After months of blistering heat and punishing sun, it was obviously tough to construe visions of a cyclone. Maybe the Meteorological Department was wrong in its calculations as it normally is, one hoped. But all scepticism vanished just as the vehicle hit the highway at Limdi, 60 kilometres from Ahmedabad. The first reaction was of elation as one gulped the cool strong winds and let the drizzle fall on the face. Mood upbeat, one could not help notice the dry bushes changing colour within minutes and dancing to the rhythm of the rain. Cyclone? What cyclone?

Dawn at Jetpur, 150 kilometres away saw birds floating with the powerful air current. Standing on the road was getting to be a tough proposition. The black menacing clouds moving fast in one direction were perhaps trying to say something. The printing factories lay vacant, the omnipresent chai shops had their shutters down. It was still pleasant but where were all the people?

Another 50 kilometres on and one could see the highway lined with trees and branches -- the fallen ones. The vehicle shook with the cyclonic wind as the inmates kept their eyes on the tree, especially, the ancient-looking ones. Some of the enterprising farmers had tied their crops together but the heaps of husk were flying away giving a soft shimmering feel to the brown fields.

The centre of the cyclone was still miles away. So far so good, but what next? By the time the vehicle touched Junagadh, one could not decide which was worse the winds at 60 kilometres per hour or the incessant downpour. At least, it had some people hanging around closed shutters give directions to the collector's office where a Flood Control Centre had been set-up.

The wet stairs led to a group of dedicated officers on hotlines getting the latest count of the dead and the injured. The dull stormy light was being supplemented by petromaxes. According to them, the cyclone was to hit Porbandar at 12:00 p.m. and the wind speed was expected to touch a fatal 160 kilometres per hour. But no telephone connection could be established to Porbandar. Wasn't it fishy?

Porbandar was to be the final destination, though one hoped not the final one. The winds lashed furiously. A line of trucks came into view. The line extended to nearly two kilometres. Thanks to a big peepul tree which had fallen right across the road the vehicle was quickly turned away as the truck-drivers stood helplessly in front of the gigantic tree. For us, a loss of nearly an hour. Will one be able to keep the date with the cyclone?

Porbandar was still elusive as one grappled with fallen trees on the road, lifting the car bodily to take it out of the stubborn mud. One of the first to enter the town Porbandar had a surprise in store. The cyclone had already been there and the winds were raging, a milder version of what had taken place a few hours ago. The destruction overtook the emotions of betrayal.

The deserted town, ravaged, shorn and broken told a story but had happened exactly?

The cyclone had struck at one at night, raged on for seven continuous hours unleashing terror. It had taken 10 lives, eight as the microwave tower fell on houses killing unsuspecting people, including three children. The mangled red and white rods looked grotesque and bore witness to nature's wrath. The people approached the place gingerly to take stock of the situation. The atmosphere was hushed and the mood grey. But doesn't life go on?

One felt like a voyeur as the administration and the people busied themselves remedying the situation, cleaning up fallen trees, electricity poles and hoardings.