Himalayan

Dozens of dilapidated stone buildings are all that remain of the once-thriving border village of Martoli, in the northern Indian state of Uttarakhand. Nestled in the Johar Valley and surrounded by Himalayan peaks, the most notable being Nanda Devi, once considered the tallest mountain in the world, this village had traded sugar, lentils, spices, and cloth for salt and wool with Tibetans across the border.

The nomadic inhabitants of several villages spent the winter months in the plains gathering goods to be traded with Tibetans in the summer. However, the border was sealed following an armed conflict between India and China in 1962, disrupting life in the high villages and leaving people with little incentive to return.

Kishan Singh, 77, was 14 when he left with his family to settle in the lower village of Thal. He still returns to Martoli every summer to till the land and cultivate buckwheat, strawberries, and black cumin.

His ancestral home has no roof, so he sleeps in a neighbour’s abandoned house during the six months he spends in this village.

“I enjoy being in the mountains and the land here is very fertile,” he says.

In late autumn, he hires mules to transport his harvest to his home in the plains, where he sells it at a modest profit.

The largest of the Johar Valley villages had about 1,500 people at its peak in the early 1960s. Martoli had about 500 residents then, while some of the dozen or so other villages had 10 to 15 homes each.

Now, only three or four people return to Martoli each summer.

A few villagers are returning in summer to the nearby villages of Laspa, Ghanghar, and Rilkot, as they can now travel by vehicle to within a few kilometres (miles) of their villages on a recently built unpaved road.

Among the scattered remnants of earlier stone houses in Martoli, a new guesthouse has appeared to cater for a few trekkers who pass through the village en route to the Nanda Devi Base Camp.

Sikkim, India – It was the middle of the night when Tashi Choden Lepcha was jolted awake by the tremors that shook her mountainside home in Naga village. Perched above the Teesta River, which flows through a gorge just below, Naga is a remote village in India’s northeastern Himalayan state of Sikkim. For centuries, it has been home to the Indigenous Lepcha people.

“It felt like an earthquake,” the 51-year-old mother of five says of the events of October 4, 2023. “The whole house was shaking. It was raining heavily, there was no electricity, and we couldn’t see anything.”

In the pitch dark and amid the heavy downpour that night, Lepcha roused her three children, aged 13, 10 and five, and rushed out of the house with her husband, panicking. Together with a few neighbours, they searched for a safe space on higher ground. That’s when they noticed a distinct smell of mud and something like gunpowder.

Moments later, an enormous, tsunami-like wave surged down with terrifying force. Lepcha didn’t know it at the time, but it was a glacial lake outburst flood (GLOF), which had been triggered by the sudden avalanche of ice and rock into the South Lhonak Lake – a glacial lake high up in the Teesta basin in North Sikkim.

The impact breached the lake’s moraine wall, releasing more than 50 million cubic metres of water. The flood destroyed the 1,200-megawatt Teesta III dam – Sikkim’s largest hydropower plant, located at Chungthang on the River Teesta, the largest river in Sikkim, which originates in the eastern Himalayas. The dam’s collapse released an additional five million cubic metres (equivalent to 2,000 Olympic swimming pools) of reservoir water.

The high-velocity flood in the Teesta River valley carried about 270 million cubic metres of sediment and debris along with it, causing widespread devastation across Sikkim, parts of West Bengal and Bangladesh through which the Teesta flows.

At least 55 people were killed, 74 went missing, and more than 7,025 were displaced. The flood damaged nearly 26,000 buildings, destroyed 31 bridges and flooded more than 270 square kilometres of farmland. It also triggered 45 landslides, damaged four dams and destroyed long stretches of National Highway 10.

Both Teesta III and Teesta V, another hydroelectric dam near Dikchu in Balutar, have remained shut since they were severely damaged during the flood. Repair work is continuing, but neither of the dams has generated electricity for almost two years.

Scientists say the scale of the destruction makes it one of the most devastating flooding disasters recorded in the Himalayas in recent decades.

