Five Past Midnight in Bhopal - Dominique Lapierre [77]
“Once drastic cuts became the sole policy objective, and one man’s say-so was the only authority, we knew the plant was inevitably going to hell,” Kamal Pareek would confirm.
Once again it was Rahul who bore the news. In a matter of minutes it was all around the bustees.
“Carbide has just laid off three hundred coolies. And apparently that’s only the beginning.”
“Haven’t the unions done anything about it?” Ganga Ram asked sharply.
“They weren’t given any choice,” explained Rahul.
“Does that mean they’re going to shut down all the installations?” worried Sheela Nadar, afraid that her husband might be among the men laid off.
“Not necessarily,” Rahul tried to be reassuring. “But it does seem the sale of plant medicines isn’t going all that well anymore.”
“It’s not surprising,” observed Belram Mukkadam, “the rains didn’t come this year and people are leaving the countryside.”
Sunil, the eldest son of the Kumar family whose rice fields had been obliterated by the drought, spoke up. “Plant medicines are great when things are going well,” he declared. “But when there’s no water left to give the rice a drink, they’re useless.”
Sunil was right. The gathering around Rahul had increased in size. The news he had brought provoked widespread consternation. After living so long in the shadow of the factory, after burning so many incense sticks to get jobs there, after being woken with a start by the howl of its sirens, after so many years of living together on this patch of land, how could they really believe that this temple of industry was crumbling?
“This year the rains are going to be very heavy,” said the sorcerer Nilamber, whose predictions were always optimistic. “Then Carbide will take back those it kicked out today.”
Sheela Nadar gave the little man with the goatee a grateful smile. Everyone noticed that her daughter Padmini was wearing a cotton sari instead of her children’s clothes.
“The trainees from the plant have stopped coming to the House of Hope,” Padmini added. The House of Hope was the training center Carbide had set up in part of the building occupied by Sister Felicity’s handicapped children. “The classrooms have been closed for several days. I don’t think anyone’s coming back—they’ve taken away all their equipment.”
Discouraged, the group fell silent, each one contemplating the mighty structure looming on the horizon.
“I tell you they’ve only sacked our men so they can put even more money in their pocket,” decreed Prema Bai who had come from helping a new citizen of Orya Bustee into the world. “Don’t you worry: Carbide will always be there.”
The whole city adopted her opinion. Neither the death of one of its workers, nor the ensuing union unrest, nor the apocalyptic predictions of Rajkumar Keswani had been able to tarnish the factory’s prestige in the Bhopalis’ eyes. The star that Eduardo Muñoz and a group of impassioned engineers had constructed, was as much a part of the city as its mosques, palaces and gardens. It was the crowning glory of an industrial culture that was completely new to India. The residents of Bhopal might not know what exactly the chimneys, tanks and pipework were for, but they were enthusiastic participants in all the sporting and cultural activities the plant could organize. There were some indications, however, at the beginning of 1983, that the honeymoon was drawing to a close. Under pressure from Carbide’s top management, Chakravarty and Mukund devoted their energies to making further cuts. “In India, like anywhere else in the world, the only way to reduce expenditure is to reduce running costs,” Kamal Pareek was to say. “In Bhopal, wages constituted the primary expense.” After the three hundred coolies were dismissed, many skilled workers and technicians were laid off. In the methyl isocyanate production unit alone the manpower in each shift was cut by half. In the vitally important control room, only one man was left to oversee some seventy dials, counters