AGAINST ALL ODDS: Kuttiyandi Velayudham; children of the village enjoy a playful moment on the beach (below)

Kuttiyandi Velayudham still worships Kadal Devi. Only, he doesn’t know if she can be trusted any longer.

Six months after the giant waves came calling on his door in the coastal village of Devanampattinam in Tamil Nadu, the 66-year-old fisherman is struggling to cope with an intense crisis of faith. On December 26, the tsunami washed away half of his native village in one giant sweep. A hundred and one people died. Property worth lakhs of rupees was flushed out into the Bay of Bengal.

But more than damage and death, it was the whimsical nature of Kadal Devi, goddess of the sea, which left Velayudham a perplexed man. And even as he tries to shake off fear and trauma in an attempt to start life afresh, the old man isn’t sure if his relation with the sea will ever be the same again.

Elderly fishermen of the village claim to have seen her, in the form of a mermaid, swimming in the still and clear depths of the sea. “Stopping in her track, she looks up with Piscean eyes to keep watch over fishing skiffs that happen to stray into those distant waters,” says the turbid-eyed Karnan Mamu. Till recently, fishermen regarded her as a guardian of the deep, never known to mean anyone any harm.

“But we can’t understand why she suddenly decided to take away from us all that we had acquired by her own grace,” ponders Velayudham. “We relied on her to see us through hard times. But now that she has brought us so much of misfortune, whom do we look up to?”

Providence, it seems, is no longer unquestionable.

Velayudham’s tryst with the sea began when he was barely 14. One day, regardless of his father’s disapproval, he sneaked out of home to hitch a ride on a neighbour’s kuttamaran ? an indigenous skiff made of albasia logs nailed and bound together. The ride left a lasting impression on Velayudham’s mind.

Soon, Velayudham grew up to assist his father and elder brother on their fishing trips. The three would leave home at dawn, and return before noon to auction their haul at the fish market in Cuddalore harbour, a few kilometres away from Devanampattinam. “Our weekly earnings were about Rs 50 every week,” Velayudham says. Back in the Fifties, it was a princely sum.

The old man takes time out to recount his experiences at sea. “Sometimes, when fish was scant in shallow areas, we would row far out and stay at sea for three or four days at a stretch,” he says. Drifting over the dark waters in the night, they would eat their stock of lemon rice and lie back to sing paeans to Kadal Devi. “We live by your kiss/We return to the shore by your grace,” he hums softly, carefully picking out the words from memory.

In 1965, Velayudham married Kaushalya. She gave him two sons and four daughters, and he built her a house with his savings. By the early Eighties, he had acquired further resources to invest in a fibre boat. Propelled by a diesel engine, it was easier to navigate than a kuttamaran, and could cover greater distances. “Fishing became effortless and more profitable,” Durai, a neighbour, chips in. “It began to give us greater returns. There were times when we earned upto Rs 8,000 a week.”

However, Velayudham and his folks weren’t the only ones the sea was being generous to. Further out, at depths of about 150m, giant fishing trawlers had begun to go on a netting spree, raking in the huge shoals that lay beyond the reach of artisanal fishermen. Lured by what the sea had to offer, their numbers increased from about 16,000 to approximately 24,000 between 1985 and 1995.

Going by estimates made by the Food and Agriculture Organisation, India’s annual marine fish haul had shot up from 0.8 million tons in 1960 to a whopping 2.94 million tons in 1995. Thanks largely to the trawlers, the Indian fishing industry had recorded an estimated growth of about 44.1 per cent between 1987 and 1997 alone.

Ironically, in many places, the boom in the fishing industry came as a blow to traditional fishermen. “With the trawlers bringing in large catches, the price of fish fell drastically at the auctions,” says Selvam, a fisherman from nearby Akkaraigori village, referring to the basics of demand and supply. “With our hauls being nowhere close to theirs, it was hard for us to keep up with the times.”

The government, in 1990-91, introduced a low-cost fuel scheme for traditional fishermen by fully subsidising the central excise duty on diesel, which then stood at Rs 351.75 per kilolitre. Nevertheless, by the mid-Nineties, it was becoming increasingly difficult for Velayudham to meet his diesel expenses of about Rs 1,000 a week. His earnings had dwindled to just as much. Someone suggested he take a loan to make ends meet. “But I didn’t know how to go about it,” he says. “Besides, I didn’t want to live in debt.”

