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Kathmandu Sunday February 11, 2001 Magh 29, 2057.
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The
tragedy beyond open air
By Surendra Phuyal
It was just an ordinary July afternoon. We
were leaving Kathmandu for the mid-western Terai hub of Nepalgunj. From there, we were
supposed to file on-site news reports pertaining to the possible inundation problem likely
to be triggered by the construction of an afflux bund near Laxmanpur by India. Frankly
speaking, we were assigned to make the Laxmanpur issue an agenda, ahead of Prime Minister
Girija Prasad Koirala’s India visit, which was due for August 1.
With excitement and zeal, we boarded a Necon
Air plane in the afternoon of Thursday, July 27, which, in no time, flew westwards,
towards Nepalgunj. Nepalgunj’s Ranjha airport is like Nepal’s mid- and far-
western regional airport in that it links the region’s inaccessible hill districts
with the accessible and motorable parts.
While airborne, we chalked out plans to meet
concerned officials, technicians and affected people immediately after reaching Nepalgunj.
But that was not to be. Our plans went haywire after we had a sudden encounter with our
Humla correspondent, Jaya Bahadur Rokaya, who had been stranded there for last one month.
Thanks to the unpredictable weather conditions in the mountains.
As we finished shaking hands with Rokaya, he
revealed us that a Royal Nepal Airlines Corporation (RNAC)-owned twin otter had gone
missing. The plane was en route to Dhangadi from Bajhang, a far-western hill district, and
had just lost contact with the airport.
After all we were reporters. We rushed
towards the RNAC counter to check things out. No, the RA-9NABP, with 25 people onboard,
had not re-established any contact with the air traffic controllers at Dhangadi’s
Geta Airport whatsoever. RNAC immediately suspended all its domestic flights, and the
airport began to be crowded with stranded passengers and curious onlookers.
Soon, two rescue helicopters were readied to
fly towards the fog-covered hills where the twin otter had gone missing. Though he had
just completed an air journey, Kantipur News Editor, Narayan Wagle looked desperate to run
towards the airport and board an Ecureuil helicopter. He struggled for a while convincing
the airport officials that he also wanted to go to the site and report things for his
newspaper. Finally, an airport official allowed him—not all of us—to board the
aircraft, which, after a while, flew towards an unknown destination.
But the saddest part was that the aircraft
was still missing. None knew the whereabouts of the state-owned airliner or the people
boarding it. Late in the afternoon, a Radio Nepal news said, someone in Jarayokhali
village in southern Dadeldhura district informed the nearest police that the aircraft had
crashed at a 4,300ft-high hill in their village. And that was it.
It was a tragedy that had shocked the whole
nation, if not the entire region. All the 25 people—most of them civil servants and
college students—including three crew members had been killed in the accident. While
the twin otter did not have any voice box or flight data recorder, it was later speculated
that the aircraft met with the accident because it deviated from its path owing to bad
weather.
Also, the pilot could have miscalculated the
altitude near that particular point. The Jarayokhali hill was the last geographical
barrier for those in the ill-fated plane, which needed to be crossed. Had they
successfully crossed the hill range, the plane could have easily made it to the airport a
few minutes later. But that was not to be.
Dusk had already set in, but Narayan dai (as
we call him) was nowhere in the sight. Neither did he bother to give us a telephone call.
That night we could not sleep properly. It was only after going through the newspaper the
next morning that we came to know of him. He had got stuck in Dadeldhura that night. He
had filed a newsreport from Dadeldhura, while I did it from Nepalgunj.
He later told us that their helicopter could
not land at the crash site either. The visibility was really poor. That was indeed a very
sad day, when tragedy had befallen¼Coincidentally, thanks to the God Almighty, the
aircraft we were travelling in, too, was airborne at 10:31 a.m. (NST)—the last time
when the ill-fated twin otter’s pilot established contact with the airport.
The air accident diverted our attention for two
days. While I filed follow-up reports from Nepalgunj, Narayan dai did it from unknown
destinations—sometimes from Dadeldhura and at the other times from Dhangadi He showed
up only on the third day, but this time too with a newseport—on the plight of the
just-freed Kamaiyas, or the bonded labourers. And this was the account of a tragedy, of
which we became witnesses, though unwillingly.
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