
I visited Dabwali on the Haryana-Punjab border in December 1995, within a day of the tragic fire that cost 442 lives of children and their parents at a local school function. The footwear of the dead still lay piled at the scene of the tragedy, all the markets were shut. Dabwali was a town in a state of shock and deep mourning. Like Hamelin, famed for the story of the Pied Piper, it would never be the same until a whole new generation grew up and filled the void created by the decimation of its children.
Today, Kumbakonam is passing through an identical experience. The terrible thing about both disasters is their gratuitousness. There will always be accidents, including fires. But need they cost such a heavy toll of life?
The Dabwali tragedy was just as unnecessary. Had there been a safety code in place, the pandal would have been made of fireproof or fire-resistant materials and there would have been more than one exit. The flames spread with such rapidity that it left witnesses thunderstruck. The then prime minister, P.V. Narasimha Rao, promised the nation a safety code within 3 months, and one thought that there would be no more Dabwalis.
When I first visited the US, I observed that the doors of all public buildings opened outwards. On questioning an American engineer, I learnt this was not accidental. Years earlier, a fire in a department store had led to a stampede and many died because in the mad rush, the exiting doors could not be opened for they did so inwards. The country lost no time in making it mandatory for doors of all public buildings to open outwards.
But even as one agonised hour by hour over the television reporting of the Kumbakonam holocaust, one asked oneself: How many Dabwalis would it take for India to work out a safety code and to make civil defence and fire drill procedures a regular feature of our lives?