Warning from the Mountains

In yet another devastating episode of nature’s fury, North Sikkim is reeling from torrential rainfall, surging rivers, and collapsing infrastructure. The Teesta River, which only two years ago unleashed havoc through a Glacial Lake Outburst Flood (GLOF) in October 2023, has once again risen ominously—this time, fuelled by relentless pre-monsoon rains. The region, still scarred from past traumas, now finds itself trapped in an escalating cycle of climate-induced disaster.

At the heart of this crisis lies a grim reality: the Himalayas are no longer the impenetrable bastion of serenity they once were. In Lachen and Lachung—two of Sikkim’s prized tourist destinations—around 1,500 visitors remain stranded. The suspension of rescue efforts due to dangerous weather is not just a logistical hurdle, but a reflection of how unprepared we remain to cope with extreme weather events.

The partially damaged Phidang Bailey Bridge and the washed-away section of the Sankalang Bridge are more than mere infrastructural losses. They represent lifelines for remote regions like Dzongu, Chungthang, and Lachung—cut off yet again when they most need connectivity. Meanwhile, landslides in Theeng and Chungthang, damage to homes, and red alerts issued by the Indian Meteorological Department all signal the severity of a crisis that is both natural and man-made.

To blame nature alone, however, is to ignore the writing on the wall. Sikkim’s fragile ecology has been under assault for years—from unchecked infrastructure development, rampant tourism, to the construction of dams and hydropower projects in seismically sensitive zones. October’s GLOF disaster—caused in part by the collapse of the South Lhonak glacial lake—was a wake-up call that has gone largely unheeded.

This current calamity only reinforces the dire consequences of ignoring climate science. The frequency and intensity of extreme weather events in the Himalayas are increasing, but mitigation and adaptation remain painfully slow. It is high time that policy priorities shift from disaster response to disaster prevention. That means reassessing hydropower ambitions, strengthening early warning systems, and most critically, planning infrastructure with ecological sensitivity—not political expediency.

With tourist permits now suspended and connectivity severed, the region stands on the brink of both humanitarian crisis and environmental collapse. And let us not forget: the monsoon has not even officially begun. If this is a preview, the months ahead could be far worse.

Sikkim does not need more grandiose projects. It needs foresight. It needs resilience. And above all, it needs the political will to put the safety of its people and the sanctity of its mountains above short-term economic gains.