Haunted by the ghosts of Sunday, hardly had they begun to pick up the pieces of their lives when another wave hit thousands of survivors along the coast in Tamil Nadu and the Andaman and Nicobar islands—a wave of panic. Not only did it lead to eight hours of already frayed nerves, it derailed relief as it pushed people—and rescue and relief agencies—out of homes, making them run away from villages to places they thought would be safer. Worse, this was the first alert after Black Sunday and given the manner in which it was bungled up, it undermined the shaky confidence victims have in the establishment. The most harrowing scenes were in Port Blair where the ‘‘prediction’’ that a second tsunami may bit between 12 and 12.30 pm left over 3,20,000 people panic-stricken for the rest of the day. The message was on air, on TV channels and the panic reached a climax when Lt Governor Ram Kapse issued the same warning, asking people to be alert and move away from the coastline. The clock was ticking towards 12 and suddenly the island’s high ground was teeming with people scampering for a safe shelter—most of them rushed to the Secretariat and All India Radio building, two of the highest points here. Puspa Tyagi, of Junglighat, felt a strange numbness after her daughter called from Delhi and broke down in tears. ‘‘Mummy, please get out of your house and flee to a hillock nearby. And for God’s sake, get out of the island as fast as you can,’’ she cried. Coast Guard ships and vessels anchored at the harbour began to shift to deeper waters, fire engines started lining up and there were cries of, ‘‘Bhaago, pani aa raha hai.’’ The warning came just when the fishermen on Karaikkal beach, 21 km from Nagapattinam, had begun to pull down nets and hook lines entangled on trees and debris. In Karaikkal town, shop-keepers downed shutters and fled, autorickshaw and bus drivers simply abandoned their passengers and scurried away. Then, officials closed the Karaikkal bridge, spreading the impression that Nagapattinam was already under water. Police constables started beating up men, some with families in tow, when they insisted on staying put. Official vehicles sped through the streets, spreading panic. It was more of resignation than panic in the ruins of Devanampetta, as the waves barely 200 feet away turned choppy, and the microphones blared the warning. Policemen blew whistles, listening nervously to reports crackling on their walkie-talkies about the sea rising in Chennai and Pondicherry, and asked people to clear out. Those who couldn’t dodge the policemen carried whatever they could and trudged to crowded relief camps.
