SILVERY SHEET The twin light houses on Hare Island
Remember anglicised Tuticorin is Thoothukudi now. So, once you get there
don’t make the mistake of asking for directions to “Hare Island”. I was
lost for a good 30 minutes as I drew a blank each time. Helpful people
rattled off thenames of several other beaches but didn’t seem to know
about Hare Island. After a few hits and misses, I reached the Port beach
where luck smiled on me. An autorickshaw driver smiled and said, “You
mean Muyal Theevu.” (‘Muyal’ is the Tamil word for ‘hare’ and ‘Theevu’
for island!)
Glad that I broke the code, I headed towards my RLT destination,
which is roughly four km from the Tuticorin Port beach further South.
But what was this? Suddenly the road narrowed leading to a ‘no-entry’
zone. Small, neat buildings, painted light yellow came into sight on my
left and on my right was a tall spiked fence. On it hung a board that
said “Red Zone. Restricted Entry. Indian Navy.”
A view of the sea.
I was about to retreat from the Naval campus when I saw two pairs
of eyes peering at me from behind the sand bags at the check post. I
hesitantly asked the armed guards whether Muyal Theevu was in the same
direction and whether they would allow me entry. I was surprised when
they ushered me in with a wave of their hands. What luck, I told myself,
because the area, being under the purview of the Indian Navy, is
prohibited to visitors.
I drove on slowly on this truly less travelled road which got
narrower, curved a few times and ended right on the beach. And it was a
fascinating sight. The beach did not have the usual brown sand but an
unusually grey and white coloured mixture. It seemed to sparkle as the
tiny, white frothy waves washed the shore. The beach was strewn with
corals and shells. The rippling water was silvery grey, as the mild
afternoon sun glistened over it. Barely visible on the horizon was a
small red and white boat. Further away was a big red cargo vessel almost
standing still in the middle of the silent sea. In its foreground were
two pairs of pelicans doing a little song and dance. As I sat on the
sand absorbing the view, a group of noisy villagers on their way home
from a nearby church passed by. One of the boys, Maniamman, stopped in
front of me waving a string of crabs. Ten rupees each, he said, pointing
to the empty spaces on the string, meaning how fast they were getting
sold. I followed the group till we reached a dilapidated watch tower.
Except for a few concrete steps that were intact, the walls and the roof
lay in ruins amid the wild grass and the shrubs.
It made me wonder why
the area had been neglected for it has the potential of being converted
into a theme park. Near the fallen watch tower, I also spotted two
light houses standing adjacent to each other — one old, and, the other,
new. Both had been identically painted in black and white stripes. On
the way back, I enquired with the local authorities who told me that
Muyal Theevu had been identified for tourism development. But I couldn’t
really figure out how the island got its name. Even the Government
Gazette records it as Hare Island, though there is nothing “fast” about
it. On the contrary, it is an enchanting place where the sea is tranquil
and the island deserted.
The locals said Muyal Theevu is better known as Raja Theevu or
Pandian Theevu. History has it that as the indigenous people of this
coast, famous for pearl fishing, the Paravars, resorted to mass
conversion, they were persecuted by the Nayaks of Madurai. So they fled
from Tuticorin to Muyal Theevu, from where they migrated again in course
of time.
Muyal Theevu is known for its healthy ecosystem of coral and sea grass. It is considered a haven for sea cows (dugongs).
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