In December 2004, the Indian Ocean tsunami ravaged the coast of Tamil Nadu. Over 2,30,000 people across fourteen countries lost their lives. Nagapattinam was the worst hit, with its coastline lined with bodies and broken homes. Amid the chaos of relief work, filmmaker and journalist Revathi Radhakrishnan paused for a cup of tea. It was there that she met a starving twelve-year-old girl who carried in her arms a four-month-old infant named Laxmi, who was almost skeletal. Relief supplies were abundant - there was food, clothes, and medicine, but Revathi realised that some people remained outside its reach. The child belonged to a nomadic tribe that was unacknowledged by the state, unseen in census data, and excluded from welfare schemes. Entire communities, such as the Boom Boom Maatukaarar and Naarikuravar, had slipped into invisibility, and their ways of life were even criminalised by law. Laxmi, despite receiving care and hospital visits, did not survive. Her death marked a turning point. Revathi, who once mistrusted institutions, began to build one. She founded Vanavil, Tamil for "rainbow", a school for nomadic children, acting as a bridge between exclusion and belonging. What began as a handful of children learning under one roof soon expanded into nutrition programs, health care, and livelihood support. Vanavil grew into a community space where survival and dignity could coexist. Fifteen years later, when COVID-19 swept across India, Vanavil was again at the frontline. The lockdowns pushed nomadic families, many of whom were dependent on alms and daily wages, into hunger. Revathi and her team distributed food from the first day, without waiting for official channels. They supported morgue workers and transgender communities with protective gear and provided nutritional supplements for their children. Letters to the administration resulted in the provision of oxygen concentrators, beds, and even an oxygen plant to Nagapattinam’s overstretched hospital. Art therapy replaced grief counselling for children who had lost their parents, offering colour where there had been only silence. COVID-19 also revealed the extent to which the community stretched. For the first time, Vanavil traced nomadic groups across twenty-two districts, reaching them with rations and medical aid. Women who were once dependent on begging were introduced to credit-based livelihood systems, creating the beginnings of self-reliance. What began with the loss of one child has grown into a lifeline for thousands. Today, Vanavil is not just a school but an institution of resilience, standing at the edge of disaster and hope. Born of a tragedy, it continues to carry forward the colours of survival, dignity, and possibility – like a rainbow arching across storm-torn skies.