Mount Abu "The Tinderbox ready to explode”

Forest fire behind the firing range

Forest fire Arna village smouldering fire chandmari

Human carelessness Beginning of forest fire firing range.

Last week while driving home I saw smoke bellowing around the army shooting range, for a second I lost all sense of reality and jammed on my brakes to get a better view and almost got my one way ticket to the Hades, a speeding car had to hit hard on his brakes and with screeching tyres only inches to spare manage to stop his car behind me. My folly had a devastating effect, the driver behind me was all shook up, in righteous anger he barged into me calling me you Bloody “Pagal Angrez”,(mad Englishman) you want to get killed. I was all shook up because had he not applied his power brakes, I would have probably ended up flying straight into the burning inferno that had got me into this situation.
Mount Abu’s forest now looks like a graveyard of dried and dying trees the drought conditions have taken their toll on this area gradually over the years. The summer this year is going to be terrible; the average day temperature last week hovered between 30 to 35 degrees and the humidity around 30% or slightly lower. These high atmospheric temperatures and low humidity offer ideal conditions for a fire to start. Last week spontaneous fires sprang up in different parts of Abu, causing the populace at large to look to the heavens for an answer to their prayer, as our forest department is under staffed and ill-equipped to fight any kind of forest fire.
I’m worried because this “Tinderbox” of ours is on the brink of exploding into a burning inferno that would be detrimental to our eco-sensitive environment, there would be a massive loss of rare flora only found in this part of the world. If only our forest department would employ the local illegal wood cutters in paying them a substantial amount to clear the dry under growth and dead leaves and twigs and burn it in isolation. This small measure could go a long way to control a forest fire from spreading, the department would be killing two birds with one stone, one, illegal sale of forest wood would be reduced and two, a small measure in ensuring fire spreading through a continuous supply of dry vegetation along its path. The pictures above are photographs taken last week of spontaneous fires around Abu.

Spring in the Abode Mount Abu.

Pine trees in Mount Abu

Pine trees in Mount Abu

Hillside with a mixed bag of trees

Flame of the Forest 

Indian Coral Tree

Blue Jacaranda

A Season Out of Balance

Spring in the Abode of the Gods was once a gentle transition—a pause between winter’s bite and summer’s blaze. Not anymore. What we are witnessing now is not a season, but a warning.

This year, winter arrived. It seemed the cold no longer permeated the hills as deeply as it had in the past. As temperatures failed to reach their previous extremes, the once resilient forests seemed subdued and hesitant. The changing climate pushed even the sloth bears, creatures of instinct and rhythm, out of their natural cycle, causing them to wander into human spaces in search of food. When wildlife breaks its own ancient rules, it is not adaptation—it is distress.

 Nature Out of Sync

After some time away, I’ve returned to the field, to the forests, to the silence—and the silence speaks. The patterns are shifting, and not subtly. Birds that should be waiting for the monsoon are already nesting, raising fledglings far too early, as if racing against an invisible clock.

This is not a quirk of nature. This is disruption.

The delicate timing that governs life in these hills—rain, bloom, breeding, migration—has unraveled. And once that rhythm is lost, the consequences cascade. Fewer insects, fewer seeds, less water, weaker forests. It is a chain reaction, and we are already somewhere in the middle of it.

Meanwhile, in the town, water arrives every alternate day. That alone should be headline enough. A hill station, once known for its springs and lakes, now measures survival in buckets and schedules.

 The Cost of Looking Away

It would be easy—convenient, even—to lay all the blame at the feet of global warming. But that would only be half the truth.

What about unchecked construction ? Concerning the decline in forest cover? What about the problems of poor water management, encroachment, and the steady erosion of natural drainage systems? What about the policies that exist on paper but vanish on the ground?

Mount Abu is not just being changed by the climate—it is being weakened by neglect.

The signs are everywhere: drying water sources, increasing human-wildlife conflict, rising temperatures, and a growing dependence on an unreliable monsoon. And yet, the response remains fragmented, slow, and often cosmetic.

The Summer Ahead

If current trends hold—and there is little reason to believe otherwise—the coming summer will be unforgiving. Heat will intensify. Dust storms will become more frequent. Forest fires will lurk at the edges of every dry patch of land.

It feels as though the desert is not just nearby—it is advancing.

 Conclusion: A Hill Station at a Crossroads

Spring should have been a season of renewal. Instead, it has become a mirror—reflecting the cost of years of imbalance, oversight, and indifference.

Mount Abu stands at a crossroads. What happens next will depend not on hope, but on action—real, sustained, and accountable action. Protecting forest cover, restoring water systems, enforcing environmental regulations, and rethinking how development is allowed to unfold in fragile ecosystems like this one.

Because if the Abode of the Gods begins to fail, it will not be sudden. It will be slow, visible, and entirely preventable.

And perhaps the most troubling part is this: the warning signs are no longer subtle. They are all around us.

The question is no longer what is happening.

The question is—who is willing to act before it is too late?