The tears of the survivors may have dried, but the pain lingers — raw, unresolved, and invisible to the machinery of governance.
Published Aug 01, 2025 | 5:01 PM ⚊ Updated Aug 20, 2025 | 9:44 PM
Puthumala Hridaya Bhoomi, where the victims of the disaster are laid to rest.
Synopsis: The remnants of the landslides that occurred a year ago — the loss of lives and livelihoods — still haunt the residents of Chooralmala, Vellarimala, and Mundakkai in Wayanad. Though government assurances exist, people continue to live in the shadows of their former lives, barely making ends meet.
A year ago, on 30 July 2024, the debris that rushed from Punchirimattam due to consecutive landslides swallowed lives, dreams, and the quiet rhythm of three hillside villages — Chooralmala, Vellarimala and Mundakkai — in the Wayanad district of Kerala.
On Wednesday, 30 July, the government observed the first anniversary of the tragedy with solemn tributes and hopeful announcements. However, for those who lost loved ones, homes, and the only means they had to make a living, time has stood still.
For them, each day is a battle — for compensation caught in red tape, for permits that never come, for land that will never yield again. The tears may have dried, but the pain lingers — raw, unresolved, and invisible to the machinery of governance.
They don’t ask for sympathy, but a clear path forward — a light source to drive away the darkness that still surrounds them.
Once a prosperous farmer in Chooralmala, 67-year-old Annayyan K now earns less than ₹200 a day as an autorickshaw driver. The landslides that devastated Mundakkai-Chooralmala, claiming 298 lives, also swept away Annayyan’s entire livelihood — his farmland, house, shops, and vehicle.
Annayyan, when he was a farmer, and his current self with his auto
Before the disaster, Annayyan owned 2.5 acres of fertile land where he cultivated coffee, pepper and cardamom, earning over ₹20 lakh annually. He also owned a house and six rented shops in the town, drawing ₹50,000 in monthly rent.
Resort owners had once offered ₹4.5 crore for his land, which he proudly refused. “That soil was my happiness,” he said.
The landslide left behind nothing at his farmland but logs, debris and the haunting memory of 67 lost lives. Today, he lives in a rented house in Kalpetta with his wife, who has a temporary cleaning job, and a bedridden son recovering from a spinal injury.
Although Providence College in Kozhikode gifted him an auto-rickshaw in March, his application for a halting place permit got delayed for months. This was issued by Kalpetta Municipality on 28 July.
Since the vehicle is registered in Meppadi Panchayat, he must travel 12 km daily to work — often returning with less than ₹100. Meanwhile, the ₹9,000 monthly government livelihood aid stopped after he received the vehicle, though he earns barely anything from it.
However, they permitted him to halt at Kalpetta from Friday.
Annayyan has pleaded with authorities for permission to clear his land and resume farming, but in vain. “Give me my land back. Let me farm. I don’t need money,” he said.
With mounting debts and pending bank notices, his only demand is simple — to return to the land that once sustained him.
“One year on, many still don’t know who they lost,” said Ajay N Manoj, a member of the Janasabdam Action Committee, which works towards the rehabilitation of the landslide victims.
“During the first anniversary of the disaster, we put up a flex board with photos of those who perished. Only then did some people realise that their friends or neighbours were no more. All this time, they believed the missing were living elsewhere,” he said.
The heartbreak runs deep — but the struggles of the survivors run deeper.
A house affected by the landslide.
Ajay recalls how, after the tragedy, people like Annayyan, whose story received public attention, managed to get some relief.
“However, there are others in places like Padavettikunnu, School Route, and Mundakkai — even those better off economically than Annayyan — who lost acres of farmland and everything they had. Their hard-earned savings were swept away. But since they couldn’t raise their voices or didn’t know how to, their suffering went unheard,” he said.
Even the most basic support has proven inadequate. The ₹6,000 monthly rent allowance provided by the government is barely enough.
“Many were initially offered shelter by kind-hearted people,” Ajay said. “But eventually, the homeowners asked them to leave — many of these houses were actually homestays or properties with better facilities, and the owners needed higher rent to survive,” he added.
