Jalori Pass, Maa Kali Temple & Serolsar Lake — Sacred Places Under Threat
The Himalayas are not just peaks and valleys — they are living sanctuaries, places where nature and spirituality merge. Yet, even in those high reaches, we find scarred landscapes: litter, noise, disrespect. During a recent journey through Jalori Pass, Maa Kali Temple, and Serolsar Lake, the beauty of devotion was marred by human negligence. In this article, we explore what I observed, why sacred places matter, how tourism and government policy play a role, and what we must do now to preserve the sanctity of our Himalayan heritage.
The High Altitude Ascent — Reaching Maa Kali Temple
On 11 October 2025, the trek began early in the morning under pale sunlight. Jalori Pass, known to lie above 10,000 feet, welcomes travelers with chilling winds and panoramic views of ridged peaks draped in clouds. The path climbs through pine and deodar forests, rocky slopes, and occasional meadows dusted with fallen leaves. Every breath feels sacred, every step a prayer.
At the summit sits the main shrine of Maa Kali, perched in cold wind and thin air. Legends say this is a seat of the divine feminine, a place where worshippers arrive to surrender their hopes and fears. The shrine is modest — stone walls, an inner sanctum, offerings from devotees, small bells, worn footprints in the earth.
From Silence to Shock — The Plastic at the Shrine
What struck me first, apart from the chill and altitude, was the sight of discarded plastic bottles strewn near the inner walls. Hidden among stones, between steps, behind the sanctum — dozens of used bottles, snack wrappers, and other waste. It was heartbreaking to see such disrespect in a place consecrated with devotion over generations.
With no delay, I gathered as many bottles as I could carry, carefully retrieving them from crevices and cracks. If that shrine is a home for the sacred, it deserves no trash. The act was small — but necessary in that moment of disillusionment.
The Trek Toward Serolsar — A Forest Wounded
From the temple, the trail descends toward Serolsar Lake. The path passes through dense forests of oak, deodar and rhododendron, with mossy undergrowth and shafts of light filtering through foliage. At first, the experience is peaceful: birdsong, gentle breezes, trickling streams. The forest breathes.
But gradually, the serenity is punctured — by shards of plastic, crushed bottles, snack wrappers strewn among roots, and broken glass. The litter lies in hollows and across moss beds, in side trails and along drainage lines. At places where the forest opens into clearings, the garbage piles become even more visible.
In one clearing near the Serolsar temple area, I encountered a group of about twelve to thirteen people dancing loudly, the beat of loudspeaker music trampling on the forest’s silence. Their laughter and shuffle resonated harshly in the sacred ambience. To see such behavior in a place many consider holy was deeply shocking and disheartening.
Serolsar Lake & The Temple of Budhi Nagin
After the forest descent, Serolsar (Seruvalsar) appears — a mirror of sky and mountain, embraced by forest slopes. Its waters are cold and clear. At its edge stands the temple of **Mata Budhi Nagin**, a local deity revered in Himachali folklore as a guardian of serpents, forests, and sacred waters.
Devotees believe Budhi Nagin shaped the waters, commanded serpentine forces, and gives solace to forest spirits. Offerings of oil, ghee and incense are made. The lake is said to echo with silent blessings. The very presence of this shrine makes the lake more than a scenic spot — it is a seat of living devotion.
I walked barefoot into the lake’s shallow edge and bathed in its cold embrace — not as a tourist, but as a pilgrim seeking connection. In those moments, the water, sky, and stone felt alive.
At the temple, I spoke briefly to the local priest. He shared a truth I will not forget: “Hundreds of people arrive, but few come as devotees. Many come to click, some to picnic. Rarely do two or three among a hundred visitors enter with a heart for worship.” His words echoed the very pain visible in the littered forest.
Legends, Lore & Local Belief
The region is rich in folklore. According to legend, **Budhi Nagin** emerges in times of ecological distress, weaving water currents, protecting forest animals, and teaching harmony between humans and nature. Some local tales speak of serpentine guardians that once roamed forest floors; when humans lost virtue, those forces withdrew, leaving whispered warnings of destruction.
The Maa Kali shrine, too, carries stories passed through generations: pilgrims who survived harsh winters, worshippers who trekked in snow and returned with both fear and hope, and whispers that the goddess’s blessings protect those who approach with humility. These stories are bound in memory — yet when we pollute those very places, we break the pact between devotion and nature.
Tourism Boom in Himachal — Blessing and Burden
Tourism forms a critical part of Himachal Pradesh’s economy. In 2024, the state recorded a staggering **1.80 crore (18 million)** domestic tourists until December, along with **83,000 foreign visitors** — among the highest in recent years. The **Himachal Pradesh Tourism Development Corporation (HPTDC)** also crossed **₹100 crore turnover for the first time**, signaling growth and renewed financial strength.
