The sudden collapse of a hillside in Baramulla has torn away the illusion of safety that communities in Kashmir cling to amid fragile terrain. What began as a rumble of earth quickly became a terrifying spectacle: soil, rocks and debris cascading downhill in a suffocating haze that turned daylight into a ghostly twilight. Families rushed indoors, children cried, and the air thickened with dust that lingered for hours. Though no lives were lost, the fear was palpable, a reminder that disaster often lurks just beneath the surface.
The episode was not a freak accident but the predictable consequence of greed. Illegal quarrying has gnawed at Baramulla’s slopes for years, stripping away stabilising layers and leaving the land vulnerable to collapse. Residents have long warned of the dangers, their voices drowned out by the clatter of trucks ferrying away stone. The hillside that gave way was not betrayed by nature alone; it was weakened by human hands, gouged by unregulated extraction that prioritised profit over safety.
Authorities moved swiftly to cordon off the danger zone, evacuate residents and register a case against those responsible. Their intervention prevented tragedy, but the larger question remains unanswered: how many more slopes across Kashmir are waiting to fall? The fragility of the Himalayan ecology is no secret. Steep gradients, loose soil and seismic sensitivity make the place prone to landslides even without human interference. When quarrying and mining are added to the mix, the risks multiply, turning every hillside into a potential hazard.
Across the valley, rivers have been depleted, bridges damaged, and farmland eroded by rampant sand and gravel mining. In Budgam, the Doodh Ganga river nearly dried up, its tributaries stripped bare. In Pulwama and Anantnag, unchecked extraction has altered water flows, leaving villages vulnerable to floods. Farmers complain of poisoned water and shrinking yields, while communities in Kathua and Samba watch their natural wealth carted away with little benefit returning to them. Mineral resources that should have powered development have instead become symbols of exploitation.
Revenue figures tell a paradoxical story. Collections have risen sharply, penalties for violations have increased, yet illegal practices persist. Crackdowns are announced, vehicles impounded, fines levied, but violations continue. The persistence of such practices points to a deeper malaise: a scarcity of accountability rather than a scarcity of resources. Enforcement has historically been weak, and vested interests strong.
Technology is now being deployed to confront this crisis. Surveillance systems integrating satellite monitoring, GPS tracking, RFID tags and weighbridge data are beginning to deter illegal transport. Cameras at exit points and drones documenting damage are not futuristic luxuries but practical necessities. Special courts have been designated to fast‑track trials of offences, signalling a shift toward stricter accountability. These measures are encouraging, but they must be accompanied by a commitment to justice for local communities.
Mining revenues must translate into tangible improvements in schools, healthcare, and infrastructure in affected districts. Rehabilitation of mined areas, mandatory environmental impact assessments, and community participation in oversight are essential. Sustainable mining cannot remain a slogan; it must become the guiding principle of policy. The fragile Himalayan ecology demands nothing less. Reckless extraction overlaps rivers, forests, and farmland, and the costs are borne not only in revenue loss but in landslides, floods and poisoned water.
