The Wrath of the Goddess Nanda Devi
This morning, as I was sipping a steaming cup of coffee—strong enough to dispel the memories of a restless night—I came across news of a hailstorm that struck Switzerland yesterday, one that was far more destructive than the one that had torn me from my dreams early this morning. I then recalled a story I heard a long time ago about the wrath of the goddess Nanda Devi against the pollution and desecration of her land.
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It was already past one in the morning when I woke up to a hellish noise coming from the street. I ran to the window and saw hailstones 2 to 3 cm in size ricocheting off the gutters and the windowpane before piling up on the grass. In a matter of minutes, the garden was completely covered in white, and the storm subsided. When I got up a few hours later, everything seemed normal, except for the pine branches and manacá flowers scattered everywhere, and a stream of meltwater flowing vigorously along the curb.
The hailstorm that had struck Switzerland just a few hours earlier caused far greater damage than what was observed here in the mountains of Rio Grande do Sul. Hailstones up to 6 cm in diameter destroyed cars, roofs, and windows, and led to the hospitalization of several people. Such a small difference in the size of the hailstones made all the difference in the extent of the destruction. Meteorologists say that hailstorms like this occur once every 50 years. Now imagine what could have happened if there had been people walking out in the open, with nowhere to take shelter during the storm! Well, that is what has been happening for centuries around Lake Roopkund in the Indian Himalayas.
In 1942, a British forest ranger was walking near the lake Roopkund—located at an altitude of more than 5,000 meters—when he came across human bones scattered around him and at the bottom of the lake. Subsequent scientific studies showed that these bones belonged to individuals from different parts of the world who had passed through the area over the past 1,500 years. The largest group of bones belonged to people from South Asia who had died between the 7th and 10th centuries AD. Scientists observed that most of the bones were intact; only the skulls showed deep fractures, indicating they had been caused by blows to the head from above.
Local legends and songs whose origins are lost in time tell of a group of Indian pilgrims who set out from the city of Kannauj and passed through the Roopkund Lake region on their way to the shrine of the goddess Nanda Devi. They were accompanied by their king, Jasdhawal, and his pregnant wife. Ignoring the sacred rules, the king had brought with him dancers, musicians, and impure luxuries from his court. The pilgrimage was interrupted as the group approached the lake because the queen went into labor. She was then taken to give birth in a nearby cave, sheltered from prying eyes.
The goddess Nanda Devi, angered by the king’s arrogance and the repeated desecration of the sacred ground, sent a hailstorm that killed them all. Their bodies, later carried away by torrential rains, ended up at the bottom of the lake. Scientists say that the pattern of fractures in the skulls indicates that the stones were 7 to 8 cm in diameter and perfectly spherical. Furthermore, since storm clouds occur very close to the ground high in the Himalayas, ice stones of this size could reach speeds of 100 km/h. Their impact would be equivalent to that of stones launched by catapults.
When one reads the frequent media reports of the devastation caused by storms and tornadoes around the globe, it’s impossible not to attribute them to the wrath of Mother Nature. The proliferation of polluting industries since the dawn of the industrial age, the contamination of the oceans by oil spills, and the current rush to build data centers that are voracious consumers of water and energy are finally taking their toll on all of us. But are we willing to pay that price?
Translated by DeepL
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