“I have roamed around a lot, you know — in India and abroad. But I still find this the most beautiful of all places. Today’s youth does not appreciate this beauty. They want to go out and do naukri (job). Naukri karo, magar kheti bhi seekho (Get a salaried job, but do learn farming as well). You have to know how to grow food.”

We are sitting in the sun-dappled courtyard of Sudesha Devi’s house in Rampur, in Tehri Garhwal, Uttarakhand.

Devi was a key activist in the Chipko movement, the forest conservation activism which grew from these hills in the ’70s to inspire similar protests across the world. It was hailed as the first eco-feminist people’s movement. Devi is now 77 and lives with her son, daughter-in-law and two grandchildren.

“In those days, most women would stay home; the concept of untouchability was prevalent. But I would eat with them (bahujans), and also go out often. People couldn’t figure out what this woman was all about,” says Devi.

Born in Lahore, Devi remembers how her father got many people from that city to Delhi. “Perhaps my parents had a hand in making me strong and independent. They never let me feel inadequate, as a woman.” She talks about the time she was imprisoned during the movement. She spent 15 days in a prison in Narendra Nagar. “Sita maa ko banwaas hua, toh hum bhi jail gaye (Just like Sita in the Ramayana went on exile, we too went to jail). The days passed by without much trouble. We had a teacher with us. She would sing bhajans and I would dance. I thought of it as a break — no work to do, no household chores or kids to look after. People would come to meet us. I told my husband not to worry and just look after the kids.”

Her grandson walks in wearing Bermuda shorts and a t-shirt that says ‘FCUK’. “This is Kavi Raj. He is doing Master’s in music,” Devi says with some pride. It is obvious that they share a bond. He listens as she speaks, smiling at her words from time to time. She rues that so many young people want to go to the US today, and then they complain that non-white people are not treated well. “Then why go there? Stay here and do something good. Hum jungle ko maika samajhte the (we thought of the jungle as our maternal home). We looked forward to going into the jungles — us women — singing while we worked, talking about our lives. Hardly anyone goes to the jungle now. They have lost touch with their ethos.”

That night the wind howls through the room, shrieking like a banshee, making the chairs in the balcony outside skid around.

“The chir pine is an invasive species. They are difficult to get rid of. Seeds fly in the wind and germinate easily,” says Vijay Jardhari (65). We are climbing a steep slope on the way to Surkanda Devi, a temple close to Dhanaulti. An erstwhile Chipko member, Jardhari is also one of the founding members of Beej Bachao Andolan, a movement to save the indigenous seeds of Uttarakhand. At his village (made up of more than 25 hamlets), Jardhari preserves a host of ancient seed varieties. He has also brought back an old farming system called barahnaja or 12 grains/seeds — a kind of mixed cropping that was once common in Garhwal.

As we climb, Jardhari points out deodars, rhododendrons, Himalayan cedars and cypress, talking about their properties. He grimaces at the sight of plastic bottles and empty chips packets that are strewn around — “offerings” to the Surkanda Devi by the devotees who throng here. And the chir pines. “Conifers should start at a much higher altitude. In these areas, it should be broad-leaved trees, perennial trees. Perennial trees are not fed by glaciers but by the canopy. A single oak can hold so much water. Chir pines are highly inflammable, when the canopy goes, so do the perennial streams,” he says.

Finally we reach the top and the view is worth the climb. Several peaks and ranges are visible. Among them is Panchachuli. People say this is where the Pandavas cooked their last meal before moving on to the next world. A man gives us small bunches of leaves and twigs. Keep them in the most sacred spot in your home, he says. These are thuner leaves. “ Raunsli or thuner is the true prasad of Surkanda Devi,” says Jardhari. Thuner’s ( taxus baccata) healing properties is the reason these old trees are under threat from pharma companies that cut them to extract an alkaloid called taxine, used for treating cancer. It has also been used to treat asthma, bronchitis and epilepsy.

The next day we get news of the fresh forest fires in Uttarakhand. Last year, around 4,500 hectares of forest cover was destroyed along with their extensive wealth of flora and fauna.

In New Tehri, we meet Saab Singh. He is Sudesha Devi’s son-in-law. And was one of the youngest Chipko members. He now works with an ashram, headquartered in Haridwar. His wife — Devi’s younger daughter, Meena — is an advocate in New Tehri. “The British planted pine. They would take the timber via rivers to make sleepers (train berths). Before that we had good chaara prachaar ke ped. Chir pine leaves are like tezaab (acid). Now the forest department has a tough time trying to put out these fires. They ask locals to help. You want people to help, then why don’t you ask for their advice in planting the right trees? Plant indigenous species which retain water in their roots and do not catch fire.”

