SBL blast, two months on: 23 dead, five still fighting, 18 children without mothers. This is what remains

Exactly two months have passed since the explosion that tore through the Raulgaon plant of SBL Energy Limited’s packing unit, killing 26 workers, 23 of them women. Of the 16 injured, 11 have been discharged since. Five remain hospitalised — Durga Ghadge, Mayuri Dhurve, Manisha Dhurve, Sunita Uikey, and Kajal Kaurati. A sixth, Ritu Salam (20), the youngest survivor, was discharged just last week. For their families, time has stretched into an endless wait, and the hospital has become a second home.

In the courtyard, families huddle together, sharing meals, bedding, and updates from doctors. Strangers have become familiar faces. But worry runs beneath the surface. For families of survivors like Ritu Salam (20) and Mayuri Dhurve (24), questions of marriage, work, and social acceptance are never far away.

The injuries themselves tell a grim story.

Dr Darshan Rewanwar, the burns and reconstructive surgeon treating these patients, says the road to recovery remains long for all six. All have undergone skin grafting, which is a procedure where healthy skin is taken from one part of the body and used to cover burn wounds. A VAC (Vacuum-Assisted Closure) machine is also being used to remove infection and speed up healing. “If wounds don’t heal within three weeks, procedures like skin grafting are required,” he said. In severe burn cases, finding enough healthy donor skin is a challenge. In one 60 per cent burn case, only one hand was usable as a donor site.

The fumes from the blast carried chemicals that damaged the lungs, reducing survival chances. Injuries also included fractures, spinal damage, and psychological trauma. In one case, doctors removed several aluminium fragments from a woman’s leg. Each week brings fresh complications — shock and blood pressure instability in the first, metabolic complications in the second, risk of sepsis in the third. Even after surviving, patients face a long road. “Complications can arise till discharge,” Dr Rewanwar said. “Burn care is prolonged and expensive, with limits to skin transplantation, making recovery a long-term challenge. Some patients suffered hearing loss, eye damage, and psychological trauma, while many may face social stigma.”

Two months on, this is what survival looks like:

Durga Ghadge, 31

Durga Ghadge, 31 (60% burns)

Durga lies in her hospital bed, her body wrapped in sheets. When The Indian Express visited, she was visibly in pain. Before being shifted to ventilator support, she managed to say she was “better now.” “I have pain everywhere,” she added. Doctors report severe damage to her spine and legs.

Durga and her husband Manoj had both worked at the SBL plant. She earned Rs 16,500 a month; Manoj earned Rs 13,500. Their daughters, Dnyaneshwari in Class 3 and Shivani in Class 2, are now with Manoj’s family in Khedi-Gogo, Narkhed tehsil. Durga is largely unaware of this.

Mayuri Dhurve, 24 (45% burns) (add attached photo of the same name)

Her face is still swollen and marked with stitches. Mayuri is missing a tooth and has lost two fingers on her left hand, with burns on the other hand and both legs. “I tried to run but couldn’t move. I kept going in circles,” she recalls. It was only when two co-workers spotted her that she was pulled out.

When she was first brought to the hospital, she couldn’t speak at all and desperately asked for a mirror to see what had happened to her face. She still struggles to pronounce certain words. Her concerns though are simple. “I just want my face to look better. How will it feel when I go home and people meet me, and I speak without a tooth?” she says. Her father Haricharan, a daily wage labourer from Khandala Khurd, has not returned to work in a month. “I don’t feel like going home,” he says.

Kajal Kaurati, 31

Kajal Kaurati, 31

She flinches at sudden sounds. The thud of a door closing is enough to startle her. Her husband Vasudeo says she has nightmares. “She keeps remembering her friends who could not make it,” he told The Indian Express.

Kajal suffered a fracture in her hand and has a plaster on her leg. She and Vasudeo had both worked at SBL, she for the past year, earning Rs 14,000 a month. “We thought if both of us worked, we could run the house better,” she says. Their daughters, aged seven and two, are with Kajal’s mother in the village. Kajal avoids video calls with them, fearing they will be frightened by what they see.

Sunita Uikey, 35 (30% burns) (add attached photo of the same name)

“I didn’t understand anything. When I regained consciousness, my clothes were torn and stuck to my skin,” says Sunita Uikey. She lay there until other women began making their way out.

Sunita had worked at the plant for three years, earning around Rs 13,000 a month. She had taken up the job alongside her son Rupesh, 21. “We both worked so there would be a steady income,” she says. Every day, they travelled together on a bike to Katol, then took a bus to the plant. Rupesh has not left the hospital since March 1. Neither has his grandmother, Radha Patte.

Manisha Dhurve, 42

Manisha Dhurve, 42

“We had just finished our fourth round of work when I felt something was wrong,” says Manisha. “Everything turned black. That’s when I realised I had to get up and run.”

She took up the job two years ago after her husband was diagnosed with oral cancer and could no longer work consistently. She became the primary breadwinner, earning Rs 16,000 a month. Her elder daughter, 23, hopes to pursue M Pharm; her younger daughter is pursuing graduation. Both visited her in hospital, but the younger one was so shaken that the family has not brought her back since.

