Part I
The Global South
2 A retreating Goddess?
Conflicting perceptions of ecological change near the Gangotri-Gaumukh glacier
Georgina Drew
Extensive ecological transformations are in progress around the globe, and awareness is growing over the degree to which human activities are responsible. In addition to the contributions of climate science, many public debates help to circulate varied understandings of the issues and the challenges ahead. The emerging emphasis on climate stewardship and justice from Christian, Buddhist, and Hindu practitioners, among others, shows the degree to which religious orientations influence the way that many perceive the proper responses to the stakes at hand. In some cases, however, cosmological orientations and religious teachings are a resource that people draw upon to make sense of ecological change in ways that do not necessarily support the established science or motivate participation in conservation efforts. This chapter focuses on the multiple points of discussion and contention over climate change phenomena as I observed them in the Indian Himalayas from 2008 to 2009. By exploring a particular case, that of how people understand and respond to the potentially threatened Ganges River, or âGangaâ as I will refer to it here, I examine somewhat contradictory discourses about the current moment of change.
To highlight the varied perceptions and epistemological tensions that inform peopleâs responses to transformations along the Ganga, I focus on circulating perceptions in three arenas. First I address the influence of international climate science and some of the controversial predictions of glacial retreat. The second realm that I engage is a space of devotion to the Ganga at a location some 85 miles below the riverâs glacial source. I share perspectives about the Gangaâs agency and resilience that I encountered when speaking to river devotees in places such as Manikarnika ghat in Uttarkashi. The third realm pertains to understandings of the Gangaâs potential impermanence that are informed by Hindu texts and cosmologies.
My exploration of these arenas demonstrates the production of meanings about environmental change and the influence that distinct perceptions have on behavior. The investigation is relevant to a growing body of literature on the social causes and implications of climate change phenomena. This scholarship recognizes the inextricable linkages between humans and the environment evident in ecological anthropology, historical ecology, and political ecology, among others. The vast literature originating from these fields attends to the values that people ascribe to themselves and the environment along with the relationships that connect them.
Importantly, more attention is emerging within particular fields, such as anthropology, on the role that climate change can play in altering subjectivities, cosmological orientations, and cultural practices (Crate and Nuttall 2009; Orlove, Wiegandt and Luckman 2008). A focus for some scholars is the role that religion has, or could have, in helping to inform responses to climate change phenomena. This is a complex area of inquiry that highlights the degree to which religious views and practices draw from and influence the ecological contexts in which human societies are embedded. These connections are particularly important to examine along the Ganga. The river is considered divine by millions, is an integral part of Hindu sacred geography and cultural practice (Eck 1996), and is also an iconic symbol of religious reverence for nature. The physical, spiritual, and religious grace that the river bestows, however, could be threatened by the ecological transformations linked to climate change. To begin exploring these threats and the debates that the topic of the Gangaâs potential disappearance inspires, I first turn to the international concern for the Himalayan glaciers that provide runoff for the river.
A glacial range and a river in peril? Context and controversy
Glacial melt is one of many potentially deleterious effects of the warming temperatures associated with climate change. In the scholarship and the media, numerous estimates have forewarned of vast hydraulic changes in places such as the Himalaya where the runoff from glaciers feeds rivers that help support some 1.5 billion people in South Asia and China. Often, the picture painted is one of dwindling resources combined with occasional floods as the glaciers lose a bulk of their mass in the hot summer months. In the feared scenarios, food security would likely be compromised in downstream regions. This is worrisome in countries like India that struggle to meet production targets under already extreme and erratic weather conditions tied to the annual monsoon cycle. While the long-term food and water concerns merit proactive measures, especially among those who are the most vulnerable socio-economically, there are still uncertainties about how the transformation of the Himalayan glaciers will progress and what the shifts will mean for the lived realities of people residing nearby.
A problem that climate scientists have struggled with is the paucity of long-term data on glacial movements in the Himalayas. Whereas the records for glaciers in areas like North America, Europe, and the Arctic can follow their movements over hundreds of years in some cases, consistent ground-based data on Himalayan glaciers extends back only a few decades. In South Asian countries like India, for instance, much of the early research relied on limited field investigations and aerial photography.
