1971-06-04
By Peter Hazelhurst
Page: 1
Cholera camp doctors cry out for world help
Krishnagar, West Bengal.
June 3
They lay on the cold stone floor, a hundred men, women and children, retelling and shaking, their terrified eyes fixed on the back entrance of the hospital where the corpses were piling up. Cramped in the tiny village hospital, some only half alive, they are all victims of the cholera epidemic sweeping through the refugee camps of West Bengal.
It is not pleasant to see 100 people dying of cholera when one knows that there are huge stocks of medicine in the world which could have saved them or could at least have eased their agony.
With neither mattresses nor blankets they die on the hard floor of this improvised hospital in the south of the Nadia district. A dying baby still clings to its dead mother's body. An old man coughs and dies a foot away from my feet.
A young doctor with tears in his eyes points to the street where thousands of refugees are huddled under umbrellas and on straw mats in the rain. "I only have the equipment and medicine to save a few", he says. "The only thing I can do now is to bring them inside so they don't die in the rain"
It was the same grim story in the northern region of Nadia. The official death toll has risen to 1,700 but officials from West Bengal's health services, who escorted me to the cholera-affected refugee camps near Bethuadahari village, about 90 miles north of Calcutta, claim that as many as 5,000 have died of cholera since last Sunday.
"Many doctors are still playing down the statistics because they feel that they might be held responsible for the outbreak", an official explains. "But I can tell you that we have already hired 15 lorries to transport bodies in the northern towns of Shikarpur and Karimpur."
The town of Karimpur near the border has been hit hardest by the disease. "We are burning them in huge communal graves but we cannot cope with the number of deaths", says the young official. Mr. Rishikesh Choudhury. "The bodies are still lying in the streets and the vultures are eating them. This will spread the epidemic."
His fears are echoed by officials in all parts of the district. The disease has already claimed 200 lives in the huge refugee camp near the town of Kalyani, 40 miles north of Calcutta. You know you are approaching the Kalyani refugee camps before you see them. You can smell them.
An estimated 100,000 Bengalis have been accommodated in these makeshift camps. There is no sanitation nor any permanent shelter and thousands of refugees are crouching under crude straw mats or umbrellas in fields flooded by the monsoon rains.
As the reports of the cholera epidemic spread through the town the local inhabitants are beginning to place handkerchiefs over their mouths and noses as they pass the huge camps.
We drive to the north passing a never-ending stream of refugees on the roads. Some are too tired to walk and are squatting under trees in the rain.. We arrive at the village hospital at Bethuadahari and it is the same story.
The local medical officer, Dr. A. Banerjee, aged 33, and his staff have been overwhelmed by the number of cholera cases. There are about 10,000 refugees in his area of jurisdiction and the death toll is rising steadily.
Dr. Banerjee tells an orderly to take a woman out to the "isolation ward". He explains that the isolation ward is essentially the death house. "Some of the cases have gone away when they have seen other people dying next to them so we have had to take the very bad ones outside to die."
Women and children, most of them in a coma, have been crowded into the isolation ward. On the veranda outside an old man lies weeping as the body of his wife is dragged across the yard to the mortuary.
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