Ritu Salam, 20

Ritu Salam, 20

Ritu Salam was discharged last week. She has undergone skin grafting on her left hand; her right hand and both legs bear burn marks. She has difficulty chewing, her jaw still weak. “I didn’t want to sit idle at home,” she says.

She struggles to piece together the moments of the blast. “I don’t remember much. Suddenly, there was fire coming out of the machine and I fell down. I got up and ran outside,” she says. When asked how she feels about going home, she smiles. “I am feeling good.”

Ritu and her father Anandrao would travel together to work, parking their bike at Kondhali and taking a bus onward. Last Tuesday, her brother Himanshu came to take her home.

While the survivors count the days to discharge, 18 children are learning to live without their mothers.

“She loved me more,” says 12-year-old Umang Kalsarpe. His sister Arya, 14, does not disagree. Their mother Amrapali, who died in the SBL blast on March 1, used to pack their lunchboxes before leaving for work at 5.30 every morning. They had already lost their father, Anil, to illness in 2024. The blast left them without either parent.

Arya and Umang are among 18 children who lost their mothers on March 1, 2026. In Raulgaon, where the sound of that Sunday morning blast is still fresh, the children continue to seek comfort in the presence of relatives. As their guardians put it, “Aai chi jaaga kon gheu shakte (Who can take a mother’s place?)”

Arya and Umang are among 18 children who lost their mothers

Lost father to illness, mother to the blast

The siblings now live with their maternal grandmother, Nirmala Nyare, who works at a gaushala, leaving home early each morning. By the time she returns, Arya has already cooked, cleaned, and tidied the house — chores her mother used to do. Arya attends a private school in nearby Dorli; Umang studies at the Zilla Parishad school across from their house.

“I like studying, but now summer vacations are going on and I want to help Aai,” Arya says. “My mother used to say, ‘Abhyasa shivay gatyantar nahi (There is no alternative to education).'” Amrapali had worked at the company for nearly two years after her husband’s death, hoping to secure a better future for her children. “Farm labour pays around Rs 200 a day, but the company paid better,” says their uncle Sunil Kalsarpe, a junior assistant with the Women and Child Welfare Department in Narkhed, who now helps raise them.

When Amrapali died at Orange City Hospital, the family held back from telling the children immediately. “We did not want to frighten them. The next day, we brought her home and performed the last rites,” Sunil says. Officials from an orphanage visited, but the family refused. “Arya and Umang have family. Why would we send them anywhere? Our goal now is to give them a good education,” he says.

This summer, the siblings will travel to their grandmother’s village, Isapur. “Asa watta mummy jivant rahayla pahije hoti (It feels like mother should have stayed alive),” Arya says quietly.

Ritik and Gauri with grandparents Kanta and Maroti

Abandoned by fathers lost to alcohol

Maroti Chachane lost his daughter Mangeshri Yeskar in the blast. Her children, Ritik (Class 6) and Gauri (Class 9), now depend on their ageing grandparents. Their father, struggling with alcoholism, is absent. “He came only for the funeral, and even then, he remained aloof,” Maroti says.

Mangeshri had separated from her husband and moved in with her parents. She and her mother Kanta worked in the same industrial premises — Kanta at the cell plant, Mangeshri at the Nonel Crimping unit where the blast happened. She was killed instantly.

The family is still waiting for compensation. “It is not that we want money, but what after us? The children have their whole future ahead of them. What if we are not there tomorrow?” Maroti asks. The family received only a photocopy of the cheque when accepting their daughter’s body. Since the father is alive and could claim custody, officials told them, the process will take time.

“I help my grandmother with the household chores,” Gauri says, while Ritik plays nearby with cousins.

In Tandulwani village, Gopi Kove’s children Disha (10) and Yash (13) face a similar situation, their father long absent due to alcoholism. They now live with their grandmother, Manda Yedme. Though Manda is listed as a nominee, compensation is yet to come. “Disha fell ill recently and cried for her mother. But what can I do? I am helpless,” Manda says. “Mi aaho to paryanta karavach laagel (As long as I am here, I will have to do it),” she adds. She now plans to move from Tandulwadi to Katol for her grandchildren.

When asked if she remembers her mother, Samruddhi says no. “She is too young,” says grandfather Rameshwar

Too young to hold onto memories

In Metpanjara village, about 10 kilometres from Raulgaon, Varsha Tekam’s seven-year-old twins, Soham and Samruddhi, return from school full of chatter. “I like going to school. I play with my friends,” Soham says, while Samruddhi excitedly describes playing lagori. When asked if they remember their mother, the twins pause for a long moment before saying no.

“They are too young,” says grandfather Rameshwar. “Since birth, they have mostly stayed with us while their parents worked.”

Varsha died on the way to hospital after the blast. A day before, the family had urged her to skip work for Holi. She left that morning without seeing her sleeping children.

Her husband Amol, who drives a school van, searched for her for over an hour at the plant before getting the call that she had passed away. “Aathvan ta rojach yete Varsha chi (I miss Varsha every single day),” he says. “But what can I do?” Amol recently deposited the compensation cheque he received from the tehsil office.

District Child Protection Officer Mushtak Pathan says protection officers visit these families every month. “Since all the children are with family members, there has not been any special case yet. But we are checking in on all these families once a month.”