Rebuilding amid ruin

Today, Naga village, located about 73 kilometres from Sikkim’s capital, Gangtok, is deserted due to continuous land subsidence. Houses are cracked, have collapsed or are still standing but leaning towards the river flowing below. The main NH10 road passing through the village has been destroyed with long, deep cracks.

In all, about 150 families lost their homes and land in the flood and now face an uncertain future. Lepcha’s family lost both their houses, which collapsed in the landslides. They, along with 19 other families, are now living temporarily in a government tourist lodge in Singhik, about 10km from their home.

As the region struggles to recover, and communities along the Teesta remain displaced and vulnerable, the Ministry of Environment, Forest and Climate Change (MoEF&CC) has approved plans to rebuild the Teesta III dam without any public consultation, despite concerns about the risk of future glacial lake outburst floods and the fact that the Himalayan range running across Sikkim is seismically sensitive.

With the ongoing monsoon season, the Teesta’s water levels have risen significantly. This has already caused several landslides in North Sikkim, washing away the under-construction Sankalang bridge and cutting off large parts of the region.

Long stretches of roads across North Sikkim are still unpaved, muddy and full of rubble. Several bridges damaged during the 2023 flood and the monsoon next year are yet to be rebuilt.

The quality control lab at the Chungthang dam site has also been swept away, halting construction work. “It looks like a war-torn area. How will they rebuild Teesta III?” asks Gyatso Lepcha, a climate activist with Affected Citizens of Teesta (ACT), a group of Lepchas campaigning against large hydropower projects and environmental conservation in the region.

“A detailed risk assessment considering future climate scenarios, glacial behaviour, hydrological changes, and sedimentation rates is essential before deciding to rebuild the dam in the same location,” says Farooq Azam, senior cryosphere specialist at the International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development (ICIMOD).

In the absence of such an assessment, the region’s Lepcha communities, who fear further disaster, are protesting against the construction.

A controversial dam

Sikkim is home to 40 of India’s 189 potentially dangerous glacial lakes across the Himalayan region, many of which are at risk due to rising temperatures and glacial melt driven by climate change.

Built on a river already lined with dams constructed by the National Hydroelectric Power Corporation (NHPC), the Teesta III dam was originally pitched as a renewable energy project.

Approved in 2005 with a budget of Rs 5,705 crore (about $667m), the dam actually cost more than Rs 14,000 crore ($1.6bn) to build by the time it became operational in 2017. Delays were caused by the 2011 earthquake, which destroyed major infrastructure, and also repeated flash floods and landslides.

The dam faced criticism from environmentalists and the All India Power Engineers Federation (AIPEF), which described it as a “failed example of public-private partnership” for the massive cost overruns, years of delay, ecological damage and disregard for Indigenous rights and livelihoods.

The operator, Sikkim Urja Limited (formerly Teesta Urja Ltd or TUL), was forced to sell electricity at half the agreed rate as buyers, including the states of Punjab, Haryana, Uttar Pradesh and Rajasthan, refused to pay higher prices. In 2017, transmission delays caused yet more losses of about Rs 6 crore ($701,000) per day from June to September 2017.

Following the devastating flooding of 2023, the estimated reconstruction cost for the dam is now Rs 4,189 crore ($490m), but experts question how such a large-scale reconstruction could be completed at less than a third of its original building cost.

An investigation in May this year renewed concerns about the project. The Sikkim Vigilance Police, a special police force, found irregularities in the process used to select the independent power producer, who, according to the findings of the police investigation, lacked the qualifications for a project of this scale. It was alleged that critical dam design parameters had been compromised as a result.

Other reports have found that environmental assessments also overlooked key risks. A 2006 biodiversity report [PDF] from Delhi University had identified the Chungthang region as a highly sensitive ecological zone. Yet the project received swift environmental clearance from the environment ministry based on a report which claimed that little to no significant wildlife existed in the area. The clearance procedure also bypassed the ministry’s own directive that no dams could be approved in Sikkim until a full “carrying capacity study” (a study of an area’s capacity for supporting human life and industry) of the Teesta basin had been completed.