Things continued to get worse until, about five years ago, Velayudham was forced to sell off his boat. In a dramatic twist of fate, he signed up as a wage labourer in one of the bigger boats.

The sea had been harsh to him. But she still remained his provider, and it would be wrong to question her ways. “At least, for once, I did not have to invest in my livelihood,” says Velayudham in a lighter vein.

Stoic by nature, the fisherman took the setback in his stride. The daily wages, varying from Rs 75 to Rs 200 depending on the day’s catch, wasn’t exactly lucrative, but was enough to keep his family going. Besides, his sons had grown up to become wage labourers as well. Though he wasn’t as well off as he used to be, Velayudham says he was content with his life.

FACT FILE

• Located on the coastline in Cuddalore district of Tamil Nadu, Devanampattinam is about five kilometres away from Cuddalore town • One of the worst tsunami-affected villages in Cuddalore. Death toll: 101. People missing: 5 • Over 7,000 residents affected by the disaster. More than 750 houses either fully or partly damaged • ‘Adopted’ by filmstar Vivek Oberoi during relief operations. The actor personally helped in building temporary tents for the victims there and provided them with monetary support as well.

Then, on a winter morning, the sea rose.

Much of Velayudham’s valuables ? including his prized television, mixer-cum-grinder, money and ornaments ? were washed away by the surge. The walls of his house developed cracks; the furniture was ruined. The old man pegs the extent of losses at about Rs 2 lakh.

And for the first time in his life, Velayudham was forced to stand in line, taking home ? at the expense of his dignity ? what was offered by way of relief. By choice, he avoided much of the used clothing that had poured in from all over the world. He was given Rs 4,000 as cash relief, rations and a temporary tent ? made of tin sheets ? away from the affected area. Velayudham kept the money, but gave the tent a miss. “It was too hot to live in,” he says.

For three months after the tragedy, the traumatised fisherman stayed put at home without work, surviving on a monthly allowance of Rs 1,000 and rations doled out to tsunami victims. He didn’t have enough money to repair his house, which ? like most others in Devanampattinam ? was located within 200m of the high tide line (HTL). Going by the 1991 Coastal Regulation Zone (CRZ) specifications, they were on dangerous ground.

The Tamil Nadu government, in an order passed in March this year, gave fishermen living within 200m of the HTL the option of moving to permanent houses constructed by the government in safer zones. With an area of 300-325 sq. ft, the houses, valued at Rs 1.5 lakh each, would be allotted to the villagers free of cost. “We have identified 15 acres of waste land near Devanampattinam, beyond 200m of the HTL, for relocating families willing to move,” says Cuddalore collector G.S. Bedi. “The basic infrastructure is slated to be completed before the arrival of the north-east monsoons.”

Six hundred and forty six of the 1,695 households in Devanampattinam have reportedly taken up the offer. But in doing so, each family has had to give up their old site and house to the government by a legally accepted document. For villagers who do not wish to relocate from unsafe areas, the government will not provide any compensation for loss of property.

Several people rallying for fishermen’s rights believe this is a state ploy to clean up Tamil Nadu’s beaches to promote tourism. “In a way, the fear generated by the tsunami has given the authorities the perfect excuse to scare fishermen off the beaches,” says Sunny Jose, leader of NGO Action Aid’s rehabilitation team working in the Cuddalore hub. “Moreover, relocation would force fishermen to move away from the sea. It could spark off logistical problems and pose a threat to their livelihood.”

Velayudham hasn’t read that deep into the issue. But he says he is not interested in the offer anyway. True, it will leave him at the mercy of the sea. “But this is my native village,” he argues. “I don’t want to move from the land on which we have lived for decades.” A few weeks ago, Velayudham gathered enough courage to venture out into the sea on board a fishing vessel for the first time since the tsunami. He was paid Rs 150 for the day’s work. “I am an adventurous man,” he says. “I am not afraid of the water. But when I am away at work, I am concerned about my family back home. I am scared the sea might take them away from me.”

Far out, in those depths, it isn’t clear if Kadal Devi is listening.