Chapter 8: The First Wave

When I opened my eyes again, I woke from the heat. I checked my phone—it was already 9 a.m.

Sunlight streamed through the cracks in the temple walls, the air heavy and stifling. Sweat stuck my shirt to my back, my mouth dry as dust.

The disaster was about to arrive.

I felt a knot in my stomach, part fear, part anticipation. My hands shook as I packed up the last of our things, my heart pounding with every tick of the clock.

First, the temperature would suddenly rise, then fierce winds would blow, and the ground would sink.

It felt like the world was holding its breath, waiting for the final blow. Maa adjusted her sari, Papa tightened the rope around a bundle, both moving with quiet urgency.

By then, I didn’t know if the temple would collapse, so we had to go outside.

If the walls gave way, better to be in the open, where we could run or at least see what was coming. My mind flashed with images of cyclones I’d seen on the news, only this time there would be no rescue teams, no government relief.

A dozen metres behind the temple was a small bamboo grove, clearly many years old. Each bamboo was as thick as a bowl. I tied the chickens in two strings to the bamboo, then tore a sheet into three ropes and gave them to my parents.

The chickens squawked in protest, but settled down when Maa fed them scraps of roti. The bamboo grove smelled fresh, the green leaves whispering above us, a small oasis in the coming storm.

It was a bit cooler in the bamboo grove. We sat on the ground and finished a simple breakfast, tying one end of the rope to the bamboo and the other to our waists. That way, if the ground—

Somewhere, my phone pinged—a useless WhatsApp forward about “miracle remedies” for the apocalypse.

The three of us sat close, sharing the last of the rotis and a piece of jaggery, the ropes tied like lifelines. Papa looked at the horizon, eyes squinting in the sun, Maa squeezed my hand tight. Whatever happened next, we would face it together, as a family, in the land of a thousand gods and a million stories. The world might end, but until the last moment, we would hold on to each other, come what may.

And as the wind began to howl, I realised—this was just the beginning.