“There is only one person living on that island,” says a fish worker resting at the pier at Kadamakkudy before reluctantly agreeing to row his small, wooden boat to the other side. As the boat nears the huge green patch, he warns, “There could be a dog around.” There are actually half a dozen. They keep 68-year-old Joseph Kalluveettil, Murikkal’s only resident, company.
As Mr. Joseph walks around abandoned, ramshackle houses, the pack follows him. When he sits on the long wooden seat that he built, under the shade of towering mango trees and mangroves that he planted, they settle down nearby. “This is Tippu, the oldest, the leader of the pack,” says Mr. Joseph, patting the dog beside his feet. “He was abandoned here eight years ago by people from the other side.” Later, more dogs were brought in boats and left at Murikkal.
The island of Murikkal (meaning ‘cut away’ in Malayalam) is believed to have been separated from the mainland of Kadamakkudy decades ago. It is one of the 14 islands that make up the archipelago under Kadamakkudy grama panchayat. The distance between the two masses of land has increased over the years, says Mr. Joseph. He says he has been living alone in his house for 12 years.
Best friends: Joseph with his pet dogs on the island.
Murikkal can be accessed only through boats. There were a handful of families on the island earlier. The difficulties in transportation was one of the reasons why people started moving out. Unavailability of piped drinking water was another. “Earlier we had to row our boats all the way to Mulavukad to fetch drinking water,” says Mr. Joseph. Now, there is a public tap that supplies water round-the-clock. As for road connectivity, he says, “I don’t want a bridge to come up just for me. Bridges should serve the purpose of reducing distances. If a bridge via Murikkal will help others, I am all for it.”
Love for the land
On the island are many acres of fish farms, now untended to. Mr. Joseph says his family had worked together on the farms. He ploughed on after they left until last year’s deluge inflicted huge losses on his prawn cultivation. “I need about ₹1.5 lakh for repairs. Since I can’t afford it, I now work at fish farms at Kadamakkudy,” he says, adding that people should take up farming only if they have a deep-rooted love for the land. The kind that kept him tied to the island even after his children and wife moved out in search of better living conditions. “Though Murikkal does not have a lot of facilities, this is the land I was born on and this is where I should live.”
Mr. Joseph has planted several trees on the island and says he does not cut the menacing ones. “It is because of trees that we have come this far.” Of the waters and the skies too, he speaks with the same fondness. “The river has become polluted now. It often turns brown in colour, killing fish,” says the islander, for whom the river is an inextricable part of life’s memories. He remembers how he had to take an hour’s boat ride to reach school at Njarakkal, how the islanders would frolic in the river and how kevu vallams (large, traditional boats) would ferry guests for weddings on the island. But the waters have chipped away at the island’s outer bund and Mr. Joseph fears, in the absence of immediate measures to prevent erosion, the existence of Murikkal would be threatened.
Every day, he makes two trips to Kadamakkudy. One, in the morning, to read the newspapers, fetch groceries and work in the farms, and another in the evening to catch up with his friends. Despite living alone, he says he is never lonely. “Between household chores, farming, tending to trees, rowing my boat and feeding the dogs, there is hardly any room for boredom or loneliness.”
He did try moving to another place with better living conditions for a while. “But people there were different, without unity. Here, we forge strong bonds and are there for each other in times of crises.” Even in his solitariness, Mr. Joseph believes no human is an island.
