Religious Spots are not for Tourists
Dev Bhoomi—land of the Gods. I count myself incredibly lucky to be born in a place cradled by the mighty Himalayas. As a free citizen of the world, I believe everyone has the right to witness the breathtaking creations of nature—rivers that sing, waterfalls that dance, and mountains that whisper ancient tales. But only if you have the strength to do so. Not the strength of your wallet, but of your body and spirit. Because you cannot climb a sacred mountain on a railway track. You cannot fly to the summit with a flag in your hand, snap a selfie, and say, “I conquered the mighty Everest.” No, it doesn’t work that way.
We work closely with the tourism industry, and we understand the value it brings. But when you exploit nature and still call it tourism, you're inviting consequences. Nature doesn't retaliate with warning letters—it strikes with floods, earthquakes, and landslides. It fights back with a force you've never truly understood. And by then, it's already too late.
Increasing Tourism in Himalayan Landscapes
Global warming is real, and as temperatures rise across the plains, people are increasingly seeking refuge in the Himalayan regions, looking for fresh air, peace, and the serenity that mountains naturally offer. Tourism in the hills is no longer seasonal—it’s a year-round affair.
Does this influx bring business to the locals? Yes, absolutely. It supports small hotels, homestays, taxi drivers, shopkeepers, and countless others who rely on tourism to survive.
I was born in Nainital. My grandparents still live there. As children, we were privileged to escape the scorching heat of the cities and spend our summers in the cool embrace of the mountains. While our friends in Dehradun were melting in May and June, we were snuggling into quilts, wrapped in sweaters, enjoying the chill. We didn’t even need a refrigerator back then.
But today, Nainital has changed. Summers are no longer cool. When I last visited in late December, I was shocked—it wasn’t cold. There was no snowfall. Instead of bundling up, I wore a light jacket. The climate is shifting, and with it, the entire ecosystem is changing.
Tourism has exploded. The roads to Nainital are now packed in peak season. Authorities are forced to check identification and utility bills to differentiate between locals and tourists. Non-locals are rerouted through longer, winding roads to reduce congestion.
And it’s not just Nainital. Tourists are pushing further into the Kumaon hills—towards Almora and the higher reaches, places that were once untouched, now being discovered, and slowly being crowded too.
This is a story echoed throughout the Himalayas—in Himachal, in Uttarakhand. And now, the region is beginning to suffer the consequences. Nature is not just watching quietly.
I'll get to that now. Remember what happened when Dhari Devi’s temple was displaced in the name of development? That very year, the devastating Kedarnath flood struck. Hundreds lost their lives. I still remember the visuals—burned into my memory—of crows feeding on lifeless bodies, strewn like forgotten prayers in the mountains. It was beyond horror. It wasn’t just a natural disaster; it felt like a warning. And whether or not you believe in God’s wrath, the science was always there—ignored, silenced, buried under cement and concrete. You can't dam a divine river without consequences. You can't uproot centuries of spiritual energy and expect to walk away unharmed.
Disasters Don’t Wait for the Future — They’re Already Here
Since the 2013 Kedarnath cloudburst—a disaster that scarred not just the land but the hearts of thousands—Uttarakhand has been in a near-constant state of alert. That single event, triggered by torrential rain and a glacial lake burst, killed over 5,700 people. And yet, over a decade later, we haven’t slowed down. Instead of learning from it, we built more. Dug deeper. Climbed higher. And nature? It hasn’t stopped responding.
In the years since, Uttarakhand has witnessed over 700 earthquakes—most small, but more than a dozen significant enough to rattle homes and nerves. Rudraprayag, Pithoragarh, Chamoli, Uttarkashi—the names blur in the list, but each tremor adds stress to the fragile tectonic plates beneath us. We are living in a seismic gap, scientists say—where the earth is quiet, but only because it’s building toward something big.
That silence is mirrored above ground in another language: landslides and floods. Over 4,600 landslides have occurred in the last decade alone, killing over 300 people. Pithoragarh has been devastated repeatedly. Entire highways to Kedarnath and Badrinath are frequently blocked. Villages like Raini in Joshimath literally slid away. A glacier-triggered flood in 2021 wiped out hydropower plants and nearly 200 lives in a matter of minutes. Avalanches have buried mountaineers and BRO workers; the mountains are coughing up their grief in stone, water, and ice.
And just days ago—August 5–6, 2025—a cloudburst near Dharali in Uttarkashi caused yet another catastrophic flash flood. Civilians and soldiers are missing. Homes and hotels, gone. Rescue ops are still ongoing. The pain is not in the past. It’s right now.
So, tell me again—are ropeways and Instagram reels worth more than a mountain's life?
Let’s talk religion again—because maybe, just maybe, that will stir something in us. The Bhavishya Purana, like many other ancient Hindu scriptures, doesn’t shy away from uncomfortable truths. It tells us that in the final stages of Kali Yuga, even the holiest of places—Badrinath and Kedarnath—won’t be spared. These sacred shrines, built by our ancestors with devotion and reverence, are prophesied to face nature’s wrath. The path to Badrinath, it is said, will be forever blocked, rendered unreachable by calamities. Kedarnath, too, will be buried under snow or shattered by disasters. These aren’t just predictions of crumbling temples—they are metaphors for our crumbling values. When dharma—the very foundation of righteousness—fades, even divinity in its physical form may choose to retreat. What else is left to protect when we ourselves have stopped protecting the sacred?
Final Thoughts
We’re not asking to ban tourism. But we are begging for balance. For respect. For intentional visitation, not invasion.
Stop building in fragile zones. Stop treating sacred land as entertainment. And most of all, stop ignoring the locals, the scientists, the mountains, and the gods.
This is Dev Bhoomi, not your summer getaway. And the Gods are watching!
References
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Wadia Institute of Himalayan Geology (WIHG), Dehradun — Research on Himalayan geology and seismic activity
https://www.wihg.res.in -
National Disaster Management Authority (NDMA), India — Reports on natural disasters and management strategies
https://ndma.gov.in -
India Meteorological Department (IMD) — Weather patterns, cloudbursts, and climate data in Uttarakhand
https://mausam.imd.gov.in -
Times of India – Uttarakhand News — Coverage of earthquakes, landslides, floods, and infrastructure developments
https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/dehradun -
NDTV – Disaster and Environmental News — Updates on Himalayan floods, cloudbursts, and rescue operations
https://www.ndtv.com/india-news -
Devdiscourse – Natural Disaster Reports — Analysis and news on Himalayan disasters including cloudbursts and floods
https://www.devdiscourse.com/article/natural-disasters -
Wikipedia – 2013 Kedarnath Flood — Overview of the disaster and aftermath
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2013_Kedarnath_flood -
Reuters – Latest Disaster News — Recent updates on Uttarakhand flash floods and rescue operations
https://www.reuters.com -
Research on Himalayan seismic activity (Google Scholar) — Scholarly papers on seismic zones and tectonic activity in the Himalayas
https://scholar.google.com -
Ministry of Tourism, Government of India — Tourism statistics and initiatives for Uttarakhand and Himachal Pradesh
https://tourism.gov.in
