The Himalayas as a battleground of belief

At an altitude of nearly 5,500 metres in the western Himalayas, where India’s frontier dissolves into Tibet and Nepal, rises Om Parvat. The mountain is famous for a natural snow formation that resembles the sacred Hindu symbol Om, which many devotees regard as a manifestation of Lord Shiva. The remote valley is inhabited by the indigenous Rung community who believe in the divinity of Om Parvat.

This month, the community drew a line they felt could not be crossed. On June 15, members of the Shri Adi Kailash Group 2020 Trust, an organisation formed by Hindu devotees from Patna, Nashik, Jodhpur, Surat, and Noida to promote religious and charitable activities, arrived in Uttarakhand’s Nabidang. At this viewpoint on Om Parvat, they had planned to install a three-tonne Shivling. This was met with strong opposition from the Rungs. The Shivling, crafted in Rajasthan and transported by truck, was eventually stopped by the district administration at Garbhadhar, a key halt on the Kailash Mansarovar and Adi Kailash pilgrimage routes.

The resistance by the Rungs was dubbed “anti-Hindu” by the members of Adi Kailash Group. But for the community, which inhabits the border valleys of Vyans, Darma, and Chaudans in the Pithoragarh district, behind the action lies a deeper anxiety. Rungs insist that they too are Hindus and devotees of Shiva, but they see and worship him in the natural form of mountains, glaciers, and rivers. Their objection, they say, was not to the Shivling, but to the idea of introducing man-made religious structures into a landscape they already regard as divine.

“A mountain peak does not need a temple to become sacred. A river does not require an idol to be worshipped. The natural form is the deity for us,” said Prakash Singh Gunjiyal, 67, president of the Rung Kalyan Sanstha, a trust created for the upliftment of Rungs, who prefer calling themselves a community rather than a Schedule Tribe, though that is how they are mentioned in government records. Gunjiyal, who retired from the Central Bank of India and served in many tribal areas, said the community comprises some 21,000 people in India and abroad.

“The fear is that once a religious structure enters a sacred landscape, the transformation rarely stops there. First a statue will come, then there will be fencing. Then a donation box will be placed, which will be followed by construction of a temple. Gradually, the land will be encroached upon and the entire landscape will change, leaving behind a distorted history and eroded culture,” he said.

Contradictions within

Om Parvat and Adi Kailash are among the most revered pilgrimage sites in the Kumaon region. Until 2020, they were also among the most difficult to reach. A 90-100-kilometre trek from Dharchula, the closest town in the Pithoragarh district, took 7-10 days. Pilgrims had to navigate deep gorges, near-vertical cliff faces, and landslide-prone stretches. The journey itself was considered an act of devotion. That changed when the Border Roads Organisation built and opened roads to the region.

“Since the roads have come up, these valleys have witnessed dramatic changes; there is growing religious tourism,” said Jaman Singh Routela, 76, who retired from the Reserve Bank of India. “The influx of devotees has created economic opportunities, but it has also posed serious challenges to the local environment and culture,” he said.

Routela has trekked to Om Parvat and Adi Kailash many times in his youth. Today, like many others, he makes the journey in an SUV. “The difference,” he said with a smile, “is that I have chosen convenience without forgetting my culture.”

At a spot on the highway, about 40 km from Dharchula, which he called Jyungru-tha, Routela and Gunjiyal stopped beside a cement structure no larger than a roadside shrine. White sacred threads were wrapped around it and a few copper bells hung from its corners. The two took out a handful of rice from a bag and quietly placed it before the structure. “This is our river deity,” Routela explained.

Behind the shrine, a gorge, nearly 200 feet deep plunged towards the Kali River, which tumbled over rocks and boulders below. Across the valley, towering mountains dominated the horizon.

The next stop was Malpa, known for the landslide on August 18, 1998, which completely wiped out the village. The tragedy claimed 221 lives, including 60 pilgrims taking the Kailash-Manasarovar Yatra, one of whom was the renowned Indian classical dancer Protima Bedi. The two throw some rice in the air here as a mark of respect to the deceased and ancestors of the community.

About 15 km ahead at Chialekh, the first Indo-Tibetan Border Police checkpoint where pilgrims travelling to Om Parvat and Adi Kailash undergo document verification, Routela stopped once again. Near the checkpoint stood a newly built temple, roughly the size of a single-storey house. He barely glanced at it.

Instead, he walked into the village and stopped at a rocky corner that resembled a cave. It was decorated with a white cloth and bells. “This is where we pray to the mountain deity,” he said. “The temple near the checkpoint was built recently. It has no significance for us. This is the place where our people have worshipped for centuries.”

He half-bent and offered blades of grass and a few stones at the site. As he prayed in silence, a white Scorpio bearing a Delhi registration plate sped past, loud music echoing across the valley.

“This is the problem. They make a mockery of a pilgrimage. For them, this is a weekend getaway. They will drink and do all kinds of things forbidden in our religion,” he said, as he lit a cigarette.

When the mountains had a meltdown in Uttarakhand

The Rungs’ faith overlaps with mainstream Hinduism in some ways and diverges from it in others. “Mainstream Hindu society is largely patriarchal, but in our tradition women enjoy equal respect,” said Gunjiyal. “We do not worship idols, but we light lamps and cremate our dead. We worship Shiva, but gods like Hanuman have no place in our religious history. Our practices are different, but that does not make us anti-Hindu,” he said.

The Adi Kailash Group had installed a statue of Hanuman at Kalapani last year, the tri-junction of India, Nepal, and Tibet. India has maintained troops there for decades under its administrative control, viewing the area as part of the Pithoragarh district. This has led to ongoing diplomatic disputes, as Nepal also lays claim to the region based on colonial-era treaties.