“What was the hurry to give clearance for rebuilding even before the Central Water Commission and Central Electricity Authority cleared the design?” asks Himanshu Thakkar, coordinator of South Asia Network on Dams, Rivers and People (SANDRP), an advocacy group working on the water sector. “The Environmental Impact Report (EIA) used was done before 2006, which didn’t consider the risk of a GLOF. It contributed to the disaster, and now the same flawed EIA is being used again. Even the dam safety report prepared after the collapse hasn’t been made public or considered for this decision.”

While a “concrete faced rockfill dam” is planned this time – supposedly more resilient to flooding than the old “concrete gravity dam” design – experts and local communities still worry this won’t be enough because, they say, key impact studies are incomplete.

Al Jazeera reached out to MoEF&CC with questions about why the Teesta III reconstruction had been approved without a new EIA, despite concerns over safety and ecological impacts. Questions were also sent to Sikkim Urja Ltd regarding reconstruction plans and structural safety and to NHPC about the cumulative impacts of multiple dams along the Teesta. Emails and calls to all these offices remained unanswered by the time of publication.

Tunnelling and blasting during the original construction of Teesta III, before it opened in 2017, led to landslides, erosion and damage to homes. Yet, no comprehensive assessment has been conducted on seismic risks, reduced river flow or long-term ecological impacts.

“Our soil is fragile,” says Sangdup Lepcha, president of ACT. “We are seeing more landslides every year. During the GLOF, the soil was completely washed away. If tunnels are dug again under our villages, the area could collapse.”

Sangdup, who lives in Sanggong village in Lower Dzongu, says the 10km stretch from Namprikdang to Dikchu is the only remaining stretch of the Teesta without any dams.

Many worry that if the rebuilding of Teesta III continues without safeguards, it will put villages at risk. “We have already seen what happened in Naga,” says Sangdup. “Why is the project getting emergency clearance while affected families are still waiting for rehabilitation?”

Sacred land

Dzongu, a region bordering the Kanchenjunga Biosphere Reserve in North Sikkim, is a protected reserve for the Indigenous Lepcha community. Known for their spiritual ties to the rivers and mountains, the Lepchas from Dzongu have long resisted large-scale hydropower projects in the region to protect their identity, livelihoods and the biodiversity of the region.

When multiple dams were proposed in the early 2000s along the Teesta basin – a river the Lepchas revere as a living deity – ACT spearheaded protests against dam construction. Their hunger strikes and protests led to the cancellation of four major hydropower projects in Dzongu and four outside.

“We are animists,” says Mayalmit Lepcha, ACT’s general secretary. “Our traditions, culture, identity, and everything else are tied to Mount Kanchenjunga, Teesta, Rangeet and Rongyong rivers here.”

Despite their long history of activism, the communities say they were ignored during the public consultation process, even though their land and rivers would be used for the proposed 520 MW Teesta IV hydroelectric project.

At least 16 villages lie near the potential construction site, across the agricultural belt of North Sikkim. The project would include building tunnels underneath Hee Gyathang and Sanggong villages in Dzongu to carry water to the power station. The siltation tunnel, which will divert sediment-laden water away from the main reservoir, is supposed to run beneath the Tung Kyong Dho, a sacred lake known for its rich biodiversity.

Songmit Lepcha, from Dzongu’s Hee Gyathang village, told Al Jazeera that she lost her livestock and plantation during flash floods in June last year. “We are scared of rebuilding our homes,” Songmit said, her voice filled with worry.

Opposition Citizen Action Party (CAP) leader Ganesh Rai told Al Jazeera that he is particularly worried about the new plans to rebuild the dam to a height of 118.64 metres, twice as high as the original. “With climate change intensifying, any future breach could submerge all of Chungthang,” he said. “It won’t just affect Dzongu but everyone downstream.”

