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In recent years, the Naxalite insurgency has ebbed. So, this attack sent shock waves across administration in general and the forest department in particular. Fortunately, no one died in the attack. The Naxals asked staff to vacate the premises and warned of consequences if police were informed before destruction. Even as the police swung into action to apprehend the attackers, forest officials huddled together for introspection.

Forests, Minerals and Indigenous People

I have served in the jungles of Jharkhand as a forestry professional. The attack has made me reflect deeply. Naxalite attacks in Jharkhand are not new. For years, Naxals have intimidated state functionaries through various means, including attacks and assassinations. To understand the persisting nature of the Naxalite insurgency, we have to examine Jharkhand closely.

Jharkhand is a state that lies to the south of Bihar and the west of Bengal, two fertile Gangetic states of India. To its southeast and southwest, it borders two other poor but resource-rich states of Chhattisgarh and Odisha. Jharkhand literally means “bushland.” It is endowed with rich natural resources, including both forests and minerals such as coal, iron, copper, mica and uranium.

Jharkhand is predominantly inhabited by diverse indigenous communities. The Indian Constitution gives these communities a “scheduled tribes” status. As per the 2011 , they comprise 8.2% of India’s population. In contrast, scheduled tribes form a much higher 26.3% of the population in Jharkhand. Historically, Jharkhand was a part of Bihar and the people of Jharkhand felt neglected and marginalized. Therefore, they agitated for a separate state both to safeguard their identity and to achieve control over their rich resources of “jal, jungle aur jameen,” Hindi for water, forests and land.

On November 15, 2000, Jharkhand was formed. I remember the date fondly. A grand function was held in Ranchi’s Raj Bhawan, the governor’s house. I was still what is called a “probationer” in government parlance. As an officer of the Indian Forest Service (IFS), I was doing my training at the Shri Krishna Institute Public Administration just across the road from the Raj Bhawan. Many officers were visiting from Patna and staying at the institute’s guest house. They were also milling around the resplendent surroundings of the Raj Bhawan.

The staff of the guest house who belonged to the scheduled tribes were in a jubilant mood. I asked one of them, a gentleman named Khalkho, as to what the formation of Jharkhand meant for him. His instant response, “abua dishum, abua raj,” which translates as “our state, our rule,” still rings in my ears. Khalkho also went on to inform me that henceforth it would be his children, not dikus, the local term for outsiders, who would get preference in  jobs.

Despite two decades of abua raj in abua dishum, all is clearly not well in Jharkhand. Berkela is barely 15 kilometers from Chaibasa, the district headquarters of Pashchimi Singhbhum. Scheduled tribes form of the population in the district, and the region is rich both in mineral and forest resources. Forest cover forms about 47% of the area, making the district rich in biodiversity. The famous Saranda forest, known for excellent Sal trees and its natural regeneration, is also located here. Much of the Jharkhand’s mineral wealth, especially iron ore, is found under these forests.

These rich resources have not improved the living standards of scheduled tribes of the area. Instead, the forests have become home to the Naxals who take refuge there. Various development agencies have shied away from this area. Only the forest department dares to venture there to fulfill its duty to protect and conserve Pashchimi Singhbum’s forests for posterity. The Naxal attack will certainly sap the department’s morale.

To combat Naxalism, the forest department has to connect with local communities. Addressing their livelihood issues is essential for winning the trust of marginalized people in a resource-rich land. Only winning goodwill in Pashchimi Singhbhum and elsewhere would help combat the Naxal menace.

Yet there is a problem. First, the mandate of the forest department is mainly the protection, conservation and development of forests, not providing livelihood or improving living standards for local communities. Second, the department lacks adequate resources to reach out to communities even if it was given the mandate to do so. The budget allocations for forest departments across India have been low and Jharkhand is no exception.

Involve Indigenous Communities to Save Forests

Few realize that forests and indigenous communities have a symbiotic relationship whether in the Amazon or in Pashchimi Singhbhum. They worship nature and tend to revere trees. They have used forest resources sustainably for centuries if not millennia. Therefore, it is important for any forest department to work with these communities. To be fair to the forest department in Jharkhand, it is already making an effort to do so. However, it faces a vicious timber mafia that is hell-bent on chopping down trees to meet rising urban demand. Mining — legal and illegal — is another threat to forests and local communities. Too often, the forest department finds itself outgunned and is unable to protect these communities or the forests they live in.

of the Sustainable Development Goals of the United Nations aims to “protect, restore and promote sustainable use of terrestrial ecosystems, sustainably manage forests, combat desertification, and halt and reverse land degradation and halt biodiversity loss.” To achieve this, the government of Jharkhand has to focus on people-oriented natural resources governance. Simply put, they have to involve local communities in the conservation of forests and make the forest department work closely with them.