Tourism contributes an estimated **7% of the state’s GDP**, and supports both direct and indirect employment across lodging, transport, guides, handicrafts and services. Because pilgrimage tourism overlaps with nature tourism in Himachal, the stakes for environmental integrity rise. The very landscapes that attract people — snow, forest, peaks, clean air — are fragile.
The **Economic Survey of Himachal Pradesh 2024–25** shows that the government is pushing for better infrastructure, road connectivity and amenities, with tourism cited as a key driver. Also, the state has approved an eco-tourism policy to develop **77 eco-tourism sites**, with an aim to generate **₹200 crore over five years**, while promoting local guides and heritage education.
🏔️ The Real Cost of Development — When Revenue Is Overshadowed by Disaster
While government records proudly highlight that Himachal Pradesh earned over ₹100 crore from tourism in 2024, the hidden reality is far more painful. The same hills that fill the state treasury are also bleeding under uncontrolled construction and deforestation. In the past three years, Himachal Pradesh has lost an estimated ₹20,000 crore in property, agriculture, and infrastructure damage due to natural disasters — landslides, flash floods, and cloudbursts.
In 2025 alone, the losses are assessed at nearly ₹5,000 crore, according to state disaster management reports and media analyses. So when the government celebrates a ₹100 crore tourism turnover, we must ask: what kind of development earns ₹100 crore but loses ₹5,000 crore every monsoon?
Unregulated road widening, four-lane highway construction, and tunnel blasting across fragile Himalayan slopes have accelerated soil erosion and water imbalance. Lakhs of trees have been cut in the name of progress, destabilizing mountains that once absorbed rain and anchored the earth. Each widened highway or concrete resort promises prosperity, but the cost is invisible — broken ecosystems, displaced villagers, and recurring floods.
In short, the state is trading its natural capital for temporary financial capital. Tourism revenue that appears as “profit” on paper is offset many times over by the environmental loss that follows. What once was a self-sustaining Dev Bhoomi is slowly being converted into a fragile, disaster-prone zone in the pursuit of short-term growth.
If the Himachal government truly wishes to strengthen the economy, it must first protect its foundation — the forests, rivers, and sacred mountains that sustain every other sector. Without them, even tourism will have no future to depend upon.
The Jalori Tunnel Project — Promise or Peril?
One of the most contested developments is the **Jalori Jot Tunnel**, a proposal to build a **4.2 km tunnel** under Jalori Pass (NH-305 route) to provide year-round connectivity to Banjar, Anni and adjacent valleys. In 2025, the central government cleared a ₹3,667 crore annual infrastructure plan, which includes funding for roads, bridges and connectivity measures — the tunnel is one of its focal projects. In August 2025, the center approved a **₹1,452 crore** sanction specifically for the Jalori tunnel project. The alignment for the tunnel has already been approved by the Union Ministry of Road Transport and Highways.
While the tunnel may promise easier access and economic gains, it also raises grave concerns: - Geological risk: Himalayan rock strata and fault lines are fragile; tunneling may trigger land shifts or water table disruption. - Ecological damage: forest clearing, vibrations, blasting waste, and new roads can fragment habitats. - Cultural dilution: easier access may convert pilgrimage zones into party zones, with larger footfall and less reverence.
In fact, a firm was fined ₹17.32 lakh in 2024 for delaying the project’s report, pointing to administrative challenges. Though the plan has been in discussion for decades, final alignment decisions were pending as of late 2024.
🚧 The Real Motive Behind the Jalori Tunnel — Tourism Over Necessity
While the government presents the Jalori Tunnel project as a step toward “better connectivity” and “local benefit,” its primary objective is to keep tourism active throughout the year. The road to Jalori Pass remains closed for nearly four to five months every winter due to heavy snowfall, making it inaccessible to tourists. The tunnel, once built, will allow vehicles to pass even during peak snow season, thereby opening this sacred region for continuous tourism operations.
However, the argument of helping locals is largely unfounded. Residents of the Outer Seraj region already have administrative access through Rampur Bushahr, which is only 60 kilometers away, compared to over 110 kilometers from Kullu, the current district headquarters. Rampur Bushahr is already a tehsil, and if it were upgraded to a district, all administrative and public service needs of the Outer Seraj belt could easily be handled there — without building a costly and ecologically risky tunnel.
Therefore, the Jalori Tunnel appears to be a tourism-driven project, not a people-centric one. It aims to attract visitors year-round rather than addressing genuine connectivity issues. For a state that faces frequent landslides, flash floods, and deforestation-related disasters, carving a massive tunnel through a geologically fragile Himalayan ridge is a dangerous trade-off. Sacred landscapes like Jalori Pass should remain zones of reverence, not highways of profit.
Voices from the Ground: Priest’s Lament and Visitor Patterns
The local temple priest’s remark — that only a fraction of visitors walk into the temple with devotion — is symptomatic of a larger shift. Many tourists come for photos, picnics or thrill, not ritual. When the temple becomes a backdrop rather than a sanctum, ritualistic upkeep and offerings might decline.
