KARACHI: The main passage to the Jinnah Postgraduate Medical Centre emergency ward was blocked by construction work and digging while to the side there were police vans, containers and police personnel in the way. On a wall, a list carrying the names of wounded policemen was pasted, but there were several relatives who couldn’t find the names they were looking for. “They are s careying on television that there are 13 dead and over 55 wounded but this list has only 45 names on it,” complained one frantic relative before turning towards the wards where the men were being shifted after being given initial treatment.

Most of the gurneys in the corridors had injured policemen on them. There were head injuries and broken legs everywhere.

“I heard a loud explosion and suddenly I was aware of losing feeling in both my legs,” said Head Constable Israr Ali, who hails from Moro, Nawabshah.

“I also noticed people gather around. They were pointing in our direction but no one came to help us. I crawled out of the bus on my elbows. And it was a good 10 minutes before our own men reached there for assistance while the bystanders did nothing.

“Later, the Edhi and Chhipa ambulances arrived, too. It was a long ride from the Razzakabad Police Training Centre, where the incident took place, and here. But what to do when there is no other proper medical facility in between. So many of my brothers lost their lives on the way,” he said with tears welling up in his eyes.

Hailing from Shahdadpur, district Sanghar, constable Mazharuddin said they were all assigned duty at the training centre each morning. “There were over 60 of us in the bus heading towards Bilawal House today and the blast occurred just as the driver took a U-turn towards the city,” he said.

“I was seated in the front portion of the bus that was less affected. Therefore I received only mild injuries. My colleagues sitting in the back were seriously hurt,” he added.

Ghulam Nabi, the constable’s uncle, said he was a naval officer stationed at the Mehran Base. “I heard what happened and rang him up immediately but the phone was answered by a member of the JPMC staff who informed me of Mazhar’s whereabouts. I quickly changed out of my uniform and rushed here. Thank God, he will be fine,” he said before explaining on his own, “It’s better not to be seen in uniform these days.

“We are proud of our uniforms but it seems that the people of our country are not proud of us. We are under constant threat from terrorists. And those who are not terrorists don’t seem to care,” he remarked.

Meanwhile, Constable Waqar Raza with two legs in plaster and a bandaged left eye in ward no 14 was telling someone on the phone to leave him alone. “The doctor has asked me to speak as little as possible. Is it not enough for you that I am alive? Please let me rest,” he told someone on the other end before disconnecting. But as soon as he did that his phone started ringing again. “What about the gift… you think I would want to discuss gifts with you with two broken legs,” he said.

Asked if this was his worried family calling, Constable Raza shook his head. “I am not married. I only have a mother and she lives in Lahore. I have called her to let her know that I’m alive and not to worry. All these calls are from those girls I had stupidly given my phone number to. Now they are calling me again and again, which is using up my phone battery. It being Valentine’s Day tomorrow also isn’t helping,” he explained.

Outside the list of wounded had still not been updated. “If he’s not on the list here, perhaps you should look among the dead,” a blunt suggestion came for another young man going through the list. “But my brother is calling from somewhere, saying he’s in the hospital. Can I check in emergency?” the man asked while pointing to his phone.

When one of the policemen guarding the area and preventing people from entering the ward was asked the reason for this, he shrugged, “What to do, sister? It’s a very unfortunate incident. All our senior police officers are making appearances one after the other for lip service. The politicians, too, are coming over to make their statements. And we have to provide them security. We are doing our duty. And we are dying in the line of duty. No one cares about us, really.”