Climate
Every Rumble Sounds Like the Mountain Falling Again: Inside Meppadi’s Second Landslide in Two Years
A community that survived one of India’s deadliest landslides is still relearning how to live with the sound of the hills coming down.
On July 7, 2026, around 11 a.m., a rumble echoed through Meppadi and a six-year-old boy ran. He had stayed home from school that day. The moment he heard the sound, he rushed to his mother, wrapped his arms around her, and refused to let go. He was trembling. For him, the sound wasn’t just noise. It was 2024 again.
The boy had survived the Chooralmala landslide that killed hundreds of his neighbours two years ago, and he has been in counselling ever since. On this day, a new landslide six kilometres away, at the Anakkompoyil–Meenakshi tunnel construction site in Kalladi, had reopened the wound.
“For him, it was like reliving the 2024 landslide,” his grandmother, Roshna Yusaf, a social worker and former Meppadi block panchayat member, told EdPublica. “The moment he heard the familiar sound again, he came running and held on to his mother. He refused to stay apart.”
Meppadi is a small hill town in Wayanad, a hilly district in the southern Indian state of Kerala, set in the Western Ghats — a steep, rain-soaked mountain range that runs down India’s western coast and is globally recognised as one of the world’s biodiversity hotspots. It was here, in July 2024, that a series of landslides buried the neighbouring villages of Mundakkai and Chooralmala, killing hundreds of people in one of the deadliest disasters in Kerala’s history. Two years on, Meppadi panchayat — the local administrative area that includes both those villages, Kalladi, and the town itself — is still rebuilding. In July 2026, it happened again.
The Kalladi landslide killed eight people — seven migrant workers and the project’s construction manager — in a disaster that geo-scientists have since called preventable, pointing to inadequate geological and hydrological study for a tunnel driven through fragile Western Ghats terrain. Rescue operations ran for six days before all the bodies were recovered. Around 40 families from nearby Meenakshi were moved to relief camps.
For Meppadi, still rebuilding after the 2024 Chooralmala–Mundakkai disaster, it was not an isolated accident. It was a second interruption to childhoods, livelihoods, and a fragile sense of security the community had spent two years trying to rebuild.
When Childhood Is Interrupted
The six-year-old is one of many children in Meppadi still carrying the trauma of repeated landslides. For them, the sound of heavy rain or collapsing earth is enough to bring back memories they have spent months trying to overcome.
The latest disaster has again disrupted their education.
“It has been only one month since schools reopened. Now the children cannot go to school,” said Biji Zhacahi, a mother of two from Meenakshi.
“Every year, it is the children’s future that gets disrupted. Because of these repeated incidents, some children even become reluctant to go to school. As parents, we are always worried about their safety.”
Roshna pointed out how narrowly the community escaped a far larger tragedy. The Kalladi landslide struck at 11 a.m. — a school day, but after the morning rush.
“If the landslide had happened in the morning, many students could have lost their lives, because they usually board their school buses from the nearby bus stop,” she said.

For many families, interrupted schooling — and the fear of sending children to school at all — has become another fixture of every monsoon.
Women Living in Uncertainty
Repeated landslides have also reshaped daily life for women, many of whom manage households alone while their husbands work abroad.
“Women here have forgotten how to smile,” Roshna said. Years of facing one disaster after another, she said, have left many women emotionally exhausted.
“Every time it rains heavily, the same questions come back — what if another landslide happens, where do we run, how do we protect our children? The fear never really leaves.”
When Livelihoods Depend on the Weather
The uncertainty extends well beyond the home. It touches almost every livelihood in Meppadi.
“When it rains, it rains continuously for several days,” said Krishna Raj, a shop owner in Meppadi town. “Transportation becomes difficult. We have to travel to nearby towns to bring supplies for our shops, but during heavy rain that is not always possible.”
With roads frequently cut off, even running a small business becomes a gamble.
For jeep driver Mansoor Ali, every journey through the hills carries its own anxiety.
“It is very scary to drive here at night,” he said. “Whenever I hear a loud sound, I fear it is another landslide. In the dark, we don’t even know where to run. That is how most drivers here live.”
Many residents had already shifted from agriculture to tourism after repeated crop losses from wild animal attacks made farming increasingly difficult. Landslides, and the restrictions on tourist movement that follow them, have now unsettled that livelihood too.
“People moved to tourism because farming became difficult,” said Sijo, who works in the sector. “Now tourist visits and homestays have also been affected.”
For many families in Meppadi, there is no livelihood the monsoon has left untouched.
A Tunnel That Brings Hope — and Questions
Despite the tragedy at the construction site, residents largely continue to support the Anakkompoyil–Meenakshi (Kalladi–Meppadi) tunnel project. The twin-tunnel road is meant to cut straight through the hills separating hilly, landlocked Wayanad from the neighbouring coastal district of Malappuram, replacing the long, congested detour drivers currently take over the Thamarassery Ghat — a winding mountain pass notorious for accidents and traffic jams.
