From the glaciers to the sewers: The Yamuna's tragic descent

By Vidya Bhushan Rawat* 

The Yamuna River is one of the largest tributaries of the Ganga. It rises from the Bandarpoonch peak in the Garhwal Himalayas, near the Yamunotri glacier, at an altitude of about 6,300 meters. The river descends to Yamunotri Dham, a sacred temple dedicated to Goddess Yamuna, who is mythologically considered the daughter of Lord Surya (the Sun God) and sister of Shani and Yama. For both practical and mythological purposes, Yamunotri Dham, located at roughly 3,300 meters, is deemed the river's source.

My visit to this hallowed place was during the third week of April, just a day before the official commencement of the Chardham Yatra. The day I arrived, the weather was fair, but a night of rain turned the mountainside into a winter wonderland; by morning, a beautiful white layer of snow covered everything. I had serious doubts about completing the five-kilometre uphill trek from the last motorable point, Janakichatti—a village typically desolate in the winter.

Fortunately, by 8 a.m., the skies had cleared, and the sun's rays were painting the mountain peaks in brilliant light. It was simply amazing. Around 9 a.m., my cab driver and I began the climb. There were few people other than locals who were busy setting up their tea stalls and roadside dhabas for the impending influx of pilgrims. The snow began to melt along the trail, making the walk slippery and difficult, yet I was entirely fascinated by nature's wonder. The small stream of the Yamuna looked energetic and powerful as it rushed past the snow-covered peaks.

After a four-hour trek, we reached Yamunotri. I walked past the temple and stood to gaze upon the mountains from where the whitish stream of the Yamuna descended. It was an inexplicable feeling. A sense of fear mixed with the elation of having reached the source despite the adverse, unpredictable Himalayan weather. For nearly an hour, I was mesmerized, watching the mountains and the beautifully shining stream.

It was in this moment of profound connection that thoughts of the river's tragic fate downstream flooded my mind. How are we systematically destroying our rivers? Why are we destroying these magnificent bounties of nature? Touching the pristine, cold stream, I felt as if I was in the river's lap. The contrast with its state further south is stark.

In the capital city of Delhi, in Mathura, and in Agra, the city famed for the Taj Mahal, the Yamuna is a river in name only—a shocking channel of sewage water. I feel a sense of criminal negligence by the people, the political class, and the various governments that have failed to respect the sanctity of this river. How can such a beautiful river be systematically killed by the time it reaches Delhi? 

Unfortunately, cynicism pervades our parts of the world. People want to worship rivers, mountains, and gods purely for their own benefit. Once their rituals are complete, they are least bothered about the environment they've consecrated.

Historically, mountain zones like Uttarakhand, Himachal Pradesh, Leh, and Ladakh have enjoyed a symbiotic relationship with nature; the people respect, love, and worship the land. Now, however, these zones are being transformed into ritualistic 'religious picnic spots'. Millions of people are encouraged to turn up for pilgrimages without any real thought given to the infrastructure—the basic amenities—required to support such a massive flow of visitors. Can the Himalayan ecosystem create and sustain such massive infrastructure? More importantly, should it? The delicate balance of these mountains is being irrevocably damaged in the name of faith and tourism.

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*Human rights defender