Every evening, Bhagwati Prasad Kaparwan, 72, and Shyama Devi Kaparwan, 67, leave their rented house and walk down to their “home". It’s down the mountain in a “danger zone” in Joshimath, Uttarakhand. The view is picture-perfect. The “sleeping beauty”—a mountain range that resembles a lady taking a nap—is visible from the road.
A winding pathway takes us down. Kaparwan shows us the new cracks in the ground and the drain that has narrowed because of unexplained movements down under. These are clear signs that the sinking tragedy is not behind us, he says. A little ahead, there are remains of a small kitchen garden. “We used to grow bottle gourd, brinjal, potato, tomato, pumpkin and rajma. Now there is nothing. I am too heartbroken to grow anything new this year,” Shyama says. There are remains of a small poultry farm, and a cow shed that has developed cracks so wide that the sky is visible through the ceiling. “We had three Jersey cows. We never had to buy milk or curd. We were self-sufficient. We had more than enough, and we would also sometimes distribute the excess milk.”
The couple had to move out of their home of decades and generations when cracks started appearing in January 2023. The situation was so scary in Joshimath that time that the Kaparwans, their son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren moved to Dehradun for a few weeks. When they came back, there was a giant red cross mark on the walls of their house. It meant the authorities had designated it a ‘danger zone’ and it had to be vacated. The couple moved to a rented apartment close by. Their son, who was running a flourishing laundry business, had to wind up and move to Dehradun with his family. The Kaparwan couple was left alone to deal with the situation.
While they moved some basic furniture to the rented home, some things were left untouched—like the altar on which gods were kept. Every evening, the couple opens the lock, enters the room with the altar—which incidentally is also the room that has the maximum number of cracks—and lights a lamp. It’s a ritual.
While exiting, Shyama stops in the living room. “Every summer, our children and grandchildren used to visit, and we used to sit here on the floor and have meals together. Sometimes, I still see all of them here. I hear those conversations. It breaks my heart that all that will never happen again.”
Nostalgia lead us to the open terrace overlooking the mountains. Kaparwan confessed, “I am dealing with depression. I feel lost. I am not able to express my feelings these days. I retired just a couple of years ago. I was looking forward to spending peaceful years in this house. And then one fine day, we were homeless. This was the only permanent asset I had. Nothing could have prepared me for this.” On many occasions, we caught him staring at the faraway mountains, lost in thoughts.
The Kaparwans are not alone. Many people living in Joshimath had to vacate their homes or their homes have been designated as in “danger” after Joshimath started “sinking” last year due to land subsidence. It has been happening since the 1970s. While locals believe that they don’t have any control over natural factors, there are massive hydroelectric projects that have been initiated in the region that may have played a role in the subsidence. The unfortunate victims however are people who could barely afford to build a home.
In another “danger zone” in Joshimath, Rajshri Devi, 45, opens the lock of her tiny two-room home. She and her husband, both daily wagers, saved for more than two decades to build this house. The couple and their three children moved here in 2021 and lived happily until 2023. “Sometime in January last year, one night, the house next door leaned onto our house. There were no warning signs. We first thought there had been an earthquake. In the next two-three days, our house started developing huge cracks,” she said. When we entered the inside room, the ceiling of the house next door was visible through the wide gap. “We are now living in a rented apartment. We have to pay Rs 2,000 every month. My husband has not been keeping well ever since he was told that we may have to let go of this house. The whole burden is on me,” she says.
A little ahead, a slanted pavement led us down to the ancestral house of Dinesh Kumar and Satashri Devi. The wide cracks on the outer walls were intimidating. A government notice posted on a walls mentioning “danger zone” caught our attention. It was from last year; the couple has not moved out. We entered a room from which all the furniture had been moved out. Among the three rooms, this was the most dangerous. On a chair, photos of their sons were kept. Both died young in separate accidents. “This was their room. It’s full of memories. How can I leave this house? I will die here,” says Satashri Devi. We go to the kitchen. Afternoon sunlight was seeping in through the cracks. Don’t you feel scared to live here, we ask. “Yes. At night. And when it rains. But there is no one to guide us regarding compensation or rehabilitation,” says Dinesh Kumar.
In the main bazaar area, Raghu Singh Kunwar offers us tea in his small dhaba. The aroma of rajma being cooked was irresistible. We followed his scooter and reached a spot where there was debris spread over kilometres. There were remains of walls plastered in red, green and pink. We walked down the mountain and reached his house—rather the spot where it once stood. His house had to be demolished last year. While showing us where the rooms and the kitchen had been, Kunwar breaks down. “I sold my land in the village and bought this land in the 90s. I had been saving up for many years. Gradually, we started building this house, brick by brick. Each colour, each tile, each piece of furniture had been chosen very carefully. There were emotions attached to everything. Now all is gone,” he says. The family now lives in a rented home. “I don’t think I have the strength to rebuild. I don’t come here often. I feel emotional for days after seeing all this,” says Kunwar.
While these are people from Joshimath, there are many who migrated to the hill town and made it their home. In the 70s, Savitri Devi and her husband moved from their village in Uttar Pradesh to Joshimath. One of their acquaintances had suggested that they moved to this scenic hill town that was flourishing thanks to the increasing pilgrim and tourist crowd. They did odd jobs, bought a small home and had been living happily with their children and grandchildren. Until 2023. “Our home is in a safe zone, but we feel scared. It’s, after all, nature. Nature can betray. Nature can also kill,” says Savitri Devi, standing next to her footwear stall in the main bazaar area of Joshimath. When asked if she has considered leaving this home and going back, she pauses before saying: “This is home now. Our lives are her. People say this is dev bhoomi. The gods will protect us.”
When all these people were asked about the future and the future of the hill town of Joshimath, they confessed that they feel scared, especially at night when it rains. They are worried because new cracks are consistently appearing. The government is still processing compensation and rehabilitation-related requests. It has identified areas close to Joshimath where some people can be moved. But despite all the fear and anxiety, people don’t want to leave Joshimath.
“The areas that are earmarked for rehabilitation are completely deserted. There are no schools, hospitals, or employment opportunities. The distances are too much. It won’t be possible for people to commute to Joshimath every day,” says KL Lohani, a retired headmaster who has been living in Joshimath for four decades.
What people want from the government is for compensation-related issues to be resolved at the earliest so that they can start rebuilding their lives. Leaving Joshimath is not an option.
When asked why people are not wanting to leave despite the visible threats from nature, Atul Sati, the convener of Joshimath Bachao Sangharsh Samiti, a group of local activists who first raised the land subsidence issue in the hill town, says: “People are not living here because it’s a beautiful place or because they have homes here. They are socially, culturally and economically rooted here. They can’t live anywhere else. Rehabilitation of people within Joshimath is a priority. But what’s more important than that is to figure out stabilisation of Joshimath.”
