After several dull days, there was a sudden surge of patients in my outpatient clinic. It was expected; the water level had receded after the devastating floods in Kerala in August 2018, and the road to Muvattupuzha was open. I was expecting some “flood cases”. And sure there were.
There was this middle-age woman from Neriamangalam, on the way to Idukki. She never expected the water to rise to such levels. Still there was a tinge of relief in her voice: “We got time to remove all our important documents.” Loss of household articles did not seem to bother her much.
Then there was this woman from Ooramana, a small village near Kolenchery. She was worried that her medicines had run out. There were other patients too. And I realised that human priorities can be myriad even in the face of calamity.
But what struck a chord in me was this elderly woman from Mamalassery, another village not a long way from Kolenchery. Everyone called her Ammachy (mother). She has been living on the banks of the Muvattupuzha for 42 years. Her husband died a few years ago, and their only son, who runs a bakery, is living with her. The husband was also my patient. In her long life, the rains had come and gone and she had seen the water rise on multiple occasions, but not to this level. She has several ailments and is a breast cancer survivor.
As the water level rose, volunteers from a neighbouring temple came to her house. The ancient temple had a big ootupura (dining hall), and they were willing to accommodate there anyone who wanted refuge. The volunteers took Ammachy on a chair, and the family followed. Water was at the waist level and climbing. It was a Hindu-majority area, and hers was one of the few Christian families there.
The temple authorities provided her a makeshift cot, while the rest of the people lay on the floor. A man came forward to take her to his house, but she decided to stay on in the hall along with 80 families.
If a calamity can bring out the best in most persons, it can also sometimes bring out the worst in a few. There were some people who refused the accommodation provided in a temple. Flood or not, they were staying put in their homes.
But the temple authorities were clear: “The doors of our ootupura will never be shut.”
But vanity finally had to bow before mighty nature. As the water level rose, that mighty pride simply melted away in the churning waters of the Muvattupuzha, and all made their way to the temple. As it was the Ramayana month, the temple had enough stocks of food.
Volunteers from outside came daily. The local MLA paid a visit. Our Ammachy stayed there for about four days and was well taken care of.
I saw the spirit of Kerala in that small village. And I realised that all was not lost. For centuries, our ancestors have lived this way. Humanity came first. The poison of communalism and the seeds of deprivation have not polarised communities in the State.
My clinic closed around 8 p.m. I left for home with a strange feeling of satisfaction that I had discovered a new meaning for what they call “Gods Own Country”.
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