I ran out of the hospital at Rajamala, screaming, this is not my mother! Her face was swollen beyond recognition, her lips mangled, and her body covered in injury marks unearthed by the earth mover. The police officers gently told me, "We know this is unbearable, but you are the only one who can identify her." With a heavy heart, I returned to confirm what I dreaded most. I recognised her by the black ring she always wore, engraved with her name in golden letters. This was the hospital where I was born, where I first saw my mother—and now, where I saw her for the last time.
These are the haunting memories of Gopika Ganesh, a second-year MBBS student at Palakkad Medical College, as she recalls the tragic events from four years ago.
In the landslide that struck Pettimudi at 10:45 p.m. on August 6, 2020, Gopika lost her entire family—her father, mother, relatives, and childhood friends. Gopika's father, Ganesh, worked as a driver at the Eravikulam National Park, and her mother, Thankam, was an Anganwadi teacher.
When tragedy struck Pettimudi, Gopika was pursuing her Plus Two at the Model Government Higher Secondary School in Thiruvananthapuram. Even after seeing the news reports about the landslide, she assumed it was just another of the many landslides that occur in Idukki during the monsoon.
There were only a few more days left for the Pettimudi disaster to complete four years when a similar tragedy struck Wayanad. For Gopika, the Wayanad incident was a painful reminder of her own loss. "In July, we used to celebrate several birthdays in our family, but now, none of them are alive," she recalled. As she was lost in these sorrowful thoughts, news of the Wayanad disaster began to flood in. "Every experience there echoes what I went through."
In Munnar, we grew up accustomed to landslides. A few trees would fall, and the roads would get blocked—that was typical during the rainy season. When I first heard about the landslide in Pettimudi, these were the thoughts that came to mind. But now, landslides have become catastrophic. My mother would always warn us to stay safe at home when it rained and to avoid going near the river. But it's no longer safe, even within the walls of your own home.
When my cousin told me something terrible had happened and urged me to leave for Munnar, I refused, worried that my father would scold me for missing classes. I had no idea of the magnitude of the disaster even as I returned to Pettimudi a couple of days later.
"When I arrived, everyone started crying. It was then that I realised something truly tragic had occurred. The entire Pettimudi, once a thriving human habitat, was now completely flattened. A few people sat in silence, while others frantically searched through the debris. They urged me not to stay there any longer and sent me back. As I sat inside a vehicle to return, a tractor transporting tea leaves drove by, carrying dead bodies. It was in that tractor that those killed in the landslide were being taken to the hospital. As I began to wonder if my family members were among them, I recieved a phone call from the hospital," Gopika recollected.
She rushed to the hospital, and although it took time, Gopika finally identified her father and mother among the pile of bodies. That was her last meeting with her parents.
"I deeply regretted that moment when I could not identify my beloved family members. I initially insisted it wasn't them. The post-mortem reports of both my father and mother were almost identical to those of others killed in the tragedy: The spinal column and bones were shattered, and soil had choked their bodies. The food they had eaten just a short while ago was still in their stomachs.' The formalities were rushed, and the bodies were buried without any funeral ceremonies.
Three months later, I returned to Thiruvananthapuram. But whenever I started studying biology, the names of internal organs in my books brought back memories of the post-mortem reports. Tears blurred the ink on the pages as I cursed nature. It was with the unwavering support of my teachers and friends, the harsh reality gradually sank in, and I slowly began to piece my life back together," Gopika said.
My father had high hopes for me, expecting a full A plus in my 10th standard exams. When I didn't achieve that, he became deeply saddened and stopped speaking to me. At that moment, I made a promise to him: I would secure all A plus grades in my Plus Two exams. I was determined to keep my word. I wanted to become a doctor for the poor in Munnar. So I kept asking myself, "How can you achieve this if you waste time being sad by reading all these?" A doctor has immense responsibilities and must provide care to every patient who seeks help. To fulfil this role, I needed to be stronger.
My elder sister, Hemalatha, who is pursuing a postgraduate degree in Environmental Science at CUSAT, Kochi, has been my pillar of support. When we learned that we would no longer have our father and mother in our lives, she assured me that she would be there for me. Despite the overwhelming grief, she never shed a tear in front of me.
I wanted to excel in my studies and become a doctor for her, for my father, and for my mother. It was this thought that drove me forward, pushing me to overcome my sorrow and strive towards my goal.
It may take time for the wound to heal, but she knew she had to keep moving forward.
'First, you must acknowledge what has happened, but don't expect people to accept it abruptly. Give them time to come to terms with reality. You can only progress through different phases. At first, many people will be around you, but eventually, you will find yourself alone. The real challenge is overcoming that loneliness. I experienced extreme emotional highs and lows. I would often cry and feel utterly drained. Yet, even a simple comment on social media, calling me 'Mole' by strangers, somehow gave me strength. Each person's capacity to endure sorrow and heal is different. The key is to understand this and remain supportive of those who need it for as long as it takes,' Gopika says.
From abruptly waking up when someone turned on the light, fearing it was a lightning strike, to thinking about post-mortem reports while reading about organs in her biology books, Gopika has begun to realise how impossible it would be to become a doctor if she continued to break down at the sight of patients who resembled her mother. She has learned to move forward by overcoming her sorrow, with her sister Hemalatha standing beside her as a steadfast pillar of support. "Life is like this. Do we have any other option than to keep moving forward?" they ask.
