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On August 22, as the magazine went to press, Chamoli in Uttarakhand joined the growing list of Himalayan regions battered by extreme weather this monsoon. It was, in fact, the fourth major disaster in just over a month, after Mandi in Himachal Pradesh, Dharali in Uttarakhand and Kishtwar in Jammu and Kashmir. These are not just episodes of heavy rain. They show how altered rainfall, geology and rampant construction are turning landslides and floods into killers.
In 2025, the Himalayas have been in crisis almost every single day. Between January and August 18, the 13 Himalayan states and Union Territories recorded at least one disaster daily, killing 632 people, according to government data analysed by Down To Earth (DTE). The pattern is only getting worse. In 2022, disasters struck on 63 per cent of the days in the entire year, with 1,058 deaths. In 2023, the numbers rose to 68 per cent and 837 deaths. In 2024, they climbed to 70 per cent, killing 870 people.
This year, not only did the Southwest Monsoon arrive a week early, it was punctuated by an unusually high number of western disturbances, extra-tropical storms that normally affect India in winter and spring. Between June 1 and August 20, India recorded 14 western disturbances, according to India Meteorological Department (IMD) data analysed by DTE. Five occurred in June, five in July and four in August (up to August 20). At least four were strong and persistent, lasting five to seven days. India typically sees four to six western disturbances between December and March and their summer frequency is usually low because the subtropical westerly jet shifts north.
When western disturbances intersect with the monsoon trough, the elongated low-pressure band that steers monsoon rainfall, the results can be catastrophic. The devastating 2013 Uttarakhand floods were one such instance. A DTE analysis suggests the summer and monsoon activity of western disturbances has been rising in recent decades, a trend linked to shifts in the subtropical jet associated with Arctic and wider northern warming. “There are probably more cyclonic systems coming from the west, but their origin may not be as far as the Mediterranean. This needs to be studied more carefully. They are being born over Pakistan or slightly further west, due to interactions between the westerlies north of the monsoon circulation and the northward flow from the Arabian Sea, which is now extending further north,” says Raghu Murtugudde, professor of climate studies, Indian Institute of Technology (IIT), Bombay. These are pumping moisture into the Himalayan foothills, fuelling flash floods and cloudbursts. “They are also driving more heavy rainfall over Mumbai, Gujarat, northwest India and Pakistan. We are probably conflating these phenomena with western disturbances,” he says.
Local dynamics and terrain then convert heavy precipitation into disaster. In steep, moraine-filled catchments, even a relatively small water input can trigger cascading failures: when several moraine branches saturate simultaneously, one breach can set off successive landslides, debris flows and floods.
Scientists point to climate change as the principal driver of increased heavy and prolonged rainfall in the high Himalaya, which is warming at a faster rate than the rest of the world. This warming allows each kilogramme of air to hold more moisture, so storms unload precipitation more intensely and erratically. In steep vertical valleys, even modest amounts of water can set deep moraines and loose slopes in motion. Kulbhushan Upmanyu of the Himalaya Policy Campaign warns that dams and reservoirs may emit methane from decaying organic matter, creating a modest local warming signal that could nudge microclimates.
In early August, Dharali and nearby Harsil in Uttarkashi district were devastated by repeated surges of the Khirganga. Official estimates put the number missing at 70, though residents believe the true figure is higher. Rescue teams reported the market buried under more than 12 m of debris; cadaver dogs and ground-penetrating radar were deployed and survival chances were quickly ruled out. The hill station of Harsil, with a military presence, lies four km away.
“The repeated flooding of the Khirganga was due to uniform water saturation across various glacial moraine branches in the area. In such a steep, narrow valley, a landslide at one point triggered similar processes in other glacial branches in rapid succession, resulting in multiple floods,” says geologist S P Sati. “Everyone talks about glacial lake outburst floods these days. But our studies of a thousand years of flooding in the Alaknanda river show that such events have always been caused by the breaching of landslide-dammed lakes in the high Himalayas,” says Navin Juyal, a geologist and former member of the Supreme Court-appointed committee on highway construction in ecologically sensitive zones. The flood and debris have wiped out Dharali’s market and forced the Bhagirathi to shift its course.
In Mandi district of Himachal Pradesh, a cluster of nine cloudbursts across a 25-km stretch and an acute spike in rainfall destroyed villages, orchards and bridge infrastructure. One station recorded 140.7 mm of rain on 1 July, almost 1,940 per cent above the normal 6.9 mm. Between 25 June and 2 July, rainfall was 482 per cent above average. The result was devastating: by 20 August, the state’s monsoon season toll stood at roughly 280 dead, dozens missing, and losses running into crores.
“Climatic conditions in this region have changed over time. A similar event occurred in Kullu and Mandi in 2023. When we analysed rainfall data then, we found 400-600 per cent above-normal rainfall, causing comparable devastation,” says Ashutosh Kumar, assistant professor in the Department of Geotechnical Engineering at IIT Mandi. He adds that shorter, erratic bursts of weather, brief dry spells followed by intense moisture, mean slopes never fully dry out and therefore remain persistently weakened.
While science explains the changing weather, human choices explain the scale of the damage. Dharali’s tragedy was not without warning. The village endured rising water and silt in 2013 and 2018. After the 2013 floods, a protective wall was built, but locals say it offered little protection. “We urged the administration to halt construction near the river, remove the debris and clear blocked drainage channels, but nothing was done,” says Khushal Singh, a resident. Building walls in such fragile zones, experts warn, creates a false sense of security, inviting even more construction on riverbeds. “All construction should be kept well away from riverbeds,” says Juyal.
The immediate task, experts say, is to stop adding to the danger while reducing what remains. This means an urgent moratorium on large projects in identified fragile zones until independent geological and hydrological studies are done. Projects must be vetted for how they alter drainage, sediment movement, and slope stability in a warmer, wetter future.
Hazard mapping must be accurate, public and enforced, keeping flood paths free of settlements and infrastructure. Where relocation is necessary, it should be dignified and lasting, not token payouts that push people back into harm’s way. Equally critical is scaling up monitoring and forecasting. The Himalayas remains poorly instrumented where it is most vulnerable. Real-time data on dams, glacial lakes, and moraine-filled basins, paired with community-specific early-warning systems, could mean the difference between hours of preparation and lives lost.
Finally, governance must change. “The Himalayas must no longer be viewed as a source of revenue. You cannot justify destroying this natural treasure for short-term gains,” says Hemant Dhyani, an environmental campaigner.
This article was originally published in the September 1-15, 2025 print edition of Down To Earth