The red chair that was Afridshah’s favourite. “He would sit here and watch cartoons,” says his grandmother Hussaina. (Express Photo by Gopal Kateshiya)IN THE narrow lanes behind Wankaner Darwaja in Gujarat’s Morbi town is the home of the Shahmadar family. At its entrance sits 34-year-old Arifshah Shahmadar, grim-faced, almost motionless. In the drawing room, two young girls read out the Quran to his frail mother, Hussaina. But the 74-year-old is distracted by a small red chair near the door leading to the bedroom. Till the evening of October 30, that chair would be occupied by Afridshah, Arifshah’s five-year-old son. “He would sit here, watching television cartoons with me everyday,” says Hussaina.
That Sunday evening, Afridshah and seven members of his family went to visit Jhulto Pul, the historic suspension bridge at a walking distance from their home. Only one returned alive.
Afridshah, his sister Amiya alias Ilsha (7), mother Anisha (33), cousins Muskan Shahmadar (21), Nawazshah Banva (13) and Tamanna Banva (9), and paternal aunt Naseem Banva were all killed when the bridge collapsed.
The tragedy killed 135 people, 55 of them children — 39 boys and 16 girls, according to the final list of victims complied by the district administration.
“No one from our family had ever visited Jhulto Pul. But my daughter Naseem’s son Shahnawaz was insistent on going to the bridge. So were Afridshah and the other children,” Hussaina recalls. “My daughter and her children were to return to their home in Jamnagar on Monday. Given the children’s enthusiasm, I couldn’t say no.”
Hussaina asked her daughters-in-law Anisha and Jameela, the wife of her eldest son Hajishah, and her daughter Naseem to take the five children to the bridge. “They were to cross the Machchhu river via the bridge and spend some time in Kesar Baug on the eastern bank before returning. Afridshah bid me goodbye saying ‘Dadana Vasila (may the Hajisha pir protect you)’. I replied saying the same thing. The children were so enthusiastic. That was the last time I saw them alive,” she says.
Afridshah was attached to his grandmother. “Though he had not started attending school, he could count up to 100 and learnt the alphabet by copying Ilsha and accompanying her to tuition. I also feel a deep pain for the loss of my daughter and her two children. How will I convince her in-laws that this was God’s wish,” she asks.
After the tragedy struck the Shahmadars, the family removed Hussaina’s bed from the drawing room to make space for visiting relatives.
No one has touched Afridshah’s chair.
“I can’t imagine that he is not seated in that chair and that he will no longer count the numbers in the calendar while standing on my bed. Maro chokro ramta rolai gayo (I lost my child while he was playing),” says Hussaina, breaking down.
Arifshah is a casual labourer in the local vegetable market. Reeling from the loss of his wife and two children, he has barely spoken in the last few days, family members say.
“We had to remove Ilsha’s photo from his bedroom and cover Anisha’s sewing machine lying there so that he would not keep staring at them,” says Daudshah, Arifshah’s elder brother.
Recalling the incident, Jameela, who is Muskan’s mother, says everything happened in a flash.
“We were returning when I heard a loud sound. I don’t know what happened after that. When I regained consciousness, I found myself clinging to a cable. A local youth came to my rescue. I refused to come to the shore unless the children, Anisha and my sister-in-law were also rescued. The youth told me that they were also being rescued,” says the 45-year-old. Jameela has two other daughters and a son.
“This looks like God’s will. What else can this be,” says Arifshah, fighting back his tears as he stops midway while preparing a masala (a mixture of tobacco and betel nut water).
After learning about the incident, the family first rushed to the river bank. They then got a call directing them to the GMERS General Hospital. “I saw bodies lying in the lobby. My wife was seated on a chair but no doctor was able to attend to her. I took her to a hospital after the burial of our loved ones. She had suffered a fracture,” says Hajishah.
At Ilsha’s school, teachers are in disbelief. “She was a sensitive girl and brilliant at studies. She finished first in a drawing competition recently. She was among the toppers in her class and was very interested in extracurricular activities,” says Varsha Ahir, Ilsha’s teacher at Taluka Kanya Shala No. 2 near Darbargadh, at the western end of the suspension bridge.
School principal Nilesh Kaila said they didn’t initially know that Ilsha was dead. “We got a list of victims and scanned it several times to check if any children from our school were on it. But as Ilsha’s name was mentioned as Amiya on that list, we couldn’t identify her immediately. We were not aware that she was called that at home. So we could not reach out to her family.”
Ahir says: “Her mother would always be cheerful when she would come to drop and pick up Ilsha. The family seemed to be committed to providing her a good education.”