Bengaluru to Wayanad | A reporter's first-person account of covering the tragedy

All roads to Wayanad

There were many routes we could take to reach Wayanad from Bengaluru. One was via Kodagu, another through HD Kote, and two more through the Gundlupet-Wayanad highway.

As the HD Kote road's condition had worsened due to overflowing of water from the Kabini reservoir, we took the Gundlupet-Wayanad road. Halfway, though, we were stopped by the police, who told us not to take that road since, further on, the Kerala border was inundated.

We promptly trusted them and took a U-turn, only to discover later that the road was, in fact, reserved for VIP movement, ambulances and rescue operation personnel.

After taking an alternative route through villages, we reached the Bandipur road before arriving at Kalpetta town in Wayanad at around 9 pm on Tuesday.

Duty called, and we quickly set out to reach the disaster spot.

Horror show

As a reporter, I've seen my fair share of calamities, but nothing quite prepares you for the experience of being on the ground in the midst of a natural disaster. The night of July 30 was one I will not easily forget.

The torrential rain hammered down on our car as we travelled from Meppadi to Chooralmala, where the landslides had suddenly struck.

Visibility was near zero, and the roads were treacherous, slick with water and debris. As we navigated the curvy, narrow roads, the situation became increasingly dire.

Hitachi bulldozers were frantically trying to remove the debris, while people were desperately trying to vacate the area in vehicles in a desperate attempt to escape the unfolding disaster.

The sense of urgency was palpable, and the night was filled with the sounds of engines, rain, and the distant rumble of shifting earth.

The morning after

The next morning, July 31, presented its own set of challenges. Determined to reach the heart of the tragedy, we set out early, only to be met with resistance from the police. They were doing their best to manage the chaos, and urged us journalists and civilians to keep the roads free for the emergency services.

Ambulances were rushing in and out, and trucks carrying Army personnel were arriving to help in the rescue efforts. While we understood why were were being kept away, it was frustrating to not go where the news was happening.

Navigating the winding and narrow road from Meppadi to landslide-ravaged Chooralmala was a gruelling process. Help came in the form of DYSP Joe Saimen, who directed us through an alternative, narrow route that traversed the Mundakkai-Chooralmala hills.

Breathtaking and sobering

The journey to Chooralmala along this alternative route was both breathtaking and sobering. The landscape was stunning, with verdant hills, expansive tea estates, and gentle rain showers creating a picturesque scene.

For a moment, the natural beauty of the area made us forget the dire situation — the landslides and the hundreds of people and homes trapped or buried under mud and water.

Tea estates were meticulously placed between valleys and hills. The hills themselves seem to have been altered to accommodate these estates. The landscape was clearly shaped by human intervention, with bulldozed hills to fit in the tea plantations.

The sight of the houses nestled among the hills was enchanting, giving the impression of a tranquil, almost idyllic setting.

Kannada to the rescue

Pulling us out of our reverie, police staff intercepted our car and instructed us to turn back to Meppadi. After some coaxing, the officer said we could carry on by foot, but the taxi would not be permitted. It was just a 7 km journey to reach the spot, the cop reasoned.

We tried to coax him to let us continue by taxi, even as we noticed other media vehicles going through. A sub-inspector, overhearing us speaking to each other in Kannada, offered to let us drive 4 km closer to Chooralmala.

The helpful SI, apparently, was born and raised in Kodagu, and shared languages are a binding force anywhere in India.

But soon we were stopped and it became clear that they had to keep the road free for ambulances and other rescue teams. We decided to heed the police personnel's advice and covered the balance distance by foot.

Chooralmala at last

Heavy rain, alternating between downpours and drizzles, had made the roads muddy and treacherous. But we soldiered on and eventually reached the site where the rescue operations were on in full swing.

The Army was constructing a temporary Bailey bridge. The place was also crawling with several media personnel. Rescue teams were working in the fast-flowing Chaliar river, which had completely submerged houses.

The devastating impact of the landslide was evident — hundreds of houses had crumbled and many residents had perished while they were asleep.

We witnessed the grim reality of the disaster, with Army personnel from the Madras Engineering Group, troops from Kannur, and disaster management teams from Kerala, Karnataka, and Tamil Nadu, scuttling around absorbed in rescuing people and retrieving bodies. The scale of the tragedy was overwhelming.

We spoke with military personnel, police, rescue teams, and grieving and shocked local residents. Despite the dire situation, eateries and shops were still operating, and we were grateful for the hundreds of volunteers distributing water bottles, bananas, biscuits, and other supplies to both the rescue teams and us.

Overwhelming tragedy

As I survey the devastation in Wayanad district, my heart sank. The scene was overwhelming, with bodies being unearthed from buried houses one after another. The rescue warriors tirelessly searched for homes engulfed by the mud and the red, swollen waters of the Chaliyar.

Among the most harrowing sights was witnessing a mother and her baby being evacuated from a stranded house. The sheer emotional weight of the moment left me profoundly shaken.

The landscape resembled a paddy field before the planting season, covered in brown mud. But this was no ordinary mud. It was the result of River Chaliyar spreading over hundreds of homes due to a series of landslides.

The stark realisation that hundreds of houses and people were stranded beneath this calm-looking yet deadly brown water was staggering. The serene appearance of the water belied the tragic reality beneath, where it had swallowed the lives of countless residents.

Seeing the calm, brown waters of the Chaliyar, which had swallowed so many lives, was an indescribable experience.

The emotional toll

Later in the evening, we began our walk back, covering around 8 km to where our taxi waited. From there, we headed to Kalpetta Block Panchayat Family Health Centre and other hospitals.

The scenes at the hospitals were heart-wrenching. Ambulances queued to deliver bodies for post-mortem, and the grieving families had gathered to identify their loved ones.

The sounds of wailing relatives, ambulance sirens, and the bustling medical staff created a harrowing atmosphere.

Talking to survivors and the bereaved was an emotional ordeal. Some bodies were identified by relatives, while others remained unclaimed. Their final rites will be performed by the government.

Role of media

The journey from Bengaluru to Wayanad was a professional necessity. It drove home to me the delicate balance between human habitation and nature.

As media people, our role is to document and bring to light these stories, hoping that in doing so, we can contribute to a greater understanding and perhaps, prevent such future tragedies.

It was a highly challenging journey, but when we left, on Thursday afternoon, we came away with evidence of human resilience in the face of disaster and the consequences of our thoughtless actions on the environment.