Disasters in the Himalayas rarely give warnings, only images. The first ones from Dharali arrived on my screen on August 5 – a massive flood smothering a hillside. As a reporter, I knew I had to reach the spot. But Dharali was more than 500 kilometres away, and the last stretch wasn’t measured in kilometres at all, but in landslides, washed-out bridges, and roads barely clinging to the mountain.

By 3.30 pm, the tragedy was confirmed. Within hours, I set off with my colleague Ashish Anand from Newslaundry. Information was scarce, but we tried to gather it through every source possible, with one firm decision: keep moving until there was no way forward.

This diary traces that difficult journey into the disaster zone, and the stories we found there: families searching for missing relatives, villagers questioning the state’s silence, and survivors piecing together how six floods in a single afternoon changed their world.

The first roadblock

At 2 am, on the Rishikesh–Chamba road, we hit the first roadblock. 

The road was cut off, forcing us to return to Rishikesh. We rested there for three hours and hit the road again at 5.30 am. This time, we took the route to Chinyalisaur and Uttarkashi via Suwakholi and Thatyur near Mussoorie. But the road beyond Suwakholi, a short distance from Mussoorie, was closed. A local suggested another route through the village, where we moved at a slower pace but continued towards our destination. We arrived at Uttarkashi at 2 pm. There was chaos after heavy rains and landslides.

Every police checkpoint tried to dissuade us. “What will you do by going ahead?” they asked, even as they reluctantly waved media vehicles through. Beyond Maneri, cracks split the road wide open. Officers asked us to step out of the car so the driver could drive close to the hills and away from the river. The first big blockade was near Bhatwadi.

Our first report had to be sent at any cost before nightfall. We left the car and rushed, crossing two barriers – a kilometre apart from each other – on foot. The Border Roads Organisation was trying to bridge the barriers by repairing the road, but the mountain was constantly cracking. Geologists’ reports had warned the government in the past about this being a landslide-prone area, but rules for construction were never followed. From here, we sent our first report.

That night we stopped in Raithal village, where anxious families waited for news of loved ones. Chandri Devi, whose nephew was missing, asked the one question everyone was thinking: “Leaders come to seek votes, but where are they now?” By then we had also confirmed that this was not a cloudburst, but prolonged rainfall at high altitudes triggering landslides. Our second report was on the possible scientific explanations for the disaster.

Challenge to speak to the affected

Meanwhile, Dharali remained cut off. Phone lines were dead. The government boasted of “rescuing” hundreds, but at the Matli helipad in Uttarkashi, we found most evacuees were tourists and pilgrims from the villages of Harshil, Mukhala, or Gangotri. Very few were from Dharali itself – fuelling anger among residents desperate to return to their homes. 

The next morning, we left for Dharali again and were forced to stop due to a broken bridge near Ganganai ahead of Bhatwadi. The police refused to let us proceed further on foot, saying that it was “very risky” for anyone to return from that spot. This was Saturday – Rakshabandhan. 

That afternoon, we climbed down about 2,000 feet down the hill and crossed the Bhagirathi river with the help of wooden planks laid on stones. After this, we managed to climb up the hill and reached the other side of the road. Some journalists had already taken this route before us, but had the police cooperated, we could’ve saved nearly three hours of our time.

I breathed a sigh of relief once we reached the top, but we didn’t have a vehicle, and the rest of the way had to be covered on foot. We were told that about 4 km ahead, we would find a dhaba in Dabarani, but everyone was thirsty. Fortunately, a little ahead, we found a waterfall. We drank its water and filled our bottles, and after regaining our strength, we moved ahead. 

Some of our journalist friends said that crossing the river and climbing the mountain in the dark wouldn’t be a good idea, and we should stop here for now. But others believed that if we could make it to Sonagad, we could find a vehicle and reach Harshil by night, just 4 km short of Dharali.

The road had been washed away, and the path next to the hill was less than a foot wide, which could have collapsed at any time. We would have to go through it to move ahead, jump over big rocks, get down into the river again, and climb a big obstacle to jump to the other side. After assessing the situation, we decided to stay in Dabrani for the night even if we didn’t have a roof over our heads. Fortunately, seeing the lights of our mobile phones and camera, two people arrived on a motorcycle, and asked us to return to the dhaba. They were the owners of that dhaba. They provided us with dinner and a place to sleep.

The roar of the river kept us awake all night. Some of us were shivering as we didn’t have enough warm clothes. By morning, 10 of us began the journey once again. Apart from my colleague Ashish, our team included Rahul Kotiyal and three members of his Baramasa team (Rohit, Pratik, and Aman), Jose Kutty and Ranjit from Malayalam Manorama, and Anamika from India TV, and her cameraman Manoj Ojha.

Reaching Sonagad was relatively easy compared to the hurdles of the first day, although crossing mountains and rivers during the rainy season is never without danger. When we reached the other side, the jeep we had booked from Harshil was waiting for us. Before we boarded it, we recorded the devastation on the road on camera, so that the report could reach you as soon as possible.

When we reached Harshil, I headed towards Mukhwa village on foot with Ashish. Sumit and Manmohan, the brothers behind the viral video of Dharali, told us that there were at least six floods between 1.30 pm and 6.03 pm.

The return journey was no easier — roads we had crossed earlier were now washed away. It became easier after Dabrani. Before we returned, Ashish filed this report about the economic impact of the disaster on villages.

In three decades of ground reporting, I’ve covered many disasters. But Dharali will always stand apart – not just for the physical hardship of reaching it, but for the voices of people who refused to be forgotten, even as the mountains shifted under their feet.

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