Dharamsala’s ancient deodars vanish amidst concrete ambition

Amid the gentle rustle of deodar trees that have stood sentinel over Dal Lake for centuries, a deafening silence is taking root — a silence born not of peace, but of loss and ecological betrayal.

In a disturbing pre-monsoon surge, several full-grown deodar trees — revered not just for their ecological value but for their cultural sanctity — have been systematically dried, uprooted and felled in the forest ridgelines above Dharamsala’s Dal Lake. Locals and environmentalists allege that the act, veiled in legality, appears to be driven by an insatiable urge to clear land for commercial construction, including hotels and real estate projects.

Preliminary investigations reveal that parts of the affected land may fall under private ownership, prompting the Forest Department to refer the case to the Tree Officer of the Dharamsala Municipal Corporation. But the implications go far beyond legal ambiguity. The same site had sparked outrage back in 2020, with prominent mentions in The Tribune, calling for stricter enforcement under the Forest Act.

Environmental activist Gazalla Abdullah, who has long campaigned from McLeodganj against illegal deodar felling, warns that this silent destruction, if left unchecked, could lead to irreversible consequences. “These trees aren’t just timber — they are anchors that hold the hills in place, that cool our summers and cradle our rains.”

Echoing his concern, Dhian Singh, a resident of Naddi, expressed alarm at the growing inaction: “If the silence from the authorities continues, the hills that once whispered through cedar leaves will soon roar with landslides, regret and irreversible change.”

Despite clear prohibitions on the cutting of green trees under Indian law, loopholes are being exploited. Landowners, activists allege, secretly dig around tree roots, gradually drying them out. Once weakened, the tree is declared a hazard, making its removal appear lawful. “The practice is nothing short of ecological sabotage,” said Mohinder, a hotel manager in Satobari.

With tourism booming and property values soaring, the temptation has grown stronger, while oversight has grown weaker. The green hills of Dharamsala — once its greatest asset — now stand vulnerable, caught between concrete ambition and bureaucratic silence.

Local resident Prem Sagar, who has lived his entire life under the shadow of these ancient trees, put it simply but powerfully: “This isn’t just deforestation — it’s the slow erasure of Dharamsala’s natural identity.” Unless swift action is taken, the cedar-lined ridges that have long defined the soul of Dharamsala may soon exist only in memory and old photographs.