It was a humbling experience. We were in the house where Gaura Devi— a grassroots activist and a community leader, who was one of the pioneers of the Chipko movement, which gained significant momentum in 1974—once lived. We sat on an old sofa set in a small room in the house overlooking the mountains in the Upper Raini village in Chamoli district of Uttarakhand.  

A winding pathway up the mountain had led us to the house. There was a bust of Gaura Devi erected by the state government on a lawn close to the house. A tableau depicting the Chipko movement of the 1970s stood next to it. It seemed there had been no visitors for a while. A few furry and fluffy mountain dogs were fooling around.   

Inside the room, a close-up photo of Gaura Devi hung on a wall. Next to it was a photo of her receiving an award from the then Prime Minister

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Rajiv Gandhi. The room was full of several such photos, mementos and awards. Her son Chandra Singh, in his seventies, joked that he would not be able to offer us tea as water was a precious commodity in the hills. His wife Ukha Devi followed with two glasses of tea and Parle-G biscuits. 

“I remember that day. I was 18-19. My mother was 50, a widow. Most men were out of the village. When she and the other women came to know that local contractors were arriving to chop trees in and around the village, they ran and hugged the trees to protect them,” he recalls. 
 

The government was clearing forests to build roads to secure the Indo-Tibet border. Gaura Devi argued that the villagers were dependent on trees and had every right to protect them.  

Soon, the Chipko movement spread throughout the Himalayas. The Raini incident prompted the state government to set up a nine-member committee which led to a 10-year ban on commercial forestry in Raini and in nearly 1,200 sq kms of the upper catchment of the Alaknanda. The ban was extended for another 10 years in 1985. Another response to Chipko was the formation of a Van Nigam in 1975. It was a state-owned forest corporation to take over all forms of forest resource gathering  from private contractors. It is said that the Forest Conservation Act of 1980 and the very creation of the environment ministry are due to the consciousness created by Chipko. 

“After she died in 1991, we could not keep pace with the rate at which development work was being taken up in the mountains around us. It seemed no one was bothered. Now we are seeing the detrimental effects of mindless development,” says Singh. 

He points at a lone tree atop a distant naked mountain. “Where are the trees? I don’t understand why trees must be chopped to build houses or roads. Is cutting mountains the only way development can happen? Can’t these projects happen away from civilisation?” he asks. 

The Upper and Lower Raini villages bore the brunt of the classic nature versus development checkmate in 2021. 

On February 7 that year, the residents of Raini village witnessed a calamity of epic proportions. The Tapovan-Raini region was hit by a sudden flood after a glacier broke off and slid down the valley. The glacier burst caused massive flooding in the Dhauliganga and Alaknanda rivers. The violent surge swept away the Rishiganga Hydro Electric Project and damaged a bigger one being built by the NTPC further down the Dhauliganga river. More than 200 people died in the incident.  

Many people were at the project site when the tragedy struck. They were working in the tunnels and could not run. Some bodies got swept away and were never found; some were discovered months later. In fact, one body was found trapped in the tunnel about a year after the tragedy. 
The geologists who surveyed the region after the glacier burst declared that the mountain slope on which Raini village stood was highly unstable. They declared Raini unfit for living and recommended rehabilitation of the village.

When asked to comment on these projects, Singh said he would like to stay away from controversies and politics. He, however, said that it was a human-triggered disaster. “These mountains have been here for centuries. We have zero control over natural disasters but what's happening now is a man-made tragedy," he said. 

Many houses in the village have developed wide cracks. Ukha Devi showed us the cracks in the room. “Some appeared after the 2021 tragedy. These, over here, are new. All houses in the village have such cracks,” she says. 

These cracks remind the villagers every single day of the impending doom, she says. While they are scared to live in the village, they are not sure about leaving their homes either. 

“More than nature, humans have put Raini villagers in a fix. Now they are saying they will rehabilitate us. I won't go anywhere. I will die in this house. Let it crumble. Did they not think through when they were chopping trees and cutting mountains? How is this my fault? Why should I leave the house where my mother Gaura Devi lived?” asks Singh. 

While he declared he is not afraid of what may happen in the future, his wife confessed she is scared. “I can’t sleep at night when it rains. I feel everything will come crashing down,” she says. 

As we started walking down from their house to the base, we met Sheetla Devi. She narrated how rainwater was gradually seeping through the cracks in her house. A little further, Lalita Devi insisted we visit her house so that we could click pictures of the cracks.  

As we moved from Upper to the Lower Raini village in our car, a giant pipe, debris and a huge hole could be seen at a distance. Those were the remains of the Rishiganga-Tapovan project that got washed away in 2021. The fact that the tragedy site is visible to the residents of both Upper and Lower Raini is not letting them get closure. 

It seems to them that the tragedy happened just yesterday. “First, there was a rumbling sound, then a strong wind blew and within minutes, we saw water gushing towards us in full force. That rumbling sound I will never forget,” says Asha Devi who was feeding her cow outside her house at the entrance of the Lower Raini village. She lives in her husband’s ancestral house. The family has been living here for decades. “This is home. Where will we go? Even if they forcefully evacuate the village, no place will feel like home.” 

She led us to Darbar Singh Rana’s home. His 32-year-old son Yashpal got swept away in 2021. He was herding his sheep near the river when the flash floods hit. His body was found three days later. 
Yashpal’s wife is still in a state of shock and does not interact with anybody, let alone strangers. Her two children were playing with a broken toy car in the courtyard. A family member took us to the roof where Rana was waiting for us. He was looking in the direction of the Rishiganga-Tapovan tragedy site that was clearly visible from where he was standing. The very site that killed his son. His emotional state was difficult to tell, but he agreed to the interview.

“Mountains have become hollow. They are not able to stop the flowing water. When a glacier bursts, this water comes gushing down with force. Scientists are saying there are many such glaciers on the top that are vulnerable. We feel scared, especially when it rains. We need to stop cutting trees,” he says. He wonders why is it that  if he knows these basic things despite not having received any formal education, the government is commissioning such projects in the mountain region.  

He adds that he is not against development projects but feels these projects should be built away from civilisation because it is the people who suffer.

“It’s been more than three years, but I still remember that day. So many bodies were not found. Their families did not get any compensation. So many lost their livestock, but the government did not provide them with any monetary help. I got compensation from the state and central government. What do I do with that money? My son is gone,” he says, while looking in the direction of the site of the tragedy.