Caught unawares in Kerala

Tsunami victims of the two fishing villages in Kerala's southern coast, the worst-hit in the State, are critical of the government's rescue and rehabilitation efforts.

R. KRISHNAKUMAR in Alappad and Arattupuzha

TWO shoestring strips of land form the palm-fringed gates of the Kayamkulam lake where it opens into the Arabian Sea. The two villages share a distinctive geography, sandwiched as they are between the sea and the backwaters. Both are thickly populated, especially on either side of a coastal road that barely separates the lake from the sea. Both are famously rich in mineral sands and have a lone bridge at one end and ferryboats at the other as the only links across the lake to the mainland. Both are idyllic coastal locations, serenely tucked away from the mainstream bustle of Kerala.

But this singularity also makes them among the most dangerous places to be in when a tsunami strikes.

On December 26, of the over 170 people who died along the 590-km-long Kerala coast, 158 were from these two villages - Alappad in Kollam district in the south and Arattupuzha in Alappuzha district in the north. The largest number of casualties (130) was reported from the thickly populated Alappad, where the headquarters of the Mata Amritanandamayi Ashram is located. In Arattupuzha, the toll was 28.

Survivors in the coastal wards of these villages have only one story to recount. They keep reiterating how they were caught completely unawares. They did not recognise the initial wave trains as the harbingers of the demon deluge in the afternoon. Police warnings came in a trickle, and too late. The familiar land link to safety, the coastal road, and its thickly populated environs bore the brunt of the tidal assault, in seconds, becoming a fearsome death trail.

The "dark sea" that stormed in with a "thunderlike roar" snatched them away from their relatives and homes, and flung them towards the lake. Several clung to shrubs, bushes and trees throughout the deadly "eight minutes". Some jumped into the lake in the east in search of the few boats. Those who resisted the onslaught were drowned, even expert swimmers. Eyewitnesses on the eastern bank of the lake claim that the water level in the lake too rose by about five feet.

The sea-flood, some 10-12 feet high, took about 15 minutes to recede. The coastal road was waterlogged and had a heap of black sand and debris several feet high in some places, especially where there were no sea walls. Houses, shops, vehicles, boats and fishing equipment had vanished. So had a lot of fishermen and their families. Many bodies were recovered near the lake. Many died for want of immediate medical attention. There were only a few boats to the rescue. Several people sought shelter at the Mata Amritanandamayi Ashram to the east, which was also flooded.

In retrospect, only a quick evacuation would have saved the two villages, especially the people living in the narrow island-like stretches between the sea and the lake. The State police had sounded an alert all along the Kerala coast by 11-30 a.m., asking police stations and churches and mosques with public address systems to warn the people. They had barely identified Alappad and Arattupuzha as likely danger spots, when the tsunami struck. But by the time the big wave came in, top police officials, including Arun Kumar Sinha, the Deputy Inspector-General (DIG) of Police in charge of the southern districts, had reached Alappad and small police units led by the local Circle Inspector had started instructing people to leave. But it was too late.

There were thousands, the majority of them fisherfolk - too many, too near the sea and the lake, and the police, the only State machinery visible for hours, were sadly outnumbered. There were barely 50 policemen in the area in the first four hours of the disaster. By 4 p.m., amidst widespread apprehension that more deadly waves would hit the coast, 150 more were deployed.

Arun Kumar Sinha, whose vehicle was dragged away for about 10 metres when the big wave engulfed the Azheekkal region of Alappad, told Frontline: "We have a limited police force. Though the Meteorological (MET) department's alert had said that the Kerala coast was unlikely to be hit, we had sounded an alert all along the coast by 11-30 a.m., when the sea showed abnormal behaviour in several places. But our initial problem was choosing the location where the police force would be needed most. We have a long coastline from Thiruvananthapuram to Kasaragod. The sea had already withdrawn and ballooned at several places from Vizhinjam (near the State capital) to Alappuzha. We had little information on tsunamis and what they would do to the coast. There were no warnings that the waves that hit eastern Tamil Nadu early in the morning would get diffracted off the Kanyakumari coast and move into the Arabian Sea, as was explained by scientists later."

In fact, at Alappad, though several people complained to Frontline of the State government's failure to alert them "at least half an hour earlier", policemen who had tried to warn the people said that many local men and women had refused to believe them when they did. Ironically, some even told them not to worry in the cocky confidence that "they knew the sea better". The sea was actually receding, a few claimed.

Arun Kumar Sinha admits that the official machinery could never have coped with the situation but for the dedicated voluntary rescue-relief work by the people in the village. "Anyone who was in the worst-hit Azheekkal area that day would understand that fear of life is the worst fear. But the youth and fisherfolk of Alappad displayed tremendous courage and enthusiasm in rescue and relief work. I have never seen such unity of people rising above caste, creed, religion and politics," he said.

