SANDEEP BHAT
Early Times Report
Jammu, Aug 16: A wave of grief has swept over Banagarh village in the Miran Sahib area of R.S. Pura sub-division after eight members of a single family went missing in the aftermath of the devastating cloudburst in Chosoti, Kishtwar.
The missing were on a pilgrimage to Machail Mata when flash floods tore through the region. Vijay Kumar, one of the surviving members from the group, is in psychological shock after witnessing the catastrophe.
As rescue operations battle hostile terrain and weather, villagers hold on to a sliver of hope, even as time runs out. The tragedy has plunged the entire village into collective mourning, turning once lively homes into spaces of silence and prayers.
The community reels from the devastation of the August 14 cloudburst in Chosoti village, Kishtwar. Eight members of a single family from Banagarh remain missing, feared dead, more than 52 hours after the tragedy struck.
What was once a peaceful village now echoes with silence and sorrow. The village’s lanes, usually abuzz with activity, are now lined with mourners, prayers, and whispered hopes for a miracle that grows dimmer with each passing hour.
"There’s been no trace of the missing. Still, we are hoping against hope," said Ravi Kumar, a local resident, his voice trembling.
The missing belong to the family of Vijay Kumar, a resident of Banagarh who had gone on pilgrimage to Machail Mata in Paddar, Kishtwar, with 15 of his relatives. According to Vijay, the group had split during the journey—eight walked ahead, unknowingly into the path of death, when a ferocious flash flood, triggered by a sudden cloudburst, swept through Chosoti.
"I never imagined the journey would end in tragedy," Vijay recalled, struggling to hold back tears. "In seconds, a torrent of icy water, boulders, and wooden debris swallowed them whole. Everything is gone—my mother, my children, my family…"
Locals say Vijay, who is in a state of severe emotional trauma, kept murmuring, “I’ve lost everything,” before collapsing. Doctors attending him have confirmed that he is under intense psychological shock and remains under constant medical care.
The missing include Jeeto Devi, Mamta Devi, Anisha Mehra, Arshal Mehra, Jimmy Kumari, Rehu, and Ritik—their names now whispered with pain and longing across the grieving village.
The courtyard of Vijay’s home, once alive with children’s laughter and familial warmth, now stands cold and empty—its silence echoing the unimaginable loss. Banagarh is no longer just mourning a family; it is mourning a part of itself.
Women draped in white sit quietly outside homes, heads bowed, eyes swollen with tears, clutching rosaries and reciting prayers. Every corner of the village bears the weight of shared sorrow—be it kin, neighbour, or friend.
Rescue operations are underway, with teams from the NDRF, SDRF, Indian Army, and local police combing through the debris. But treacherous terrain, scattered rubble, and unrelenting weather have made the task perilous.
Despite valiant efforts, the lack of concrete leads has only deepened the despair.
Villagers are now pleading with the administration for urgent relief, compensation, rehabilitation, and most critically, psychological counseling for the grieving families. The tragedy, they say, has not just stolen lives—it has shaken their very existence.
“This is not just a loss of eight lives—it is the collapse of a family, of a community, of hope,” said another resident.
As dusk falls each day, the village lights up only with candles and hope. Banagarh’s greatest prayer now is for a miracle—for even a single heartbeat beneath the rubble. But as time ticks by, that prayer is slowly being replaced by the pain of acceptance. |