Among the glaciers studied, the Gangotri-Gaumukh glacier is one of the better documented. This ice mass feeds into the upper stretch of the Ganga in the Indian state of Uttarakhand. It is located near Indiaâs northwestern border with the Tibetan Autonomous Region of China. Other than a few sketches and photographs taken over the years since 1937, the regular monitoring of the glacierâs snout only began in 1971 when the Geological Survey of India undertook the task (Dobhal 2009: 72). Satellite imagery and remote sensing were introduced later in the 1990s. Some of the data shows that the Gangotri-Gaumukh glacier retreated 1.25 miles from 1780 to 2001 (Naithani, Nainwal and Sati 2001: 94). In the 25 years before 2004 alone, the glacier retreated more than half a mile.1
Unfortunately, the ground-based data has been inadequate for the entire glacial range of which the Gangotri-Gaumukh glacier is a part. Scant funding and the difficulty of accessing high-altitude glaciers have contributed to the problem. The dearth of historical information, other than what can be derived from photos and satellite images, has made the movement of Himalayan glaciers in places like India subject to speculation. Because of this, postulations regarding the quantity and quality of ice loss have sometimes been based on a limited selection of glaciers, including the Gangotri-Gaumukh range, rather than the regionâs ice masses as a whole. And, based on the relatively stable movements of a few terminal points (snouts), some Indian glaciologists have even dismissed the fears over Himalayan glacial decline (Raina 2009).
At the other end of the spectrum are those who have predicted the imminent disappearance of the Himalayan glaciers. This perspective was fueled by a 2007 report affiliated with the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) that cited the year 2035 as a likely timeframe for Himalayan glaciers to vanish (Cruz et al. 2007: 493). That date was quoted in numerous environmental circles from 2007 up until the middle of 2009. Many publications drew on this prediction to paint a picture of coming doom. The use of such discourses was tempered in mid-to late 2009 when, after substantial criticism and calls to revoke the 2035 estimate, the IPCC conceded that the timeframe was based on reports of dubious scientific rigor. But, IPCC representatives cautioned, the Himalayan glaciers are still threatened by ecological shifts and warming temperatures. They and others called for an escalation of data collection on Himalayan glaciers and cautioned against complacency given the potentially high stakes.
Also at issue is the observation that the rate and scope of glacial retreat can vary on a case-by-case basis. A study by Immerzeel, Ludovicus and Bierkens (2010) asserts that the contribution of glacial water and snow melt into the Ganga may only be a fraction of its overall flow as a result of limited upstream precipitation, the relatively smaller size of the glaciers in that system, and the recharge contribution of monsoon-dominated downstream climates (ibid.: 1383). The Brahmaputra and Indus, by contrast, depend on glacial melt to a much greater extent. Given the geographic variation of melt rates and the divergent ways that river systems will be affected, such scholarship concludes that, while Asiaâs âwater towersâ are threatened by climate change, the effects on water availability and food security will differ by region and thus cannot be generalized (ibid.; Rees and Collins 2006). This reminder tempers some apocalyptic visions for the coming changes while encouraging us to think in terms of the differential impacts that will be felt along distinct waterways and the adaptation strategies that could be formed in response.
Beyond the need for more careful research, what the debates underscore is that our knowledge of climate change processes and outcomes can be a moving and uncertain terrain. In addition to differing opinions among scientists and ecologists, there are other perceptions that soften narratives of impending ecological collapse. In the Himalaya, there exist multiple and conflicting interpretations of environmental change and its significance, especially in relation to the longevity of the Ganga. The perspectives, which are influenced by everyday Hindu practice and regional cosmological orientations, indicate diverse connections to dynamic bodies of water and ice. These entities are infused with varied religious meanings and perceived to exert various levels of agency over the elements. In the discussion that follows, I highlight the perceptions of ecological change and glacial melt that residents of the Indian Himalaya provided to me from along the upper stretch of the Ganga.