Fishermen and youth involved in rescue effort told Frontline that some of them even had to swim to the other end of the lake with the injured. Had the government listened to their long-standing demand for a bridge, many lives could have been saved, they said. "No official machinery was in sight in the initial hours. Fire Force personnel were nowhere to be seen. Though we made repeated requests to the Marine Enforcement authorities to send some boats from Neendakara (in Kollam district) to move the injured to safety, they refused saying that they `needed orders from above," K. Kusalan, one of the rescuers, said.

Arun Kumar Sinha, the senior-most officer in Alappad village at the time of the tragedy, said that immediate rescue work was delayed because the road was not motorable. There was no electricity and the telephone exchange was washed away. A large number of people were injured or feared to have drowned and there was massive destruction of property. The roads had either disappeared, as per initial reports, or were covered with sand and debris. So the police had to use the ferry services on the other side of the village. "Policemen too fear for their lives. There was no system to tell us whether the waves would come back or not," he said.

Abhilash, a local volunteer, who was highly critical of the government for not trying to allay the fears of the people about further attacks by the sea, said that it was around 12 noon the next day that at least a few policemen came to his neighbourhood. "Alappad is a clear example of how the government machinery in such a highly literate State reacted to the biggest tragedy in recent memory. It did nothing. There was nobody here in the first few crucial hours when a number of lives could have been saved. We also did not know where to take the people we had rescued," he said.

It was the Sunday after Christmas and the only government agency that was "half awake at least" to the magnitude of the tragedy seemed to be the police. "It was a difficult time for us, with little support from other departments. We were short not only of manpower, but also equipment. The crisis was of an unprecedented nature. We needed earth movers, lighting systems, makeshift tents, torchlights, searchlights and emergency medical supplies all at once. These were simply not available. Moreover, even the word tsunami was an unfamiliar one to the policemen. There was a dearth of personnel adequately trained in search and rescue operations. But the morale was high, I was witness to it," Sinha said.

According to him, though it is the duty of the police to evacuate people from scenes of disaster, they do not have clear instructions on where such victims should be lodged. The police opened some schools as a matter of routine (the Christmas vacation was on); the Tahsildars later converted them into relief camps. "We also felt the absence of a civil defence system in Kerala, which continues to remain but a mere proposal on paper," he said.

Over 18,000 people were evacuated into relief camps on the first day itself from the worst-affected areas of Alappad alone. Emotions were running high when Ministers, including Chief Minister Oommen Chandy, visited the two villages on the following days.

The State has 220 fishing villages along its coastline, with a population density of 2,652 people every sq km (as against the population density of 742 persons per sq km for the State in general, which itself is considered high). Such villages are within half a kilometre from the coastline, where each family owns very little land. The situation becomes worse each passing year, with these little plots being divided among family members. In the majority of the villages, houses are packed like sardines; a lot of them stand on encroached public land and are jerry-built, with poor electricity, water and toilet facilities. Yet, in these villages, fishermen generally prefer to stay near the coast, where they can watch the sea and their catamarans and fishing gear round the clock. Alappad and Arattupuzha are comparatively clean and spaced-out villages, but are thickly populated, especially the former.

In the wake of such a colossal tragedy, the government ideally wants people to move away from the narrow coastline. At an all-party meeting convened to discuss the relief work, Oommen Chandy said that the government proposed to build townships for the displaced in both the villages (and a similar affected village in Edavanakkad in the central Ernakulam district). He said that scientists had advised the State government to construct a township with flats for the displaced a safe distance away from the coast, on the eastern side of the lake. The government would not allow any construction on the western side of the coastal road, he said.

The people of Alappad and Arattupuzha have mixed feelings about the proposal. The biggest controversy in the region had been the secret attempts by some within the government to allow the lucrative mining of mineral sands in these tiny coastal villages. Now, even after such a massive tragedy, some of these coastal people feel it is a clever ploy by that dark lobby within the government to take over their land for mining. But the fear of living on the coast is palpable, especially among women. "I am afraid to come here even with all these people around. How can we stay here alone, any more?" said Sujatha, mother of two, who lost everything when their home in Alappad was plucked away by the sea.

But several men, especially fishermen and traders, told Frontline that it would be an impractical step if the government proposed to move them away from the coast, which had been their home for generations. "We are fishermen, not farmers. We have to be near the sea, to know its moods, to make a livelihood. It is not like any other job, when you decide, `yes, tomorrow I will go and do this job'. We need to be near the sea," Janardhanan, a fisherman in Arattupuzha, said. "It is also a question of leaving our home and our native land and culture. Where else can we have so much freedom but near the sea?" S. Herji, who clung to a shrub along with 18 others at the edge of the lake in Arattupuzha to escape the flood, asked.

Nine days after the tragedy, people at Arattupuzha and Alappad were bitter and anxious about the pace of the relief work. The destruction was complete in most places. What remained were the basements of houses, damaged buildings and shops, crushed vehicles, tonnes of sand, concrete blocks and junk strewn about - and innumerable freshly marked graves with half-burnt incense sticks.

By evening, people start leaving their ravaged land to the temporary safety of the relief camps.