My experience of working in various forests in Jharkhand tells me that sometimes, overzealous measures by dogmatic forest officials do more harm than good. They often take draconian action against indigenous communities for petty offenses that probably should not have been illegal in the first place. After all, these communities have to live. The forests are their only sustenance. So, draconian implementation of some laws leads to the forest department losing the trust and faith of the indigenous communities.

Of course, there are many forest officials who are empathetic, courageous and exceptional. They interact with local communities on a day-to-day basis. Indeed, these officials maintain high moral standards even when their very lives are in danger.

The Naxals are not like Russian or Chinese communists of the last century. They do not really have any ideology. Instead, they have become a vocation for unemployed, disgruntled and misguided youths. Many Naxals are recruited by intimidation and are then subjected to indoctrination. Quite a few of them start enjoying the power that comes from wielding a gun. These youths invariably come from marginalized indigenous communities and find Naxal propaganda seductive.

To counter the Naxals, both the state and central governments must gain the confidence of the indigenous communities living in the forests. To do so, the government must protect their forest-based livelihood. It must also generate sustained employment through forest-based skill development programs that teach indigenous communities to put their incredibly rare know-how to good use.

Such policies would increase the living standard of local people. They would also turn the indigenous communities into the eyes and ears of the government, thwarting Naxal violence. These policies would also involve the delegation of some powers and financial authority to local forest officials and indigenous communities. It would be fair to say that it is time for a real abua raj in abua dishum.

*(, the founder, CEO and editor-in-chief of 51�Թ�, provided inputs for this article.)

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect 51�Թ�’s editorial policy.

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As a proud Himachali, I am indeed thrilled. My Himalayan has already carved a niche for quality apple production in India. Today, Himachal Pradesh contributes 40% of total apple production in the country. It has come to be known as the “apple state” of India.

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Yet it is important to remember that apple cultivation is confined mainly to the three districts of Kinnaur, Kullu and Shimla. Smaller pockets in districts such as Mandi, Chamba, Sirmaur and Lahaul-Spiti also produce apples. These high hills provide ideal climatic conditions for apple crops with the requisite chilling season in the winter. Apples are not native to Himachal Pradesh. Just as the Englishman Sir Henry Nicholas Ridley introduced rubber to Southeast Asia, the American pioneered apple orchards in the state.

The story of apples in India did not quite begin with Stokes. For centuries, Kashmiris had grown apples. Even in Himachal Pradesh, the British had introduced varieties such as the red-flushed Pippin, a crisp cooking apple, but these varieties turned out to be too sour for Indian tastes. It is Stokes who earns credit for apple cultivation, though. He introduced the sweeter-tasting “red delicious” from Missouri that proved a hit with the Indian palate. Later, he introduced the similarly successful “golden delicious.”

The new project aims to take a leaf out of Stokes’ book and will introduce fruits like orange, litchi, pomegranate and guava in areas where fruit is not produced currently. In the past, the horticulture department has done a good job of popularizing fruit production in the state. It is quite likely that this new project might succeed and make Himachal Pradesh the fruit bowl of India.

The news report not only described the new project but also other initiatives by the Himachal Pradesh state government. These include the provision of insecticides at subsidized rates to protect horticultural crops. This is a dream for commercial farmers and a nightmare for environmentalists. Himachal Pradesh might become the fruit bowl of India, but is the intensive use of insecticides a price worth paying?

A Story of Apple Production

An examination of horticulture in Himachal Pradesh might provide some answers to this question. My native district of Kinnaur is renowned for high-quality apple orchards. Kinnaur apples are prized for their natural color and lusciousness. Such is their reputation that apple sellers in other parts of India start passing off apples from other districts of Himachal Pradesh as Kinnaur apples.

Apples from other districts of Himachal Pradesh ripen by July. Kinnaur apples ripen later because they are grown at a higher altitude. They only start ripening by the second week of September. Apples of Gangyul Valley, also known as Ropa Valley, ripen even later. They come from a cluster of six villages in the trans-Himalayan region of Himachal Pradesh, comprising Shiaso, Sunnam, Taling, Rushkalang, Giabong and Ropa. Gangyul apples sometimes take as long as November to ripen, traditionally hitting the finest fruit markets of the country around the great Indian festival of Diwali.

