| From
dead rock, the trees return
Since the 1980s,
one man’s quiet effort has pioneered a village movement to restore
the forests of Uttarakhand’s denuded hills. Sanjay Dubey
profiles Sachchidanand Bharti.
There
is little to set Sachchidanand Bharti apart from others in the village
of Ufrain Khal, and it is only when he greets us with a rose and a warm
hug that we realise that this unassuming man is the person we have come
to meet. As we look out over the valley beyond, the hills around us
reflect his extraordinary achievement — with no financial assistance
apart from the contributions of villagers, Bharti has transformed large
parts of the once-denuded Dudhatoli range in Uttarakhand’s Pauri
district into the best and thickest forests in the state.
Ever since the
1960s, unrestricted industrialisation has made large tracts of the mountains
mere warehouses for natural resources, exported to the plains. In the
1970s, grassroots protest against the destruction of the forests famously
found its most visible expression in the Chipko struggle, which began
in Gopeshwar in Chamoli district. Bharti was then in college in Gopeshwar
and was an active participant in the movement, even forming a college
group called Daliyon Ka Dagda (Friends of the Trees) to spread the word
on conservation. After his studies, when he returned to Ufrain Khal,
he found the same sorry tale of destruction there as well. “Around
that time, the forest department decided to cut down a stretch of silver
firs near Dera village. Coming from the Chipko movement, I knew how
to tackle this and I started a campaign and mobilised the villagers,”
says Bharti. Thanks to his efforts, hundreds of firs were saved from
the official axe — a small success which laid the foundation for
big changes and, most importantly, helped give the people of the area
a sense of their rights and the importance of unity.
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Sunrise in Pauri: Overlooking one of the Dudhatoli Lok Vikas Sansthan plantations |
Old-timers in the
mountains speak of how the forests were once sufficient to provide both
for the wild animals that lived in them as well as for the villages
dependent on them for fuel and food. But, as deforestation spread out
of control, not only did the villagers have to deal with severe resource
scarcities, but the animals of the forests became a menace, driven by
the vanishing tree cover toward human habitation. Instead of killing
the animals off, as happened elsewhere, villagers in Dera began building
walls around their fields and settlements, on Bharti’s suggestion.
The wall that was begun in 1980, with money pooled in by villagers not
only from Dera but from other villages too, is 9 km long today, and
the project has been replicated elsewhere as well. Around this time,
Bharti also took up teaching at a local school. His long-time friend
and doctor, Dinesh, says this was the single-most important reason for
the success his projects later had as he was able to reach out directly
to the young with his conservationist message.
By the late 1970s,
the deforestation problem had sufficiently alarmed the government to
spur it to official action — they began planting pine trees in
empty patches in reserved forests. This, Bharti says, was disastrous.
“Pine forests reduce moisture levels, and that, together with
the trees’ highly resinous content, leads to forest fires. Besides,
they don’t grip the soil well and are poor protection against
landslides,” he explains. In 1980, Bharti tried a different approach.
With the help of the forest department, he established a nursery of
indigenous mountain species — oak, fir, cedar and alder. This
effort later grew into the Dudhatoli Lok Vikas Sansthan (dlvs), which
undertakes indigenous tree plantation across the range and holds annual
environmental awareness camps in the 150 villages that are part of it
From the first, the dlvs has also been a tremendous tool for women’s
empowerment — left to manage home and field as the men migrate
for work to the plains, it is the women who bear the brunt of the resource
scarcity around them. To encourage their participation, Bharti formed
Mahila Mangal Dals in every village he worked with, and entrusted them
with taking up their own part in securing their future. After the first
plantation drive, the villagers who took part made a collective decision
to enforce a 10-year ban on forest activity. Through the Mahila Mangal
Dals, it was the women who took on the task of posting a lookout for
trespassers, with patrols working in shifts to keep the vigil.
 |
His Woods,
His Work: Sachchidanand Bharti |
Within a decade,
the people of Dudhatoli regained a large part of their lost forest cover.
Bharti says with pride that the villagers have not spent more than Rs
6 -7 lakh on planting entire forests over 27 years. After initial help
with the first nursery, the dlvs has never asked for any assistance
from the government. Instead, it funds itself through a corpus created
from the sale of saplings grown in its nurseries. Bharti in fact is
critical of the government’s role in conservation in the hills.
“Reserving forests meant that mountain people were severely restricted
from accessing their woods,” he says, “But, when money changed
hands, the very same rules were flouted openly by the forest officials
in cahoots with greedy contractors.”
 |
Rripple
Effect: Some 12,000 water bodies have been rejuvenated |
| Bharti
says with pride that the villagers have not spent more than Rs 6-7
lakh
on planting entire forests over 27 years |
In 1987, the entire
range went through a severe drought. Worried, the dlvs decided to dig
a small pit near every tree, so water could collect and allow them to
survive a few months longer. At this time, Bharti came into contact
with Anupam Mishra of the Gandhi Peace Foundation, who provided him
with knowhow on the making and maintenance of small-scale water bodies.
Bharti turned the principles to meet local requirements and, with the
dlvs, began to resuscitate old, dried-up water bodies and create several
new ones. Twelve thousand such ponds, big and small, now bring water
to about 40 villages. Satish Chandra Nautiyal of Simkoli village points
to a small well by his house that Bharti helped build in 2005; this
well, he says, is now the basis of the entire village’s existence.
As we say goodbye
to Bharti, the faces of his long-standing friends, Deendayal Dhondiyal,
a postman, and Vikram Negi, a local grocer, are full of quiet pride.
“Stopping the deforestation was just a small step,” says
Negi. “The real challenge lay in restoring the lost beauty of
the mountains.” Bharti and the dlvs need be in no doubt that they’ve
met that challenge well.
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