‘Scientists are not enemies, listen to them’

The recent rain and flood devastation in the Himalayan states of Uttarakhand, Himachal Pradesh and Jammu and Kashmir — and its terrible cascading effects in downstream Punjab — have brought back into focus the problem of reckless construction in this fragile ecology.

It’s all packaged as ‘development’ or in the ‘national interest’ but is, in fact, the product of a deadly combination of venality and greed. To understand the nature and scale of the problem, and to find out if there is still a way out of this ‘development’ nightmare, Herjinder spoke to Uttarakhand-based geologist and professor Y.P. Sundriyal, who has extensively researched seismic displacement, landslides and flood history in the central and lesser Himalayas. His works are often cited in research on Himalayan seismicity and geological hazards. Excerpts:

How much of the current devastation in the Himalayas would you attribute to nature, and how much to human interference?

To some extent, these disasters are natural. But human actions have undoubtedly magnified their intensity. First, we must understand that the Himalayas are inherently unstable and unsafe for large-scale human settlement.

Second, the development policies being pursued in this region are completely unscientific. For instance, there is no real need for 12-metre-wide highways in the Himalayas. Yet, such projects are pushed through by politicians and bureaucrats — never scientists. When policies are framed without proper knowledge of the region’s fragility, they end up harming both the local people and the nation as a whole.

We also overlook problems that make the situation worse — like recurring forest fires in Uttarakhand. This year, the number of fire incidents has declined, but the threat remains.

Perhaps because of the unusually heavy summer rainfall this year?

Possibly. But the real concern is the aftermath of these fires. They release large amounts of black carbon, which is extremely harmful to glaciers. Smoke particles act as nuclei in the atmosphere, merging with clouds and often triggering cloudbursts. In fact, many cloudburst incidents are linked to this phenomenon.

And let me underline this — these forest fires are not entirely natural. More often than not, they are man-made.

You mean they are deliberately started?

Yes, quite often. Around 80 per cent of Uttarakhand’s forests are dominated by pine trees. Their dry needle leaves keep falling to the ground, but there is no government policy or plan to remove them promptly. Local villagers believe that if they burn these dry leaves, fresh grass will sprout underneath. What they don’t realise is that this practice seriously damages their own environment.

The forest department, meanwhile, suffers from a severe staff shortage, making it difficult to monitor who is starting these fires and where.

You also mentioned the problem of constructing wide roads in the Himalayas. Could you explain?

If you want to build a 12-metre-wide road, you must cut into the mountain. In doing so, a natural slope of 45 degrees is steepened to 90 degrees. That destabilises the terrain and paves the way for larger, more frequent landslides.

Take the example of the highway constructed near the Daat Kali temple in Dehradun. The road runs along the river, with its supporting pillars embedded right above the river bed. During heavy rains, the river becomes highly active, leading to severe erosion. On top of that, the sand and stone mining mafia often operate unchecked in these areas, further weakening the riverbanks.

So, can one say that while disasters are natural, human actions act as catalysts?

Absolutely. Disasters often begin with natural processes, but human interference makes them far worse. Look at Tharali or Dharali — if people had not encroached on the river’s natural path, the damage would have been minimal. Interestingly, the village nearby that was located slightly upstream stayed safe because it wasn’t built on the riverbed.

When a river swells during floods, it always reclaims its old path. Rivers don’t intrude on human settlements — it is humans who encroach on rivers.

The Himachal chief minister recently said that roads built by local PWD engineers are safer because they have experience of working in the mountains, while NHAI lacks the expertise. Do you agree?

The real issue is not whether it’s PWD or NHAI. The bigger problem is that there are rarely any qualified technical experts present on site. Engineers might come for a few inspections in their jeeps, but day-to-day work is left entirely to labourers. They are simply told to widen the road according to a certain measurement.

Naturally, the worker cuts the mountain whichever way he finds convenient. In blasting zones, instead of carefully calculated charges, excessive dynamite is used, shaking the entire mountain. That’s how fragile slopes are destabilised.

The Tota Valley has reported cracks in mountain rocks. Is that also linked to road construction?

Very much so. The Tota Valley is composed mainly of limestone, which is normally very strong. Initially, machines were used for road cutting, but when that failed, contractors resorted to dynamite. The blasts were so massive that cracks ran all the way from the peak to the base.

Now, when water seeps into these cracks during the rains and later expands in the summer heat, the fissures will only widen. There’ll be a day when that entire stretch of road will collapse. And because of the geology of the place, it won’t be easy to fix the damage quickly.

What policy-level changes are urgently needed to prevent such disasters in the Himalayas?

The first and most important step is to stop building dams in the high Himalayas. This region is extremely sensitive from a tectonic point of view. Remember, we have already seen two major earthquakes here—in 1991 and 1999. Before that, Garhwal witnessed a devastating quake in 1803, which measured 7.5 on the Richter scale. Building large dams in such a fragile seismic zone is an invitation to disaster.

The second issue is glacial retreat. Glaciers are not just ice; they are essentially masses of rock and soil held together by ice, which acts as cement. As glaciers retreat, they leave behind huge deposits of loose debris. When heavy rain or melting water carries this debris downhill, its destructive force increases many times over. We call this the ‘Devil’s Flow’. It tears through valleys, triggers landslides and devastates settlements.

We also need a clear, enforceable policy on the tourist season. The government often talks about bearing capacity but rarely implements it.

On the day the Kedarnath disaster struck, 35,000–40,000 people were present, when the combined capacity of hotels and lodges from Rudraprayag to Kedarnath is not more than 20,000–22,000. Many of the buildings that collapsed were constructed right on the riverbed. This kind of unscientific approach is extremely dangerous.

Another serious issue is the government’s attitude towards scientific advice. Anyone who raises concerns is quickly branded ‘anti-government’ or linked to some political party. Scientists are not adversaries. Their role is to suggest how to reduce risks and save lives. Policymakers must listen to them with an open mind.

Deforestation is also a major problem. Himalayan forests have shrunk by six per cent. Earlier, cutting trees invited strict punishment. But after a new law diluted those provisions, tree felling has become far easier. If we want to protect the Himalayas, expanding forest reserves must be the first priority.

And finally, our approach to roads must change. We don’t need excessively wide highways here; we need durable, resilient roads. From a strategic perspective, consider this: what happens if a neighbouring country attacks during the monsoon and our roads are washed away?

The promise of ‘all-weather roads’ should mean continuous slope treatment, so that traffic can flow even in the rainy season. Otherwise, we are only creating an illusion of safety.