The horror struck when I was a pre-schooler. My younger brother followed me like a shadow then. Two years older than my brother, I was entrusted with his care by my parents.

One day in early summer, my brother and I were playing around in the village. On the edge of the village, a new channel had been dug out by the farmers to divert water from the creek in the valley over to the parched fields for irrigation. That summer, a drought had been on for weeks. The channel was a mini river. At some places some villagers dammed the channel so that a little pond was formed behind the little barrier.

Brother and I came to the pond. At first, we threw pebbles and rocks into it. It was great fun. Then I heard my brother murmuring, “Brother, I want to bathe in it.” I remember telling him not to. The next moment he vanished.

Although I did not witness it, I was sure he had slipped into the pond, for bubbles were coming out of it. Panic-stricken, I froze then and there. Unluckily, there were no other kids around at the moment. I simply stood there, thunderstruck. I was not even able to cry for help. All the colour was draining from my face.

Some distance off, one of my uncles was tending his vegetable garden. When he happened to look up in my direction, the adult noticed me behaving weirdly at the pond. He also saw that my little brother was nowhere to be found. Instantly the uncle rushed over.

Still speechless and ashen-faced, I simply pointed to the water when the uncle arrived. He jumped into the channel and pulled the brother out.

Because my parents had been working a long way away from the village at the time, the uncle took my brother to his home and got him changed into dry wear.

The real-life drama happened in 1976 or 1977.