The Great Breach

The satellite phone crackled to life, ‘Not a drill. I repeat, NOT A DRILL. It is time. Evacuate. The east has started the evacuation already. Get everyone out. You have seven days. Over.’ Bhumi scrambled to the phone, taking deep breaths she looked out the window at the endless clouds, and the rising seas. It really felt like 40 days and 40 nights of rain.

The white girl had warned us all this would happen. That was fifty years ago. It was a white girl telling all of us to stop our factories, replace our fuel, and plant more trees. We are the global south, ravaged by hundreds of years of white colonialism. We did not want to listen to another white rescuer. We were thinking of the hundreds and thousands of mouths that we had to feed, and trying to make our lives as nice as the ones from the land this white girl was from. We did not see any other way.

Six months ago the crises hit. Just when she didn’t think it could get any worse, the Arabian sea breached the sea walls and reclaimed what was rightfully hers. Her beloved city of Bombay had become seven islands again.

Bhumi got up and pulled out her notebook with the list of survivors. She had carefully selected the smartest, bravest and the ones with the most integrity to survive the flooding of the land of Indus.

Picking up her phone, Bhumi called Rana, one of the chosen ones and the leader who would lead the survivors from this great land. ‘Rana, gather everyone. I need to speak to them’ ‘yes, ma’am’ he said.

Bhumi, Rana and the chosen survivors lived on what used to be the highest portion in the south in the great metropolis of Bombay. This was where the white colonisers first built their bunglows and chopped all the coconut palms to make way for balconies and houses. The colonisers had built their houses here so they could see the sun set over the Arabian sea and expanse of jungle in the back. Bhumi and the others stayed here because the rest of the city had gone under.

She had built her base in one of the abandoned bungalows of the Malabar hills. As everyone gathered around, she said, ‘It is time. The end has come closer than we expected. We are scheduled to leave in seven days and meet the remaining survivors. The east has already started the evacuation, so they are scheduled to reach first and initiate the survival protocol.’

Looking at the commanders Rana, Shiv and Laila, she said, ‘I expect all the ships loaded and safety checks completed in the next three days. From then we have three more days to go through the procedures again.’

‘Let us all remember that we are the survivors, and the legacy of this great civilisation. Let’s make our motherland proud. Thank you for being here everyone.’

As Bhumi walked away, Laila followed Bhumi into the makeshift control centre, she said ‘What is happening Bhumi? We were not expecting this event for six more months’.

Holding on to the table Bhumi said, ‘We are a cancer that is choking our planet and our mother is retaliating Laila. New York has fallen. Hong Kong has evacuated. I cannot establish any connection with Singapore. It was Ang from the HK centre who called this morning.’

‘Why all of a sudden though? These were all stable centres no?’ said Laila. ‘yes, they were and I do not understand why this is happening’ said Bhumi. Laila nodded and walked away to start the preparation for the evacuation.

On the third morning, Bhumi gathered Laila, Shiv and Rana. ‘I am staying back. Each leader from each centre is staying back. Please let me finish’, she said as Rana and Shiv interrupted her. ‘I will stay back and keep an eye here. I will update you on the status of our island. And when you hear radio silence from me, you will know that Bombay has fallen’, she finished.

‘Do you understand me?’ she said. ‘Yes ma’am!’, their training helping them look calm. ‘Who will tell this to the others Bhumi?’, asked Laila. Looking straight ahead Bhumi said, ‘No one, they will see me with a light while you leave and understand. It has to be this way!’

‘No it doesn’t!’ said Laila. ‘Let me stay back, or we will flip a coin. They need you Bhumi, we need you. Please.’

‘Dismissed.’ Said Bhumi, turning her back on the three commanders and looking out at the relentless sea.

On the sixth morning, Bhumi woke to the sound of the satellite phone crackling, ‘Bhumi are you there? Ang here.’ Scrambling to pick up, ‘I’m here Ang, any update?’

‘It is starting Bhumi, everything the white girl had predicted is happening. Seas are rising, storms are raging. Get your people out.’ Cried Ang into the phone. ‘They are getting out tonight Ang, any update on your people?’ responded Bhumi.

‘They have reached, and are proceeding as expected. Update me once your contingent leaves’ said Ang. “Will do, Ang. Thanks and take care’ said Bhumi.

As the rows of survivors climbed into the sovient era submarines, Bhumi watched and remembered each of them. Rani, the little adivasi adolescent who had managed to bring the book of her people, with all its recipes and prayers. Ram, the son of a Gujarati who had mastered accounts. Shourie, the youngest poet she had met, Shubham the surgeon, Ghosh the writer, Arya the mathematician. She watched them all climb in with a heavy heart and hoped that they will make it.

Shiv, Laila and Rana came up to meet her before leaving. ‘Here, take this Laila. Give it to your daughter’ said Bhumi, handing Laila the diamond necklace, her mother had given her at her wedding.

‘This is for you Shiv. I know you will nurture them better than I would’ said Bhumi handing him, her bag of seeds that she had collected from all over the world.

Turning to Rana, ‘This bottle of whiskey is for you to drink only in joy and happiness. I had bought this for my father and husband, and I never got to see them. You will not waste this by drinking it in pain. Promise me this’. Nodding Rana, pulled Bhumi and the others into a hug.

As she walked away, Rani spotted that Bhumi was being left behind and held her hand up in tears. Bhumi turned away and walked down to beach waiting for the sea to claim her, and be one with her land.

#globalwarming #endoftheworld