I HURRIED out with an empty bucket slinging in my right hand. The corridor was empty. I could see shadows of people outside. There were chaos of incoherent yelling; crying of children and muffled curses could be heard. As I reached the door a ball of blankets and a bag fell from the window upstairs, almost falling over me. I saw my eldest son among the people. He was wailing, ‘Daddy, daddy, come out, don’t go inside…’ It was a desperate call of a son scared of losing his father. I didn’t pay heed. I had more important situation to attend to. I was into action more by instinct than by circumstance.
It was the night of 24th January 2017, the third beautiful night for my family at Gasa Tsha Chhu. As usual we had returned at dusk from the Bath House located about three minutes drive down the rough road. It was about eight in the night when we settled in our one roomed guesthouse home to start dinner. My wife served our two children, niece and nephew with noodle soup. I had my quick serving and was waiting to perform my nine ‘o clock Luibjin prayer. There was barely any commotion in the other report and corridors unlike the morning hours when people rushed to the Bath House. The house we were staying was two stories, with eight rooms on the ground floor and eight on the top. Over forty people were housed in the rooms. My family occupied the first room from the exit corridor on the ground floor.
As I was about to snuggle into the blankets to sit for prayer, we heard our neighbours rampaging through the corridors by our door. I heard someone shout, ‘Fire, house is on fire!’ There was a rumble of thudding from the top floors. I knew people were panicking and rushing out of the house, and down the wooden stairs. Outside our door some women shrieked, children cried and men could be heard calling to others. ‘Gas is on fire! It’s Gas fire!’ I could hear it. My first reaction was, ‘Earth quake!’ My wife and I glanced at each other, momentarily frozen. Our four children were stalled from their noodles. I jumped to the door, pulled the latch and looked out. The corridor was empty. At the exit to the main door, a woman was struggling with two children, almost dragging them outside.
On the opposite side of the corridor, one room away from where we stayed, I could see a glow of an imminent fire from the room. I shouted at my family to get out of the room. Strangely, my instinctual though was not to leap out but something told me I need to try and do something to smother the fire. My wife and children disappeared like lightening before I took a second breath. I heard her screech, ‘Namgay, come out.”
As I was following them through the corridor I saw a man in black trousers coming towards the fire from the far end. “We can’t run away. We must do something.” He bawled, more to himself then to me. He was looking for something to put off the fire. He said the new occupants had fled after failing to put off the fire. I staggered to the blazing room and peeked in. The hot air almost cut short my breath. The fire was blazing in a ball of flames from the nozzle of LPG cylinder which was lying with its head away from the door. I had heard of explosions from LPG cylinders in house fire accidents that caused more fires. I thought, even if it exploded, I would be safe in the corridor. I felt a surge of bravery to get into action. The man tried to swing a bundle of cloth over the fire, but it only blew the flame size out of proportion. I ran to my room, got the bucket of water kept for cooking purposes, and splashed over the flame. It was useless. “It isn’t working” I exclaimed. I stepped closer to the burning cylinder, intending to catch it from the rim ring and drag outside as fast as I could. It was impossible. The bluish flame enveloped the ring ferociously. ‘More water, more water’ the man in trouser yelled. I kicked open the room adjacent to the fiery room, pulled a jerkin of water and once again poured over the flame. It was useless again.
I took my bucket and ran outside to the water tap. In the growing darkness outside, women were calling for relatives and friends. Some children were wailing out of fear. My elder son, Karma, called at me hysterically, “ Daddy..daddy..please don’t go inside.” I knew he was scared of losing me to the fire. I knew how painful it must be for him, but instincts kept me doing everything to douse the fire. My wife had taken other children out of danger. Some men got in their cars and drove to a safe distance. I saw that few families outside were busy loading their belongings into their car. One Taxi, a pickup, was quickly loaded and drove off into the darkness. Even amidst the commotion I thought how selfish these men were. I returned within seconds with water and poured it over the cylinder to cool it off. My friend had splashed milk and juice over it. There was complete desperation.
As we jumped and ran through the corridor, I realized that just the two of us were fighting the battle, the man in trousers and me. If the cylinder exploded and guest house crumpled over us there would be only two heroes in the rubble. We could hear people shouting at each other warning of fire, to run out of the house, and some even yelled the cylinder would blow off any moment. Someone from outside asked if the cylinder was bloated. This meant a sinister sign of imminent explosion, but the cylinder was normal except it was engulfed in a ball of flame.
