The BJP has latched on to a teeny island that lies between India and Sri Lanka—accusing the Gandhis of “giving it away.” We explain why Katchatheevu matters—not just as a campaign issue—and how it’s connected to Indian fishermen who constantly end up in Sri Lankan jails.
First off, where is this island?
Katchatheevu (pronounced Kutch-uh-thee-voo) was formed around the 14th century—by a volcanic explosion. It is located 33 kms off the Tamil Nadu coast—and is about 62 kms southwest of Jaffna. Right here:
Katchatheevu is very, very small—a mere 300 metres wide, measuring 1.6 km in length. No one lives on the island. No one can. The island’s claim to any kind of fame is a Catholic church—St. Antony’s—which hosts an annual festival. It attracts pilgrims from both countries—with special clearance given to Indians.
Ok, and why is this island a big deal?
The big brouhaha is over ownership—who does this “uninhabited and barren 285 acre islet” belong to? Katchatheevu has changed hands many times over the centuries:
The island was controlled by Sri Lanka’s Jaffna kingdom in the early mediaeval period but it was passed to the Ramanathapuram-based Ramnad kingdom in India in the 17th century. While it was part of the Madras Presidency during British rule, both India and Sri Lanka have laid claim over the island since at least 1921 to determine the maritime fishing boundaries.
Ancient history: As with all claims over territory, this one rests on facts of the past—which are, as always, muddled. Indians point out that Katchatheevu was once part of the Ramnad Zamindari (Ramanathapuram)—which was established in 1605 by the Nayaks of Madurai. The sovereign of the principality signed leases first with the Dutch East India Company—and then its English incarnation.
Sri Lankans point to the Portuguese possession of the island between 1505 and 1658—which then passed on to Ceylon. In any case, that sole St Antony’s church is affiliated with the diocese in Jaffna—so there!
Sahib vs Sahib: Even the Brits couldn’t agree on ownership. Delegations from colonial India and Ceylon quarrelled among themselves—each staking claim to the island. In 1921, they agreed to a ‘Fisheries Line’ that placed Katchatheevu in Ceylonese waters. But nowhere did the deal mention the matter of territorial ownership.
Enter the Gandhis: After independence, Sri Lanka once again laid claim to Katchatheevu—and Nehru was loath to kick up a diplomatic fuss over a remote island. Not much happened until the island became a lightning rod in 1974—when Indira Gandhi decided to settle the ongoing dispute over territorial waters.
At the time, Sri Lanka was fiercely intent on asserting its claim—while New Delhi remained unconvinced of its value:
Legend has that upon hearing Lankan demands, mandarins in New Delhi were bewildered as to which among the flock of Gulf of Mannar islands their neighbouring country had in mind, and why indeed Ceylon wished to incorporate an atoll of cacti sans drinking water while a much bigger problem, that of stateless Tamil refugees, confronted both nations.
But, but, but: This time around, the Indian Opposition raised an angry fuss:
During the debates in both Houses of Parliament in July 1974, most of the Opposition including the DMK, AIADMK, Jan Sangh, Swatantara and the Socialist Party, staged walk outs in the two Houses. Former Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee, who was the Jan Sangh’s leader, had contended that the decision to transfer the islet had been taken “behind the back” of the people and Parliament.
Tamil Nadu was especially furious at being cut out of the negotiations. A DMK Lok Sabha member called the decision to cede Katchatheevu an “unholy and disgraceful act of statesmanship, unworthy of any government.”
Mrs G’s rationale: New Delhi had far more to gain by making a ‘minor’ concession to Sri Lanka—as a symbol of its ‘generosity.’ It helped ease tensions over the far more dangerous Sinhalese-Tamil conflict. India also wanted to cement Sri Lanka’s support for a peace zone in the Indian Ocean—at a time when both the US and the Soviet Union were playing a naval game of chicken in the area.
A political gold mine: This specific decision has since become political fodder for various politicians. Jayalalithaa revived the Katchatheevu issue in the 1990s—demanding its return through a “a lease in perpetuity.” Her rival Karunanidhi agreed—and both approached the Supreme Court at various times. Now, the same 1974 pact is being raked up by the BJP as an act of “callousness.”
Point to note: Historical documents appear to confirm at least a lack of interest in Katchatheevu. Nehru loftily declared, “I attach no importance at all to this little island and I would have no hesitation in giving up our claims to it.” And there is some evidence that Indian officials knew that India could make a legal case for its claim—but chose not to—when signing the pact in 1974.