That could include settlements in Dikchu, Rangpo, Singtam and Kalimpong, and Darjeeling and Jalpaiguri districts in West Bengal, which were severely affected by the 2023 flood. In places like Bhalukhola near Melli, families have been living in makeshift relief camps since the 2023 floods. Conditions are difficult, with limited access to clean water, sanitation and medical care.

Struggles downstream

The 2023 flood did not just destroy 22-year-old Leboon Thapa’s family home in Bhalukhola in north Bengal, about 100km downstream from the site of the old Teesta III dam. It also disrupted his dreams of a professional football career.

Leboon is now living with his parents in a single, cramped room inside a relief camp along the Teesta highway, which is situated above Bhalukhola. They are sandwiched between works being done to widen the highway in front of their site, and the ongoing tunnel construction work for the Sevoke-Rangpo railway project behind them. The exposed location leaves them at risk of landslides and flooding.

“If they are rebuilding the dam, they must build protection walls here for our safety,” says the lanky, athletic young man, looking around at what’s left of his village. The fields he played football in as a child, as well as the playground he once ran about in, are now buried under silt and debris. “We only have this land. If we lose it, where do we go?”

About 10km further downstream in Teesta Bazar, 68-year-old Tikaram Karki lost his house and motorcycle repair shop to the 2023 flooding. His home, built above the riverbank, began cracking and sliding just a few days after the flood.

“We were hiding in the mountains in the rain. When we came back at 6am, there were no houses, roads, or electricity,” he says, as he stands next to what remains of his house and shop, both of which are leaning steeply towards the Teesta. He smiles even as he talks about his losses since that dreadful night.

Tikaram now lives in a rented house with his family of four. He is paying Rs 8,000 ($93) monthly rent while struggling with financial losses as he has no way to run his business.

He received some compensation from the West Bengal state government, but it does not cover all he has lost. “I have been living here for 30 years and spent Rs 30 lakh ($35,000) building my house. I only got Rs 75,000 ($876) in compensation. What will happen with that?”

Like others here, Tikaram says he believes the destruction was made worse by years of poor planning and unchecked silt buildup caused by the dam, which raised the riverbed of the Teesta.

“If they had cleared the silt during the dry months, we wouldn’t be so vulnerable now,” he says.

“I cannot tell the government not to build the dam, but they should build proper protection for all the people still living along Teesta,” adds Tikaram.

Rising risk

In a January 2025 study by an international team of scientists and NGOs published in the Science journal, researchers warned that South Lhonak Lake is one of the more rapidly expanding and hazardous glacial lakes in Sikkim. The lake expanded from 0.15 square kilometres in 1975 to 1.68sq km by 2023, posing a danger of flooding to the communities downstream.

“The Teesta-III dam played a significant role in amplifying the downstream impact of the South Lhonak GLOF disaster,” Azam, at the International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development (ICIMOD), tells Al Jazeera.

Azam explains that while the disastrous flood could not have been prevented, its impact could have been significantly reduced through better infrastructure planning and active monitoring of the lake. “Reinforced spillways, sediment handling systems, and early warning systems linked to upstream sensors could have provided critical response time,” he says.

The night the flood hit, the dam’s power station was still operating. According to Thakkar, authorities had received alerts well in advance, but there were no standard operating procedures or emergency protocols in place about opening spillway gates during such situations. “And there has been no accountability since,” he added.

Thakkar says he is deeply concerned that the dam is being rebuilt without taking into account the flood potential based on current rainfall patterns.

“And what happens to the other downstream dams when this one releases excess water during the next flood?” he asked. “None of them are being redesigned to withstand that kind of excess flow.”

At the end of May, there was a landslide at the Teesta VI dam site in Singtam. “This is happening every monsoon,” said Gyatso.

Rai criticises the state’s priorities, saying the government was “pushing for more dams instead of strengthening disaster preparedness” at a time when the frequency of extreme weather events is expected to increase.

‘No Future Here’

Nearly two years after the October 2023 flood, Tashi Choden Lepcha still has no home. Her voice chokes up as she speaks about her houses in Naga village.

