Pinki Mondal, 25, a resident of East Midnapore’s Deshpran block where 21,000 homes have been pummelled by Amphan, shuddered as she recounted the night of the cyclone to Anshuman Phadikar. The homemaker also spoke about her ordeal in the aftermath of the cyclone that has robbed her of her home

My husband Gautam Mondal works in Hyderabad and got stuck at his workplace because of the lockdown. In our small home I had been waiting for his return for two months with my two sons, aged two years and five years.

If the outbreak of the coronavirus was not enough, the news of a cyclone heading in the direction of our district left me worried. On the day of the cyclone I got unnerved as neighbours told me that Amphan would be unlike anything we have experienced in the past. As I was worried about the safety of my sons and their grandparents, who live next to our house, I had decided not to step out when the wind began to gain strength from early afternoon. As the hours passed and I waited with trepidation, the skies began to grow dark and unleashed heavy rain.

Late afternoon looked as if the night had arrived. The pounding sound of the rain was soon replaced by the howling of strong winds. I could feel the intensity of the wind as the brick walls began to shake and it seemed some giant was trying to barge in. I stayed huddled in one corner of the room with my two sons. As darkness had descended all around, I shut my eyes and prayed for the safety of my sons.

Suddenly, I felt like someone was ripping our asbestos with great power and vengeance. Before I could look up, Amphan had blown away the cover over our head. My faith in the impregnable safety of a concrete home was wiped out in one stroke. It had protected us during previous storms but Amphan pulverised the roof into pieces before leaving us homeless on the monster of a night.

The monster did not stop its dance of destruction, the mayhem continued for three hours. In the middle of the fierce storm, risking our lives and fearing even worse damage to our house, I ran with my kids to the adjacent house where my husband’s parents (farmers Ardhendu and Chandana) live. On reaching their home I heaved a sigh of relief and felt momentary safety because the demon was still at play outside, bringing down whatever came its way.

After the worst had passed, we stepped out at dawn to survey the devastation around us. The first thing I saw was a part of our asbestos roof had landed on an adjacent tree. Electric poles and trees were lying uprooted all around. Several homes around ours had suffered devastation. Pent up pain gave way to wails as neighbours began to gather and see the destruction.

We are poor people. My husband struggles far away from home to send money back with the hope of a better life. We built the house with whatever we managed to save from his earnings. That too has been damaged.

I am living in fear with my two sons under the open sky. I have made several trips to the panchayat office asking for tarpaulin to cover the gaping hole on the top of our house. The panchayat bosses have promised to give us one but said they did not know when relief would arrive. Too many houses have been damaged but relief is coming in a trickle. A panchayat official said three lakh homes had been damaged in the district but only 70,000 tarpaulins have arrived.

I keep looking at the sky and hope it does not open up again. We poor people have the government to depend on, and can do nothing beyond. Till relief arrives, my sons and I remain at the mercy of nature.