Assessing knowledge of ecological change at Manikarnika ghat, Uttarkashi
In 2008 and 2009, I conducted ethnographic research in Garhwal, an ethnolinguistic region of Uttarakhand state, and in urban centers such as New Delhi to understand emerging religious-environmental conflicts over the use of the Gangaâs Himalayan stretch. At the time, I sought to examine the points and counterpoints that circulated about the construction of new hydroelectric dams on the Ganga. A related and overlapping interest was the concern for the riverâs longevity as a result of factors such as anthropogenic climate change. The current discussion focuses on the latter issue and is based on the commentary provided to me by people living along the Ganga in Uttarkashi, a district capital of Garhwal.
Uttarkashi sits at an elevation of 3,800 feet. It is located roughly 230 miles northeast of New Delhi and approximately 85 miles downstream from the Gangotri-Gaumukh glacier. One of Uttarkashiâs claims to notoriety is that it is considered to be one of the famous âKashiâ or abodes of Lord Shiva. âUttarâ means âupperâ in Sanskrit, so the cityâs name translates to âUpper Kashi.â In ancient texts, it is also referred to as Saumyakashi. The Skanda Purana (Nautiyal 1994), one of the many books associated with the sacred Puranas, elaborates at length on the importance of this particular Kashi. The prose of the Skanda Purana emphasizes Uttarkashiâs significance as a tirthaâor sacred place of pilgrimageâin which many Hindu gods reside. It is also a strategic place for pilgrims and travelers to rest on their way up to the seasonal town of Gangotri, where the Ganga is said to have descended from the heavens at the bequest of a mortal, King Bhagirath. Gangotri is home to a renowned temple with an embodiment of the Ganga, and it is the gateway to a narrow trail leading 15 miles up to the glacier.
Given Uttarkashiâs relative proximity to the Gangotri-Gaumukh glacier, I anticipated that I would encounter many of the familiar discussions about glacial melt and climate change that were already in international circulation at the time. Soon after I arrived, however, I was surprised to find that the estimates for glacial retreat and the scientific discourses on climate change were not yet topics about which many of the people I spoke with expressed extensive familiarity. My conversations with people at Manikarnika ghat were particularly indicative that not everyone was aware of climate change or that, at the very least, they did not perceive it or fear for its effects in the same way I was trained to.
Manikarnika ghat is one of the most important places to worship the Ganga in Uttarkashi. The ghat, or series of steps that descend to the riverbank, is situated at a point where the Ganga rounds a bend on the outer part of the city. It is a prominent site for people to gather on auspicious days in the Hindu calendar, pray to the Goddess Ganga, and cleanse themselves in the sacred waters. Its location adjacent to a main market also makes it a convenient stop that people make time for in their daily routines.
I visited Manikarnika ghat regularly throughout the period of my fieldwork. It was while sitting on the steps leading to the river that I was able to observe in detail the practices of reverence and devotion to the Ganga, which have their own rhythm and mountain flair compared to the more notorious places of worship in the Indian plains at Haridwar and Varanasi (Benares). For major celebrations, men, women, and children frequented the ghat along with a myriad of regional gods alight in palanquins decorated with red and gold fabrics and carried on long wooden poles atop the shoulders of men. Whatever the occasion, it was often the womenârepresenting a range of socio-economic backgroundsâwho stayed the longest, charged as they were with woven baskets full of spices, flowers, and foodstuffs that they ceremonially offered to the Goddess.
Upon reaching the waters, the women would place the palms of their hands together in a gesture of greeting and reverence. After offering a murmured prayer or Sanskrit mantra, they would then take out a bronze pot from the basket, which they dipped into the waters of the Ganga. Devotees held this water up to the Sun and its God, Surya, before pouring it back into the riverâs flow. They repeated this about three times and most often they would spin clockwise while they let the water descend back into the current that rushed around their feet. Devotees then proceeded to offer the other items in their baskets: a pinch of turmeric, a note of sandalwood, and a bit of the vermilion dye (sindoor) that married women place at or along the part in their hair. They wo...