“We were born there, raised children there. Now we have nothing,” she says of herself and her husband, wiping her tears. Her brother used to live next door: he lost everything as well.

After the disaster, she, her husband and children stayed in a school building in Naga. But when cracks appeared in the school walls, they were shifted to Singhik. The lodge, too, is beginning to show cracks in the kitchen and bathroom.

Her husband and children have since relocated to Siliguri, about 150km away,  for work and education, while she stayed behind alone because she teaches at Naga Secondary School.

The government gave them Rs 1.3 lakh ($1,520) in compensation, but most of it went on the cost of moving their belongings to different locations.

There have been discussions about allocating land higher up in the mountains for the displaced families. But many of them fear it could take years before they are rehoused. “If the government gives us land in a safe location, we can build a house. How long can we live like this? We have no future here,” she says now.

Most people in the surrounding villages share her fears. They want the dam project scrapped or moved to a safer location.

Mayalmit echoes this call for caution. “We’re going to have more GLOFs, there’s no doubt,” she says.

“People will have confidence only if decisions are based on proper impact assessments, considering all factors, and done in a transparent way,” Thakkar adds. “But that’s not happening now, which is why there’s scepticism about hydro projects among locals.”

He says that Indigenous communities must be part of the decision-making process. “They’re the ones most at risk, and also the most knowledgeable.”

Praful Rao of Save The Hills, an NGO working in disaster management in North Bengal and Sikkim, has called for joint disaster planning between the two states. “What happens upstream affects us downstream. It is time we work together for science-based disaster planning, not blindly push dam projects for revenue.”

While hydroelectricity is important for India’s energy future, Rao warns against unchecked expansion. “You can’t build dams every few kilometres. We need to study how many this fragile region can safely support.”

Mayalmit urges central and state authorities to reconsider the approval. “Don’t act against Indigenous rights, the environment. I speak for the rivers, the birds and the animals here.”

For the past three decades, Vipan Kumar has been importing Himalayan pink salt from Pakistan to sell in India.

The 50-year-old trader who is based in Amritsar in Punjab, the spiritual hub of Sikhs in India, told Al Jazeera that the recent blanket ban on trade between the two countries following the massacre of 26 people, mostly Indian tourists, at Pahalgam in Indian-administered Kashmir in April has brought that trade to a screeching halt after New Delhi banned imports of all Pakistani goods, including those routed through third countries.

Kumar says he typically sold 2,000 to 2,500 tonnes of pink salt a quarter. “The profit margin is very thin, but still the business is feasible because of the bulk sales. But the ban has completely halted the pink salt business. We don’t know when the situation would turn normal,” he told Al Jazeera.

The Himalayan Pink Salt has a pinkish tint due to a trace of minerals, including iron, and is used in cooking, decorative lamps and spa treatments. Hindus also prefer to use this salt during their religious fasts as it is a non-marine salt.

Mined in Pakistan

The Himalayan pink salt is mined at the Khewra Salt Mine in the Punjab province of Pakistan, the second largest salt mine in the world after Sifto Salt Mine in Ontario, Canada, and located about 250 kilometres (155 miles) from the city of Lahore, which also at times lends its name to the pink salt – Lahori namak, which is Hindi for salt.

The salt mine contains about 82 million metric tonnes of salt, and 0.36 million metric tonnes is extracted every year. About 70 percent of the salt is used for industrial purposes, and the rest for edible use.

“The mine is very scenic and attracts several thousand tourists every year,” Fahad Ali, a journalist who lives close to the mine, told Al Jazeera.

It has approximately 30 salt processing units where the huge rock salt boulders are hand-mined and loaded on trucks before being dispatched, he said.

The salt is exported in a raw form to India, where importers process, grind and pack it for sale.

Prices swell

India mostly depends on Pakistan for this pink salt.

But after the Pahalgam massacre, India announced an end to all trade with Pakistan, which reciprocated the ban. The halt in trade was one of a series of diplomatic and economic tit-for-tat measures the neighbours took against each other before engaging in an intense four-day exchange of missiles and drones that took them to the cusp of a full-fledged war. On May 10, they stepped back from the brink, agreeing to a truce. However, the trade ban remains in place.