“To get a house with proper facilities, families now pay anywhere between ₹9,000 and ₹14,000. The government’s ₹6,000 simply doesn’t cut it. And the cheaper houses are usually far from town, not suitable for families with school- or college-going children. Imagine living deep inside an area where no buses go, and your children have exams coming up,” Ajay pointed out.
Ajay believes that many of these burdens could be eased if the government accelerates the construction of the promised permanent houses.
“It’s these same families, who have already lost everything — their homes, their income, their peace — who are now forced to bear the cost of survival every single day,” said Ajay.
And then he shares something that haunts, “Several survivors have personally told me it would’ve been better if they had died that day. That’s how much they’re suffering daily,” he added.
The house being constructed for the victims.
Meanwhile, a fresh controversy erupted over the cost of houses being built for landslide survivors, raising concerns about the pricing. At the heart of the debate is the question: How could a modest 1,000 sq ft house cost as much as ₹30 lakh?
The issue gained traction after Congress leader VT Balram pointed out that, according to local construction practices, a well-finished house with kitchen furnishing and putty paint finish should cost no more than ₹17–20 lakh.
“Let them explain how this escalates to ₹30 lakh under the government and the Uralungal Labour Contract Cooperative Society (ULCCS),” he wrote in a Facebook post.
In response, the district administration defended the cost, citing high-end materials and structural reinforcements aimed at safety and longevity. The model houses boast RCC framed structures with earthquake-resistant shear walls, solid block walls, marine-grade plywood, granite finishes, and premium fittings from brands like Tata, Kajaria, Asian Paints, and Philips, with multiple warranties.
However, not everyone is happy.
Ajay noted a mismatch between expectations and reality: “Some survivors previously lived in spacious homes with three or four bedrooms — some even had swimming pools. Naturally, it’s a big adjustment. However, for others, especially those previously in layam (where tea/coffee plantation workers stay) or under LIFE Mission, these new houses are a significant upgrade.”
Ministers paying tribute to the victims on 30 July.
As the Kerala government approved a ₹99.93 lakh memorial at Puthumala to honour those buried by the landslide, the people of nearby Chooralmala are questioning the priorities.
“On average, an autorickshaw driver in Meppadi earns ₹200 per day. How can we move forward with that?” asks Nishad, an auto-rickshaw driver.
Nishad’s frustration mirrors the daily struggle of dozens in the region. He said, before the disaster, Chooralmala bustled with tourists, schoolchildren, and local business.
Today, it’s a shadow of its past and a haunting silence. “We live like ghosts here,” he said. Though some families received houses and aid, the day-to-day survival of those who stayed behind — especially those with small private vehicles like auto-rickshaws — has become unbearably difficult.
Their financial lives are hanging by a thread, worsened by loans taken to rebuild, educate children, or buy vehicles. “We are told to adapt. But our children still cry when they don’t get what they want,” said Nishad.
While the memorial is meant to preserve the memory of those lost, many locals argue that the money could be better spent on rebuilding lives — with functioning schools, a local health centre, better roads, and more sustainable livelihood support.
“This is not about forgetting the dead,” they say. “It’s about not abandoning the living.”
Kin of the victims at Puthumala Hridaya Bhoomi.
At the same time, Revenue Minister K Rajan on Thursday assured that the ₹700 crore received for disaster relief following the Mundakai-Chooralmala natural disaster will be used exclusively for the victims and will not be diverted for any other purpose.
Speaking at a press conference held at the Wayanad Collectorate, the minister said that 49 more individuals affected by the disaster would be added to the beneficiary list. With this, a total of 451 families will be provided with houses in the planned township at Elston Estate.
He also announced that the government would extend financial support to shop owners who lost their businesses in the disaster. The compensation amount will be determined following a technical assessment of losses by an expert committee led by the district administration.
The minister added that hearings for new applicants seeking inclusion in the beneficiary list have been completed. Eligible individuals will be added after a site inspection, and in line with the guidelines of the District Disaster Management Authority.
He also urged those opting to relocate and accept homes built by voluntary organisations to ensure proper documentation of the land provided by such groups.
A year later, the scars remain — not just on the land, but in the lives left behind. Promises have been made, memorials planned, and funds announced.
However, the survivors — still battling red tape, poverty, and isolation — do not need remembrance, but restoration. Until policy meets people where it hurts, the disaster isn’t over.
(Edited by Muhammed Fazil.)
