Death and Life in the time of Tsunami
Malini Mundle, Counseling Psychologist
The motley group wove its way to the beach through the narrow lanes crowded with children studying by street light, or playing, women gossiping as they cooled off in the sea breezes after the day’s chores and livestock preparing to retire. The sky was bathed in the glow of the setting sun that seemed to settle on the water’s surface, preoccupied with its own reflection.
I was lost in this vision as I approached the inky orange sea through the palm trees with the villagers of Kalikuppam. Three months had slipped by since tsunami hit the village. Broken and battered houses, barren stretches of land where coconut palms had grown, a school building without a roof, and families in mourning for lost relatives remained reminders of the trauma. Food, clothes and other essentials had poured in, and on the surface life appeared normal.
Children are considered the emotional barometers of a community. They mirror the mood and psychological state of the elders. The school here had reopened within a week of the disaster and a cheerful, charming bunch of happy kids greeted me as I walked by. The villagers had begun to adjust to the trauma of the disaster.
It was my first visit to the sea by night. This sea had broken an unwritten pact and crossed its boundaries to engulf fishing villages along the coast. The atmosphere was solemn as the group talked quietly remembering and retelling their stories. Our faces, all awash in the sunset orange glow, were faintly visible in the moonlight. No one walked along the waters edge.
Fishermen had for generations lived by the sea and made a livelihood. The relationship was symbiotic. This visit was another step in renewing the bond damaged by an ‘act of defiance’ by the sea. Only a few had had the courage to venture back to fish since the disaster and tonight I hoped they would come closer to reconnecting with the sea and with life. Routine and normalcy would lessen the trauma.
Breaking away from them I walked into the water still warm from the sun. They fussed a bit worrying for my safety. I motioned them to join me and in a short while the playful waves took the sand from under our feet, drenching us. Mesmerized by the beauty I watched the moon rise and turned to a young fisherman, Srikumar. “It is not your sea’s fault. It lost control because a powerful force from below pushed it beyond its boundaries.” He spoke softly but the anger and helplessness was reflected in what he said. “You should have stood steadfast.” A poignant moment on a surreal night…
The full moon shone the night after our solemn congregation by the sea; just like it had the day tsunami had struck. It was another painful anniversary of the disaster. Rumors were rife as hundreds of traumatized village folk along the coast feared with certainity that another tsunami would come.
This time it was not an empty threat. There had been a strong earthquake in the Andaman Islands and Indonesia and warnings began to pour in. I made calls to the administration and to worried relatives. I could see the sea from my hotel in the nearby town of Kariakal. Earlier the waters had reached till a couple of miles short of the town.
I urgently called the village’s Panchayat chief who confirmed that they had been alerted. The women, children and livestock were being moved to the temple complex further inland where many had sought refuge the first time around. Valuables had been moved to higher ground. The men folk would stay in the village. “We will face it, we are ready,” he told me resolutely. Knowledge had given them strength. I lauded their courage in the face of fear. With a promise that he would call me periodically, I disconnected and paced around the balcony facing the sea, helplessly awaiting the inevitable.
The three hour wait for the reverberations of what had happened thousands of miles away seemed interminable, but ultimately it became apparent that there would be no tsunami. The networks were jammed and I only got a call from Srikumar in the early hours. He simply said, “He stood steadfast.” He was proud of the courage of his sea. It had not failed them again. They would begin to believe that the first tsunami was an aberration not a regular occurrence. It was time to reconnect with the sea and ride its waves and be fishermen again.
Malini Mundle, Counseling Psychologist
The motley group wove its way to the beach through the narrow lanes crowded with children studying by street light, or playing, women gossiping as they cooled off in the sea breezes after the day’s chores and livestock preparing to retire. The sky was bathed in the glow of the setting sun that seemed to settle on the water’s surface, preoccupied with its own reflection.
I was lost in this vision as I approached the inky orange sea through the palm trees with the villagers of Kalikuppam. Three months had slipped by since tsunami hit the village. Broken and battered houses, barren stretches of land where coconut palms had grown, a school building without a roof, and families in mourning for lost relatives remained reminders of the trauma. Food, clothes and other essentials had poured in, and on the surface life appeared normal.
Children are considered the emotional barometers of a community. They mirror the mood and psychological state of the elders. The school here had reopened within a week of the disaster and a cheerful, charming bunch of happy kids greeted me as I walked by. The villagers had begun to adjust to the trauma of the disaster.
It was my first visit to the sea by night. This sea had broken an unwritten pact and crossed its boundaries to engulf fishing villages along the coast. The atmosphere was solemn as the group talked quietly remembering and retelling their stories. Our faces, all awash in the sunset orange glow, were faintly visible in the moonlight. No one walked along the waters edge.
Fishermen had for generations lived by the sea and made a livelihood. The relationship was symbiotic. This visit was another step in renewing the bond damaged by an ‘act of defiance’ by the sea. Only a few had had the courage to venture back to fish since the disaster and tonight I hoped they would come closer to reconnecting with the sea and with life. Routine and normalcy would lessen the trauma.
Breaking away from them I walked into the water still warm from the sun. They fussed a bit worrying for my safety. I motioned them to join me and in a short while the playful waves took the sand from under our feet, drenching us. Mesmerized by the beauty I watched the moon rise and turned to a young fisherman, Srikumar. “It is not your sea’s fault. It lost control because a powerful force from below pushed it beyond its boundaries.” He spoke softly but the anger and helplessness was reflected in what he said. “You should have stood steadfast.” A poignant moment on a surreal night…
The full moon shone the night after our solemn congregation by the sea; just like it had the day tsunami had struck. It was another painful anniversary of the disaster. Rumors were rife as hundreds of traumatized village folk along the coast feared with certainity that another tsunami would come.
This time it was not an empty threat. There had been a strong earthquake in the Andaman Islands and Indonesia and warnings began to pour in. I made calls to the administration and to worried relatives. I could see the sea from my hotel in the nearby town of Kariakal. Earlier the waters had reached till a couple of miles short of the town.
I urgently called the village’s Panchayat chief who confirmed that they had been alerted. The women, children and livestock were being moved to the temple complex further inland where many had sought refuge the first time around. Valuables had been moved to higher ground. The men folk would stay in the village. “We will face it, we are ready,” he told me resolutely. Knowledge had given them strength. I lauded their courage in the face of fear. With a promise that he would call me periodically, I disconnected and paced around the balcony facing the sea, helplessly awaiting the inevitable.
The three hour wait for the reverberations of what had happened thousands of miles away seemed interminable, but ultimately it became apparent that there would be no tsunami. The networks were jammed and I only got a call from Srikumar in the early hours. He simply said, “He stood steadfast.” He was proud of the courage of his sea. It had not failed them again. They would begin to believe that the first tsunami was an aberration not a regular occurrence. It was time to reconnect with the sea and ride its waves and be fishermen again.
