How Uttarakhand’s pristine forests are being concretised for tourism

There was once a mountain stream. A dense forests of tall trees leaned in towards the water. The water was clear, cold and wild, skipping over stones and pebbles, humming to natural sounds.

In the early morning hours, a small herd of goral (small, goat-like animals) would run easily down the steep hill slopes to sip the water.

White-capped redstarts would stand sentry on top of the enormous boulders, occasionally prying into their crevices for food. The spotted forktail would walk into the shallow water to find dragonfly larvae at the bottom of the stream.

The pretty bird would often do a little twirl in the delight of the plentiful food available in the stream. The entire streambed was a magnet for all sorts of life. A Brown Wood Owl nested right above the stream to take away any inattentive rodents, frogs or fish by the water. 

And yes, the humans. Occasionally, a courting couple would sit by the streamside, away from peering eyes. 

Boisterous young boys from the nearby village, away from their disapproving parents, sat by the water and chatted away into the night. Abandoned beer bottles and Maggi packets would give away the presence of humans.

One day, along came an ogre-person who thought it would be much more useful to cement up the stream. He first dammed up the tiny stream, creating a stagnant water pond. But the stream itself went dry.

Then he cemented up the sides of the ‘pond’, which now had almost vertical sides, inaccessible to the forest beings. And cement steps were made for tourists to walk easily to the water. Even an artificial island was created in pursuit of beauty.

Then a miniature spillway was built ahead of the stagnant pond. Finally, the whole area was cordoned off with a strong iron fence and a signboard for tickets was put up.

Soon after, all the animals and birds that used this streambed disappeared. The birds no longer found that shallow clear-running stream that provided them with food.

Butterflies didn’t stop by, as there were no wet mud patches to suck at. The kalij pheasant could not reach the water anymore, fearing the steep fall of her tiny striped fledglings.

The chattery melodious calls of the laughing thrushes fell silent as no bushes were left. And in the hot summer, no water flowed into the village fields and forests. In any case, the water was no longer as sweet as before.

The pond turned dank and green with an overgrowth of algae. The tall trees around the pond started drying up as they had been hurt and choked by the cement. Young people no longer found it worth spending their hours by the stream.

All that tourists saw was a forbidding signboard and a strong iron fence that no one could possibly climb over. The mountain stream was dead, very dead.

Not a fairy tale

This is not a fairy tale or the beginning of one. The unnecessary concretisation of a stream took place in Kilbury reserved forest in the mountain state of Uttarakhand in 2020.

It’s a forest with a long history of ornithology — the extinct Mountain Quail was last seen here. In 2014, the forest, home to rare Himalayan birds, was declared a conservation reserve.

But little has been done since then to protect this spectacular forest area, while concretisation episodes are becoming more common.

Mountain streams are not just inanimate conduits for water. Water, nutrients, flora and fauna move back and forth between streams and the forest / fields around them.

Without the seepage of moisture from the streambed to the adjacent land, the growth of moisture-loving trees, shrubs, herbs and saplings is hindered.

Wild mammals also depend on the streams heavily during the summer. While concretisation of streams is unscientific and affects the ecology, it does not add value to the tourist experience.

The ‘beautification’ of nature is also being extended to forests, grasslands and lakes, where more roads, shopping areas, parking lots and even Nature Interpretation Centres (NIC) are in the process of construction.

Some of the NICs, ironically, take away from nature rather than encourage immersion or learning. A recent example is the planned ‘development’ of the Sattalarea and its surrounding forests, which currently attract thousands of birdwatchers.

This modernisation plan involves the creation of a parking lot near the Lake and an NIC inside the forest, among other infrastructure.

These plans have been recently modified only after a group of local environmentalists, scientists and village councils petitioned the Forest Department. However, no one knows the future outcome even now. 

In Devalsari village (Mussoorie Forest Division), an eco-park is being created in the most spectacular part of the valley covered by an old deodar forest.

This area is well-trodden by trekkers and hikers stopping by the ancient temple for a breather and filling their water bottles in the stream nearby.

If the animal statues that have already been put up are any indication, the eco-park will largely be irrelevant and misleading in terms of information.

In other villages, watersports have been initiated in mountain lakes and tourist resorts have been allowed to expand, with entire hillsides being bought up for the purpose.

No matter that the local populace already faces water scarcity as early as February each year, landslides are getting more frequent every year due to forest degradation.

Unfortunately, the planners think tourists will enjoy nature better by cementing up bridle trails and adding shopping areas. The mountain views and the beleaguered mountain wildlife may soon become memories of the past if better land use policies are not established. 

This will, in turn, affect tourist footfall. Fragile regions like the Himalayas require sensitive planning to maximise the natural experience, reduce forest degradation and enhance sustainable tourism.

Ghazala Shahabuddin is an ecologist and author researching people-biodiversity relationships, wildlife policy and applied ornithology in Western Himalayas and in the Aravalli Hills. She can be reached at ghazala303@gmail.com

Views expressed are the author’s own and don’t necessarily reflect those of Down To Earth 

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