As Winter Fires Burned Uttarakhand, This Father–Daughter Duo Planted 70000 Trees for the Himalayas

For five days, Uttarakhand was on fire.

Not during peak summer. Not during a heatwave. But in winter, when the mountains are meant to slow down, cool the air, and settle into stillness.

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Instead, forests burned where snow should have rested. Ash floated through the air and settled on roofs and roads, replacing what once arrived as soft snowfall. The land looked dry and exposed, stripped of the moisture that usually protects it through the colder months.

This winter, Uttarakhand reported 1,600 forest fires. Snowfall and rain were almost absent. The forests stayed brittle, ready to ignite.

The figures are alarming, yet what feels heavier is how little attention they received. Life elsewhere continued as usual, unaware that an entire season in the mountains had slipped out of balance.

A pattern that has been building for years

There is no single moment to point to. This story has been unfolding slowly.

Trees were cut faster than they could grow back. Hills were opened up for roads and buildings, leaving little space for soil to hold water or for roots to anchor the land. Forest cover thinned. With fewer trees, carbon remained trapped in the air. Heat built up. Snow began to arrive late, then lightly, and eventually not at all.

When forests disappear, landscapes change, and climate patterns shift with them. Winters grow warmer. Snowfall windows shorten. Mountains lose their ability to cool themselves.

This is how winter fades, season by season, without an obvious breaking point.

A decision made long before it was urgent

Against this slow erosion stands a story shaped by patience.

In Manali, Kishan Lal made a choice decades ago. He decided that protecting forests could not wait for permission or policy. For 35 years, he planted trees steadily, year after year, without expectation. Nearly one-fourth of his income went into buying saplings. He trusted time more than recognition.

His daughter, Kalpana, grew up alongside this rhythm. From the age of three, she tied rakhi (a ceremonial thread tied by sisters) around the trees her father planted. To her, these were not environmental assets or future resources. They were family; brothers who offered shade, stability, and protection.

Together, they planted 70,000 saplings and slowly brought life back to Himachal’s Batahar forest. The forest returned leaf by leaf, root by root. An award followed later — Bhutan’s Green Man Award — but the real achievement had already taken shape. A living ecosystem stood where degradation once dominated.

What consistent care can restore

It is hard not to feel moved by what one family achieved. Their story restores faith in individual commitment. It also offers clarity about scale.

One family can restore a forest; protecting the Himalayas requires many more.

Uttarakhand’s fires are part of a wider pattern. Kashmir recorded about 40 percent less snowfall this winter. Ladakh saw a drop of close to 70 percent. In Himachal Pradesh, farmers were filmed transporting snow to apple orchards, trying to preserve crops that depend on winter cold.

Experts have begun calling this a snow drought. The phrase sounds technical until its effects arrive at ground level.

When snow disappears, water follows

Snow is not decoration. It is storage.

It feeds glaciers slowly. It regulates rivers. It ensures that water flows steadily long after winter has passed. Without snow, glaciers melt faster, and rivers swell too early, then dry up before summer ends.

When that happens, water vanishes when it is needed most. Cities struggle. Farms suffer. Millions of people feel the impact, often without realising that the loss began far upstream, in winters that no longer behave like they used to.

This is not only a mountain problem. It travels downstream, into taps, fields, and everyday life.

Listening to what the mountains are telling us

Kishan Lal and Kalpana’s forest stands as proof that regeneration is possible when care is consistent and long-term. Their story also reminds us that responsibility cannot rest with individuals alone.

Forests need protection at scale. Construction needs restraint. Development must account for the land it reshapes. Winter depends on trees that hold moisture, cool the air, and anchor the soil.

The Himalayas are responding exactly as ecosystems do when pushed beyond balance. Fire, absence, and unpredictability are signals.

The winter is trying to tell us something. The real question is whether we are willing to listen, and act, before the silence settles in for good.