Another man came in through the door, ‘Put a blanket over the fire.’ He suggested. I thought he was the Incharge of the Tshachhu. He had torchlights in his hands. There was yet another man, a tall man, and few others behind him. Instantly I thought it was scientifically sensible to smother the fire. The fire at this time had burned for half a dozen minutes. My friends shouted for blankets, but no one seemed to want to give a blanket to be put over the burning cylinder. Someone suggested using a soaked blankets. This sounded even smarter. I ran to my room and got my blanket. As I reached the door the tall man snatched the blankets and went out to get it soaked. We flung the blanket over the cylinder but the fire spewed through the spaces between the floor and blanket. We called for more blankets. I could feel the reluctance to give away blankets.
As we were amidst the pandemonium, a policeman came in and immediately took to helping us put the blankets over the cylinder. I felt relieved that the policeman displayed more bravery. Someone gave a Tulip blanket. Someone ran out to soak it. The police men went over the flame and into the room. He dragged and kicked the cylinder to cover it with blankets completely. I called out to him from the door, “Open the windows…all the windows.” I was smart. It was a quick answer to the fear that the policemen may suffocate in the room filled with petroleum gas. I dragged the cooking stove lying near the cylinder and threw it out into the darkness. I did not care if it hit anyone outside. We had no time to spare.
After the fourth blanket was put over the cylinder, the fire seemed to have fizzled out. We were unsure if we were victorious. Few of us carried water and poured over it. As the drama inside calmed, more men found their lost guts to squeeze into the corridor. “Cheap men” I cursed them. I told them to move out to be safe. The policeman suggested we take out the cylinder. We agreed. I went inside the room and lifted the blankets to check if the fire was doused. No sooner than I lifted the edge of the heavy water logged blankets, a huge plumes of milky smog that smelled of LPG bellowed out. My friends shouted, “Fire must still be alive!’ I jumped out of the door. Men in the corridor went rampaging out of the house. I knew it was the gas and steam trapped under the blankets.
The man in trousers, tall man, the policeman and myself, lifted the cylinder with the blankets and carried out of the house. The 15 kilogrammes cylinder was over ten times heavier. My fingers dug in through the wet blanket and it ached. People outside ran away helter-skelter fearing that it may explode. They don’t seem to worry that four fathers were risking life as they got entertained rather than worried. We dragged it down the road and rolled it on the open ground. The white smog swirled into the cold winter night. It was an exhilarating moment of relief for every second and thought we took to prevent a major catastrophe.
I pulled my blanket from underneath the three blankets and spread in the air to see if it was burnt. I anticipated holes in it was the first blanket to be sacrificed. There were no holes, not even a sign of charred fiber. The water it was soaked with had prevented it from getting charred. I was pleased that none of the blankets were lost. As I walked towards the guest house, I saw my wife and children in the car, trembling and quietly waiting for my arrival. She told me how my elder son was reluctant to get in the car and ran back to call me. He had remained among the shadows, desperately crying out for me. As I hugged him to make him know I was safe, a surge of tears blinded me. A cold ache of joy cut into my heart for his love and yearning for my safety. I told them we shall move into the room lest things get stolen. We had left our mobile phones and bags in the room then.
I went to the fateful room. There were many people crowding the corridor. I saw that the wooden floor was burnt. The Gasa Dasho Dzongdag was inside the room talking to the Policeman, the Incharge and others. Dasho’s presence was a healing moment for all of us. I heard everyone narrating to Dasho and to others what they did and how fire was put off. Everyone seemed to talk like they were warriors of the night, while in truth it was only four of us and I was at the center of it. I returned to my room. I wondered how some people can become an egoistic hypocrite to gain repute for what they actually did not do. It did not matter to me what they talked, but I was happy I was there to motivate few men into action even merely by my presence in the corridors. The fire started by accident. The man found gas on fire from a broken tube that connected thr stove. He had gone to wash vegetables at the water tap and when he returned the gas was in fire. He tried to put off by hitting with a towel but the cylinder rolled over and caught flames. He had fled and warned his neighbour.
People began moving into their rooms. Some were shaken and some were in disbelief. The runaway Taxi returned and others who hid in the shadows appeared like Gasa ghosts. I settled inside with my family. None of them wanted to eat their remaining dinner. It was cold and their appetites were lost. My wife was pleased that I was at the center of the chaos. She nodded at my lionhearted sacrifice. My son, Karma, was awe-struck. He kept gazing at me speechless for a long time. I hugged and convinced him that I was a hero like his favorite Ben-10, and that he was a modern Ben-10 number two. I told him I was a true Spiderman who is daring at the most confronting situation.
An hour had passed since the dinner time. I snuggled for my night prayer again. The echo of my drum, melody of the bell and howling blow of thighbone was the only soothing sound that penetrated the Gasa riverside settlement. I invoked MaChig Throma Nagmo to heal every shaken hearts from their fears to a slumber and heal their ailments like the fire doused that night. I retired for the night thereafter. We had one blanket less for the night, but that did not matter much as long as we had a home to stay for rest of the days.
Namgyal Tshering
Dechentsemo CS
