The Loo's Caress

"The trees lose their flowers. Their leaves fall. Their bare branches stretch up to the sky begging for water . . . The sun goes on, day after day, from east to west, scorching relentlessly. The earth cracks up and deep fissures open their gaping mouths; but there is no water--only the shimmering haze at noon making mirage lakes of quicksilver . . . The sun makes an ally of the breeze. It heats the air till it becomes the loo and then sends it on its errand. Even in the intense heat, the loo's warm caresses are sensuous and pleasant. It brings up the prickly heat. It produces a numbness which makes the head nod and the eyes heavy with sleep. It brings on a stroke which takes its victim as gently as breeze bears a fluff of thistledown." --Khushwant Singh, Train to Pakistan.

The hot breath of the loo last week made a vast oven of north India, sending aloft choking clouds of dust that turned skies the color of tarnished brass. Delicate animals at New Delhi's zoo were shipped off to the mountains to beat the heat, and hordes of humans had the same idea; many queued up all night at railway ticket offices to buy seats for the few train coaches that were air-conditioned. City employees demonstrated angrily for khuskhus curtains--spongy grass screens that cool the air when sprayed with water --for their office windows; municipal officials had to place a guard at the new water cooler to keep away outsiders, who flocked in to fill their jugs.

In the city of Lucknow, the temperature hit 114DEG and stayed there for days. At filling stations, attendants piled water-soaked burlap bags atop gasoline pumps to keep the mechanisms working, and it was standard practice for motorists to leave their car hoods up in the all-day parking lots. Hospitals were filled with heat-prostration cases. More than 150 died.

In Uttar Pradesh, two policemen were victims and an elephant dropped dead in its tracks. A doctor fell dead while visiting Delhi, and his wife succumbed at home in Allahabad.

Sleeping out of doors on lawns and rooftops, sweltering millions pinned their hopes on the coming of the annual summer monsoon. But they sniffed the night air vainly for signs of relief. The monsoon, which had been expected to spread its cooling rains over the north by mid-June, chose perversely to settle far to the east over Assam, and so far has refused to budge.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.