Encounter at sea

Six fishermen at death8217;s door

The frigate was at sea some 150 miles east of Chennai that blustery November morning. A cyclone had lashed the coast five days earlier. Many fishing craft were still missing. The lookout spotted a dark object about a mile away. Closing in, we came upon two catamarans awash with the sea breaking on them. The fishermen on board appeared lifeless until one suddenly sat up and raised his arms, imploring help. There were six of them. It was clear they were too exhausted, so a boat was lowered and the men brought on board.

The medical team administered them measured doses of glucose-brandy. The effect was immediate. They sat up and emitted a joint wail, pointing to the catamarans being hoisted aboard, obviously protesting against the jettisoning of their catch: two baskets of rotting fish. Gradually the facts emerged. They had set out a week ago from Ennore, just north of Chennai, and had been caught in the cyclone. Without food or water, they had endured the screaming wind and giant waves. And the fish; they had kept it to show the Muthalali, who had financed them.

Dusk had descended. Chennai8217;s scenic sea-front was ablaze with lights when we berthed alongside the wharf. The fishermen had recovered miraculously. Clad in white shirts and shorts, each with a towel on his shoulder, they were a heart-warming sight. We handed them over to the port authorities. The catamarans were loaded on to a bullock-cart as were two bags of rice and a carton of condensed milk, thoughtful gifts from the Navy. Kuppan, the leader, who seemed about 60, pleaded to be given a bottle of the elixir that had saved their lives. He looked so crestfallen on being refused that; we offered him two large tots of rum which he knocked back neat. With unbidden tears in his eyes, he joined his fellows on the wharf. Even as two policemen arrived to escort the group, Kuppan with the towel round his head in a rakish turban, started to dance. Hands clawing the air, bandy legs moving to the rhythm of a remembered drum beat, he was doing the Pulikali, the tiger dance. The policemen hustled all of them away.

We left harbour within the hour to resume our interrupted voyage. Meanwhile I was tormented by doubts. Did Kuppan and friends reach the safety of Royapuram Fishing Harbour just a mile away or did Kuppan8217;s antics land them in a police lock-up? The issue of that rum weighed heavily on my conscience.