The Red Sea was restless that morning, its waves flecked with white foam, the wind blowing with a sharpness that felt like it could cut through steel. Captain Krishnan Kanthavel stood on the bridge of the Ever Given, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the horizon blur into a dusty haze. It was March 23, 2021 — a date he would never forget.

The Ever Given was no ordinary ship. At 1,312 feet long, she was a floating skyscraper of steel, carrying more than 17,000 containers packed with furniture, electronics, and goods destined for Europe. The Suez Canal — the slender artery connecting Asia and Europe — was her next challenge. For Kanthavel, this was familiar territory. He had navigated this canal many times before. But today, something felt different.

Two Egyptian pilots boarded just before dawn, climbing the narrow gangway in the roaring wind. They were professionals — specialists who knew every bend, every current, every dangerous patch of the Suez. The first pilot, tall and stern-faced, introduced himself brusquely and went straight to work, issuing instructions to the helmsman. The second pilot, shorter, with a quieter air, frowned at the weather conditions.

“We should wait,” the second pilot said, glancing at the wind gauge, which read over 40 knots. “These are not ideal conditions.”

Kanthavel hesitated. The decision was ultimately his — but the convoy was already assembling. Nineteen other ships waited. Every hour of delay meant hundreds of thousands of dollars lost. The shipping company back in Asia had been clear: do not delay unless absolutely necessary.

“We proceed,” the lead pilot barked.

The second pilot’s eyes narrowed but said nothing more. The Ever Given moved forward, her engines humming, her massive hull pushing through the channel.

Within an hour, the trouble began.

The ship’s bow caught the wind like a giant sail. The helmsman turned hard to port as instructed, but the Ever Given responded sluggishly, almost stubbornly. The rudder seemed too small for a vessel of this size under such conditions.

“Hard starboard!” the pilot shouted, but by the time the rudder bit into the water, the ship had overcorrected. The two pilots began to argue — one shouting to increase speed to gain control, the other warning that more speed would make disaster inevitable.

Kanthavel’s jaw tightened. He felt like a man watching a fight in his own home, powerless to intervene. “Enough,” he said at last, stepping between them. “We increase speed — but only slightly. No more shouting.”

But the wind had other plans.

Minutes later, the Ever Given’s bow veered again, this time toward the eastern bank. The ship’s enormous bulk scraped the sandy slope, throwing up a plume of dust. A thunderous vibration rippled through the hull. Then came the sound no captain ever wants to hear — a deep, grinding roar as steel met rock.

The Ever Given was aground.

Silence gripped the bridge. Kanthavel felt his chest tighten. He knew immediately how bad this was. This wasn’t a minor grounding. This was a complete blockage. The stern had swung across the canal, wedging the ship at a diagonal angle. No one — not even a single tugboat — could pass.

By afternoon, satellite images of the green behemoth blocking the canal went viral. Twitter and news outlets lit up with memes, jokes, and panic. But for the captain, there was no humor here — only dread.

Chief Pilot Captain Al-Said arrived within hours. A veteran of forty years on the water, Al-Said carried himself with the calm authority of a man who had seen it all. He surveyed the situation grimly.

“She is stuck tight,” he told Kanthavel after inspecting the bow. “But we will get her out. It will take time.”

Excavators were brought in — starting with a single yellow digger, which looked absurdly tiny against the colossal hull. Tugboats strained at the stern, their engines screaming, but the Ever Given refused to budge.

Each day that passed brought more ships to a standstill. By the third day, over 200 vessels were queued at either end of the canal, carrying oil, food, electronics, and machinery. Billions of dollars in global trade were frozen.

On the fourth day, the salvage company SMIT arrived. Their divers went underwater to assess the damage. Their engineers calculated how many tons of rock and sand needed dredging. Their proposal was bold: keep dredging, keep pulling, and if necessary, begin removing containers from the ship one by one — a slow and dangerous process.

Tension grew among the crew. Some worried about blame, others about being stranded indefinitely. The two Egyptian pilots, once loud and argumentative, now kept to themselves, avoiding eye contact. Kanthavel wrote in his logbook each night, his handwriting growing shakier as the days wore on. He replayed every moment in his mind, wondering if he could have done something differently.

Then came the supermoon.

On the sixth day, tides would rise higher than normal. If there was ever a chance to free the ship, this was it. Captain Al-Said worked with SMIT and the Suez Canal Authority to coordinate a final, all-out effort.

“This is our moment,” Al-Said told the exhausted crew on the bridge. “Tonight, we either free her, or we start removing cargo tomorrow.”

Engines roared. Tugs strained with every ounce of horsepower. Kanthavel gave the order: “Engines full astern!” The Ever Given trembled. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the stern began to swing. Crew members on deck shouted as the bow started to lift from the sand.

And then — with a final heave from the tugs — the Ever Given broke free.

Cheers erupted across the ship, echoed by tug captains and Suez Canal Authority crews onshore. Kanthavel allowed himself a rare smile, though it faded quickly. The canal was open again, but for him, the ordeal was far from over.

The Ever Given was anchored in the Great Bitter Lake while investigations began. For weeks, Kanthavel and his crew remained onboard, unable to leave. They faced questioning, paperwork, and the quiet shame of being at the center of a global incident.

Eventually, a settlement was reached — hundreds of millions of dollars paid, insurance companies negotiating behind closed doors. The pilots were cleared of wrongdoing, though the incident sparked heated debate over canal safety and ship design.

When Kanthavel was finally allowed to disembark, he stood at the rail for a long moment, watching the waters of the Great Bitter Lake shimmer in the sun. The ship’s horn sounded once, a low mournful note, as if marking the end of a long chapter.

“I did my duty,” he said quietly to Al-Said, who had come to see him off.

“And you brought her home,” Al-Said replied. “That is what matters.”

Kanthavel nodded. The weight in his chest seemed a little lighter. He knew he would sail again — and next time, he would be ready for whatever the wind brought.

The world moved on. The backlog of ships slowly cleared, shelves refilled, trade resumed. But for those who had stood on the bridge of the Ever Given that windy March morning, the memory would never fade.

It was more than just a traffic jam. It was a reminder — of how fragile the arteries of global trade are, how a single mistake can ripple across the entire world, and how, even in the age of satellites and supercomputers, a gust of wind can still bring giants to their knees.