Peerzada Masarat Shah:
The floods that devastated Jammu over the past two days, claiming over 30 lives and displacing thousands, are being framed as an act of divine wrath—unpredictable, unstoppable, a classic “natural calamity.” Torrential rains, overflowing rivers, collapsed bridges, submerged homes, severed communication lines, and halted schools, trains, and pilgrimages are all chalked up to the heavens opening a bit too wide. The tragedy along the Vaishno Devi route, where a landslide buried 34 pilgrims, is neatly labeled as nature’s doing. Convenient, isn’t it? But let’s cut through the narrative: who’s really responsible for these recurring disasters in Jammu and Kashmir?
A Familiar Tragedy
The visuals are gut-wrenching. Pilgrims stranded on their sacred journey to Vaishno Devi. The Tawi River swallowing parts of a temple in Jammu. Roads washed away, train services halted, and entire regions plunged into darkness with no phone or internet connectivity. This isn’t new. In 2014, floods ravaged Kashmir, exposing the state’s unpreparedness. In 2019, post-Article 370 revocation, the region was digitally isolated. Now, in 2025, former Chief Minister Omar Abdullah’s question on X echoes: “What have we learned?” The answer is grim: precious little.
For instance, the 2014 Kashmir floods, which killed over 400 people and displaced lakhs, revealed glaring gaps in infrastructure and disaster preparedness. Yet, a decade later, the same vulnerabilities persist. The recent floods in Doda, where four people died—three swept away by the Chenab River and one crushed under a collapsed house—mirror the 2010 Leh cloudburst, which killed 255 people due to unchecked construction in flood-prone areas. The script remains unchanged: nature strikes, and the system scrambles.
Blaming the Sky
Governments thrive on monsoon disasters—they’re the perfect alibi. The rain becomes the villain, the cloudburst the culprit, and the administration? It morphs into the hero, holding press conferences, tweeting gratitude for “central assistance,” and promising relief. In 2025, Jammu’s administration followed this playbook, with officials announcing “high-level meetings” while floodwaters submerged low-lying areas like Sidhra and Belicharana. But cloudbursts don’t target regions where humans have recklessly carved mountains, diverted rivers, or built on floodplains. Nature’s fury is amplified by human negligence.
Take the 2014 floods again: the Jhelum River’s overflow was worsened by encroachments on its floodplains, with illegal constructions in Srinagar’s Bemina and Rajbagh areas choking its flow. Fast forward to 2025, and similar encroachments along the Tawi River in Jammu—where colonies have mushroomed on riverbanks—exacerbated the flooding. The administration’s failure to enforce zoning laws or clear these encroachments is a disaster of its own making.
Pilgrimage Turned Death Trap
The Vaishno Devi pilgrimage, a spiritual lifeline for millions, became a nightmare when a landslide near Ardhkuwari killed 34 devotees. Despite meteorological warnings of heavy rain, the old route remained open until 1:30 PM, hours after the Himkoti track was closed. Why? Religious tourism generates significant revenue, and halting it risks political backlash. In 2021, a similar landslide in Reasi killed eight pilgrims, yet no lessons were applied. The administration’s reluctance to prioritize safety over economics turned a sacred journey into a death march.
Contrast this with Uttarakhand’s 2013 Kedarnath disaster, where over 5,000 pilgrims died due to flash floods and landslides. Post-tragedy, Uttarakhand implemented stricter pilgrimage regulations, including weather-based halts. Jammu and Kashmir, despite its fragile Himalayan terrain, lags in such measures, leaving pilgrims vulnerable.
A Fragile Region’s Short Memory
The Himalayas are geologically young and prone to seismic activity, yet Jammu and Kashmir’s development ignores this. Unregulated construction dots the region, from hotels in Katra to shopping complexes along the Chenab in Doda. In 2022, a cloudburst in Pahalgam triggered flash floods, exposing how tourism-driven construction destabilized slopes. The recent collapse of a bridge in Udhampur, stranding hundreds, mirrors the 2018 Kishtwar bridge failure, both linked to shoddy construction on unstable terrain.
Governments respond with predictable theatrics: “situation reviews,” emergency funds, and promises of “resilience.” After the 2014 floods, the state announced a Rs. 1,600-crore flood management project for the Jhelum, but progress remains sluggish. In 2025, similar pledges for Tawi River management surfaced, yet illegal constructions persist, and early warning systems remain inadequate.
The Human Toll
Behind the statistic of “34 dead” are stories of loss: a father swept away in Doda, a pilgrim buried under rubble, a family in Kishtwar left homeless. These aren’t just numbers but lives erased by systemic failures. In 2020, a landslide in Rajouri killed a family of five; their illegal home on a slope was never flagged by authorities. Today, the same pattern repeats, with the poorest bearing the brunt. Official condolences on X and meager compensation—Rs. 4 lakh for a life—feel like hollow gestures.
Communication Blackout
Jammu’s floods severed connectivity, with optical fibers cut, mobile towers down, and broadband non-existent in many areas. Omar Abdullah’s X post highlighted the eerie similarity to 2014 and 2019, when Kashmir faced communication blackouts. In an age when India launches lunar missions, entire districts like Ramban and Reasi go offline during rains. The 2014 floods exposed the need for robust communication infrastructure, yet 2025 saw residents relying on patchy Jio signals to call for help.
Who’s to Blame?
The responsibility is shared but rarely owned:
The Administration: Ignored meteorological warnings, as seen in the delayed Vaishno Devi route closure.
Planners: Approved constructions on floodplains, like the Tawi riverbank colonies, repeating 2014’s mistakes.
Politicians: Prioritize votes over regulations, allowing illegal settlements to flourish.
Citizens: Build homes in high-risk zones, ignoring warnings, as seen in Doda’s riverbank encroachments.
Yet, accountability flows downward, drowning the vulnerable while the powerful escape scrutiny. The 2014 floods led to no major convictions for negligence, and 2025’s response suggests history will repeat.
The Bitter Truth
These aren’t just “natural” disasters—they’re human-made catastrophes. Every collapsed bridge, like Udhampur’s, every washed-out road in Kishtwar, every life lost on the Vaishno Devi track, points to negligence, greed, and ignored warnings. The administration’s failure to learn from 2014, 2018, or 2021 disasters ensures this cycle persists.
Soon, relief camps will close, compensation will be doled out with photo-ops, and the tragedy will fade from headlines. Until the next monsoon, when nature and negligence collide again, we’ll repeat the same refrain: blame the rain, save the chair, forget the dead. But Jammu and Kashmir deserves better—accountability, not excuses.
