DOMALAPENTA: “I can see the tunnel. I can see the tunnel.” The excited announcement comes from a rescue worker, perched on the link between two small ‘bogies’ of a ‘train; making its way out of the disaster-hit SLBC tunnel after a bone-rattling, extremely noisy, and at times eardrum-splitting. 13-km ride from near the spot where the SLBC tunnel collapsed 13 days ago and the tunnel’s opening. Completely forgotten in the momentary excitement of a sense of escape are the tough conditions, and constant, state of dread, inside. The tunnel entry has come to signify in some ways, both captivity and release at the same time for those going in, and coming out. The relief is palpable. After shifts ranging from four to eight hours, or even longer, in the humid, slushy, silt- and rock-filled tunnel, with pieces and parts of a 1,500-tonne tunnel boring machine to contend with, for rescuers working under light from a variety of lamps — some throwing yellow, and others white light — in an environment mostly filled with shadows, where lurking dangers are hard to see, the daylight at the tunnel entry appears like a gift from the heavens. Torchlights are aplenty in the tunnel, nearly everyone carries one in addition to helmet mounted lights and sometimes can make it appear as if there is a laser light show in the tunnel’s dark depths As the locomotive jangles its way to a halt on the outside, everyone in it tumbles out in a rush. Inside the tunnel, a relieving shift of workers from the NDRF, SDRF, state fire services, Army, rat miners, Singareni Collieries and a slew of others, continue with work those who left on the locomotive an hour ago were doing. Their shift over, rescuers turn to their mobiles on their way out. Those with BSNL sim cards with only this networks signals reaching inside the tunnel, are a link with the outside world, and are in some ways, sanity crutches amidst the extremely tough conditions inside the tunnel Just about four days ago, the locomotive could only make it to 11 km inside the tunnel. From then to now, thousands of kgs of the silt that stood thigh deep, have been removed, extending the lifeline to the outside world by 2 km more for the locomotive to move on. Even now, alighting from the locomotive is a process that is best done gingerly, and with caution, several rescuers and officials that Deccan Chronicle spoke with said. Extreme heat, and humidity. Water seeping from the rocks above the collapsed section still stands about two feet deep, accumulating on silt that is around a foot thick. Crossing this water hazard of around 200 metres, where unseen dangers lurk below, brings one to the TBM, where extreme heat-generating ultra-thermic cutters have been at work, cutting through pieces of the machine and making way for an excavator. The heat is intense, and the cutters operating at 5,000º Celsius suck up precious oxygen. Two hundred metres ahead, at the collapsed section, and underneath the dark underbelly of the TBM, a torchlight flickers to life, its beam shining like the light sabre of a Jedi knight from the Star Wars movie. The beam swings back and forth with the engineer wielding it trying to figure out where the ‘trunk’ of an excavator machine can be pushed to start removing some of the thousands of tonnes of silt and rock lie, ranging from three to eight metres. About 100 metres from where the cutting is on, Singareni rescue workers, and the rat miners are busy in what is the toughest part of the tunnel. With barely standing room in the 9.2-metre-tall tunnel it is a stop and go system as this part of the tunnel does not have enough air. The ventilator shaft was broken when the TBM was thrown back during the collapse, and does not reach as far. It is around 15 minutes of work, then a 15-minute break at a spot close to where the ventilator shaft end pumps in life-giving, cool air. Then it is back to the digging. The risk: Getting sliced and diced For the rescuers, and officials from the government and various agencies making periodic visits for an on-the-spot evaluation and course corrections, every step is one filled with possible hazards. A sudden soft spot in the silt can mean a twisted ankle at best, while a slip at the wrong spot over the jagged, mangled TBM parts, and the broken clamps that once held a series of pipes along the tunnel’s left side, could mean one getting either sliced, and if really unfortunate, diced. All this happens amidst energy sapping humidity, which causes layers of sweat to stream down the faces and bodies of the rescuers. Staying focused is hard, the apprehension of another sudden rush of water, or earth, or both, is an omnipresent cause of anxiety. Lips go dry, whether it is from the humidity making one thirsty, or the anxiety, is hard to say. Bottles of water get emptied every so often. The tunnel is where everything happens. Work, periods of rest, a meal, snacking of fruits and boiled eggs in between, and more work. There are no toilets inside, in some corners there is a palpable odour, and there are plans to bring in portable toilets. Then comes the wait for the locomotive to head back into a familiar world. There is an overwhelming sense of wanting to escape from the near claustrophobic conditions where darkness fights every photon from the lights, where senses are overwhelmed by the inescapable sound of rushing water, the silt seeking to slide into shoes, where the unknown though known creates a sense of foreboding, and the knowledge that until the job is done, the next locomotive ride back into the tunnel is just one shift away.
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