Wayanad landslide, one year on: Scars remain, but hope endures

When the earth erupted beneath Chooralmala and Mundakkai on July 30, 2024, steep slopes gave way under torrential rain. Homes, tea farms, mosques, and shops vanished under torrents of mud. In a single night, entire families disappeared. Some were never recovered.

By the next morning, survivors stumbled through a valley of wreckage. They found bodies scattered; unidentified remains were processed at the health centre. Debris filled streets where festivals once thrived. Over 298 lives were confirmed lost; hundreds were injured, and dozens went missing. Thousands were displaced from the small hamlets.

One year later, the pain remains, and the memories endure. Chooralmala, Mundakkai, and Punchirimattam stand as ghost villages, abandoned, desolate, and forgotten by time.

Hope after collapse

When we last spoke, 62-year-old Fathima, who lost her house in Chooralmala, believed that beggars can't be choosers and felt she should accept whatever the government provided. Now, with the rehabilitation project delayed but a house still promised to her, she waits in quiet hope.

“Life has been hard. I've been living in a rented house, far from my native place, and the rent payments from the government were irregular,” she told The Federal. “The toughest part was the joblessness after the landslide. I was also very unwell. It’s been the hardest year of my life.”

By late 2024, the state had offered ex gratia payments (₹8 lakh for families of the deceased), monthly allowances (₹6,000 for rent; ₹9,000 wage support for up to two members), and inclusion in a township rehabilitation project at Elstone Estate near Kalpetta. Though delayed by a legal tussle initiated by the Elstone Estate management, which challenged the government's acquisition of the land in the High Court, the Kerala government eventually launched a comprehensive rehabilitation plan through a state-run housing project at Elstone Estate.

Shelter still elusive

According to the government, the construction of the township is progressing rapidly. At the Estate, 410 houses are being built to shelter 1,662 people. Five months after Chief Minister Pinarayi Vijayan laid the foundation stone on March 27, the model house is now in its final stages. 410 single-storey houses are spread across five zones and built on 1,000 sq. ft. plots with disaster-resilient design and scope for a future second floor. Each home includes a master bedroom, two additional rooms, a sit-out, a living room, a study, a dining area, kitchen, and storage space.

Along with housing, the township will include roads, a health centre, an anganwadi, a market, and a community centre. Facilities cover medical services, shops, play areas, parking, a library, a sports club, and an open-air theatre, ensuring a self-sufficient community.

Survivors also had the option to opt out of the scheme. Those who chose to find land and build homes independently received financial assistance of ₹15 lakh. Still, people remain scattered. Over 90% of survivors live in rented homes, many of whom pay far more than the ₹6,000 monthly aid they receive. Some pay double. Others had no official recognition because their houses were rented or under construction when tragedy struck, yet they lost everything. Surveys found that almost 70% of affected families received some financial help, but many were excluded.

Excluded from relief

“The government left us out of the aid list. I had to somehow raise ₹6 lakh to buy land in Aripetta, and with the help of some kind people, a house is being built. Even now, my wife cries often, and I had to go through counselling just to stand back up. I work three jobs to make ends meet. We’re still waiting for the government to recognise our loss,” says Prasanth, 50, a former estate worker.

“Apart from the ₹6,000 I received for rent, I haven’t had any other help from the government. There were nine houses in our area, and eight were listed, except mine. My name still isn’t on the government’s list due to complications with the land. I even filed a complaint with the minister, but nothing has come of it. It’s still pending. The Child Welfare Commission did respond in the case of my niece, who lost both her parents. They said she’ll be able to access the money once she turns 18,” says Pradeep, 39, of Chooralmala.

Two schools collapsed in the disaster: Mundakkai UP and Vellarmala Vocational Higher Secondary. Thirteen students died from one, and 33 from the other. By early 2025, alternate classrooms opened in community halls, and students resumed studies. However, 2% dropped out, and nearly one in five was forced to transfer. The government granted ₹10 lakh to fully orphaned children and ₹5 lakh to those who lost one parent.

Rebuilding against odds

Despite limited support from the Union government, rehabilitation efforts in Wayanad have progressed slowly but steadily, driven largely by the state government, civil society, and political organisations. The Centre declined Kerala’s request for a loan waiver for landslide-affected families, offering only loan rescheduling and restructuring through banks, measures that provided temporary relief but did not ease the long-term financial burden, as interest continued to accumulate. There has been no special central financial package for housing or livelihood restoration.

Several political organisations stepped in to support the rehabilitation of landslide-affected families in Wayanad, raising funds independently to contribute to housing efforts. DYFI raised and handed over ₹20.37 crore to the Chief Minister’s Distress Relief Fund, earmarked for constructing 125 houses.

Politics over shelter

The Youth Congress announced a plan to construct 100 houses for survivors and launched a fund collection drive that reportedly raised around ₹84 lakh. However, the initiative soon ran into controversy, with allegations over a lack of clarity in fund utilisation and project execution. For months, there was no visible progress, raising questions among the public and political opponents. Responding to criticism, Youth Congress leaders later clarified that the non-availability of land had stalled the project and promised that the housing effort would be completed by next year.

The IUML took a more hands-on approach. It announced a housing project for 105 families affected by the disaster. However, IUML leaders, including PK Firoz, alleged that there had been a deliberate delay in granting approvals for their project. They organised a protest, demanding faster action and accusing the government of inaction, particularly in helping small traders and marginalised victims.

“The government remains inactive,” said Firoz. “They have done nothing to support the small traders and ordinary people impacted by the landslide. We suspect there is a deliberate attempt to stall the IUML’s proposed housing project for 100 families.”

Resilience amid ruin

Meanwhile, environmental groups and local NGOs criticised the John Mathai Committee's alloment of sites as unscientific, accusing it of protecting developers, resorts, and quarries rather than the lives of vulnerable tribal and farming communities. They argued that the official map leaves over 4,500 families in dangerous zones unprotected.

Heavy monsoon rains hit again in mid-2025. The Punnapuzha river swelled. Debris from erosion rekindled panic in villages, though no new landslide occurred. Officials closed roads and evacuated plantation workers and tribal families, fearing destabilised soil. Debris from earlier projects washed into the river. Survivors, still living in fragile rentals, feared another night of doom.

There is no single ending yet. Survivors like Fathima, Prasanth, and Pradeep, along with their children, witness a valley scarred but still breathing. Village schools run again; homes rise in Elstone Estate. Orphaned children study with donor support; women learn skills that generate small incomes.

Still, the mental ache lingers. Many continue visiting psychiatrists and take daily medication. Rain, engine noise, and even silent hills echo the night of the collapse. Trauma may not fade soon, but survival continues, threaded through community aid, delayed government schemes, nonprofit initiatives, and small acts of resilience.