A young techie, Yuvraj Mehta, dies in Noida.
Not because help didn’t arrive.
But because help didn’t know how to help.
Phones were dialed.
Sirens wailed.
Uniforms gathered.
And yet—no one jumped in.
No one swam.
No one saved.
This wasn’t just a tragedy.
It was a mirror.
Our sacred texts tell stories of kings
who gave their food,
their flesh,
their very lives
to protect even the smallest citizen.
Sometimes, even animals counted as citizens.
The Bhagavad Gita reminds us that loka-saṅgraha—maintaining the order of the world—is the responsibility of every office-bearer, from the king to the peon, and when even one becomes negligent, disruption and disaster follow.
And today?
Emergency services arrived—
with life jackets,
but without lifelines.
With presence,
but without preparedness.
For two hours, Yuvraj fought.
Fought the cold.
Fought exhaustion.
Fought hope as it slipped away.
And the cruel irony?
The only person who tried to save him
was a civilian.
A delivery man.
By then—it was too late.
We pray for his family—to find the strength to survive this loss.
And for his soul to find divine shelter.
But prayer cannot replace responsibility.
Three points demand our attention:
Ability.
Availability.
Accountability.
A car falling into a ditch because of a broken wall—
unfortunate, yes.
But unforeseeable?
No.
That emergency workers didn’t have the ability to swim is alarming.
Even more so in a major metropolitan area.
That there was no availability of any other resource is heart-wrenching.
No ropes lowered.
No equipment deployed.
No drones.
No decisive action.
People were present.
Help was absent.
If this doesn’t wake us up, what will?
And waking up begins with accountability.
And accountability is not just about punishment—
which often means finding a convenient scapegoat
and returning to the status quo.
Accountability is about preparation.
Training.
Systems that work
before tragedy strikes.
Because a society is not judged
by how loudly it mourns—
but by how seriously it learns.
And no citizen—
absolutely no one—
should ever die
waiting for help
that already arrived,
but didn’t—
or couldn’t—
or wouldn’t—help.
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