The Hindu Business Line : A wave of despair lingers

Nearly a month after the killer tsunami struck, Cuddalore's inhabitants struggle to patch together the pieces of their lives. Rasheeda Bhagat surveys the scene.

IN THE SAME BOAT ... Jayanthi squeezing into her house at Singarathoppu in Cuddalore Old Town. Three trawlers landed right next to her house on the day the tsunami struck. - Bijoy Ghosh

THE scene takes me right back to the bedtime stories I used to tell my children years ago: of a defiant little Ganesh guarding the entrance to his house and refusing entry to Shiva because his mother, Parvathi, is having a bath. For 45-year-old Jayanthi, a resident of Singarathoppu, a fishing hamlet in Cuddalore OT (Old Town) that was devastated by the giant tsunami on December 26, it is as though Lord Ganesh played guardian once again.

Deserted by her husband 15 years ago, she lives alone in a spacious brick-and-mortar house, whose entrance is still blocked by three huge fishing trawlers which the tsunami flung like toys across the road. One of them, about 45 by 15 ft and weighing several tonnes, knocked down the door of her house as well as a portion of the front compound wall.

Four weeks after the event, on that piece of fallen wall you can see a picture of Ganesh — a few inches away halted the journey of the trawler brought in by the sea, more than 500 metres away from her house.

"I heard the crashing sound and saw the water gushing in, but couldn't get out because the entrance was nearly shut off. So I jumped over the compound wall and ran," says Jayanthi.

But it was too late for her to scramble across to the steps leading to the bridge that saved the lives of a few thousand people living in the three fishing hamlets of Cuddalore OT. So she grabbed a coconut tree a few metres away and hung on from the lowest frond with all her might. "I must have hung there for an hour or two and felt that my arms would fall off. People on the bridge watched me and kept encouraging me not to let go. The water came up to my neck and I took several gulps ... even today my stomach is hurting," says Jayanthi, who has received "11 injections on my arms and all kinds of tablets for my stomach ailment."

Like others she, too, has received Rs 4,000 in cash, 60 kg of rice and 10 litres of kerosene.

Driving around the villages in Cuddalore district, you can't but be impressed by the massive relief effort on for people affected by the fury of the sea.

Vehicles of all shapes and sizes draped with banners proclaiming the organisation and the area where they are carrying out relief operations ply the narrow lanes and bylanes of villages, transporting food, clothes, blankets, utensils and sanitation material down to the last detail of human existence, such as hair oil, soaps and sanitary napkins.

Everywhere, construction activity is on to put up temporary shelters, but watching the tin sheets used for these shelters and the zero space for ventilation, one wonders at the ovens these will become in a couple of months.

Collector Gagandeep Singh Bedi says in Cuddalore district, 25,000 families have been directly and indirectly affected, 626 bodies have been recovered and 46 people declared missing. "More than 7,500 boats and an equal number of engines and nets have been lost, and over 600 mechanised boats have been extensive damaged," he adds.

Most people are still petrified of the sea and have nightmares of huge killer waves chasing them. "I have been treated by American doctors too and they have assured me that the tsunami will not return," says Jayanthi.

But the effect of this magic mantra chanted by everybody beginning with the Collector, NGOs, doctors, disappeared in a flash on the eve of January 20 when a Tamil TV channel flashed news that the sea at the Silver Beach in Cuddalore — where a huge chunk of Hotel Tamil Nadu disappeared in the water on December 26, leaving behind its trademark umbrella top — had become very rough and tsunamis would come again.

People who have watched different moods of the sea for years would have ignored this flash during normal times. But the inhabitants of Devanampattinam, made famous by Bollywood star Vivek Oberoi who has done exemplary relief work here, have been so devastated by the December 26 tragedy that they were in no mood to take chances and fled from the scene.

What is worse, in Sonamkuppam, another fishing hamlet in Old Town, a group of little children is discussing how the tsunami "will return on January 26, to kill all of us. It was there on TV," says 7-year-old Priya. Her companion, 8-year-old Sajid Kumar, who lost an uncle in the disaster, and is now going around proudly with a brand new schoolbag given at his school, concurs, "Oh yes, the sea will come and kill us. It killed my father too." His father died two years ago, but the child is hallucinating that the waves killed him too.

SAFE BUT SCARRED: Mahalakshmi, of Devanampattinam, reliving the nightmare. - Bijoy Ghosh

Returning to the hamlet closest to the sea in Devanampattinam, many inhabitants whose homes were turned into rubble by the waves have moved away to rented houses inland. But with relief work in full swing and both governmental and voluntary agencies distributing some aid or the other, they all return every day to the platforms that their homes have been reduced to, lest they miss out on anything.

"The Rs 4,000 we got will not last forever. We want permanent houses and if we're not present here, we may miss the final package when it comes," says Ambika, an inhabitant. Adds Thenamayi, a daily labourer, "We want pucca houses to be constructed; we don't want money because our men will drink it away."

You can get a strong whiff of arrack on the breath of most men you talk to — the bottles also provide testimony — and the women complain that half of the Rs 4,000 has been already spent on alcohol.

As they say this, Sekhar, a fishermen of 40 years' experience, who lost two mechanised boats to the ocean's fury, steps forward and says defiantly, "Oh yes, we drink and will continue to drink. If you had lost your house, your colour TV, your boats, your scooter, your VCD player, almirahs, beds, mixies, clothes, utensils ... and all the cash you possessed, you'd drink too."

Unable to refute his reasoning, we move on to tales more heartrending — but also to dreams that refuse to die, revealing the indomitable human spirit. It is remarkable to find that while the old and the middle-aged despair, a few of the youngsters are still smiling and swearing that they will move on. But Mahalakshmi is already 50 and is totally broken. She can't relate her story without sobbing.

Prior to the disaster, she eked out a living by converting 10 kg of rice to idlis every day and had a comfortable daily income of Rs 100. But that day, just as she had got ready the idli maavu (batter) "the big waves came and washed away everything I had ... my entire house, my electric grinder, mixie, almirah and the Rs 5,000 that Deepa (her 20-year-old daughter who works in a shampoo company) had saved to pay the moneylender. Not a tumbler remains.

"I held on tightly to an electric pole, drinking in the water that came almost up to my eyes and praying to God to save me," says the woman between sobs. Her husband, Dakshinamurthy, who saved his life by hanging on to a tree, has severely hurt his leg and is still limping. As you walk on to listen helplessly to another tail of despair, Mahalakshmi's screams ring in your ears: "Please help me get my house; you are from the media, you can do anything."

(To be continued)

Response may be sent to rasheeda@thehindu.co.in

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