Vittalbhai is a hotelier. His three-storey hotel is now a pile of rubble. His son, he tells, providentially managed to run out of the hotel seconds before it collapsed. And, then, his voice cracks as he tells his shocked listeners about the death of his sister's two sons. No word about his brother's children.
Personal loss appears inconsequential when compared to the collective death of the town.
Vittalbhai puts the toll at 10,000 in Anjar alone. The prime ministerial motorcade proceeds on its funereal journey. There is no security paraphernalia. Nor the occasion for any flexing of the state's muscles. A bereaved district can hardly pose any threat to a king's safety.