The works of P. K. Hari Ram Narayanan
Journey to the Edge of Destruction
Early morning, December 26, 2004, Mambalam, Chennai:
The idol of Lord Ganesha, pacifier of obstacles, destroyer of sorrows, started rattling steadily on the shelf. Paintings and wall-clocks moved. Ripples started appearing on the surface of water in glass tumblers. “Wake up! The building is shaking, we have to get out!” cried my mother. But by the time I came to my senses, everything seemed normal. We scurried out of the house. People were there, all shouting to each other. One said, “We’ve seen it all before, haven’t we? This makes no difference. Nothing will happen.”
Nine days later, a van with a strange set of passengers, was speeding its way through E.C.R.. Dr. Jonathan and Dr. Elizabeth, trauma relief specialists from U.K., two employees from Infosys, a few people from an NGO named Aid India, and a few college students four of whom are my own classmates and me; we were a team sent to survey the damage at a few villages. Signs of destruction could be seen soon after we hit the coast— groups of trees lay fell, lines of stone wall had been smashed to the ground.
On our way we stopped at a settlement of rehabilitated fishermen. Women and children quickly crowded around the van and peered in. Behind them were their bivouacs— their present homes-- homes that had saris and plastic sheets for ceiling and the fine sand for floor. One or two vessels, some mats and bags of uncooked cereal, all distributed by relief workers were everything these people had. Children shouted and played in small gaps between these shelters. Some people moved around as though not sure where to go; others stood still along with the ruminating cattle. Behind all this was the beach, pure and white. And finally beyond everything was the sea, now totally calm and silent, like a small child pretending to be asleep after committing a hideous mischief.
One of our co-passengers was someone named Vijay. Though, only slightly older than us Vijay had spent many years helping the needy. He had been further south on previous trips to places like Nagapatnam. The work that we were supposed to do— talk to people and distribute stuff— was nothing in comparison to what he had done. He had pulled out and buried bodies and held the wounded in his hands. He spoke about it normally, but in his eyes we could see the faces of a thousand dying men. He showed us photos; those that he managed to save from the authorities who wanted them destroyed. The images were horrific beyond compare, too gory to be described. This was the heart of destruction. Where we were going now was merely its edge.
As we reached our destination, we split ourselves into three groups: each group for a village and each lead by a member of Aid India. My group got a village named Devanerikuppam. The scene was chaotic with everyone shouting uncontrollably. However, the experienced Aid India staff sprung to action at once and assembled some villagers for a meeting. The rest of the group was sent into the village for survey. Once inside, the damage done was not hidden at all. Huts and sheds lay toppled. Brick walls were broken into chunks and lay flat on the ground. Boats had got carried along the streets and were placed in the middle of the village. Cement houses had cracked and swayed. Fences had been uprooted and were stuck onto the front of the house. All in all, the scene looked like the drawing of a preschooler, yet to develop a sense of proportion.
It was dark by the time we finished filling in our registers and decided to return. It wasn’t an easy job considering most of the villagers didn’t even know their own ages. Though, this is just one day for the group of S.R.M. students that has been involved in relief work, it is a special one. We worked some days packing goods, some days assisting doctors in medical camps and some days just getting other volunteers. But this was the first day when we got to see what had happened. The scale of the devastation is such that the work we have done makes little difference to the whole affair. But the difference it has made to us is a life-changing one!
-P. K. HARI RAM NARAYANAN