photographs & text by Munem Wasifeditor+designer: Yumi Gototranslator: Saya Namikawa

text editor: Karen Coates, Suo Takekuma, Maki Abeproduction assistant: Kishin Shimomoto

Shahinur, standing in her yard15 days after the cyclone attacked. Her place has become wreckage surrounded by uprooted trees. Above all, she lost her two children, Tania and Russel. The destructive wave snatched her children away from her lap.

サイクロンの襲来から15日後、庭に立ち尽くすシャヒヌール。根こそぎ吹き飛ばされてきた木々によって家は破壊され、大波が2人の子を彼女の元からさらっていった。

ONLY TEARS REMAIN

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ONLY TEARS REMAIN photographs & text by Munem Wasif for pdfX12 | photo documentary folioX12 vol.12

A few days before Cyclone Sidr ravaged Bangladesh, the people of the coastal region found themselves rushing into shelters, having been warned of an incoming tsunami. That, however, proved to be a “false dawn” as the gigantic waves left almost no damage. So when the warnings came on November 15, disastrously, many people chose to neglect them rather than rush immediately to the safety of the shelters. A few managed to reach these safe havens, but some who wanted to never made it. Even those who made it to the shelters lost almost everything – family, friends, their homes, their land and even their livestock. Perhaps the latter three could be replaced, but no amount of relief will ever make up for lost friends and family.

“Where is my little bird? Where is she? I have set her down a plate with rice, but where is she? I am not angry, Allah. I just want to see my little girl again. She doesn’t answer my calls anymore,” an inconsolable Asma from the western village of Padma bemoans the loss of her seven-year-old daughter.

Some 16 days after the brutality of Cyclone Sidr, I visited Pathorghata. Almost all news value had diminished by that time – the journalists had left no stone unturned during their search.

At the stroke of dawn, I crossed into the village of Padma along the Bhaleshwar River. The marks of destruction were plain to see amid the chilling cold. Gigantic trees, uprooted, lay helter-skelter. There was nothing anyone could call home. All vestiges of familiarity had disappeared. In the ponds, water had degenerated into a dark poison owing to the bodies of the dead mingled with the remains of livestock. There was nothing to stave off the chill. Winter clothes lay strewn across the length and breadth of the village, mixed with a few pieces of clothing belonging to people who would never again wear them. There were no fathers, there were no mothers – and even when there were, there were no children to nourish. Golden rice fields lay fallen as far as the eye could see, punctuated in part by the atrocious smell of the bodies that lay amid them.

Fishing boats, or the remains of them at least, could be found lodged in trees. In some cases, the boats had survived but their owners had not. So who will support the fisherman’s family now that his meagre income is gone?

A father could only watch, unable to do anything, as the water wrested his son away from his gasp and took him – how strong the water was. A grandmother could not locate both her grandsons. Emon was found dead in the pond next door, Imran lay not far from him. The grandfather, Insan, was found perched on top of a date tree in the next village – his body ravaged by the cyclone and the thorns of the tree where he sought refuge. He was naked in death. Marium found her Quran lost amidst the rice fields – its pages all ripped apart. Imam (religious leader) Jommadder’s Masjid bore the brunt of the damage. It lay in ruins. No one knows whether it will ever be built again.

In this region, there is a saying: ”For those who have no one, there is God.” But when the Lord himself unleashes his wrath upon them, to whom shall they turn?

I have never witnessed a war. I have not witnessed Iraq, never even a great famine. But the village of Padma, along the banks of the River Bhaleshwar, could well be a snapshot out of some post-apocalyptic world. And I have witnessed that. Sidr’s 220 km-per-hour winds of destruction wrecked unspeakable havoc upon the people of countless known and unknown villages. No words shall ever do justice to the suffering. You only have to see for yourself.

People have started to build temporary living arrangements. About 300,500 homes across the country were damaged in this recent cyclone.

人々は仮設住宅を建て始めている。国中でおよそ30万世帯がこのサイクロンによる被害を受けたとされている。

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From top:Abu Musa（21）. His mother, two brothers and one sister died in the cyclone.アブー・ムサ（21歳）は、サイクロンによって母と３人の兄弟を亡くした。

Asraf Ali （55）. All of his crops were damaged by the cyclone. Now he is helpless; he doesn't know how he will recover.全ての作物に被害を受けたアスラフ・アリ（55歳）。今後生活をどのように立て直せばよいかわからず、途方に暮れている。

Insan Uddin （70）, does not know how he survived. He can’t even find a reason why Allah （God） left him alive while the community’s Masjid was broken into pieces.インサン・ウディム（70歳）は、どうやって自分が生き残ったのかわからない。そして、礼拝所が破壊された今、なぜアッラーが自分を生存させたのか、その理由を見出せずにいる。

Gaheda lost her son, 7 years old; her teardrops know no bounds.7歳の息子を亡くしたガヘダ。涙は、止まることを知らない。

ONLY TEARS REMAIN photographs & text by Munem Wasif for pdfX12 | photo documentary folioX12 vol.12

Munni（10）, one among the fortunate after the storm. She was found stuck in a dead tree far from home. Nobody knows how she survived.

ムニ（10歳）は、幸運にも嵐の中生き残った者のひとりだ。彼女は、家から遠く離れたところにある木に、奇跡的に引っかかっているところを助けられた。