Editor,
There are some memories that never fade. For me, River Kamle is not just a river; it is a story passed down through generations. Since childhood, I have heard how our ancestors walked for days along its course, how they settled by its banks, and how the river sustained them with food, water, and hope. Kamle was never just geography; it was life itself.
I still remember the first time I saw the river in 2004, flowing powerfully through the green gorge near Tamen Bailey Bridge. That moment stayed with me. Years later, in 2017, when Kamle was declared a district, I felt proud, as if our history had finally been recognised. More recently, organising the first Kamle River Festival was my small attempt to celebrate and preserve this living heritage.
But today, that pride is turning into pain.
The approval of the Rs. 26,069.50 crore, 1,720 MW Kamala Hydroelectric Project under India’s push for renewable energy marks a turning point. On paper, it represents progress, aligned with the National Hydropower Policy, 2019, and the country’s commitment to expand non-fossil fuel capacity. But on the ground, here in Kamle, it feels like the beginning of an irreversible loss.
This is not just about a dam. It is about what we are willing to lose in the name of development.
The Kamle basin lies within the ecologically fragile Eastern Himalayas, a region known for its rich biodiversity and seismic sensitivity. Policies like the EIA Notification, 2006, and safeguards under environmental laws exist to protect such landscapes. Yet, experience across the Northeast shows that cumulative ecological impacts are often underestimated, especially when multiple hydropower projects are planned within the same river system.
The situation becomes even more distressing when we consider the 2000 MW Subansiri Lower Hydropower Project. The confluence of the Kamle and Subansiri, one of the most beautiful and spiritually significant landscapes of our region, faces the threat of submergence. Along with it, ancestral lands, memories, and the identities of countless families will be lost.
Can compensation ever replace that?
Perhaps the most unsettling reality is the silence. There is little resistance, little questioning. Maybe the promise of economic gain has overshadowed everything else. But development that demands the erasure of identity is not progress; it is sacrifice.
We must also remember that rivers do not exist in isolation. The Subansiri feeds into the Brahmaputra, and any disruption here will travel downstream, affecting ecosystems and livelihoods far beyond Kamle. The consequences will not be confined to one district; they will ripple across regions and generations.
This is not an argument against development. Arunachal Pradesh holds immense hydropower potential, and harnessing it is important. But development must not come at the cost of our roots. The principles of sustainable development and intergenerational responsibility are not just policy terms; they are moral obligations.
If we continue on this path without reflection, we risk turning a living river into a controlled reservoir, and a proud district into a hollow name. If the soul of Kamle is altered beyond recognition, then what does the name “Kamle” truly stand for?
To the people of Kamle, I say this with a heavy heart: today, we may gain in crores, but tomorrow, our children may inherit silence where a river once flowed. They may ask us why we did not speak when it mattered.
River Kamle is not just water. It is memory, identity, and life. And once we lose it, no policy, no project, and no amount of compensation can ever bring it back.
Bompa Lomdak,
Kamle,
Arunachal Pradesh