By Satish Aparajit
Almost every day, Uttarakhand wakes up to the same grim headline: thousands of trees to be felled—for roads, airports, colonies, industrial corridors, and every conceivable project paraded under the convenient banner of “development”. The common denominator of this so-called progress is always the same: mass destruction of forests.
The latest outrage defies belief. Nearly five lakh trees are proposed to be felled in the name of creating fire lines. This after 28 years of deliberate neglect by the Forest Department, which conveniently hid behind a misinterpretation of a Supreme Court order restricting tree felling above certain elevations. The order never prohibited routine maintenance of fire lines—a practice followed for decades. But the department chose paralysis over responsibility. Today, the very custodians of forests are preparing to do the exact opposite of protection—clear-felling on a catastrophic scale.
I am yet to meet a serving forest officer who has the courage to stand up to political and administrative pressure and say no to destructive projects. Rajaji National Park and Corbett National Park—once symbols of conservation pride—have witnessed alarming destruction post-2014. The pace of ecological damage is fastest in states boasting a “double-engine sarkar”, where unquestioned access to power and generous funding bulldoze environmental concerns into silence. Another example is loss of 55 tigers in 2025 in MP and these are not due to any natural epidemic but poaching and one is sure each part of the tiger is being marketed in China. A few days ago, 8 elephants were mowed down by a train in Assam, an entire Island of the Andaman Nicobar Archipelago is being totally destroyed to make way for a port which does not serve any meaningful purpose and, as usual, Government quotes “need of defence services”. Far from the truth – the armed forces element is miniscule in the entire project but who can oppose it as there is no strong opposition in the country and, whatever there is, is pathetic to say the least. This will also eliminate an entire tribe that has existed there over centuries.
The consequences are visible and violent. Shrinking habitats have intensified human–animal conflict. Poaching has surged. In Rajaji National Park, I personally witnessed dogs used by poachers—yet authorities flatly refused to acknowledge the reality. Denial has become policy.
Dehradun’s Presidential Estate, the green lungs of Rajpur Road, offers another shameful example. Around 150 acres of forest, including century-old trees, were sacrificed to create a concrete spectacle in the name of “opening the estate for public viewing”. What citizens get instead is another meaningless attraction and irreversible ecological loss.
The obsession with infrastructure is equally irrational. Why an international airport in Dehradun? Why extend the runway when the Union Minister for Highways proudly claims Delhi can be reached in two and a half hours by road? Door to door, flying takes longer. But logic has no place in projects driven by optics, contracts, and political vanity.
This is the same state that brands itself as “Devbhoomi”. Yet its rulers seem ignorant of India’s own civilisational wisdom. Ancient texts—from the Arthashastra and Vedas to the Ramayana, Mahabharata, Brihat Samhita and Rajatarangini—clearly articulated principles of forest ecology, conservation, and sustainable coexistence. The Indus Valley Civilisation demonstrated advanced environmental planning millennia ago. Forests were not obstacles; they were life systems.
Today, tourism is being promoted aggressively—better roads, faster access, more footfall—but at what cost? Tree felling triggers landslides, dries up water sources, destroys biodiversity, and ultimately ruins the very destinations tourists come to see. This is not development; it is ecological suicide.
Globally, modern conservation policies draw heavily from traditional ecological knowledge—much of it rooted in ancient India. Culture and ecology once went hand in hand. That wisdom is now being sacrificed for short-term gains.
If this destruction continues unabated, Uttarakhand will soon change colour—from green to barren brown. Wildlife will vanish. Birds will fall silent. Springs will dry up. And one wonders whether even the Char Dhams will survive—not through astrology, but through plain, visible reality.
A Colombian city recently reduced its temperature by 2°C by planting 2.5 million plants and 8.8 lakh trees. We, meanwhile, are destroying far more than that. What legacy are we leaving for our children and grandchildren?
Dehradun already chokes under pollution from hundreds of vehicles pouring in daily from across North India, placing unbearable stress on a fragile ecosystem.
If there is any hope left, it lies not with indifferent authorities but with people’s power. Citizens must rise, question, resist, and stop this madness of illogical, predatory development. There is no force stronger than a united public—and silence now will be the final betrayal of Uttarakhand’s forests.
(The author is retired Wing Commander of the Indian Air Force and a Shaurya Chakra awardee.)