A few kilometres later, Routela lowered the window of his vehicle and poured a small quantity of locally brewed barley wine from a soft drink bottle onto the roadside. “I am passing through my wife’s village,” he said. “This offering is for the deity that protects her village. It is our custom.” He took a small sip before moving ahead.

Both rice and barley have significance in Hinduism here. The Navratri Puja, held twice a year, is incomplete without the sowing of barley while rice, called akshat, is an irreplaceable part of the puja.

Faith and trust

For Bharat Joshi, founder of the Adi Kailash Group Trust and a stitching-centre operator from Nashik, the issue looks entirely different. He rejects suggestions that the trust is affiliated with any hardline Hindu organisation.

“We are simply a group of devotees who met during the Adi Kailash Yatra,” he said, adding that the organisation has six members in its executive body and has around 100 members across the country. Asked why the trust wanted to instal statues in the Himalayas, Joshi offered this explanation: “In the past, when people had to trek to these places, there were no signs showing where they were headed or whether they were on the correct route. These idols can serve as markers. They tell devotees they are on the right path and encourage them to keep walking.”

Gunjiyal disagrees with Joshi’s reasoning. “Mountains do not have crossroads and multiple routes. There is only one stretch leading to the destination,” he said. “The argument that pilgrims might lose their way is baseless,” he added.

The trust had installed a Trishul (trident) and a Nandi statue (the sacred bull) at Adi Kailash in 2022 without encountering significant opposition. When Prime Minister Narendra Modi visited Adi Kailash in 2023, he had prayed before the Trishul, while also speaking about the traditions of the Rungs.

For Pankaj Kumar, another member of the trust from Patna, the opposition remains deeply hurtful. “That area is in India. As an Indian, I am free to install an idol of my lord anywhere in my country,” he said.

The Shivling currently remains at the home of a trust member in Haldwani. Kumar says another attempt to install it near Om Parvat will be made. “This time,” he said, “we will try to convince the Rung community that we do not have any bad intentions.”

Long fight for survival

For former Uttarakhand Chief Secretary Nrip Singh Napalchyal, the dispute over the proposed Shivling at Om Parvat is not merely about an idol or Hinduism. As founder of the Rung Kalyan Sanstha, he sees it as part of the community’s centuries-long struggle to preserve its identity.

The Rungs are an agri-pastoral and trading community whose lives were historically linked to trans-Himalayan trade routes connecting India, Tibet, and Nepal. For generations, they relied on seasonal migration, trade, and barter across some of the world’s highest mountain passes.

According to Napalchyal, the community has repeatedly faced threats to its culture and way of life, but serious challenges were felt after the British came.

“They brought new pressures through missionary activity. The greatest disruption, however, followed the 1962 India-China war, which sealed traditional trade routes that had sustained generations of Rungs,” he said. Families lost livelihoods, homes, and access to ancestral networks almost overnight, he added. To survive, many migrated to the plains, pursued education, and rebuilt their lives.

This adaptation came at a cultural cost. Migration and urbanisation weakened many traditional practices. For decades, the Rung Kalyan Sanstha has worked to document and preserve Rung heritage, particularly the Runglwo language, a Tibeto-Burman language with no widely used script. Because cultural knowledge is largely transmitted orally, the loss of elders and the migration of younger generations threaten its survival.

Sandesha Rayapa Garbiyal, Assistant Professor in the Linguistic Empowerment Cell at Jawaharlal Nehru University, argues that language preservation and revitalisation are inseparable from cultural preservation as every lost word carries stories, beliefs, and unique ways of understanding the world. Efforts to preserve Runglwo received national recognition in 2019 when Prime Minister Modi praised initiatives aimed at safeguarding indigenous heritage in his Mann Ki Baat programme.

For Garbiyal, the Om Parvat debate reflects these larger concerns. “The Rungs have long regarded mountains, rivers, glaciers, and forests as sacred living entities. Traditional customs helped protect biodiversity and maintain ecological balance. From this perspective, the sanctity of the Himalayas lies in preserving nature rather than transforming it through monumental constructions,” she said.

The disagreement, however, is far from settled. Among those invited to participate in the proposed Shivling installation at Nabidang was retired Indo-Tibetan Border Police (ITBP) Inspector General A.P.S. Nimbadia, who spent more than a decade serving in the region.

Nimbadia rejects the argument that the introduction of Hindu symbols necessarily threatens indigenous traditions. He points to several Tibeto-Burman communities in Arunachal Pradesh and Assam that continue to practise nature worship while also incorporating elements of Hindu belief.

“In Ziro valley, a giant rock came to be worshipped as Siddheshwar Nath Temple, also known as Kardo Mahadev,” he said. “Large numbers of devotees visit the site, including political leaders. The introduction of Hindu symbols and practices did not destroy the cultural identity of the Apatani tribe,” he argued.

For Nimbadia, cultural coexistence is possible. For many Rungs, however, the example points in the opposite direction. Community members argue that experiences elsewhere show how the boundaries between indigenous faiths and mainstream religious traditions can gradually blur over time. What begins as accommodation, they fear, can eventually lead to assimilation.

The concern is not only cultural but also territorial. Several Rungs expressed apprehension that religious structures could eventually lead to permanent claims over land. They point to the large tracts of land occupied by security forces, including the Army and the ITBP, in the border region, for military and strategic purposes. “We gave land willingly because it was necessary for the country’s security,” said Gunjiyal. “But we cannot allow encroachment in the name of temples when it goes against our beliefs.”

Standing before Om Parvat, Gunjiyal tore down a poster announcing the proposed Shivling installation. The mountain towered above him. “Sometimes,” he said, looking up at the snow-marked peak, “the highest form of reverence is to leave the mountains alone.”

ishita.mishra@thehindu.co.in

Edited by Sunalini Mathew and Amarjot Kaur