(An Awakening)
On a cold October afternoon in 2003, returning from Montreal to Toronto by Via Rail, our train sped across land and time. Passengers clung tightly to their invisible cloaks of privacy, each engrossed in a book, snoozing away their fatigue, or gazing out the windows. All ages, all races, heading in the same direction and not casting a single glance at one another.
A sudden jolt shocked everyone as a barrage of stones and debris were hurtled against the train. Was it an earthquake? Or were we under attack? Panic-stricken passengers grabbed on to anything they could. The train slowly tipped almost onto its side, then straightened up and came to a halt with one harsh ominous jolt. A narrow escape from being derailed!
Scared to death, each of us spontaneously began reciting our own prayers. Verses from the Torah, the Bible and the Quran were all magically merging. The sighs of relief that we were all alive were our commonality, so we quickly found ourselves consoling each other.
“I’m Sharon,” I heard a woman say as she comforted a frightened old woman who had been covered in a shower of tempered glass from the window.
“I’m Stacey,” said a curly-haired young girl. “You can use my cell phone if you want to call someone,” she suggested to a young dark-skinned teen-aged boy who was frozen with fear.
“Over here please, can someone help me?” whispered a grey-haired gentleman.
“I’ll help you.” Although he offered, the young would-be rescuer seemed shy and reluctant to even introduce him-self but he stepped up anyway.
“What’s your name, sir? He asked.
“Um, uh, Jack?” the gentleman replied, unsure of who or where he was.
“Good, Jack, you’re doing fine. My name’s Mohammad. Please relax. Here, have some dates and nuts. They will give you energy.”
The longest twenty minutes of our lives elapsed before a uniformed black man with a heavy Jamaican accent entered our coach. “Our train has collided with a huge tractor trailer. The engineer is alive but unfortunately the truck driver is in critical condition. Please do not panic. Stay inside. Help will arrive soon!”
Stuck in the middle of nowhere, in cold darkness anxiously waiting for help to arrive, we had no acceptable alternative but to talk to each other.
Coincidentally amongst so few of us there was such a diverse group of people from various faiths! In our group were a handsome young Palestinian Muslim, a graduate from Queen’s University; a well-traveled Orthodox Christian girl from Mount Royale; and a refined Jewish woman from Toronto who was a voice of calm and order in the chaos. Together we cleared away debris, cleaned our fellow passengers’ cuts and we soothed some children’s fears with songs and stories. I even recited a poem to an elderly lady. To the amusement of some onlookers, she placed her hand on my head casting a loving smile of gratitude. I couldn’t help recall my grandma’s gentle touch.
A group of us ended up discussing religion; politics; poetry; poverty; modern day achievements as well as ‘lethal injustices’ mankind inflicts on itself, often under the name of religion. How we from different faiths, all connected so deeply in such a short time? Perhaps since everyone felt equally vulnerable during our life-threatening experience, it enabled us to realize how similar we all were.
After more than five long hours, help finally arrived… in a fashion. There were ambulances for the critically injured among us; but for the rest of us, we had to trek two kilometers along a narrow, uneven dirt road, peppered with stones and broken glass, to reach the waiting buses. Those who were injured and needed assistance were aided by their fellow passengers.
We all made it together.
……………..
(An excerpt from Zohra Zoberi’s memoir ‘The Other I’ zohraz.com (Amazon.ca)