The memory of an incident from my student days still brings a smile to my face. Back then, I was in Chandigarh, popularly known as “City Beautiful,” which acts as a gateway to Himachal Pradesh. A thelewala, a hawker who sells from a cart, was selling apples. This elderly gentleman proudly informed me that the apples on his cart were from “Chinor,” which I presumed to refer to my native district of Kinnaur.

I played along and teasingly asked him about Chinor. The gentleman was clueless about the exact location of the place but told me it was a distant faraway place, high in the mountains. His words, “Chinor mein desh ka sabse badhiya seb hota hai” (Chinor produces the best apples in the country) still echo in my ears. My heart swelled with pride when he said so even though his apples were not from Kinnaur. I know because this incident occurred in August, a month when Kinnaur apples are yet to arrive in the market.

A little bit of context is essential for the reader. I was born in one of the trans-Himalayan villages of Gangyul Valley. I come from a family of farmers. During the 1980s and early 1990s, I never heard of anyone using industrial fertilizers or pesticides. Most farmers could not even afford them. Only in the late 1990s did chemical sprays on apple trees kick off. They began during the flowering season and continued until harvest. These sprays were prescribed by well-meaning professionals in the horticulture department.

Yet there is little evidence that chemical sprays were actually needed in Kinnaur at that time. Experts advised farmers who took their advice on board. The goal for both was increased output. There might have been an organic way to do so, but all parties were looking for quick results. This was the most convenient shortcut to a bigger harvest and more money. The results have not been entirely salubrious for Gangyul Valley and Kinnaur district.

Fruit Production and Pollution

The culture of convenience has not only led to increased insecticide usage, but also pollution in the form of empty bottles, cans, containers, packets of various kinds and plastics. Each time I see such trash, I am reminded of Rachel Carson’s classic on adverse environmental effects of insecticide pollution, “Silent Spring.” I shudder with dread at the thought of the looming consequences of all kinds of environmental pollution in Himachal Pradesh.

Even in Gangyul Valley, the use of insecticides is increasing. The famously pristine Himalayan spring water here is not so pristine anymore. As a result of pollution, the health of both cattle and humans could decline. As in other parts of the planet, biodiversity might suffer. In the future, the environmental uniqueness of this trans-Himalayan region could also come under threat.

I have been sharing my concerns with farmers in my region. In Rushkalang, I spoke to Dukhan Negi, a farmer who grows apples. While he does not read or write English, his knowledge of apple varieties, crop timings, various pests, harvesting techniques and more are most impressive.

Although Negi shared some of my concerns, he told me how farmers were prisoners of a new grim reality. Midway through our conversation, he remarked, “Come to my orchard, I will show you how the insects are destroying my apples.” Indeed, there were some insects and insect marks on the apples. He explained that these caused much loss. The market expects apples that look perfect. Apples with insect marks fetch a significantly lower price.

I spoke to another progressive apple grower from the village named O.P. Negi. He has been practicing organic apple cultivation because he is concerned about the environmental hazards from insecticide sprays. Yet he too was concerned that farmers had few alternatives to insecticides. Unless market tastes change, biopesticides might be the only way forward. The ray of hope for him was that Gangyul Valley still produces the best quality apples in Kinnaur. As a health culture develops in India and the government provides increasing horticulture support, our ancestral home could emerge as the source for organically produced high-quality apples.

As I conclude this article, I cannot help but think about apple farming in my region. Undoubtedly, apples have transformed the society and economy of the indigenous people of the remote and rugged mountainous district of Kinnaur. Yet they have exacted a heavy price as well. Apart from the looming threat of environmental pollution, people have become more materialistic, a sense of community feeling has declined and the culture has become more short-sighted.

So, the new project that aims to boost fruit production must ensure that the environment is kept in mind. Himachal Pradesh needs organic methods of farming, biopesticides and large-scale removal of trash littering its mountain slopes. Earning more money today by supplying national or global markets while polluting the air, water and soil would be killing the goose that lays golden eggs. For Himachal Pradesh, and indeed for India itself, the need of the hour is sustainable, environment-friendly fruit production.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect 51�Թ�’s editorial policy.

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Solar radiation heats up plastic, a natural heat absorbing material. In a world where climate change is accelerating, plastic further exacerbates the heating up of the mountains. This increase in overall temperature at high altitudes is melting glaciers and creating glacial lakes. The threat of glacial lake outburst flood, popularly known as , is rising by the day and could affect millions downstream.

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Plastics also clog innumerable streams, rivulets and rivers. Animals can ingest them and die. They increase the incidence of cancer. They ruin delicate mountain ecosystems for decades if not centuries to come.

