chances of my return. I managed to make myself calm with the contradicting situation though it was not easy. Standing at the corridor of the Church I thought of the misfortunate souls who has lost food, shelter, relations in a flash of disaster. When we remain fortunate we often do not value the blessings and power showered from above. The sparks of misfortunes opens our eyes to be grateful for the even the minute and enormous blessings. 

THE SECOND STORY

Honestly it was distressing to hear about the massive losses caused by the flood in the nearby localities of the church where I stayed. Therefore I suddenly stepped out to have a visit to the site when I got a chance for that. The place had a lethal silence with fallen trees, eroded soil, shattered houses... all revealing the bitter taste of losses and affliction. The gaze at the disgusted woman, mourning in the memories of the agony she had in the previous night, forced me to give her a touch of heal. She told me about the miserable night, where she felt a great disaster is coming to happen and she is about to loss all that she possess. She was exhausted with the torturing of  these thoughts. She shed her tears of agony in the feet of Mother Mary  whom she entrusted all the time and the whole night was a hymn of prayer to the heaven against the upcoming disaster. Those tears of prayer blossomed in the heaven which was revealed when the landslip flew right close to her house without touching her. The tears of plead will be more truthful in the midst of exact loneliness. 

THE THIRD STORY

It was one of the frightful mornings of those days in which we heard only of death and huge deprivation. Soon after I switched on my television my eyes were stuck with a heart- touching scene of the disaster. The land of Kerala was unseeingly under the control of water with no electricity and even no internet for some days. People are transferred from their place of submersion to safe places. There were pregnant ladies and even new born ones who were all carried by someone who don't even know each other till that time. The shoulders of many men became a seat of life for many. The real humanism is when I am able to wipe tears off from one's eyes, to stretch my arm for the needy.... If I am able to give even a glass of water for a needy my  life is worth. 

THE FOURTH STORY 

There was no other option for them- just take what they  have and move immediately to the nearby school. Ram was the HOD of the Mathematics department of a prestigious college who never stretched his arm before anyone for a help. Now all his wealth is taken away by flood. He is as equal to the maid at his house, all under the same roof of the school.. having the same partially boiled rice and sambar. Some moments of life seem very peculiar that brings great messages. There are some junctures in our life when we really understand the perishing nature of this world, which is very precious and rare. Just value those occasions of misfortunes.

THE FIFTH STORY

The rising water doesn't know to alternate it's flow at any junction, it is impartial to every factors.  It was a time when man learned there is something that he is not able to control. There was well set planning for Manjula, my neighbor for all her procedures. I have never seen her giving up with anything. But it was a sudden crush when all her multistoried apartments, that was growing up with construction and all her possessions where shed off by the unexpected flood. She got easily panic like a tiger roaring for it's prey as she never thought of a supreme power over her. I raised my eyes to that supreme power which I entrust the most as a small child stretching her arms to her mother. There I could see that supreme power , but not with my naked eyes but with a special inner eye of faith, which is above all in this world still one with me... and the invisibility of this power adds it's beauty.