Mourning for her Maya

Thrice in the morning the waves had come in as far as their huts and the villagers blamed the tide. ‘‘The fourth time it was very different,’’ a distraught Leela remembers. She, along with husband and son, have come back to where their Unni Maya was cremated after the tsunami stole her and then returned the body, bloated and barely recognisable. ‘‘First the water went back. My daughter followed itwith other kids. Everyone was thrilled. Then the water came back,’’ Leela recounted.

Leela saw the water rise like a tower and she was rooted to the spot: Either she save her son who stood clutching her saree or go for her daughter and lose both. She ran with her son.

Of all the places in Kerala struck by the tsunami, Alappad was the worst hit village. Thirty-two people died here and the toll might have been much higher if fishingfolk from neighbouring villages hadn’t taken the rescue efforts into their own hands.

At the relief camp, Leela is being counseled to counter the debilitating effects of trauma. ‘‘She is making progress,’’ says Sister Jancy Priya who helps with the counseling. ‘‘In the first few days she was inconsolable but now she has started talking.’’

Sameeran never once uttered a word. He refuses any interaction with the counselors. Leela talks about their dog, how it always used to follow Unni Maya: ‘‘He used to sleep in Unni Maya’s bed, and in fact he took up most of the bed.’’

Maya was cremated a few meters behind where their house once stood and till the embers died down, neighbors recall, the dog never ceased howling. The family returned to a relief camp but the dog didn’t.

At the camp, the food trays are being passed around. Leela tucks into the rice and curry, noisily chewing the lentils and banana fritters. As if all the fears, nausea and tears, indeed all the absurdity of the past few days would dissipate in the pleasure of chewing food.