As I report on the ongoing rescue operation for 36 people missing after being swept away in the Samej khad following a cloudburst near Jhakri in Rampur Bushahr, Shimla district, my mind drifts back to the devastating Sutlej floods that struck Kinnaur and Rampur Bushahr on this very day in 2000.
In the early hours of August 1 that year, the raging waters of the Sutlej reportedly carried away over 100 people and nearly everything in their path as they surged downstream from Kinnaur through parts of Shimla district.
The flood's fury upended life, washing away stretches of the National Highway and over 25 bridges, including 14 major crossings over the Sutlej, between Kinnaur and Rampur Bushahr in mere seconds.
The greatest loss of life occurred on the right bank of the Sutlej, opposite Rampur Bushahr, where dwellings stood perilously close to the water's edge. More than 1,600 animals also perished along the river's course from Kinnaur.
With road connections severed in numerous places, the tribal district of Kinnaur was thrust back to an era of transporting essential supplies by mule for several months. The state government estimated losses from the flash floods in the Sutlej valley at around Rs 1,500 crore.
I visited the affected areas twice in a month to report from the ground. My first journey took me as far as Rampur Bushahr, which was fortunately still accessible by road, though the river had devoured a significant portion of the National Highway at Nogli, just kilometres before the town.
The sight on the Sutlej's right bank was terrifying, with no trace remaining of the habitations that had once dotted the riverside.
The river had flattened its banks, and in a cruel twist of irony, a lone signboard bearing the slogan 'Jal hi jeevan hai' (Water is life) erected by the Irrigation and Public Health department stood tall amidst the devastation.
ITBP jawans and Home Guards were still scouring the debris-strewn landscape for bodies of missing residents in the villages of Brow and Jagatkhana, part of Kullu district. Many bodies could not be recovered from the swift-flowing river, choked with massive boulders.
As is often the case, no compensation could fully address the loss of life, which included many family breadwinners.
The victims' stories were heart-wrenching. In Brow, there was the tragic tale of a man who received the first alert from a relative in Powari, Kinnaur, 80 kilometres upstream.
The Powari resident warned him to evacuate immediately, as the Sutlej was flowing dangerously high with dark, churning waters that would obliterate everything in their path. The Brow local rushed to sound the alarm, urging people to flee for their lives, only to fall victim to the flood's fury himself.
My visit to Kinnaur some days later revealed a district seemingly thrust back in time, its development erased by a single flood due to severed connections. I travelled to Rampur Bushahr by taxi, then flew to Sangla in Kinnaur via an Indian Air Force helicopter deployed after the disaster.
On the return journey, I crossed the river at Karcham (where the main bridge had been washed away) in a traditional pulley jhula suspended in mid-air, with assistance from local officials.
I then travelled by vehicle for a few kilometres before walking alongside the turbulent river for 5-6 kilometres to reach Tapri in Kinnaur, finally completing the journey to Shimla by vehicle.
Supplies to the Kinnaur headquarters at Reckong Peo, situated at a higher elevation, were being transported by mules along traditional paths. The administration also worked tirelessly to repair the nearly abandoned old Hindustan-Tibet Road as an alternate route to Kinnaur.
Whether due to the leadership of the young Deputy Commissioner in Kinnaur, who had chosen a posting in the tribal district in the aftermath of the floods to prove his mettle, the then government's commitment, or the community spirit (a core value among Himachal's tribals) of the Kinnaur people, the district bounced back remarkably quickly.
The flash floods in Satluj valley were termed as the one that occur once in 61,000 years. It served as a wake-up call for policymakers, and the government at the time highlighted several urgent measures: prohibiting housing or construction near rivers, redesigning and restructuring new bridges to better withstand flood surges, and restricting heavy construction in ecologically fragile zones to minimise potential damage.
However, little has changed on the ground since then.
The state gets flash floods, cloudbursts, and very heavy rains year after year, with increasing damage to life and property, leaving a similar trail of pain and devastation each time.
Yet the state's approach has consistently been to manage disasters, provide relief, and restore in the aftermath—rather than focus on prevention.
Last year's monsoon fury, which claimed over 500 lives across the state and caused major damage to private and public property, including roads, incurring losses of around Rs 9,000 crore (according to the state's memorandum of losses), told a similar story. It once again cautioned the state to stop tampering with nature, avoid heavy construction in this mountainous region, and refrain from developing it along the lines of states in the plains.
I am reminded of the suggestion made by noted environmentalist Sunderlal Bahuguna, famous for the 'Chipko Andolan', in an interview I conducted years ago.
He said, "Himachal needs to identify its key assets, which are natural beauty and environment. The hill state should develop tourism as its mainstay to strengthen the rural economy by conserving the environment. Excessive concrete development, whether by way of broader roads, big infrastructure, mega hydel projects or other polluting industries, will not help permanently."
How long will it take for policymakers to realise this? It remains a million-dollar question.
By Archana Phull
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