On the Kedarnath floods

 My article in OutlookIndia, click here:
http://www.outlookindia.com/article.aspx?286547

 For the original, here it is:

The smaller voices must be heard. Of the shepherd who looks worryingly at the snow peaks that seem to have an extra cloud cover than usual, of the water bearer who is apprehensive of the stream water being cooler than normal, of the woman carrying firewood and cattle feed home, wondering why the wood is mossy and not just damp like every year.

The Kedarnath tragedy has been explained away by geologists as flash floods, as an avalanche of slush and mud that came hurtling down the Kedarnath Dome. Logically, everybody is more focused on the rescue work, its feasibility and of course, its criticism pinpointed at the State and Central governments. 

Geographically, the mountains are still young and vertically rather than horizontally inclined. Hence, flash floods, cloud bursts during the monsoon are the norm here. The natives of the area are habituated to varying degrees of damage that the monsoon unleashes on them each year. Flash floods had destroyed 20 out of 2200 villages in Almora district in 2010. Should this, however, remain the normal pattern of life in the hills?

Nonchalantly describing life in the mountains for the locals and the army, an officer tells this writer that the monsoons are difficult times, perhaps harsher than the winter. Shepherds cannot take their cattle out to graze due to torrential rains, local viruses thrive and sicken the children, dry firewood and provisions become prized possessions. Winters can be handled with woolens and fires. He speaks of army casualty in 2011, due to a cloud burst, while attempting to summit the Bandarpoonchh peak in the lower Himalayas. He also speaks of the casualties suffered by the army while attempting to build bridges over swollen rivers and strong water currents.

The issue at hand must be how to avoid severe damage in such disasters, rather than focus on an effective cure after human life has been lost in alarming numbers. Climate change is a global phenomenon, but we hardly seems to care about it, beyond aping the West in gentrifying our ghettos, increasing the GDP and becoming increasingly consumerist.

Perhaps we have something to learn from the Inuit tribe of the Arctic region. The Inuit are a group of culturally similar indigenous people inhabiting the Arctic regions of Greenland, Canada, United States and Russia. Their trade, movement and hunting depend majorly on the amount of ice in the Arctic, and visible climate changes have affected their lifestyles in a massive way. The elder generations of the Inuit have been collecting data on climate change, in their own fashion, for centuries. Their knowledge is now incorporated into scientific studies of the region. Subhankar Banerjee attracts our attention to this phenomenon in his book, Arctic Voices: Resistance at the Tipping Point.

There are frequent indications of the weatherman’s limitations in this country. In January 2012, parts of Pathankot in Himachal Pradesh witnessed snowfall for the first time in recorded history. “The met officials,” the Indian Express reported, “could not elaborate the reasons behind the event.” In January last, villages like Kana and Jwalabanj in Almora district of Kumaon witnessed heavy snowfall after decades. And the same area reported intense heat and unheard of temperatures in March this year. 

It is interesting to note that the locals seem to sense climate change far better than people who study the phenomenon. In Kumaon region this year, locals were convinced that things were a little unusual. The signs of climate change here were subtle. Steering down a road at Bhawali in Nainital district, a local cab driver looks down at the Kosiriver and says, “the current is stronger than usual. I’m sure the rains will play havoc but the pilgrims will not stay away even if the roads vanish completely”. Similar stories were heard at Kapkot in Bageshwar district of Uttarakhand, where the Saryu runs its course.

This year the rhododendron flowers blossomed in the beginning of February instead of the usual end of March or early April. There was more snowfall than is normal in Leti area of Bageshwar district of Kumaon, going on till early March. This was followed by intense bouts of harsh sunlight and heat over the next few days. Clouds over the Panchachuli range would usually move in over the peaks around sunset, but this year it would happen close to mid-evening. Cloud inversions are common but not an everyday phenomenon, like they were this year.

It is the ordinary local people who always witness such changes in weather conditions, suffer the damage and set up their own meager rescue operations. Why do we ignore these voices? 

Kedarnath witnesses a footfall of thousands of pilgrims each year. This season and next year too, will presumably witness similar numbers. Some might be mourners seeking blessings for those who lost their lives in this tragedy, while others will challenge themselves to face the harsh conditions of this terrain, in lieu of ‘God’s’ blessings.

Devotees of Lord Shiva have put up pictures on the internet, proudly stating how despite the damage, the Kedarnath temple stands proud. Pictures of Shiva’s statue too, show a smiling god, head held proudly above the slush and its debilitating current. What people fail to realize is that religious fervor alone cannot stand strong against the important messages that nature is sending our way, on an alarmingly regular notice. Isn’t human life far more precious than the stone model of a temple?

It is indeed, pitiful, that Garhwal or Kenderkhand (meaning: of forts) could not fortify itself against the wrath of nature that seems to connote more than we are willing to understand. We can only hope that the voices of the marginalized masses will be given more importance than their categorization into evening market square gossip; and effective measures will be taken to minimize damages from such calamities.