By Arun Kumar Singhal
In recent weeks, northern India has witnessed the cruel irony of nature’s fury: devastating floods, cloudbursts, and landslides that have left vast regions submerged. The first systems to collapse are invariably water lines, yet little has been invested in making them disaster-resilient. From Uttarakhand to Himachal Pradesh, and across parts of Jammu and Punjab, deluges have not only inundated towns and villages but also destroyed the lifelines that supply potable water, a big concern. Ironically, as the skies pour mercilessly, there is little to drink.
Heavy rains have battered the fragile Himalayan ecosystem, swelling rivers beyond capacity. Cloudbursts in vulnerable mountain districts have swept away homes, bridges, and roads, exposing the fragility of human settlements against nature’s force.
Uttarakhand, the state most prone to such disasters, has been as hard-hit as Himachal, Punjab, and Jammu. The recent cloudbursts in Doon—an unsettling new phenomenon—have underscored this harsh reality. Torrential rains, now almost routine, have unleashed flash floods and landslides, leaving behind a trail of destruction. For residents, the impact has been immediate and severe. For nearly a week, taps across large swathes of Dehradun have run dry, which may be as bad or even worse in other northern states of India reeling under the natural calamity.
The Doon has been witnessing water tankers zigzag through neighbourhoods late into the night, but their reach remains limited compared to the demand. Those who can afford it turn to bottled water, driving up demand and prices. The poor, however, are left to fetch whatever they can—often from unsafe sources.
The floods in the Doon Valley are more than a passing calamity; they are a symptom of a deeper malaise. A paradise once prized for its harmony with nature now chokes under the weight of unchecked human ambition. Its rivers, springs, and forests were once protectors; today, their degradation has turned them into harbingers of crisis.
What makes this tragedy most poignant is its predictability? Year after year, fragile mountain states bear the brunt of erratic monsoons, intensified by climate change and reckless human activity. Urbanisation in river valleys, illegal mining, and poorly planned hydropower projects have magnified the risks, turning natural events into human disasters.
Across Uttarakhand, Himachal Pradesh, Jammu, and Punjab, the floods have destroyed infrastructure, lives, and livelihoods. Yet they have also triggered a silent, insidious crisis: the collapse of drinking water systems, as mentioned, and the looming threat of waterborne disease outbreaks.
As residents struggle, the need for safe drinking water has become paramount. The haunting refrain from Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner feels eerily apt: “Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink.” Unless urgent steps are taken, this refrain may well become the enduring reality of the Doon Valley—a reminder of abundance without access, and of neglect with irreversible consequences.
(Arun Kumar Singhal has been a resident of Doon for over five decades, carrying a quiet regret as he watches the valley he grew up in transform—from a serene retreat into a noisy, bustling hub, with its original charm now surviving only in cherished memories.)
