A shrill whistle cuts through the hiss of the waves. “Not that far!” calls out Palani to a bunch of noisy tourists. “Can’t you see how big the waves are?” he hollers as he blows his whistle again. It’s a wet day at Kovalam; a long-drawn drizzle drums over the coastal village off the ECR. Palani’s eyes narrow as the tourists splash about the waters surrounding the black rock surfaces that define Kovalam. The rock formations on the beach break the waves into bouncy twirls — the result of which Kovalam draws surfers from across the world.
Waves comb a carpet of shells in all shapes and sizes onto the sea bed by the rocks. It’s a gorgeous sight — every inch of the sand is covered with shells in white, orange, grey, brown, and green. This carpet acts like a speed breaker, preventing sand erosion. Locals say that the shells grip the sand firmly in place, and without them, waves could erode the beach and harm the village. But the shells are being gathered by the kilo to be processed and ground into limestone, posing a grave threat to Kovalam.
“The sea is gradually entering the village. Several lamp posts and a temple were washed away last week,” says Murthy, a fisherman who runs a surfing school in Kovalam. He attributes rampant pilfering of shells as among the main reasons for this. “But the activity has gone down a lot lately; in fact, there has been no sign of the men who come to collect shells the last few months.”
All thanks to people such as Palani. A fisherman-turned-home guard, the 28-year-old marches up and down the beach all day to guard it. He keeps an eye on tourists who cross the line and the surfers who ride the waves — he’s a surfer himself. He has been warning the shell-collectors of the consequences of their activity. “I tell them that they are destroying our village,” he says. When the men arrive with their nets, each of them leaves with up to five kilograms of shells. “They retort saying collecting shells is their livelihood. But they don’t realise the extent of damage they do,” he says.
He adds: “Some 15 years ago, the beach was not this elevated. Unchecked smuggling of shells and sand has changed the landscape.” In the past, Kovalam had a unit where shells were baked and ground into a powder for whitewashing walls. Now, agents, who employ two or three senior citizens to collect shells, take the lot to Korukkupet to be processed.
Palani is from a family of fishermen who use the traditional hook-and-line method for fishing. “I stopped going to sea when I finished my twelfth standard. I wanted to get into a government job so that I can help my people,” he says. He has taken it upon himself to educate as many villagers as possible on the effects of unchecked collection of shells. “I’ve spoken at the village panchayat in which most of the fishermen are members. They’ve promised to cooperate,” he observes. Palani is working towards obtaining a stay order. “Once I achieve that, I can carry out my duty with confidence.”
He grabs a handful of seashells and tosses them in his hands. “These shells will turn into sand several years from now. By taking them away, we’re disturbing Nature’s cycle,” he says. The drizzle gathers strength and waves pummel the beach, but Palani has no plans to take cover. “I don’t leave,” he says, tut-tutting at a group of women who sit on the rocks to click photos. “They never listen,” he mutters. “I take a break for lunch once a day, that’s all. This is my home and I will protect it.”
