Uttarakhand’s folk traditions play a major role in conserving its forests amid unbridled development push in the hills
Sunset over Nanda Devi seen from Joshimath, Uttarakhand, India. Photo for representation: iStock
Whoever goes to the mountains goes to his mother, said an ancient sage. And such is the pull of the mountains that for generations, countless souls have walked up and down countless slopes as they searched for the self within.
From tall and forbidding granite walls that are unscalable to isolated hillocks dotting the countryside, each hill and mountain holds stories within. And nowhere are those stories told best than in remote mountain villages, traditionally cutoff from the society at large and under the constant shadow of a landform that, while overtly inert, is as much a part of our planet’s life history as the next ant or human.
In a remote corner of the Himalayas lies one such sanctuary, one where the goddess Nanda is believed to reside. Angering her is a recipe for uninvited disaster, the locals believe, and as the friendly villager rattles off the list of the deceased and mutilated, one wonders at the arrogance of those who must have scoffed warnings before tramping on the venerable mountain. Whether the nature goddess forgives the trespasser can be gauged from history, but the list nevertheless remains impressive.
It remains difficult to this day to accurately define the emotion that passes through one as a mountain cliff suddenly breaks through from the clouds. Perhaps, this same emotion drives hordes of mountaineers, trekkers, pilgrims, tourists and itinerant godmen to make that arduous trek upwards. And while every region may claim otherwise, nowhere do Himalayan peaks achieve their singular identities than in the state of Uttarakhand as peak upon tall peak cover your vision and turn your line of sight into a tunnel.
Nanda Devi, standing at an awe-inspiring 7,817 metres above sea level remains, to this day, not merely a mountain but the devi (goddess) to local villages. Intricate traditional customs such as the Raj Jaat continue to hold their sway over the region.
Another famous deity of the Uttarakhand hills is the Latu devta at Wan, also the adopted brother of Nanda Devi, who herself is considered to be the avatar of goddess Parvati. Countless lore abound but what is unique is the presence of a single deodar or the ‘god of the trees’. It is believed by some that the goddess resides inside the trunk of this massive deodar.
Various folk traditions are followed in the remote villages, carefully tying the threads of ecological conservation and spirituality – traditions that have continued to play a major role in conserving these forests in the light of unbridled development push in the hills.
This close proximate connection with the gods translates into frequent communication with deities of various types. With Jagar, local deities are woken up from their dormant states and asked for favours. Villages also have their ‘bhumyals’, whose responsibility lies in protecting the boundaries of the villages. At the family level, kul devtas continue to influence decision-making.
In many ways, the landmass now known as Kumaon has always been dominated by Nanda Devi, much as Garwhal is considered to be the abode of the char dhams and the Jaunsar Bawar region known to be under the protection of Mahasu devta.
The lore of Nanda Devi transcends the spiritual and the supernatural. Amid its almost impregnable sanctuary and towards the many ridges that extend outwards, stories, myths and legends abound.
Once, a spirited adventurer set out to document the true extent of the sanctuary, which while lying on one of the busiest pilgrim routes on the planet and at such extreme altitudes, was at the same time largely distant from the rush seen on the highway leading towards the Badrinath shrine.
Almost fortress-like, the peak which looks over most of Uttarakhand still remains largely untouched by human interference. Whether the intrepid traveller was impressed is still shrouded by lore but Nanda Devi still remains the fortress that the mountain was.
Kunal works at Azim Premji University on issues of sustainability and conservation. Views expressed are the author’s own and don’t necessarily reflect those of Down To Earth
We are a voice to you; you have been a support to us. Together we build journalism that is independent, credible and fearless. You can further help us by making a donation. This will mean a lot for our ability to bring you news, perspectives and analysis from the ground so that we can make change together.
