Today, I experienced that strange feeling that comes just before an accident — what the mind thinks in a fraction of a second, what thoughts flash by, and how the senses react.
There had been heavy rain last night, and everything was still wet — just like peak monsoon time during the eve of Dussehra in October. My brother-in-law and I decided to fetch grass for our cow. Since the stairs and narrow pathways were slippery, we thought of taking our Supro van to carry the load.
Usually, we move quickly once we decide to go. But today, it took almost an hour — getting things ready, searching for raincoats, sharpening the sickle on a stone. Somewhere in between, I had a small thought — should I wear shoes or just go in slippers? I realize now that this thought had come, but I ignored it. It wasn’t a deliberate choice — I just brushed it aside and went ahead wearing slippers.
There’s a newly built road that leads to the field. It has a sharp turn that needs perfect precision. When I reached that point, again for a moment, a thought came — maybe I should avoid this turn and go from the other side of the junction. But I ignored it, thinking I had managed this turn before.
In that bit of confusion, I took the turn but realized I had missed the perfect angle. So I decided to reverse to get back on track. I was aware the road was slippery, so I was being extra careful. I shifted into reverse gear — my left foot pressing the clutch and my right on the brake. Then I slowly pressed the accelerator while easing off the brake. The van trembled — the rear tyre on the driver’s side skidded.
I quickly released the accelerator, trying to move my foot to the brake again. My head turned toward the skidding tyre, and I could smell the burning rubber. Just then, my slipper slipped — I couldn’t press the brake properly. There was about a one-foot gap before the edge of the road. I knew exactly what was happening. I said aloud, “Lah, khutta chipliyo!” (My foot slipped!).
Suddenly, the van was brake-free — still on, still moving, narrowing that one-foot gap. For a moment, one part of my mind said, “We’re gone now.” But another part stayed focused, trying to reach the brake. Somehow, I managed to press it hard. The van stopped.
My heartbeat was racing. My right leg was trembling. I looked at my brother-in-law — his eyes were closed, waiting for the mishap. There was silence for two seconds. Then we both realized how narrowly we had escaped. The van was still on. My brother-in-law got down and said, “2 inch le bachecha” (We escaped by barely two inches). He quickly placed a stone behind the tyre — the best way to make sure nothing else goes wrong.
With help from others, we safely parked the vehicle back. But even then, the trembling inside didn’t stop. We both felt a huge sense of relief and gratitude that we were safe.
All this happened in just five or six seconds. It was like myself watching a slow motion movie of my own accident. In those few seconds, my conscious and subconscious mind were both fully active, doing everything to avoid the mishap. At that moment, nothing else mattered — not fear, not thoughts — just the instinct to save life.
Today, I learned a lesson about being more careful and alert. But more than that, it felt like the experience was trying to teach me something deeper. Now I wonder — what is it really trying to tell me?