Pilgrims at Kedarnath. Photo: iStock
At Kedarnath, a ‘Carry Me Back’ initiative introduced by the local government encourages pilgrims to bring their waste down the mountain. This year, by September 23, nearly 5000 pilgrims had reportedly carried back an estimated 12 tonnes of dry, plastic waste. Across pilgrim towns, efforts are also being made to replace plastic plates and cutlery with sustainable options.
In 2013, in the aftermath of the devastating Kedarnath floods, Shyam Singh, a former government servant who had taken sanyas (the vow of renunciation) at the Divine Life Society, a Hindu religious organisation based in Rishikesh (Uttarakhand), recalls sitting on the banks of the Ganga and reflecting on the changes he had witnessed in the Kedarnath pilgrimage over the years. “Pehle, Kedarnath ki yaatra tapasya hoti thee, phir bani teerth, aur phir bani baas eik yaatra. Uskey baad baan gayi paryatan aur aabh tho log apne honeymoon pai bhee aa jaate hai. Kaabh taakh yeh saab sahenge bhakti, aur yeh pahaad. [Earlier, the journey to Kedarnath was an act of austerity. Then it became a pilgrimage, then it became just a journey. After that, it became tourism and now people even come here for their honeymoon. How long will devotion and these mountains be able to bear all this?],” he wonders.
For many, the Himalayas are more than a destination. They are places of deep faith, where rivers, lakes and peaks are woven into stories of Hindu deities and the beliefs of generations. People travel great distances to worship, take holy dips in sacred rivers and seek blessings.
In many Hindu traditions, nature is inseparable from the sacred. Rivers are revered as goddesses, mountains associated with the divine, and the natural world something to respect, not merely use. At Kedarnath, devotees seek blessings from the Hindu deity Shiva; at Badrinath from Vishnu. At Yamunotri, the river Yamuna is worshipped as a goddess, while Renuka Lake in Himachal Pradesh is held sacred as the abode of the deity Renuka. The landscape is part of what makes these journeys meaningful.
But Singh’s question highlights a tension at the heart of pilgrimage — the visitors seek purification in rivers and blessings in the mountains, yet leave waste for others to collect and the landscape to contend with. For a believer, reverence for the divine should inspire the protection of what is sacred. For someone approaching the landscape through a scientific lens, the perspective may differ: these are fragile, interconnected ecological systems that sustain rivers, forests, communities and life far beyond the pilgrimage destination. The reasons may differ, but the responsibility is shared. But is it?
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At Kedarnath, a ‘Carry Me Back’ initiative introduced by the local government encourages pilgrims to bring their waste down the mountain. This year, by September 23, nearly 5000 pilgrims had reportedly carried back an estimated 12 tonnes of dry, plastic waste to Gaurikund. It is a meaningful effort, but waste not carried back must still be collected, transported and managed by sanitation workers, local communities and public authorities.
An RTI query to the Kedarnath Nagar Panchayat reportedly revealed that 50.3 metric tonnes of waste were generated between April and August this year, already exceeding the total recorded in each of the previous three full years: 32.58 tonnes in 2023, 26.10 tonnes in 2024 and 21.40 tonnes in 2025. Nearly 20 tonnes was plastic, of which 18.5 tonnes had been processed. The figures do not distinguish waste generated by pilgrims from that generated by other activities, but reveal the burden on a remote mountain destination with limited waste-management capacity.
A 2024 peer-reviewed study in the Asia Pacific Journal of Tourism Research, based on research in Rishikesh and Haridwar, offers insight into why awareness does not always translate into action. Muhammed Sajid and his co-authors found that perceived sacredness and awareness of environmental risks encouraged responsible waste disposal. Poor facilities, habitual behaviour and the belief that individual actions make little difference often stood in the way.
A crowded Rishikesh. Photo: iStock
At the Renuka Ji International Fair in Himachal Pradesh, which is believed to mark the annual reunion of the Hindu deity Renuka and her son Parashuram, devotion draws over one lakh visitors daily to the sacred Renuka Lake. The six-day festival, to be held this month this year, with its religious processions, ritual bathing, vendors and visitors, places considerable pressure on the wetland and its surroundings.
MD Monis Imam of Waste Warriors Society, an organisation working on waste management and environmental conservation in the Indian Himalayan Region, became part of the effort at Renuka in 2025. When the organisation first worked at the fair in 2023, nearly 700 kg of discarded undergarments were collected from the bathing ghats. For some pilgrims, a holy dip marks the washing away of sins and the beginning of a new phase in life. As part of this belief, some leave their old clothes behind after bathing.
