Forgotten in the Aftermath: Paniya Families Still Living in Tents Seven Years After Kerala Floods

When the monsoon swelled the rivers of Kerala in August 2019, the state was ripped apart by what many still call the worst flood in a generation. Entire villages vanished under water, roads turned into rivers, and the disaster‑response machinery was pushed to its limits.

Among the countless victims were the Paniya, a tribal community that lives on the fringes of the forested highlands of Wayanad. Their homes—often simple thatch‑roofed huts—were swept away in a matter of hours. What followed was supposed to be a swift, compassionate rescue, followed by permanent rehabilitation. In reality, the story turned out to be far messier.

Fast‑forward to September 2026, and you’ll still find 26 Paniya families huddled under canvas roofs in makeshift camps that were originally meant to be temporary. The tents have become a sad, semi‑permanent fixture, their walls flapping in the gentle breeze while the families inside stare at the same cracked concrete floor they’ve known for years.

Why has the promised ‘rehabilitation’ stalled? A confluence of factors, really. First, the land issue. Most Paniya households own no formal title to the plots they have cultivated for generations. When the state tried to allocate government land for permanent houses, legal entanglements and bureaucratic red‑tape turned the process into a labyrinth that even seasoned officials struggled to navigate.

Second, the compensation package. The Kerala government announced a one‑time financial aid to flood victims, but the disbursement was delayed repeatedly. For many Paniya families, the amount was insufficient to rebuild a proper house, let alone replace lost livestock and agricultural tools that formed the backbone of their livelihood.

Third, the social neglect that tribal communities often face. The Paniya are a marginalized group, with lower literacy rates and limited access to political representation. Their pleas for urgent action were, for a long time, drowned out by louder voices from more urbanized districts that also suffered during the floods.

It wasn’t until the Kerala Human Rights Commission stepped in that the issue resurfaced in public discourse. In a recent order, the commission mandated the state government to expedite “urgent rehabilitation” for the 26 families still living in tents. The directive calls for the construction of durable houses, restoration of basic amenities like water and electricity, and a transparent monitoring mechanism.

Yet, even with the commission’s involvement, implementation is moving at a snail’s pace. Construction crews have started groundwork in only two villages, and the rest remain stuck in a limbo of paperwork. Meanwhile, children grow up knowing the squeak of a tent’s pole as their nightly lullaby, and elders recount the day the water rose so fast it swallowed their ancestral hearth.

What does this mean for the future? Climate experts warn that Kerala’s monsoons are only getting heavier. If the state cannot address the lingering displacement of its most vulnerable citizens now, the next flood could leave an even larger scar. For the Paniya, the tents are more than shelter; they are a stark reminder that promises, once spoken, can fade like the floodwaters if not backed by concrete action.

As the monsoon clouds gather once again over the Western Ghats, one hopes that the story of these families will finally move from “temporary” to “permanent” – not just in housing, but in the state’s commitment to protect every citizen, no matter how remote or marginalized.