"THE sea is coming"... with those chilling words a hotel manager roused Nisha Srivastava just before the tsunami smashed into the resort where she was staying. Fitness teacher Nisha was on a backpacking holiday in Sri Lanka when the wave of death struck.

In this week's Star, the 33-year-old Pilates expert from Rainhill gives a harrowing account of how she survived the tsunami that has now claimed 33,500 lives in Sri Lanka and left more than 150,000 feared dead across the disaster region.

Here Nisha tells readers how the 'ocean of terror' sucked mothers and children to their death and destroyed everything in its path. She describes her frantic scramble to safety, the ensuing chaos and how, like so many other survivors, the mental scars from Boxing Day 2004 will live with her forever.

I AWOKE on Boxing Day morning to the hotel manager screaming and banging on my door "sea is coming, sea is coming".

I was backpacking in Sri Lanka and had been swooned by the description of Marissa. "Sleepy Marissa, a small fishing harbour, a low key peaceful spot perfect for snorkelling and surfing".

I had arrived on December 23 and was looking forward to spending both Christmas and New Year on the beach.

When I heard the panic outside my room I fled from the guesthouse with fellow backpackers. The ocean had come right up to the mount and was a fierce river eating everything and everyone in its tracks. Sunbeds, trees, cars and debris passed me by. Two children had scaled a lamppost on the opposite side of the road. Every hotel, guesthouse and shop was either destroyed or engulfed in this ocean of terror. People clambered past me with severe gashes, their bodies and clothes covered in blood.

The sea then went right out, further than any local had ever seen before. It took with it mothers and their children, and entire rooms with people clinging to bed mattresses and bathroom doors. The debris left behind was horrendous.

We all then proceeded to help each other climb to the highest point of the village, the temple. It had become a DIY hospital. There was no aid, ambulances, doctors and nurses. I proceeded with my first aid kit to help the injured and started needling anemone spines out of a man's foot. That night the temple became a makeshift camp of around 100 foreigners. The following day I awoke sneezing with dampness. Flies and mosquitoes were starting in their swarms, another day and the place would be rank.

There were still no helicopters with aid, or transport, as the Galle Road was still blocked with debris. The only way out was to walk 18kms to Matara and then head inland.

I started walking with my new family of five fellow backpackers, five kilometres along the road we were greeted by another scare of the second wave. We ran for our lives carrying our backpacks, the sweat dripping down our backs in the intense heat.

After an hour we returned to the Galle Road and carried on walking through the debris of cars and buildings.

As we entered Matara, soldiers armed with guns were on the streets and there was great unrest. Matara prison had fallen with the water, 300 convicts were loose, there was no petrol, and people were crowded outside the hospital gates.

We then jumped on any bus and proceeded inland on a seven-hour journey to the gem town of Ratnapara for safety.

My experience is one I will never forget affecting me emotionally, mentally and spiritually. When I left Sri Lanka on Wednesday, aid had finally reached Marissa, but it has been evident from the start of this catastrophe how slow it was getting through.