The organisation began addressing the issue in 2024, and the efforts continued in 2025. The team reached the ghats before sunrise, when most pilgrims arrived for their baths. With the temple committee's support, they used public announcements and culturally relevant messages to encourage people not to leave their clothes behind. One message was: “Paap dhote hi paap na karein [Having washed away your sins, do not commit another]”. Team members also moved around the ghats, repeating the messages during the hours when the ritual took place.
Monis says the intention was never to question the religious significance of the ritual. “We didn't have to challenge people's religious beliefs. We simply had to find a way to connect environmental responsibility with those beliefs.”
The temple committee's support helped the team reach pilgrims directly. In 2025, the team collected no discarded undergarments from the ghats. This does not establish that nobody left clothes behind, but marks a striking change from the nearly 700 kg collected in 2023.
For Monis, the experience brought into focus a contradiction in the relationship between worship and the natural world: “We worship nature for a few minutes but sometimes harm it through practices whose impact lasts much longer.” He adds that the Waste Warriors team collected and diverted 10.2 metric tonnes of waste from the Renuka Fair in 2025.
The problem extended beyond the ghats. Although the main Mela Ground is around 800 metres to a kilometre from the lake, temporary shops and increased visitor footfall during the fair bring commercial activity to within approximately 100 metres of its edge. Some visitors and vendors considered it acceptable to dump waste at the Mela Ground because of its distance from the lake. But even waste discarded farther away remains a concern for the wider wetland landscape. Waste Warriors also worked to divert waste and reduce open burning.
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Monis says conversations about waste and its impact on the lake have gradually emerged in nearby panchayats. Local people continue organising Sunday clean-ups, even after the organisation's initial intervention. What began as an effort to clean and beautify the surroundings has also grown to include collecting plastic waste.
“Managing waste at the fair requires collaboration with the Renukaji Vikas Board, the body responsible for organising the mela. The Board is chaired by the local member of legislative assembly, with the deputy commissioner of Sirmaur district [where the Renuka Lake is located] as vice-chairman and the sub-divisional magistrate of Nahan town [the administrative headquarter of Simaur] as member secretary. Waste Warriors works with the Board and coordinates with government agencies involved in waste management, including the local police and the Himachal Pradesh Pollution Control Board,” says Monis, by way of explaining how the collaboration has helped make waste management a more collective effort, bringing together government agencies, local organisations and residents. He believes that sustained engagement with the community has also begun to change how people approach waste.
Earlier, many residents believed burning was the only way to get rid of waste after the mela, he says. “Over the years, we have seen a gradual change in how people understand and approach waste management.”
A pilgrim town does not return to what it was before the visitors arrived. The discarded clothes remain at the bathing ghat. The plastic lies along the mountain trail. Photo: iStock
The experience at Renuka points to a wider problem in the Himalayas. Niraj Bhatia, another waste activist who has worked extensively across Uttarakhand and Himachal Pradesh, points to the gap between waste-management policies and the realities of the hills. Systems designed for urban settings, he says, cannot simply be transferred to remote mountain locations, where difficult terrain, limited access and transport costs complicate collection and disposal.
Bhatia also reflects on how pilgrimage has changed. “Once understood as an act of deep reverence and penance, the journey often involved walking long distances, enduring physical hardship, carrying little and making do with limited amenities. At roadside dhabas, pilgrims ate from steel plates, washed and returned them before continuing their journey. Today, road travel [and sometimes chopper rides] has made these journeys more accessible, but it has also brought a different pattern of consumption. Packaged food and disposable cups, plates and containers have changed the material character of the journey.”
What is convenient for the traveller becomes a burden for mountain communities and those managing waste. Uttarakhand had a projected population of about 1.16 crore in 2023, while Haridwar alone reportedly recorded 3.42 crore tourist and pilgrim visits in 2025. These are visits, not unique individuals, but indicate the demands on local infrastructure and waste-management systems, which serve residents as well as visitors throughout the year.
I’ve spent most of my life around Triveni Ghat and I see how the city changes with the crowds. People come seeking to lighten their hearts, to find peace. But when they leave, the waste remains. I see it from my house on Nehru Marg all the way to Balaji Mandir on Aatha Path—left along the streets and near the places where people gather. We’ve got used to living with it, but that doesn’t mean we like it. We have to deal with it every day. This is our home,” rues Kritika Patnaik, a Yoga teacher based in Rishikesh.
The paradox is sadly true of most tourist destinations; the economy is built around the visitors, but the footfall is often not only a pressure on the local infrastructure, but changes the character of the place for residents. It becomes crowded, louder, messier... And in the fragile ecosystem of the mountains, the burden of visitors adds to the threats of environmental degradation.
