On Salam’s porch, his bike rests on two bricks, its wheels and other parts coloured brown with grime. Pointing upwards to a thin brown line on the roof of his green-painted porch, he says, “That’s how high the water rose. The river has left its mark for us to remember.”
“What are you staring at? Have you come to admire the house? Go, go away!,” Abdul Salam, in his 50s, barks at a man on a bike standing outside his home.
“They want to see what we have suffered,” Salam, grumbles, as he steps back into his double-storey home in Manjaly, a village in Ernakulam district of Kerala.
Dressed in a simple lungi (a type of sarong), Salam, his body covered in grime, paces up and down inside the hall of his home as he orders his nephews to do their work properly. On Monday afternoon, Salam, his wife and his two nephews were hard at work, thrashing the broom on the tile floor, wiping out the thick slush that came in with the floodwaters last week. The complete inundation of his home, where waters, Salam claimed, rose up to nearly 10ft forcing the family to run upstairs to save their lives, is a critical indicator that points to the ferocity of the river-water in these areas. Manjali and nearby Puthenvelikkara in Paravur taluk remained under water for five whole days, sweeping nearly 90 per cent of its inhabitants to shelter camps.
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“Yuddha-bhoomi pole undu (It’s looking like a war-zone),” Salam, who runs a spare parts shop 15 kilometres away, says with a wry smile.
Outside Salam’s home, the last remnants of the floodwaters continued to gush on the main road linking the town of North Paravur to the airport in Nedumbassery. Compound walls and gates lay shattered in pieces, large acres of banana plantains remained submerged under water, signboards, lamp posts and electric posts slanting to the side and wells overflowing with dirt.
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On Salam’s porch, his bike rests on two bricks, its wheels and other parts coloured brown with grime. Pointing upwards to a thin brown line on the roof of his green-painted porch, he says, “That’s how high the water rose. The river has left its mark for us to remember.”
The dirty brown extends to the walls inside the house’s drawing room, the bedrooms, the kitchen and the bathrooms. Appliances like LCD television set, fridge and washing machine sat on a table, completely wet. “It’s beyond repair,” Salam’s brother-in-law sighs.
“Yuddha-bhoomi pole undu (It’s looking like a war-zone),” Salam, who runs a spare parts shop 15 kilometres away, says with a wry smile.
Salam says he exuded, for some reason, the rare confidence that his home, bigger than most in the neighbourhood, would never be flooded. Despite situated less than a kilometre from the Periyar, he had a firm belief the waters would leave him alone. That’s why on the night of August 14, when he saw the water collecting on the opposite side of the main road, he wasn’t perturbed. He informed his neighbours about the water rising and went back home. Within a matter of hours, all of Salam’s calculations went for a toss as the raging river, surrounded his home and swept inside. For cover, they ran upstairs still holding the belief that the water wouldn’t subside. Except, it kept rising.
Soon, the locals in the area, realising Salam and his wife were stuck upstairs, called out to him. By then, the water had risen up to the first floor, just a few metres shy of the terrace. Using a fishing boat, the locals came up to the terrace to rescue the couple. Salam’s wife was rescued first using a sari and just when he prepared to jump into the boat, he slipped and fell into the water. In the raging water current, Salam said it felt for a moment his life was over. But the brave locals pulled him up, he said, tucking him into the boat and sailing off to safety.
“People here are in emotional shock at seeing their homes they built with so much effort. Even the most strong-hearted will cry,” Dr Rafique says.
“The villagers did everything for us. The government was nowhere to be seen,” Salam stresses.
His eyes glide to a cupboard where a bunch of trophies and medals won by his two children in school and college competitions are kept. Covered by glass hasn’t stopped his kids’ accomplishments from being wrecked by the floods.
“This is all that they (the kids) won in school and college. It’s all ruined,” Salam says, wiping a tear off his eyes.
The floodwaters also took away Salam’s identification documents, proof of his residence and other important certificates. At the moment, he doesn’t want to even think about getting into the legal wrangles. It’s returning his home, that he built with a lot of hardwork, to normalcy that matters to him, he says.
“This home is not fit for living right now. There’s no power supply, there’s no drinking water. Even if the power were to return, the switch-boards and wiring are all gone.
“In short, our lives have been wrecked,” he adds, before returning to cleaning the house. Dr Mohammad Rafique, a doctor at the nearest relief camp, advises an old man, who complains of chest pain, not to visit his home soon. “Let your son clean it first, then you can go,” he calmly tells him.
“People here are in emotional shock at seeing their homes they built with so much effort. Even the most strong-hearted will cry,” Dr Rafique says.
“These are people who have seen floods, but never on this scale. There’s a feeling of insecurity in their hearts. Their confidence has been broken. When they see the next rains, they will be scared,” he adds.