The Night of Death | Part – 3

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The steps had been underwater since the previous night, so they were coated with mud and extremely slippery. Carefully placing each step, I managed to climb up.

Everything that had happened so far had taken about fifteen to twenty minutes. Even though there was a high chance I could have been swept away by the current, I had still dared to step into the flood and had somehow reached the half-submerged house safely. But now, while climbing that slippery staircase, only one thought filled my mind—how on the ground was I going to get this woman and her baby out safely? The moment I climbed up, the woman seemed to regain some strength.

“Don’t be scared.” I told her, though my own confidence was beginning to waver.

Most of the house was built of wood; there was no telling how long it would hold in the floodwater. And we still had to climb back down those slippery stairs.

“You hold the baby,” I told her. “I’ll follow right behind you.” I said to her.

But she said, “I won’t be able to do it. You carry the baby—I’ll follow behind you.”

There was no time to think. I took the baby from her arms, and we began to climb down the stairs.

“Be careful. The stairs are slippery.”

I cautioned her.

The staircase was half-submerged in murky water, and the steps were not visible. Slime coated the wood, turning each rung into a trap. Both of my hands were occupied holding the baby— one hand supporting the tiny neck, the other cupping the fragile back. With extreme caution, I descended those slippery steps. Even a small mistake could have been disastrous.

At the threshold of the verandah, the water still rose to my chest. Above it, barely two and a half feet of air separated the flood from the lintel. For the woman, the water was already up to her chin. Staying there any longer was dangerous; getting out was the only option. There was no choice. I raised the baby high above my head and squeezed through that narrow gap, stepping back into the raging current.

Now came the most dangerous part.

My hands were useless to me as supports—they belonged entirely to the child. The woman clutched my waist from behind, her grip tightening with every step. I lifted the baby over my head. The cloth wrapped around him was already soaked. Rain lashed his face, and the child began to cry loudly, his small body squirming in panic. That made it even harder for me to hold and steady him.

With every step forward, the woman struggled harder to keep her head above water. She panicked and shouted something, but there was no time to pay attention—my entire focus was on the baby. A single misstep could cost us everything. She screamed, but the roar of the rain swallowed her voice.

We were in the middle of the current now.

The woman, struggling to keep her head above water, tried to place her hands on my shoulders for support, making it extremely hard for me to maintain my balance. Holding the baby overhead the whole time had rubbed my arms raw, and the woman’s grip on my shoulders had bruised my shoulders and back as well. The current made it even harder to stay steady.

Then it happened.

My foot slipped and I lost my balance.

For a split second, my body jerked violently. One hand lost its grip on the child.

The world froze.

People standing on the road shouted loudly. They called out for me to be careful. By sheer instinct, by some force beyond reason, I clawed back, catching the baby again just as we began to fall. At that same instant, the woman lunged forward and grabbed me from behind, anchoring my body with the strength of desperation.

We stood still, trembling, regaining balance while the water tore past us. The woman had swallowed a mouthful of filthy floodwater, coughing and choking, but she did not let go.

Then, slowly, step by step, we moved again.

Minutes later, my feet touched solid ground.

We had crossed.

Hands reached out and pulled us onto the road. I placed the baby in his uncle’s arms. The man collapsed to his knees, clutching the child, trying repeatedly to touch my feet in gratitude. His eyes were filled with tears of joy and he couldn’t find words to say.

The mother fell at my feet, sobbing uncontrollably. Somehow, I made her understand. She embraced her brother and broke down completely. The baby lay safe in his uncle’s arms, alive.

A big crowd had gathered by then. They had witnessed my whole “rescue mission” up close. Madhu grabbed me and hugged me tightly. People pressed around us—patting my shoulders, shaking my hands, calling out words of praise. I barely heard them.

After accepting everyone’s greetings, we headed home.

Because I had been in the water for so long, my body was numb with cold. I was shivering, and my legs felt weak. As we walked, the baby’s mother kept telling me, “God himself came to help us in your form. Otherwise, even with so many people standing here, not a single person came forward to help us. Really…!”

We all reached home. Hearing our voices, everyone came outside. The baby’s grandmother ran and took him into her arms. The young mother clung to her own mother and cried uncontrollably. She kept saying that if I hadn’t come to help, they would not have survived.

After going inside the home, my mother brought milk for the baby and made tea for everyone. As I sipped the hot tea, I accepted everyone’s congratulations. In their eyes, I had suddenly become a “hero”. When they learned that I couldn’t even swim yet still stepped into the floodwater to help their family, they stared at me with amazement. “Truly, God came to us today in your form. We will never forget what you’ve done for us,” they all said. My parents looked at me with silent pride in their eyes.