For Bhatia, the question of protecting the Himalayas is inseparable from the question of how they develop. Better roads, transport and facilities are important to make pilgrimage accessible and support local livelihoods. But development cannot be measured only by infrastructure or visitor numbers. It must account for the health of the natural systems on which these places and their communities depend. As Bhatia points out, “numbers tell only part of the story; qualitative measures are equally important in understanding whether development is truly serving people.”
Waste management must go beyond collecting what visitors leave behind, he adds. It must also change what they bring and how they behave. Environmental degradation and climate change can be difficult to recognise in everyday life; their consequences accumulate, often far from the moment a bottle is discarded or a packet left behind. Communication has an important role to play. Governments, local communities, religious leaders, temple committees and other institutions need to make responsible behaviour part of the pilgrimage experience.
He also speaks of building pride in the Himalayan landscape, so its protection becomes a shared concern among residents, visitors, businesses and public authorities. He describes the Himalayas as “India's lungs”. Their significance extends far beyond those who live in or travel to these mountains. They are part of a fragile, interconnected ecosystem on whose health our collective future depends.
The pressures on these landscapes extend beyond visible waste to the water systems and sanitation networks on which mountain communities depend. Zeba Zoariah Ahsan, a water resources professional, draws attention to the pressure visitor consumption places on vulnerable mountain destinations. She points out that some locations become garbage-vulnerable points: once waste accumulates at a spot, others are more likely to discard their garbage there too, gradually turning it into an informal dumping site. This adds to the burden on local communities and stretched waste-management systems. She stresses that waste management cannot be considered in isolation from the watersheds that sustain these landscapes. Solid waste, wastewater and sanitation are closely connected. Sewage systems and septic tanks also affect water quality and public health, while unregulated infrastructure adds further pressure. Planning for pilgrim tourism, she argues, must account for waste and sanitation alongside the growth in visitor numbers.
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India's Solid Waste Management Rules, 2026, which came into force on April 1, replace the 2016 framework and recognise the challenges of hilly areas and places of pilgrimage and religious importance. They provide for tourist user fees, designated collection points for non-biodegradable waste and measures to regulate visitor numbers according to available waste-management facilities. Hotels and restaurants must also undertake decentralised processing of wet waste in line with prescribed norms.
The rules require segregation at source into four streams: wet, dry, sanitary and special-care waste. They also provide for environmental compensation for non-compliance and incorporate circular economy and extended producer responsibility principles. These provisions matter in mountain destinations, where the cost of transporting waste makes local reduction, segregation and processing especially important. But rules cannot by themselves create collection systems, treatment facilities or public cooperation. Their value depends on implementation and the willingness of visitors, businesses and institutions to take responsibility.
It would be easy, and unfair, to place the entire burden of blame on individual pilgrims while overlooking commercial activity, infrastructure decisions, inadequate facilities and weak enforcement. Responsibility is shared, though not equally.
Some changes are already underway.
A move to cut down on the use of plastic and disposable plates and the adoption of reusable plates and cutlery on the Amarnath Yatra trail this year reportedly cut down per capita waste generation by 15 per cent.
At the upcoming Renukaji Fair this year, Waste Warriors plan to identify local self-help groups (SHGs) producing traditional leaf plates (pattal) and connect them with vendors as a biodegradable alternative to disposable cutlery. “Last year, we promoted steel plates, but realised that washing, water availability and hygiene concerns can make them challenging for vendors and visitors. This year, we aim to provide a more practical and accessible alternative,” says Monis. “Our experience has taught us that behaviour change cannot be sustained unless practical and accessible alternatives are available.”
A pilgrimage is often remembered by what a person carries home: the prasad, the photographs, hope of an answered prayer, or the quiet satisfaction captured in the familiar words, “Darshan bahut hee accha raha. [We had a good darshan].” But the place they visited does not return to what it was before they arrived. The discarded clothes remain at the bathing ghat. The plastic lies along the mountain trail. The waste must be collected, carried and managed by people whose lives are tied to the landscape. Some of it enters the rivers and wetlands on which other communities depend.
The relationship between nature and the divine has deep roots in Hindu thought. The Atharva Veda declares: “Mātā bhūmiḥ putro'ham pṛthivyāḥ” - “The Earth is my mother; I am her son.” The Isha Upanishad opens with “Īśā vāsyam idaṃ sarvam” - “All this is pervaded by the Lord.” Both offer a way of seeing the natural world as more than a resource to be used or possessed.
Perhaps the harder part of pilgrimage begins when visitors leave: in what they choose not to discard, what they are willing to consume less of, and what they are prepared to protect even when no one is watching.