I still don’t get why anyone cares…
For one very good reason—fishing. Katchatheevu is located in the Palk Straits—fertile fishing ground that has become a battleground. Here’s a quick reminder of the geography:
Fishing in shared waters: The waters in the strait were shared for centuries by Indians and Sri Lankans without conflict. Even after the 1974 agreement, Indian boats often strayed into Sri Lankan waters without any trouble:
Fishermen on both sides speak of a time when they shared cordial ties. “We would call each other machaan and maapilai [brother-in-law and son-in-law]. We would share our porridge, karuvaadu [dried fish] and beedis. They would give us cigarettes and biscuits,” Sesu Raja recalls. Sri Lankan fishermen too reminisce about a time when they took an overnight boat journey to catch the latest M.G. Ramachandran film in Rameswaram and return the following day.
The civil war era: That warm relationship was soured by Tamil support for the Eelam Tigers. But the internal conflict also distracted the Sri Lankan military—leaving Indian fishing boats to cross maritime boundaries as they wished. Around this time, Indian fishing became “modernised”—and Indian companies began employing large trawlers:
In the fishing method of bottom trawling, fishermen drag large nets from the vessels through the sea, virtually scooping out young fishes, shrimps and other organisms from the seabed indiscriminately. Some use thangoosi valai or monofilament nets, widely considered harmful for marine species.
The catch was way higher—boosting fishing companies and Tamil Nadu’s exports—which include 1.28 lakh tonnes of seafood worth Rs 55.9 billion (5,591 crore). Bottom trawling has now become an industry-wide addiction on the Indian side of the border—even though it is bad for the environment and small fishermen.
Return of the military: This era of excess came to an end in 2009—when the Sri Lankans began patrolling their borders with renewed vigilance. The civil war had ended—and they did not want Tamil extremists to return to make trouble. Sri Lankan fisherfolk too returned to the seas—and received a rude shock:
It is when the war ended in 2009 that the fisherfolk, most of them displaced in the years of strife, returned to their homes, and gradually began to rebuild their lost livelihoods. However, their return to sea was far from smooth: they found their catch dwindling after Indian trawlers ravaged their seas at least thrice a week, and their nets, often bought with huge loans, getting caught and damaged under the trawlers.
Point to note: Sri Lankan fishermen do not use bottom trawling—but Indians do. This one fact explains why Indian fishermen are repeatedly caught violating international boundaries:
Intuitively chasing fish, Tamil Nadu fishermen employed in the larger, mechanised trawlers regularly veer into Sri Lankan waters. The ecological damage is comparatively less on the Sri Lankan side because most Sri Lankan fishermen do not engage in bottom trawling. It is the prospect of a bigger catch that pushes Tamil Nadu fishermen to risk encountering arrest by the Sri Lankan Navy or worse, death.
A far tougher line: In recent years, Colombo has become harsher in its treatment of Indian fishermen. Far more are arrested—42 in one fell swoop in February. Where fishermen were once returned to India, prison terms are becoming common. In 2021, the navy was accused of killing four fishermen—but Sri Lanka insists their boat “sank” while “resisting arrest.”
And this has now become political…
Yes, inevitably so since it’s election season. The Katchatheevu cry was first taken up by the state BJP—but the PM has since jumped into the fray:
The history of Congress has been all about dividing Mother India, Modi claimed in Lok Sabha… Modi had added: “What is Katchatheevu? Who did it? Beyond Tamil Nadu, and right before Sri Lanka, someone had given away an island to another country. When was it given? Where did it go? Wasn’t it a part of Mother India? Was it not a part of Maa Bharti? And you cut that off too. Who was in power at that time?”
It’s a clever line of attack—as it potentially drives a wedge between Congress and DMK—which can’t defend its close ally for wronging Tamil fishermen.
But, but, but: The BJP has triumphantly pointed out that in 2013, the UPA government told the Supreme Court that Katchatheevu never belonged to India—boo, shame on you etc etc. Yet In 2015, the BJP-led NDA responded to an RTI request saying exactly the same:
This did not involve either acquiring or ceding of territory belonging to India since the area in question had never been demarcated. Under the agreements, the Island of Katchatheevu lies on the Sri Lankan side of the India-Sri Lanka International Maritime Boundary Line.
As always, our netas are in violent agreement—but pretend otherwise.
The bottomline: So much noise on this side of the border—and yet the government has not yet said a word about Katchatheevu to Colombo. And none of this addresses the heart of this matter—which is not a tiny island—but an unsustainable fishing industry.
Reading list
On the Palk Strait battles, read Carnegie, The Hindu and The Diplomat. Also in The Hindu: Sri Lanka’s bottom trawling ban—and how the Indian fishing industry is coping. The Print has more on the plight of the Indian fishermen and explains why bottom trawling is rampant in India.
