MULLAITTIVU, Sri Lanka — They spread out like ants across the landscape of destroyed buildings, twisted wire, fishing nets and tree limbs Friday, wearing pink gloves and surgical masks. In bands of twos and threes they searched, poking with sticks, prodding, kicking at stones and looking behind trees.
The 150 or so young men, each earning $1 to $2 a day, are searching for cadavers, something they've been doing all week.
They already have found most of the cadavers in the main part of this flattened beach town. A few animal remains can be seen here and there, including the carcass of a dog near what used to be a Catholic church. The dog appears asleep in the sand until it becomes apparent that rigor mortis has frozen one of its legs at an unnatural angle above the ground.
But those can wait.
The main focus now is an area just to the south of the main part of Mullaittivu, marked by muddy marshland and scrubby short palms.
Not only is it relatively inaccessible, but it is also becoming a receptacle for much of the tsunami's castoffs.
As Sunday's deadly waves hit Sri Lanka's east coast, they surged deep into this low-lying area until they eventually subsided half a mile inland.
Mullaittivu, 180 miles northeast of Colombo, the capital, is in the region controlled by the separatist Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam. The rebels have their own administration, police and courts beyond the reach of the Sri Lankan government.
The coastal town was also the scene of an intense battle in 1996 in which an estimated 1,000 government soldiers were killed by rebels in an attack on an army base.
Despite its high casualty rates and huge destruction from the tsunami, the region -- because of its relative isolation and separate administration -- has received less outside attention than other parts of the island.
As the water receded after its deadly surge, it relinquished hints of the lives it destroyed: a red suitcase, a beach chair, a fishing lure, a little girl's party dress, along with the remains of their owners.
"Body, body," comes the crackle over Siva Kumar's radio.
"We are very busy," the 30-year-old worker says. "The smell is very bad."
After hearing the location, he races along a dirt road and down a small lane, past a Tamil Tiger policeman guarding one of the few remaining houses to prevent looting.
