‘For 15 minutes, they screamed for help': Indore grieves as 7 funeral pyres lit together after deadly house blaze

INDORE: At Brijeshwari Annexe, the mundane sounds of a neighbourhood waking up had been replaced by a heavy, suffocating blanket of grief on Wednesday morning.

By evening, the air was thick not with smoke, but with collective heartbreak of a city that watched seven funeral pyres lit up simultaneously, while a small, wooden box carrying the youngest victim of the fire tragedy was lowered into the grave.

The last rites at Tilak Nagar crematorium saw a large gathering of people with tears in their eyes. The Jain community, which dominates the area, turned out in hundreds. The sight was heart-wrenching---seven pyres lined up in a row—a family united in life, now disappearing into embers together. The most haunting image, however, was of the small box containing remains of 8-year-old Tanmay, being carried towards the burial ground. Even the most stoic onlookers broke down in sobs.

Among the ashes lied a story of tragic irony. Vijay Sethia travelled over 1,400 kilometres from Kishanganj, Bihar, to Indore. He wasn't looking for a holiday; he was fighting for his life against jaw cancer and had to undergo a surgery. He had come to his brother-in-law Manoj's home, seeking healing in the comfort of family.

Back in Kishanganj, Vijay was a cosmetic trader who was in the middle of building his dream home. "He had just bought new electronic items for his house," recalled a relative. Instead of a recovery and a homecoming, Vijay, his wife Suman, their son Chhotu, and daughter Tinu, all perished alongside their Indore hosts.

The night began with the terrifying roar of a ‘thermal monster'. At 3:30 am, the neighbourhood's peace was shattered by explosions that sounded like a battlefield. Air conditioner compressors and refrigerators burst like bombs, waking residents to a sight from a nightmare.

"The cries were piercing," whispered a resident Ajay Jain, his voice trembling. "For fifteen minutes, we heard them screaming for help from behind the iron grills. And then... there was only the sound of the fire."

While many ran for their lives, fear was momentarily eclipsed by courage. A neighbour, Mahendra Jain, in a desperate bid to save his friends, balanced a ladder on a table to reach the second floor. His bravery snatched Sunita Pugalia and her sons, Saurabh and Somil, from the jaws of death. But for eight others, the ‘wall of fire' at the exit was impassable.

By 9 am, the terrifying explosions were replaced by relentless wail of sirens from fire brigades and police vehicles. Neighbours stood on balconies and rooftops, peeking through windows with tear-filled eyes, whispering about the family they had shared tea with just days before.

At the charred remains of the Pugalia residence, Saurabh Pugalia—who survived the inferno—moved like a ghost through the blackened debris. Under the watchful eyes of forensic science laboratory (FSL) team, he sifted through the soot to find charred documents and remnants of a life that was. He refused to speak; his silence told a story of a trauma that words cannot reach.

As the sun set over Indore, a sense of deep concern lingered. The tragedy left local residents not just grieving, but looking at their own homes and vehicles with a newfound fear. For now, however, the city simply wept for a family that came together for a cure, only to find a catastrophe.