Badrinath:
Thirteen kilometres downhill from Badrinath, deep in the thick forests of Lambagarh, the roar of the surging Alaknanda river is only disturbed by the continuous whine of bulldozers. (Watch)
Away from the media glare, unseen by pilgrims for whom they toil, a dozen men from the Border Roads Organisation (BRO) are quietly labouring away on one of the most critical infrastructure needs in flood-hit Uttarakhand - repairing old road and building new ones. (See pics)
Junior engineer Ashok Kumar and his team were given the task to restore a 30-km stretch of the road between Mana - the last village 25 km before the Indo-Tibetan border - and Govindghat. And just three km from Mana is Badrinath, where thousands of pilgrims and tourists were stranded.
"There were 20 major and minor landslides which we removed," Mr Kumar, 43, explains in his soft voice, adjusting his blue jacket as it begins to drizzle.
"And then we came across this massive breach," Mr Kumar says, his outstretched hand taking a long semi-circular tour, pointing at the various places where the roads were absent. "Five and a half kilometre of the road has simply been swallowed by the river or has collapsed under the weight of landslides."
A native of Himachal Pradesh, Mr Kumar pauses for a second for us to fathom the enormity of the situation. And there was no reason to disappoint him.
The monstrous waters of the Alaknanda had violently altered the landscape of the mountains. At the juncture where it met another stream, what was originally just a 50 square metre wide area, was now a massive 200 square metre zone filled with thousands of tons of rocks and debris.
The combined onslaught of the river from below and the rains from above ensured the disappearance of the roads.
"This sight is unbearable. I have seen many cloudbursts, but nothing ever of this magnitude," Mr Kumar murmurs, looking blankly at end of the road that now hung in the air.
And then, he pauses.
"Ashokji?" I interrupt snapping him out of his thoughts.
"Yes. So we now have to build an entirely new six-km road. And build from scratch," he smiles.
And that's exactly what his men are up to. One machine right ahead digs into the rain-drenched soil while another pushes the debris away.
"From dawn to dusk, we have been working from June 17. No holidays, no Sundays. After all, with the weather not allowing helicopters to fly, there is immense pressure on us to start this road as soon as possible and evacuate people. This is the only road that connects Badrinath," Mr Kumar adds.
Worried by the visuals of devastation, Mr Kumar's staffer Sanjay reveals his parents ordered him to return. "I refused. I have to be here and complete my job," he explains.
Mr Kumar has no idea how much time it will take to complete this new road. He knows the monsoon has only begun and just one landslide on this stretch is enough to delay everything by another week.
"We will finish it. At least a dirt road will be ready by the end of the month," he promises.
And then, he quietly disappears into the forest to guide his men complete a thankless job.
Away from the media glare, unseen by pilgrims for whom they toil, a dozen men from the Border Roads Organisation (BRO) are quietly labouring away on one of the most critical infrastructure needs in flood-hit Uttarakhand - repairing old road and building new ones. (See pics)
Junior engineer Ashok Kumar and his team were given the task to restore a 30-km stretch of the road between Mana - the last village 25 km before the Indo-Tibetan border - and Govindghat. And just three km from Mana is Badrinath, where thousands of pilgrims and tourists were stranded.
"There were 20 major and minor landslides which we removed," Mr Kumar, 43, explains in his soft voice, adjusting his blue jacket as it begins to drizzle.
"And then we came across this massive breach," Mr Kumar says, his outstretched hand taking a long semi-circular tour, pointing at the various places where the roads were absent. "Five and a half kilometre of the road has simply been swallowed by the river or has collapsed under the weight of landslides."
A native of Himachal Pradesh, Mr Kumar pauses for a second for us to fathom the enormity of the situation. And there was no reason to disappoint him.
The monstrous waters of the Alaknanda had violently altered the landscape of the mountains. At the juncture where it met another stream, what was originally just a 50 square metre wide area, was now a massive 200 square metre zone filled with thousands of tons of rocks and debris.
The combined onslaught of the river from below and the rains from above ensured the disappearance of the roads.
"This sight is unbearable. I have seen many cloudbursts, but nothing ever of this magnitude," Mr Kumar murmurs, looking blankly at end of the road that now hung in the air.
And then, he pauses.
"Ashokji?" I interrupt snapping him out of his thoughts.
"Yes. So we now have to build an entirely new six-km road. And build from scratch," he smiles.
And that's exactly what his men are up to. One machine right ahead digs into the rain-drenched soil while another pushes the debris away.
"From dawn to dusk, we have been working from June 17. No holidays, no Sundays. After all, with the weather not allowing helicopters to fly, there is immense pressure on us to start this road as soon as possible and evacuate people. This is the only road that connects Badrinath," Mr Kumar adds.
Worried by the visuals of devastation, Mr Kumar's staffer Sanjay reveals his parents ordered him to return. "I refused. I have to be here and complete my job," he explains.
Mr Kumar has no idea how much time it will take to complete this new road. He knows the monsoon has only begun and just one landslide on this stretch is enough to delay everything by another week.
"We will finish it. At least a dirt road will be ready by the end of the month," he promises.
And then, he quietly disappears into the forest to guide his men complete a thankless job.
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