Salt traders in India told Al Jazeera that the current pause in imports has started to hamper their business as prices are starting to rise.

“It has been barely over a month since the announcement of the ban, and prices have already gone up,” said Gurveen Singh, an Amritsar-based trader, who blamed traders with existing stocks for selling them at higher prices.

“The salt which was sold in the retail market for 45 rupees to 50 rupees per kilogramme [$0.53-$0.58] before the ban is now being sold for at least 60 rupees per kilogramme [$0.70],” Singh said.

In some places, the price is even higher. In Kolkata this week, pink salt was being sold in markets for between 70 rupees and 80 rupees per kilogramme [$0.82-$0.93].

“We have no idea when the situation would return to normal. There would be complete crisis once the stocks get exhausted,” he said.

The rates, however, go up even more on the other side of India in the east due to the transportation cost incurred to send the salt from Amritsar.

Traders in Kolkata told Al Jazeera that the prices of the salt have gone up by 15-20 percent in the city, but that has not hampered demand as yet.

“The Himalayan rock salt remains in huge demand across the year, especially during festivals when people remain on fast and prefer the pink salt over the marine salt that is produced in India,” said Sanjay Agarwal, a manager in a private firm that deals in pink salt.

Dinobondhu Mukherjee, a salt trader in Kolkata, said that the government should look for an alternative country to procure this salt. “The relations between the two countries are usually strained, and that affects the trade. Our government should look for alternative countries to procure the salt so that the supply chain is never disrupted,” Mukherjee told Al Jazeera.

Pakistani exporters, however, said that the Indian ban would have a “positive impact” on their trade. Indian traders, they said, brand their salt as their own to sell in the international market at higher prices.

“The recent ban would help us to expand further as it would wipe off the competition from India,” Faizan Panjwani, chief operating officer of Karachi-based RM Salt, told Al Jazeera.

“Undoubtedly, India is a big market and has a lot of potential, but we want to send the salt by doing value addition and not in raw form. Our salt is already in huge demand globally,” he said.

Trade decline

Trade between the two countries has been decreasing since the 2019 attack on security forces in Pulwama in Indian-administered Kashmir in which 40 security personnel were killed. In response, India revoked the non-discriminatory market status – better known as Most Favoured Nation (MFN) status – that it had granted to Pakistan. It also imposed heavy tariffs of 200 percent on imports from Pakistan.

According to India’s Ministry of Commerce, the country’s exports to Pakistan from April 2024 to January 2025 stood at $447.7m, while Pakistan’s exports to India during the same period were a paltry $420,000.

In 2024, India imported about 642 metric tonnes of pink salt, which was far lower than the 74,457 metric tonnes imported in 2018 – largely as a result of the high tariffs.

Prior to the latest ban, India’s major exports to Pakistan included cotton, organic chemicals, spices, food products, pharmaceuticals, plastic articles, and dairy products. India normally imports copper articles, raw cotton, fruits, salt, minerals and some speciality chemicals from Pakistan.

“The implementation of the heavy duty had raised the import price of the salt from 3.50 rupees [$0.041] per kilogramme to 24.50 rupees [$0.29] per kilogramme in 2019, even though the salt was being routed from the third country like Dubai,” trader Kumar told Al Jazeera.

“Still, it had not impacted our business as the demand was too high, and buyers were ready to pay the price. But the government, this time, has also prohibited the entry of Pakistani goods from any third country, which has brought the supply to a complete standstill,” he said.

One unusual industry that is being hurt by the ban – lamps made from the Himalayan pink rock salt that are used as decorative lights and even tout unproven claims of being air purifiers.

“We have to look for an alternative country if the supply of rock salt doesn’t come from Pakistan,” said Global Aroma founder Deep, who uses a single name. “The prices of the lamps had already increased after the imposition of a 200 percent tariff in 2019, and the procurement from any other country will lead to further escalation of cost.”