Many locals echo similar concerns: that pilgrimage is being overshadowed by entertainment. They observe that tourists leave behind trash, disturb quiet, and ignore temple protocols. Over time, this behavior erodes the intangible dignity of sacred sites.
Why Sacredness Must Be Protected
Beyond physical beauty, sacred places carry multiple layers of meaning: - **Spiritual anchoring**: Pilgrims find solace, perspective, inner stillness. - **Cultural memory**: Ancient practices, legends, oral heritage link past to present. - **Ecological guardianship**: Nature and ritual are interwoven; forests, rivers, animals thrive in respectful balance.
Polluting or disrespecting sacred places breaks that interdependence. If water is sullied, prayers lose purity. If forest is injured, sanctity is diminished. When humans treat sacred spaces as tourist commodities, they displace reverence with spectacle.
Challenges & Failures in Current Approaches
- Infrastructure first, awareness later: Roads, tunnels and guest houses are pushed before waste systems and visitor education are built.
- Weak enforcement: Littering and disrespect often go unchecked in remote zones due to limited staff and monitoring capacity.
- Top-heavy development: State promotors aim for revenue without adequate input from local communities or guardianship ethics.
- Limited local capacity: Villages and temple trusts often lack resources to maintain trails, waste removal, public education.
- Tourist mentality: Many visitors arrive with a “consume, click, leave” mindset rather than reverence, missing sacred protocol.
Steps Toward Healing — A Roadmap for Sacred Conservation
Protecting Jalori Pass, Maa Kali Temple and Serolsar Lake requires coordinated action across pilgrims, communities, local government, NGOs and state policy. The following roadmap can serve as a starting point.
1. Responsible Pilgrim Behavior
- Adopt a strict “carry-in, carry-out” rule — bring trash bags and take all waste back.
- Avoid loudspeakers, music, dancing near temples or lakes.
- Enter temples quietly, observe offerings and avoid disturbing rituals.
- Use reusable water bottles, avoid single-use plastics, prefer local snacks with minimal packaging.
2. Waste Infrastructure & Trail Management
- Install segregated bins (organic, plastic, glass) at base camps and along trails, with regular collection.
- Organize seasonal cleanup expeditions with volunteers, local youth and forest staff.
- Deploy signage at trailheads stating the sanctity, rules, and local lore to educate visitors.
3. Protection Zones & Visitor Caps
- Designate strict sacred zones where loud behavior and parties are prohibited.
- Limit visitor numbers per day (especially during festivals) to avoid overcrowding.
- Schedule quiet hours, temple-only hours, and rest slots to maintain peace in sensitive areas.
4. Eco-sensitive Infrastructure Planning
- Evaluate all construction (roads, tunnels, lodges) with rigorous Environmental & Cultural Impact Assessments.
- Where tunnels or roads are built, use dark-sky lighting, minimal deforestation, water drainage management.
- Ensure that development does not fragment wildlife corridors or disturb water flows.
5. Local Community & Temple Trust Empowerment
- Assign a share of tourism revenue to local communities for maintenance, cleaning and ritual restoration.
- Train youth as eco-guides, custodians, visitor educators and monitors.
- Allow village committees or temple trusts real authority over site rules, visitor behavior and conservation decisions.
6. Awareness & Cultural Revival
- Publish short guides (online and printed) explaining the lore, rituals, rules, and responsibilities at pilgrimage sites.
- Include orientation sessions for visitors at parking or base camps.
- Organize cultural performances, storytelling, and local seminars to revive connection with sacred traditions.
7. Monitoring, Accountability & Feedback Loops
- Use drones, trail cameras, or satellite surveys to map litter hotspots and forest disturbances.
- Set up a feedback app or portal for pilgrims to report damage, litter, rule violation.
- Mandate annual audits of pilgrimage sites (cleanliness index, ritual health, ecological health).
Success Stories & Inspirations
In regions where sacred management has worked, we see a balanced approach. Pilgrimage circuits in Uttarakhand and Himachal have introduced regulated entry passes, local steward groups, and periodic cleanup drives. These combine tradition with conservation. If done right, pilgrimage growth need not mean destruction — it can mean renewal.
Conclusion — Reverence Must Precede Recreation
The Himalayan hills carry centuries of devotion. Their forests, waters and stones echo with sacred memory. Yet when trash, noise and disrespect creep into that sacredness, nature and faith both suffer. Jalori Pass, the Maa Kali shrine, Serolsar Lake—they are not mere tourist hotspots. They are living sanctums.
If we do not act now, what future will remain for sacred pilgrimage in the Himalayas? Let each visitor become a guardian, not a consumer. Let each local community regain authority, not marginalization. Let government planning prioritize ecology and culture, not just numbers. Because in the end, we do not own sacred places — we only borrow them from future generations.
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