Governments have responded by regulating or banning the use of plastic. Their measures have not worked effectively. The public are now increasingly aware of the pitfalls of plastics. They also have a better understanding of how to dispose of them. Yet few bother about the proper disposal of plastics. What is going on?

Tourism and Pollution

About two decades ago, I visited the Kedarnath Wildlife Sanctuary in Uttarakhand in India. It was part of specialized training on wildlife management at the premier Wildlife Institute of India in Dehradun. A group of officers set off for Kanchula Kharak, a scenic spot in the sanctuary, nestled amidst dense forests and verdant vegetation.

As the bus climbed the mountain at a steady speed, we would occasionally stop for tea and snacks as well to engage in photography. At one point, the bus stopped at a cluster of roadside tea shops near a small village. The coolness and freshness in the mountain air were invigorating. In a typically Indian custom, we decided to enjoy the view with chai and pakora, a typically Indian combination of tea and freshly fried food.

We were not alone at the spot. Some tourists were also enjoying the spectacular view of mountain landscapes while quenching their thirst and slaking their appetite. As we were sitting on the benches waiting for our chai-pakora combination, we observed that some of the tourists were drinking soft drinks and eating potato chips. A senior colleague in our group quipped: “See, here also, they are selling soft drinks and chips. They should not sell these items here. The shops should keep local products only. See, the empty plastic bottles and packets are strewn all around, polluting the beautiful mountain forest and environment.”

Our chai-pakora was served soon enough, but my colleague’s words set me thinking. Empathizing with the poor tea shop owners, I instinctively responded, “They are selling soft drinks and chips because tourists are buying.” Although I did not articulate it at that moment, I saw the poor tea shop owner merely supplying what his customers demanded. Not doing so could have meant not making enough money to feed his family.

Suffice to say, my senior colleague differed with me. He offered the supply-side argument. If tea shop owners did not sell soft drinks and plastics, the tourists would not have been able to buy them. These owners were at fault. They had to be stopped.

Being a man of the mountains myself, I know how hard life can be for my people. So, I demurred: “Sir, why do you blame these mountain folks? They are poor and their poverty compels them to sell whatever the tourists demand. It is an opportunity for these mountain folks to earn a livelihood during the brief tourist season before snow and winter set in.” This argument did not wash with my senior who retorted: “Poverty, poverty, poverty … what is poverty? I do not see them starving. In any case, they are destroying the environment everywhere selling these city products.”

Like my colleague, I too am appalled by the pollution. It is disgusting to see the beautiful Himalayan mountainside ruined by plastic. Yet my senior’s condemnation of the tea shop owners does not quite sit easily with me. The old ways of life in Himalayan villages are dead. Communities have weakened. Subsistence farming no longer meets local needs. Money talks. In a market economy, mountain folks have to earn a living. Tourism is the most obvious way for them to make money. A tea shop at a scenic spot brings in regular cash flow that often pays for the year’s expenses. During the snowy days of the harsh winter season, no tourists come and mountain folks make no money. So, why blame these mountain folks?

Just as mountain folks have their needs, so do tourists. They escape to cool and green mountains from hot and dusty cities. They have developed a taste for soft drinks and chips. Lest we forget, these are advertised incessantly on their television sets or computer screens. They want to soak in the scenery while partaking something they enjoy. Surely that is a natural human instinct.

After my conversation with my senior colleague, I kept mulling through the rest of the journey. My contemplation ended when the bus screeched to a halt at Kanchula Kharak. I stepped out into one of the most beautiful landscapes in Uttarakhand and the memory of it is still fresh today. Humanity owes a duty to future generations to preserve such landscapes. They bring us peace, joy, inspiration and much more.

Acting Responsibly

For nearly 20 years, I have been musing on the incident. Neither the tea shop owners nor the tourists can be condemned outright. Today, when I go to remote villages in the mountains, I see more tea shops, tourists and plastic. I think of Adam Smith’s invisible hand of the market that balances supply and demand. Perhaps the answer lies in changing the nature of demand. If tourists were to realize that soft drinks may raise the risk of diabetes, chips to heart attacks and their plastics to ecological destruction, they might reduce their consumption.

Of course, reducing the poverty of mountain folks and generating diverse livelihood options as well as providing incentives to set up environmentally-friendly businesses might also help. Teaching those who run tea shops the art of reducing, reusing and recycling plastic might also help. So would innovative and creative ideas along with determined and persistent action.

Casting blame either on mountain folks or the tourists from the plains is unhelpful and unwise. We can do much better. All of us need to act responsibly.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect 51�Թ�’s editorial policy.

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