Thrissur (Kerala): "Sister, don't you have anything to ask us?"

As I was leaving the fireworks storehouse after witnessing the final preparations, the voice of a young man filling gunpowder into the mortar tubes (paadi) still rings in my ears. When I rushed back to that same spot hours later upon hearing news of the explosion, my heart held only one prayer: let it not be a major tragedy.

The faces I had met just hours earlier flashed through my mind. But as I stepped into the Kuttamkulam fields, hope withered. Those who had smiled and chatted with me and other journalists were now trapped amidst the raging flames. The fire crews were still struggling to reach the sheds.

It was then that I saw Wilson Olakkengal, a native of Velur, sitting exhausted in a nearby house. Earlier that morning, despite his busy schedule, the veteran—who has spent 49 years in this trade—had explained the evolution of fireworks to me. The women with him were busy preparing the fuses for the palm-leaf crackers (ola-padakkam). In that brief window of time, I had become familiar enough with those five women to ask each of them their names.

Wilson’s words brought a flicker of relief amidst the pain: he said they were all safe. However, I later learned that three of them were in the Medical College Hospital, one in a critical condition.
A morning of rhythmic toil

When we arrived that morning, the various sheds were buzzing with the preparation of gundu, kuzhiminnal, amittu and palm-leaf crackers for the sample fireworks display. One group was busy crafting gundus of various sizes, too occupied even to talk.

Sundaran, a native of Pathirippala in Palakkad, was rhythmically folding palm leaves, filling them with powder, and fixing fuses. Even in his haste, he patiently explained how the palmyra leaves are prepared. A master of his craft, Sundaran can tie up to 4,000 crackers a day. As I write this, I still do not know if that young man is safe.

Rajan from Kundaannoor was busy stringing crackers together. I saw Manikandan from Edappal, and Himesh from Mandakaparamb and Vijayan, working with intense focus to ensure the precision of the timers. Nearby, Sreekuttan was filling the amittu with colours, while Hari from Mathilakam was preparing the mortar tubes that dictate the direction of the sound.

Of all these people... who is left?

‘Aren't you afraid?’

"What is the point in being afraid? This is the trade we know, isn't it?"

I remember Premalatha (73) from Nellikkal answering my question with a smile. It was a display of quiet courage, unaware that disaster would stalk them just hours later. It was in a fireworks accident 38 years ago that Prema lost her husband, Velayudhan. Though shattered initially, she returned to the craft to sustain her life. She has now spent 52 years in the trade.

She first entered the world of crackers at the age of 21 as a young bride. Though fearful back then, her husband's presence gave her strength. "I'm stopping after this time," Prema had said, finally yielding to her children's long-standing pleas to quit. Her words carried the weight of a final decision to leave the danger behind for good.

Anitha, from the Kundaannoor Kottaiyil family, whose lineage is steeped in this craft, is now in hospital with injuries. I remember her telling me earlier that morning that her brother, Sundarakshan, had also perished in a fireworks accident.