As I drove to the site of the ghastly Howrah Mail train accident in Fatehgarh Sahib district, nine hours afterwards, I had a strange sense of deja vu. I had visited the same district many months ago when a private bus from Jammu had been ripped apart by a powerful explosion. Tragic territory indeed.A long line of cars heralded the accident site, rendered all the more grotesque due to the contrast with the neatly ploughed fields alongside. Had it not been for the wrecked train, hanging at right angles, it would have been a Wordsworthian scene of rustic serenity. Punjab at its most scenic.Contributing to this ambience were a group of police officials, reclining on camp chairs in the mild winter sun, and picnicking on neat, foil-packed lunches. Railway officials, Red Cross officials, representatives of various neighbouring gurudwaras - they were all there in full regalia. My gaze was caught and held by the sight of a group of sturdy farmers squatting near huge cans of milk, efficiently preparing tea for everyone. They had been there since early morning.Much further, on the opposite side, a dead man was hanging like a puppet from one of the pieces of mangled steel outside a bogey. Crowds of people tiptoed through the ditch to gaze at him in horrified wonder. Police sleuths scrabbled around in the mutilated train, hunting with great diligence for evidence of sabotage. None of them spared the body a second glance.My attention was caught by the sight of three Congress Seva Dal workers, assisted by a group of stout Sikh villagers, trying desperately to pull out six remaining passengers from the lower portion of a bogey which was squashed under the weight of the derailed goods train. Two of them, they claimed, were alive, one of them crushed under the weight of four dead bodies for the past ten hours, locked in a macabre embrace. Intrepid photographers, hunting for an exclusive photograph, climbed up the shaky fireman's ladder and filmed their torture. A clutch of railway workers tut-tutted loudly, remarking that this accident was even more ``danger'' than the earlier one at Khanna. After a lazy stroll around the train, and much shaking of heads, they prepared to depart.After half an hour, the rescuers managed to pull out a body with amputated leg - that of a Bhaiyya from Bihar probably proceeding to Punjab to work as a labourer. As the men indefatigably continued their efforts to pull out more bodies (rendered heavier due to death), better sense finally prevailed at 4 pm when a small field crane arrived and attempted to wrench up a corner of the bogey. But every time it pulled the chain taut, it would defiantly snap or come off. Frustrating indeed. I wondered what the poor person inside felt like, hearing the chatter and commotion and waiting for death. With the tenuous hope of rescue.In one corner of the field, lines of cheap airbags and makeshift bundles - the travelling paraphernalia of the poor - lay waiting to be claimed by owners who were either dead, battling for life or alive somewhere else.Suddenly there was a rustle of excitement and much dust kicked up by an orange helicopter which landed in the field. The crowds abandoned the train to encircle its occupant - Chief Minister Parkash Singh Badal. A policeman peered at me suspiciously, ordering me to prove my identity, as though I had concealed RDX under my cape. All the officials flocked to listen to the chief minister. He did not even inspect the wreckage, delivering his rehearsed speech at a safe distance. Within minutes, he was airborne again.He left behind him poor villagers who had abandoned their day's work to help out. To them, nothing else mattered.
