The surge of cloudbursts across Jammu and Kashmir is no longer an occasional freak event. It is a clear climate warning that our mountains, land-use choices and governance systems can no longer ignore.
By Mutaharra A W Deva
There was a time when a cloudburst in Jammu and Kashmir was spoken about as an extraordinary event – something sudden, localised and difficult to predict, but also something that happened occasionally. Today, that description is becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
The frequency with which we are witnessing cloudbursts, flash floods, landslides, damaged roads, washed-away bridges and overflowing streams across Jammu and Kashmir should make us pause. During the first six weeks of this summer, reports based on official figures indicated that J&K had already witnessed 22 cloudburst incidents since June 1. By early August, reports citing official data placed the number at at least 35 cloudbursts during 2026, with significant loss of life and extensive damage to roads, bridges, homes and agricultural land.
The precise long-term trend is difficult to establish because our historical record of cloudbursts is neither comprehensive nor consistently maintained. Therefore, I would hesitate to declare every recent number “unprecedented” without qualification. But I would be even more reluctant to dismiss what we are witnessing as simply another bad weather season. Something is changing. And for those of us who have spent decades studying Kashmir’s ecology, water bodies, land-use patterns and climate vulnerability, the warning signs are becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
This is Not Only About Rain
The first mistake we can make is to look at every cloudburst as merely a rainfall problem. It is not. A cloudburst is a meteorological event, but a disaster is produced through the interaction of the atmosphere with the landscape and with human decisions.
The same extreme rainfall can have very different consequences depending upon where it falls, what lies downstream, whether the slope is forested or exposed, whether the river has room to spread, whether roads have cut into unstable slopes, whether drainage channels have been blocked, and whether houses and commercial structures have been allowed to come up in vulnerable corridors. In other words, a hazard becomes a disaster when exposure and vulnerability meet it.
That distinction is critical for Jammu and Kashmir. We cannot control where a storm cell forms. We cannot stop every cloudburst. But we can decide where we build, how we build, how we manage watersheds, how we protect wetlands, how we monitor mountain streams and how quickly we warn people. That is where governance enters the climate conversation.
Kashmir’s Mountains are Changing
The Himalayan environment is not static. The cryosphere is changing. Snow patterns are becoming less reliable. Glaciers are retreating in many areas. High-altitude lakes and glacial systems require increasingly careful monitoring. At the same time, warming changes the amount of moisture that the atmosphere can hold.
A warmer atmosphere can carry more water vapour. When atmospheric conditions become favourable for intense convection, that additional moisture can contribute to very heavy precipitation over short periods. In mountainous terrain, the consequences can be immediate. Water rushes down steep slopes. Streams rise rapidly. Loose material is mobilised. Landslides may occur. Roads become channels. Culverts are overwhelmed. Debris enters river systems. And the disaster can move faster than our administrative response.
That is why climate change in Kashmir should not be discussed only in terms of temperature. The real issue is climate volatility. A warmer Kashmir may not simply mean warmer summers. It may mean a different distribution of rainfall, changing snowfall, altered spring flows, water stress followed by extreme rainfall and a greater possibility of compound hazards. Too little water – and then too much water. That is the paradox of climate change.
The Real Multiplier: Land-Use Change
If extreme rainfall is one side of the equation, land-use change is the other. This is where Kashmir needs to have an uncomfortable conversation with itself. We have progressively altered mountain slopes, drainage channels, riverbanks, wetlands and catchments in the name of roads, tourism, housing and infrastructure.
Some development is necessary. Jammu and Kashmir cannot freeze itself in time. But development that ignores the ecological carrying capacity of a mountain landscape is not development. It is a deferred disaster. When vegetation is removed from unstable slopes, the ability of the soil to absorb and retain water changes. When roads are cut without adequate slope stabilisation and drainage, rainfall can rapidly convert a road corridor into a pathway for erosion and debris. When natural drainage channels are narrowed or blocked, water seeks another route. When buildings are constructed too close to rivers and streams, the river eventually reminds us that its floodplain still exists.