From the ashram roof a dystopian sight greets us — the waters of the Tehri Dam and empty mountainsides around. “I was a reporter with Hindustan and Jaagran when the villages were drowning,” says Singh. “I was there, taking pictures. People were crying, walking away from their homes with whatever belongings they could carry. So much good land got submerged. For what? No one here has benefited. This area has huge water problems today. There are tiers of turbines in these hills. Khokhla kar diya zameen ko (they hollowed out the land). Paani ka srot khatm ho gaya (the source of water dried up). And when you have no water, what will you do with your pastoral animals? People sold them off. They were supposed to have built a bridge here. But nothing has come up. And below the water are 17 bridges made with top-grade steel and iron. Earlier people could cross over with ease, for work and study. Now people on that side do not want rishta (wedding) with anyone from this side.”

The villages here are emptying, he says. People are shifting to “developed” places like Chamba, to educate their children. “But education must include teaching them how to grow food,” says Singh. Today’s education is cutting us from our zameen, ghar and parampara (land, home and traditions). Look at my daughter. She is doing MSc. She doesn’t get up before 8am. Padhai ka ganit shayad theek hain, lekin zindagi ka ganit gadbad hain (Her book learning may be in order, but not so her way of life).”

Back in Chamba, where we are staying, groups of young people hang around in the square as evening falls. Young boys roam around in a de rigueur uniform of skinny jeans, slim-fit shirts or t-shirts, and cropped hair. Most of them are students in Chamba, which has seen a spate of new colleges. The girl at the only internet café says most young people join the army or hotel industry. “There are no real options, career-wise.”

“You foolish village women, do you know what these forests bear? Resin, timber, and therefore foreign exchange!”

And the women would answer: “What do the forests bear? Soil, water, and pure air. The basis for staying alive.”

Dhoom Singh Negi (79) hands out a book with the Chipko slogan. We are in his house in Kathiyan, where he lives with his wife, Ranni. “Her father was in Azad Hind Fauj,” says Negi. He adds that he himself was influenced by activist and environmentalist Sunderlal Bahuguna’s speeches.

A self-proclaimed Gandhian, Bahuguna believed in walking long distances and meeting people. “He said you will not understand your country till you meet people in villages. He was about 50 then, and used to walk around trying to get people to understand the urgency of issues. “Pahaadi hippie” — that’s what he was called,” Negi laughs.

“So many of us got into the movement — Kunwar Prasun, Shekhar Pathak, Vijay Jardhari, me. Jardhari had a book store in Chamba and we would all hang out there. We read a lot of Che Guevara’s books, about his journeys around his country,” he says.

A bypass surgery and heavy medications don’t allow Negi to walk around as much as he would like, but he continues to write and read. The shelves in his library and reading room are lined with books and identical black diaries. They are methodically labelled and date back several decades.

Negi was a schoolteacher who quit the security of a government job and joined the Sarvodaya movement in the ’50s. He is also a writer whose works have appeared in local newspapers and magazines. Last year, he released a book, Mitee Paani aur Bayar, in Dehradun. It highlights the issues that continued to affect Uttarakhand. The title is taken from the Chipko slogan in Hindi:

Kya hain jungle ke upkaar (What’s the utility of a forest)/ Mitti, paani aur bayaar (soil, water and breeze)/ mitti, paani aur bayaar/ Zinda rehne ke aadhaar (the basis of staying alive)

Negi talks about the Sharab Bandh movement of 1970-71. “The king wanted everyone to be drunk and not question anything. Vidyalay chalao ya madira chalao (either run schools or alcohol shops), I told people. Alcoholism, untouchability, deforestation — all these issues were part of Chipko.” He goes on to narrate an interesting incident from 1973, when the protests took off in Chamoli district. “They (the villagers) had centred around the angu tree from which the wood for ploughs came from. The angu wood is soft and does not bruise the cattle. But the officials decided to auction the trees to Allahabad’s Simon company. The protests began from that point.”

Negi sees us off, climbing the hill slope, following us to our car parked on the nearest road. As the car starts to roll, he punches the air with his fist — “ Sangharsh jaari rahein (May the movement continue),” he says.

Anuradha Sengupta is a Kolkata-based freelance journalist