“The day is not far when the entire state of Himachal Pradesh may vanish,” the Supreme Court of India has warned while hearing a petition on ecological degradation. It added, “The Union of India also owes an obligation to see that the ecological imbalance in the state does not get further disturbed and natural calamities do not occur. We want to impress upon the State Government and Union of India respectively that earning revenue is not everything. If things proceed the way they are as on date, then the day is not far when the entire state of Himachal Pradesh may vanish in thin air from the map of the country.”
This ominous warning comes at a time when both Himachal Pradesh and its neighbour Uttarakhand are grappling with unprecedented disasters. Flash floods, landslides, cloudbursts, and infrastructural collapses have become distressingly frequent.
According to the State Emergency Operation Centre, Himachal Pradesh has suffered losses of over ₹1,539 crore since the onset of the monsoon on June 20. Ninety-four lives have been lost, with 36 people still missing. Over 1,350 houses have been partially or fully damaged.
NDTV reported that as of August 2, 2025, 173 people had died in Himachal Pradesh, 37 were missing, and 115 injured. There were 23 incidents of flash floods and 19 cloudbursts as of July 6. Most of the casualties are rain-related.
Uttarakhand, often the forerunner in disaster headlines, has mirrored this pattern. As of July 4, it recorded 70 deaths—20 due to natural disasters and 50 from road accidents. Several people are missing, and 177 have sustained injuries.
Despite their vulnerability, these Himalayan states continue to be romanticized as "Devbhumi"—lands of the gods. However, the lived reality of the people in far-flung villages is one of neglect, poor healthcare, and crumbling infrastructure. Both Himachal and Uttarakhand have been used by successive central governments to promote private interests in the name of hydroelectric potential and mass religious tourism, while sidelining the needs and voices of local populations.
Each year, these fragile states are overwhelmed by an unsustainable influx of tourists, often exceeding their infrastructural capacity. This is not responsible tourism—it is reckless overexploitation. The argument that more tourists equal more development is flawed, particularly when the burden falls on local ecosystems and communities. There is little space—physically or culturally—for this scale of development in these sensitive regions.
As someone from the hills, I can attest that this form of mass tourism, especially under the guise of Char Dham Yatra, has dangerously diluted local traditions and disrupted fragile ecosystems. Tourists often treat these spaces as their personal playgrounds, disregarding local norms. Public alcohol consumption, eve-teasing, and aggressive behaviour—once unheard of—are now reported with growing frequency.
The cultural consequences are just as troubling. Himalayan societies have historically been more egalitarian than their plains counterparts. Local food habits, women’s active roles in public life, and decentralized religious traditions reflect a pluralistic ethos. Today, those very elements are under threat. Religious homogenization is being pushed from outside, undermining local deities and customs. This includes the increasing imposition of vegetarian norms where traditionally animal sacrifice was part of ritual practices.
Politicians across party lines continue to celebrate the “record” tourist footfalls without addressing the rising death toll during pilgrimages or the ecological costs. Uttarakhand, for instance, saw over 65 deaths in April alone during the Char Dham Yatra, attributed to ailments such as cardiac arrests, high-altitude sickness, and landslides. Even the rising number of helicopter crashes suggests the unsustainable pressure on fragile air corridors, all in the name of profit.
If the Supreme Court truly means what it says, then strong regulatory action is overdue. Governments—both state and central—have enabled this disaster through poorly planned projects, mindless construction, and unchecked tourism. Worse still, they have altered the spiritual character of the region. These mountains were never places of organised religious rituals in the form we now see. Each valley and village has its own deity, rituals, and rhythm—none of which align with the loudspeakers, DJs, and sprawling cement structures mushrooming under the pretext of development.
What is unfolding is nothing short of the 'Gujaratification' of temple architecture, displacing local aesthetics and sacred geographies. The demand for foods alien to the region—maggie noodles, dhoklas, alu paranthas—has overtaken traditional fare. The rivers, once revered and protected, are now polluted at their very source. Unlike in the plains, communal river bathing was never part of Himalayan customs. Ganga Snan traditions belong to Haridwar and Varanasi, not Kedarnath.
The Kanwar Yatra, too, is not a tradition rooted in the hills. Most participants come from the plains—Haryana, Western UP, and Delhi—and bring with them a culture that is alien and often disruptive to the local ethos.
If the Supreme Court is serious, it must push for the protection of the rights, cultures, and ecologies of the native Pahadi populations. Development must be reimagined through sustainability, equity, and cultural sensitivity. The people of Himachal and Uttarakhand have long lived in harmony with their surroundings. Their participation in policy and planning is non-negotiable if we are to save what remains of this fragile yet vital part of India.
It is time we stop misusing the Himalayas in the name of rituals and begin respecting its true spirit—sacred, diverse, and rooted in its people. Sustainable development here must start with acknowledging and empowering local communities.
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*Human rights defender
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