A Delhi-bound express train derailed on a bridge in the eastern Indian state of Bihar in September 2002, killing at least 130 people. Photographer Saibal Das was one of the survivors. Here, he describes the terrifying night of the accident while also describing the events that led to the photos he took, some of which were taken immediately after it.
On the afternoon of September 10, 2002, I boarded the Rajdhani Express for Delhi in clear, sunny weather.
I was taking my first long-distance trip after recovering from a severe heart attack I had about three months prior. I was on my way to Delhi to see a photography exhibit honoring the anniversary of the 9/11 attacks.
The air-conditioned three-tier sleeper coach AS3 had a middle berth for me. There were several lawyers among my fellow passengers, and one upper berth was vacant. On this berth, we all kept our luggage, including my camera bag.
Around nine o'clock, dinner and ice cream were served. We briefly conversed with the lawyers before retiring for the evening.
A loud noise that echoed throughout the coach and filled my ears woke me up. After a violent jolt, the train came to a sudden stop. Precariously leaning to one side, our coach.
I was shocked for a brief period of time. As passengers who were trapped in their seats shouted and screamed, I was lying in my berth. My chin was gushing blood. My legs are achy.
I had recently survived a heart attack, so the first thing that rushed through my mind was, "What the hell is wrong with me? Was this a mishap of some sort?
Then I recalled the two cameras and a few rolls of both color and black-and-white film in my camera bag. I took hold of the bag and descended from the berth.
Keep your courage, we're all still here, a booming voice said abruptly through the din. These words, spoken by an unidentified man, have stuck in my head ever since.
We were surrounded by twisted metal and glass fragments on the floor. The closest door, which had broken and was resting on the ground below, was crowded with passengers as they pushed forward. My fellow passengers had made it, and we made an effort to merge with them as they pressed toward the door.
We discovered much later that AS3 was one of the 14 coaches on the Rajdhani Express that had derailment while moving at about 130 km/h (80 mph) close to Rafiganj station, about 510 km (315 miles) from Kolkata.
I jumped from the coach and sat down on the ground. I discovered I didn't have enough film when I pulled open my camera bag because I wasn't on a job. In order to capture the destruction all around me on film, I forced myself to limit the amount of film I used.
It rained and there was no moon that night. In the dim light, I could make out that my coach was leaning against the rail and had its bottom on the ground. On the field, survivors were dispersed.
Then a bizarre event took place.
I noticed a great number of lights, perhaps hundreds of them, moving and moving toward us in the night. It resembled a horde of light silently approaching the scene.
We only realized they were villagers who, upon hearing the crash, had picked up their torches and lanterns and were coming to help us when the lights got closer.
They sprinted to the wreckage, broke open the coaches' doors and windows, and started yanking passengers out. I pulled out my camera and started snapping what would end up being the tragic event's first photos to be captured on film.
The environment was degraded. I could see some of the debris scattered across the track, along with chaos and anarchy on the ground below. There were hardly any phones among the passengers, and there was no mobile phone signal there.
I made my way back into our coach, pulling out blankets for the overnight trip and collecting broken water bottles scattered on the floor. I gave them to people who were shivering outside once I was outside.
My eyes gradually grew accustomed to the darkness, which enabled me to start taking more pictures. A frail, elderly woman being led out of an overturned coach was depicted in one of the first pictures.
I shot a lot of photos when dawn arrived. In one, a wounded couple sits in the field as rescue workers cordon off the area and a man with his head bandaged stands in the open, appearing confused. Another shows a young man who is mute and heavily bandaged while staring blankly into the lens. Others see the dead and the barely alive being removed from the wrecked coaches.
Later that morning, a relief train arrived with some supplies for the situation. With little assistance from the authorities, we had already endured more than 10 hours in the rain and cold.
The kindness of strangers has left an indelible mark on my mind. the locals who jumped to our aid, getting milk for the kids, and bringing us tea in the morning. A Sikh driver offered to take us to our destinations without charging a fee when the train carrying the rescued passengers arrived at the Delhi station the following day.
Two memories from that day will live with me forever.
I stumbled upon an old friend who was a fellow passenger and worked in the railways in the pitch-black. We sobbed, "We are alive!" as we hugged one another.
Before I boarded the train in Kolkata, I took a picture of an elderly Sikh couple sitting on a bench at the station. They appeared to have a close bond, which made me think of them.
I didn't see them again until several hours after the collision. The man was sitting in a field, his eyes fixed on the body of his dead wife, which was lying on the ground and covered in a white shroud.
by Soutik Biswas, who was told.
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