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Published: February 13th 2006
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Agnitheertham: Sea of Fire
Pilgrims flock to Rameswaram to bow before the sun rising from a mythical sea At first light, we looked for the beach. The bay has advanced, says a guard pointing to a boat anchored at the end of a white expanse in the shallow water. The occupation lasts for three months. The waves splashed on the long concrete platform lit by neon lamps. A group of pilgrims, who were our fellow-travellers from Rameswaram bus stand, joins a larger crowd bathing in the sea.
As the sky and sea reddens, glitters on the horizon become returning fishing vessels. Old couples bow before an elusive sun. Men in black, austere pilgrims to Sabarimala, dip in the morning sea. Decorated cows graze among pious visitors. Vendors of shells and agents of priests persuade people in front of the Ramanathaswamy temple.
Bus No. 3 leaves for Dhanushkodi. After selling the early-morning catch, fisherwomen return home with rice, vegetables and jasmine braids. As the bus reaches the fishing hamlet, children in school uniforms rush in. The village of Indian President APJ Abdul Kalam does not have a school. He studied here till class 5, in a building that has been reduced to brick and mortar in the cyclone of 1964.
We walk through the long beach sandwiched
Lone boatman
Boats waiting for their turn as a lone boatman starts his day's work in Rameswaram by sea. A woman balances a child and a bucket. Some women collect shells from the sand. Yonder, a line of figures pulls out a rope from the sea. Farther the beach, another group strive with another rope. They are connected by a huge net that trawls fish from the sea. The catch is frugal.
The expedition proves taxing. There is no end to land. The waves are energetic. They say the sea is male in Dhanushkodi and female in Rameswaram. The pair yearns to embrace each other and devastates the seven-km sand strip separating them. Dhanushkodi was a busy township with European bungalows, church, temple and even a railway station.
The first ambush came in 1949, when the male sea carved off parts of the island. Two devastating cyclones followed in 1964 and 1978. A strategic ferry service to Sri Lanka linked the railway stations at Dhanushkodi and Talaimannar till December 23, 1964. After the cyclone, the steam engine was found in Thoothukudi, several km south, says Gandhidas, who was 10 then.
Gandhidas was sitting on a catamaran by the sea. Waves lashed the remnants of a building floor. He showed us the skeletons of the
Ambush of the waves
A church from the British era devastated by the cyclone of 1964 in Dhanushkodi near Rameswaram town - the railway station, water tank, employees' quarters, warehouse and the school where Kalam studied. Facades that weathered many a storm…European columns partially covered by sand dunes…fisherfolk marooned in a godforsaken place with no power of water connection.
Traces of the tar road turns to the port that was. We stride up the beach, wade through the waves. Its only midway, Gandhidas had told us. The occasional truck that carries loads of fish to Rameswaram also transports tourists deep into Dhanushkodi. But we decide to walk on. The day begins to hot up. Sand and shells massage our feet.
After a point there is no one in sight. Even fishermen shun the cape. No end, no beginning: endless sea and endless sand.
At last, Sea Ahoy! The lovers run into each other's arms where our journey ends. The male is milder here. It is the end of India. But we needed an Indian Navy chopper menacingly hovering over us to be reminded of the boundary. On a patch of wet sand, surrounded by calm waves on three sides, with only seagulls and eagles for company, we were lost in time.
This cape is holy. It
The cape of hope and despair
A tip of India where the long beach of Dhanushkodi blends into the sea. Beyond the coral reefs is Sri Lanka was the starting point from where Rama and his band of monkeys built a bridge to Lanka to rescue his abducted wife. A coral reef connects the many islands on the way to Talaimannar. Later, Neechal Kali showed us the floating corals, the building blocks of the mythical bridge.
Kali got the nick Neechal (swimming in Tamil) after he swam to Talaimannar thrice - the last time in 1995 when he was 57. Every time an adventurer ventures into the sea, Kali is counselled, he claims. Abandoned by family, he lives alone in the erstwhile passport office. He can still swim to the strife-torn country, he says. All Tigers know him.
Palk Straits has seen waves of migration: Indians crossing over to the then Ceylon in search of jobs, Tamils fleeing ethnic violence in Sri Lanka, gunrunners and smugglers. Irshad was retracing the footsteps of his father, who crossed the sea in a row boat to build a chain of hotels in Sri Lanka. Wind and waves erase all footsteps.
Back in Rameswaram, one of the holiest of Hindu temples - a place holy for Shaivaites and Vaishnavites alike. After Rama's conquest of Lanka, he installed the shivalingam here. The sea is called Agnitheertham because his wife Sita dipped here after her trial by fire. We circle the temple through the 1219-m corridor consisting of 3.6-m-high granite pillars before getting a bus to Nagercoil.
It was dark when we crossed Pamban bridge. The 2.2-km-long Annai Indira Gandhi Bridge connecting Rameswaram Island to the mainland is the longest sea bridge in India. Parallel to it is the cantilever railway bridge. Originally built in 1914 and rebuilt after the cyclone in 1964, the Pamban bridge is the only remaining testimony to the coastal transport that linked India and Sri Lanka.
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