This is not an argument against infrastructure. It is an argument for climate-resilient infrastructure. The question should no longer be: “Can we build here?” It should be: “Can we safely build here under the climate conditions we are likely to experience over the next 30, 50 or 70 years?”
High-Altitude Lakes and the Nepal Warning
One area that deserves far greater attention is our high-altitude lake system. High-altitude lakes, glaciers, snowfields, wetlands and mountain streams form interconnected components of the Himalayan water system. Changes in these systems can influence downstream hydrology and ecological stability. Some glacial and moraine-dammed lakes can also pose significant outburst-flood risks under particular conditions.
The recent catastrophic flash flood in Nepal has brought this risk into sharp focus. On August 26, a devastating event near the Nepal-Tibet border was linked by experts to a glacier/ice-rock collapse and avalanche, generating a massive downstream flood. The disaster destroyed communities and infrastructure and demonstrated just how quickly a high-mountain hazard can travel downstream.
The lesson for Kashmir is not that the next disaster will necessarily look like Nepal. It is that mountain hazards are changing faster than many of our planning systems. We should therefore establish a comprehensive inventory and risk classification of high-altitude lakes, glaciers, moraine-dammed lakes and vulnerable mountain valleys in Jammu and Kashmir. Remote sensing and satellite monitoring should be combined with field verification. This information must become part of district-level disaster management.
Nepal also teaches that early warning is not merely a piece of technology. It is a chain. Someone must detect the hazard. Someone must interpret it. Someone must communicate the warning. Someone must receive it. And, most importantly, someone must know what to do when the warning arrives. We need last-mile early warning that reaches the village, the school, the tourist camp, the shepherd and the roadside settlement – and each must know what action to take.
From Relief Culture to Resilience Culture
Every disaster produces a familiar cycle: a road is damaged, a bridge is washed away, relief is announced, reconstruction begins, and eventually the same vulnerable structure is rebuilt in essentially the same place. This is not resilience. It is repetition. The concept of “Build Back Better” must become more than just a slogan. After every major disaster we should ask why the structure failed, whether it was located in a hazard zone, whether drainage was adequate, and whether the design was based on historical rainfall that no longer represents future conditions.
Jammu and Kashmir has developed considerable capacity for emergency response. But emergency response alone cannot be the centre of disaster governance. We need to shift from a relief culture to a resilience culture. Relief asks: “How quickly can we respond after the disaster?” Resilience asks: “How can we reduce the damage before the disaster happens?”
I would suggest ten immediate priorities: (1) create a comprehensive cloudburst and flash-flood inventory; (2) map hazard corridors; (3) establish a high-altitude lake and glacier monitoring programme; (4) strengthen last-mile early warning; (5) introduce mandatory climate-risk screening for major infrastructure; (6) protect natural infrastructure such as forests, wetlands and floodplains; (7) strengthen community preparedness through trained local volunteers; (8) regulate construction based on carrying capacity and hazard mapping; (9) establish institutional coordination around water and climate resilience; and, (10) invest in science and local data.
It is tempting to speak about climate change as though the future has already been decided. It has not. We cannot prevent every cloudburst or stop every landslide. But we can control our exposure. We can protect forests, restore wetlands, preserve floodplains, regulate construction, improve roads, monitor high-altitude lakes, strengthen early-warning systems, train communities and build institutions capable of thinking beyond departmental boundaries.
The real question is therefore not whether climate change is happening. The question is whether our governance systems are changing quickly enough to respond to it. The cloudbursts of 2026 should not be remembered merely as a series of tragic headlines. They should become a turning point.
Kashmir’s mountains have always spoken through their rivers, forests, glaciers and lakes. Perhaps this summer they are speaking more loudly than before.
The question is whether we are finally prepared to listen.
The author is a governance expers, Himalayan climate change strategist, disaster management specialist and a certified independent director from the Indian Institute of Corporate Affairs. She is also the Deputy Secretary General of the International Association of Disaster Management.
