Redrawing the Aravallis: A legal move with ecological consequences

By Vikas Meshram 

The Supreme Court has recently taken suo motu cognizance of the definition of the Aravalli mountain range and related issues arising from it. The Court has stayed its November 20 order that accepted a new definition of the Aravallis, clarifying that the conclusions and directions in that judgment will remain in abeyance until critical questions are examined more closely.

Significantly, the Court has indicated that it may constitute a high-level committee of experts to conduct a comprehensive and holistic inquiry into the matter. At the heart of the dispute lies a deceptively simple question: Does the new definition—which limits the Aravallis to hills of 100 metres or more in height with an inter-hill distance of only 500 metres—shrink the geographical footprint of the range and push vast stretches outside the protective legal framework?

Such delimitation risks expanding so-called ‘non-Aravalli’ land and opening the gates to unregulated mining, construction, and environmentally harmful development. The Court is also questioning whether hills over 100 metres tall, even beyond the 500-metre criteria, remain part of a continuous ecological structure.

Another serious concern arises from the widely circulated claim that of Rajasthan’s 12,081 hill features, a mere 1,048 meet the 100-metre threshold. If true, this would exclude nearly 90 per cent of the state’s hill systems—effectively stripping them of legal protection. Activists fear that ambiguity and misinterpretation of judicial language could result in regulatory loopholes with irreversible ecological consequences. The Court itself has noted the anxiety and confusion triggered by the lack of clarity.

The stay order has therefore been welcomed across civil society. While final resolutions lie ahead, the interim relief has calmed widespread fear and discontent sparked by the earlier judgment.

Environmentalists were quick to denounce the new definition as a planned manoeuvre to facilitate mining and real estate expansion in the region. They warned that undermining the Aravallis—stretching from northern to western India—would be nothing short of an ecological catastrophe.

Following the November verdict, protests erupted across Aravalli states. Students, citizens’ groups, and political parties marched in towns and cities. The ‘Save Aravalli’ movement continues with undiminished energy. Protesters argue that degrading the Aravallis will jeopardize water security, agriculture, air quality, and the survival of future generations. This, they say, is not ‘development’ but a warning—one that, if ignored, could prove disastrous.

More Than a Mountain Range

The Aravallis are one of the world’s oldest mountain systems. Formed hundreds of millions of years ago, they are not inert geography but living ecosystems. They act as a natural shield protecting northern India from the eastward march of the Thar Desert. The range nurtures groundwater aquifers, reduces dust storms, moderates climate, and supports more than 300 bird species and wildlife including leopards. Their elevations span from gentle hillocks to the 1,722-metre Guru Shikhar in Mount Abu.

In 2024, acting on Supreme Court instructions, the Ministry of Environment constituted a technical committee to develop a uniform definition. The committee adopted Rajasthan’s “local base level” formula—100 metres above the local ground level with a 500-metre connecting distance—and the Court accepted this on November 20, 2025. This decision triggered immediate backlash.

Critics call the standard arbitrary and unscientific. Global practice typically uses sea level as a reference point; ‘local base level’ varies from place to place and can erase entire landscapes from the map. According to the Forest Survey of India, nearly 90 per cent of Rajasthan’s hills would no longer qualify as Aravallis.

Mining in ecologically fragile regions carries enormous costs. Yet, those costs rarely appear in budgets or balance sheets. The ecosystem services provided by the Aravallis—water recharge, carbon sequestration, biodiversity habitat—have never been assigned economic value. If they were, the so-called financial gains from mining would shrink dramatically.

The parallel with the Himalayan crisis is telling. When glaciers began melting, many dismissed warnings as alarmism. Today, as experts declare the planet has moved from global warming to “global boiling”, the cost of denial is undeniable.

The Aravalli range spans 1.44 lakh sq km across 37 districts in Rajasthan, Haryana, Gujarat, and Delhi. Its rocks contain reserves of lead, zinc, copper, silver, marble and, more recently prized “critical minerals” such as lithium and nickel. Like the film Don’t Look Up, where political leaders gamble national security for mineral wealth, India risks mortgaging its future for short-term extraction.

But the mining boom is already exacting a toll. Desertification today is accelerating across northern India. According to Parliament testimony based on ISRO’s Desertification and Land Degradation Atlas, more than 6.86 lakh hectares of land in Haryana, Punjab, and Uttar Pradesh have shifted toward desert-like conditions. If the Aravallis are weakened further, the Thar could advance unchecked—bringing dust storms, heatwaves, groundwater collapse, and declining agricultural productivity.

The debate over definitions has been framed narrowly in terms of mining eligibility and regulatory clearance. The far graver threat—food security—is scarcely acknowledged. The UN Convention to Combat Desertification warns that fertile lands turned semi-arid rarely recover. The Aravallis are a frontline defence against this process.

Once mining and real estate interests carve loopholes into legal protections, market forces will move rapidly to transform the landscape. Already, small hillocks in Haryana and Delhi attract speculative land purchases. A redefined Aravalli boundary could legitimise the slow dismantling of the range.

Before India accepts any definition that may accelerate the degradation of its oldest mountain system, both government and judiciary must assess all consequences—not merely legal or economic ones, but ecological, hydrological, climatic, and social.

It is far better to err on the side of the environment and future generations than to gamble a billion-year-old shield for profits that disappear in a decade.