At least 15 people are dead after a massive landslide buried a passenger bus along a mountain highway in India’s northern state of Himachal Pradesh on Wednesday, October 8, 2025. The vehicle, carrying more than 30 people, was traveling through the Mandi district when a wall of mud and rock triggered by days of unrelenting monsoon rain swept across the road without warning. Rescue teams, battling treacherous terrain and continuing downpours, have recovered 15 bodies so far, with several others still missing. Authorities fear the death toll may rise as search operations continue under floodlights and the constant threat of further landslides.
The National Disaster Response Force (NDRF), along with local police and army engineers, deployed heavy machinery and sniffer dogs to the remote site near the village of Gohar. “The road is completely blocked. We’re working with ropes and drones to reach survivors,” said an NDRF commander on-site. Survivors described chaos screams cut short by the roar of collapsing earth, followed by an eerie silence broken only by rain. Among the victims were families returning from a pilgrimage and daily-wage laborers heading home. The tragedy has reignited urgent questions about infrastructure resilience in the fragile Himalayas, where climate-amplified rainfall is making once-rare disasters alarmingly frequent.
Himachal Pradesh, nestled in the western Himalayas, has seen a 300% increase in extreme rainfall events over the past decade, according to India’s Ministry of Earth Sciences. Deforestation, unregulated road construction, and hydropower projects have destabilized slopes once held together by dense forests and traditional terracing. Locals in Gohar say the hillside had been “weeping” for days small cracks oozing water before it finally collapsed. “We warned the authorities,” said Rajesh Thakur, a farmer whose home overlooks the ravine. “But no one listens until the earth swallows someone whole.” This landslide is the third major one in the region this monsoon season alone.
Yet even in grief, the community mobilizes. Villagers formed human chains to carry supplies to rescue teams. Local women cooked meals for hundreds, serving rice and lentils under plastic tarps. A youth initiative from a nearby college launched a crowdfunding campaign to support families of the deceased and injured, raising over ₹2 million ($24,000) in 24 hours. “We can’t bring back the dead,” said engineering student Arjun Malhotra, “but we can make sure their children go to school.”
State officials have pledged a review of all mountain road projects and announced a ban on new construction in high-risk zones. Environmental scientists are calling for early-warning systems using AI-powered soil sensors a technology already piloted in parts of Uttarakhand. But for now, the people of Himachal live with uncertainty. Every raindrop carries weight. Every rumble in the hills triggers fear. Still, they plant crops, repair roofs, and send their children to school acts of quiet defiance against a landscape increasingly hostile to human life. This resilience isn’t born of optimism, but of necessity: to stay is to resist.
As rescue workers dig through mud and memory, the landslide in Himachal Pradesh stands as both a local tragedy and a national warning. Climate change isn’t coming it’s already here, reshaping mountains, rewriting survival, and claiming lives in seconds. The road may be rebuilt, but the trust in stable ground may never return. In the Himalayas, the earth no longer holds its promises and the people are learning to live without them.
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