Thirsty by the lake

The Kolleru lake in Andhra Pradesh is India’s largest freshwater lake. Yet, in dozens of villages around its rim, drinking water is a scarce commodity and profitable to sell.
Due to high temperature and low rainfall, the Kolleru lake in Krishna district has dried up | P Ravindra Babu
Due to high temperature and low rainfall, the Kolleru lake in Krishna district has dried up | P Ravindra Babu

KOLLERU: After a bumpy ride on an uneven road, a big overhead tank greets you at the entrance of Manuru. This village of 200 families lies close to Kolleru, India’s largest freshwater lake. So it might not have a water problem after all. But a group of women carrying empty vessels are gathered near the overhead tank. Everyone's eyes are fixed on the bumpy road and ears are cricked to the rumble of an auto-rickshaw.

The conversation is amiable and there’s talk trashing the government. And then the auto appears on the horizon and a fight ensues for pole position to grab the water cans it bears. This is not free water. These women have to shell out Rs 20 for a 20-litre can. Only a few can win a water can and the rest have to return tomorrow to fight again. If the auto-rickshaw comes to the village.

"We spend Rs 2,000 per month on water alone,” says Pushpalatha. “The water the government supplies through the pipeline is not fit for even use in the toilet."

For proof, she guides this correspondent to a cistern in the backyard of her house. It’s filled with greenish water. "What do we do with this water?”

This is a village of farm hands and daily-wagers. But there’s no work right now, and the men gather in a huddle, talking politics. "We have no water to drink. Who will till the land? They give us NREGS work, but it's just not enough,” cribs a middle-aged man.

The situation is no different in a dozen other villages on the Eluru-Kaikaluru Road which skirts the Kolleru lake.

"We are cursed,” says Pushpalaha. “We are thirsty on the banks of the Kolleru.”

It’s a curse heard in all Kolleru villages: Gurakalapadu, Sriparru, Maheswarapuram, Kallakurru, Sitampet, Deyyampadu. Curses as well as entreaties to the local MLA, Chintamaneni Prabhakar, the SE, DE and AE et al.

The average income of families in these villages would not exceed Rs 10,000 per month. In many cases, it is more likely to be Rs 6,000-7,000. The men are unskilled, and cannot be anything other than farm hands living hand-to-mouth. The Kolleru lies a stone’s throw away but water has to be purchased. The RO (reverse osmosis) plants set up by private parties sell water at Rs 5 per 20-litre can. But the autowallahs sell it for Rs 20-25.

There is piped water supply in some of the villages, but the filtration plants do not work. So the water stored in the tanks is drawn and supplied as it is.

"We get green muddy water. Sometimes there are bird quills, grass, leaves in it," says Kanaka Mahalakshmi of Kovvada Lanka village.

Apart from sitting in huddles discussing the chief minister’s son, the thing to do in these villages is to wait at the tap. The tap on the roadside at Kovvada Lanka always has a number of vessels lined up. Trucks and other vehicles pass by, kicking up dust, but the women won’t move from their place in the queue. It’s a good day if a trickle of green muddy water is delivered.

There is division of labour at the tap. The women jostle in the queue, fill the plastic vessels and the men stand ready with bicycles to carry the pots home. There are rules. The village elders have ruled that no one can wash their clothes with this precious green muddy water. Laundry is done at the village tank.

As elsewhere, water is a political issue on the rim of the Kolleru lake. During the long waits at the tap, someone always comes up with the wisdom that the chief minister’s son Nara Lokesh’s success as a politician will depend on whether he can deliver his promise to bring bring drinking water to the shores of the largest fresh water lake in the country.

Water price goes up with distance

Where there’s water scarcity, there’s an RO plant raking in the moolah. At every such plant on the Eluru-Kaikaluru road, there’s always custom, waiting with jerry cans.

"We draw water from the tank right behind this plant, clean it and sell it. As it is a panchayat tank, water costs just Rs 2 per 20-litre can," says the Manepalli Panchayat clerk Srinivas.

But the villagers tell a different tale. "That’s the official price. We pay Rs 5 sometimes Rs 10,” murmurs a villager as he secures his can of water to his bicycle.

It’s an ideal situation for water touts. They buy water and ferry it to villages in autorickshaws and sell it at a hefty premium. Water agent R Srinivasa Rao of Manepalli said he has no qualms about it. "Sir, look at these women. Even at Rs 20, they are flocking to the auto. I have to take the trouble of finding an auto, purchase water, bring it to the village. For all that, what I am charging is not much.”

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