“We have great expectations from this project,” said Nishal, a resident of Meenakshi. “Better connectivity is something people here have needed for years.” At the same time, he added, residents are uneasy about how the construction is being carried out.
Roshna fears that soil excavated from the tunnel is being dumped on the slopes above her home. “If more soil is dumped above the mountain, many houses, including mine, could be affected,” she said. “I am 56 years old. I cannot build another house.”
Her fear echoes the explanation Kerala’s government has itself offered for the disaster: a state minister called it not a natural landslide but a man-made one, a clear case of lapse, and said the district collector had warned the tunnel’s contractor, Konkan Railway, in writing about the danger — a warning that went unheeded. Following the incident, the Kerala government suspended all construction on the Rs 2,134-crore tunnel project pending two separate investigations.
Nishal recalled that a strong artesian spring had emerged during the tunnel’s initial construction phase the previous summer. A paddy field near the site had also been cleared and filled in by the construction company, he said, and inadequate drainage afterward let water and loosened soil flow downhill. Many residents, he added, still don’t know whether they will eventually be displaced, because the project’s final alignment has never been clearly communicated to them.
“People have doubts because they don’t have clear information,” he said. “But almost everyone supports the project because we need better connectivity.”
The tension between that need and its risks is not new. A legal challenge to the tunnel had argued that it cut through an ecologically fragile region already prone to repeated landslides, and that environmental safeguards were inadequate. In April 2026, the Supreme Court declined to halt construction, calling the project one of significant public importance and leaving compliance to statutory regulators. The court settled the legal question. The Kalladi landslide reopened the scientific one.
A Disaster With a Familiar Shape
The parallels to 2024 are not just emotional; they are geological. Both disasters struck the same short stretch of hill country in Meppadi panchayat, where a thick layer of weathered, unconsolidated lateritic soil sits over highly fractured bedrock — a combination that loses its shear strength rapidly once intense rainfall raises pore-water pressure inside the slope. Researchers who studied the 2024 disaster concluded that this fragile geology, not any single cause, was what turned extreme rain into a catastrophic slope failure, and warned that the region’s concave slopes, which concentrate runoff, remain especially susceptible to future failures.
The 2024 Chooralmala–Mundakkai landslide remains one of the deadliest in Kerala’s history. Official confirmed deaths stood at 231 for months, before the state government declared all 32 people still listed as missing to be dead, in a notification issued on February 10, 2025 — a bureaucratic closing of the books that, for families, only formalised a grief they had already been living with. Independent researchers, using different counting methods, have since put the true toll considerably higher.
For Meppadi, that history is why an eight-death landslide at a tunnel site feels less like a new disaster than a recurrence — proof that a community built on some of the most landslide-prone slopes in the Western Ghats has yet to find a way to build, or to grieve, that outlasts the next monsoon.
A Town That Never Stops Recovering
For Meppadi, the latest landslide is not an isolated tragedy. It is another interruption in a recovery that never seems to end.
Children grow up carrying trauma. Women wait anxiously through every spell of rain. Workers wonder whether their livelihoods will survive another monsoon.
Yet amid the uncertainty, residents say it is the community’s solidarity that helps them move forward.
“From the NDRF and Fire and Rescue teams to local people, everyone stands together with one heart to rebuild the area,” said Meppadi Grama Panchayat President Ramla Hamza. “The resilience of the people, even after facing repeated disasters, makes these difficult times a little easier to bear.”
The rescue teams have left, and the roads will eventually reopen.
But in Meppadi, the true cost of living is not measured only in damaged homes or lost income. It is measured in a community forced to begin recovering all over again, every time the hills give way.
Ground report from Meppadi, Wayanad, Kerala, India. Some names of residents quoted appear as given to our reporter in the field.
Climate
Record Drought and Extreme Heat Push European Rivers to Lows as Wildfires Spread North
The European drought is driving rivers to record lows as extreme heat, wildfires, crop losses and water shortages put Europe’s energy and transport systems under pressure.
A prolonged European drought combined with extreme heat is pushing major rivers to record lows, disrupting shipping and energy production while worsening crop losses and wildfire risks. As dry conditions spread north, Europe’s water, agriculture, ecosystems and public health systems are coming under increasing pressure.
A long period of low rainfall combined with extreme heatwaves has placed half of the European Union and the United Kingdom under drought conditions. A report published on August 12 by the European Commission Joint Research Centre and the European Drought Observatory reveals that nine percent of the region reached a critical alert level by late July.
Satellite data from Copernicus, the Earth monitoring program of the European Union, shows that severely dry soil is now damaging crops and plants across the continent. In its latest assessment, the observatory warned that “the drought has built up since early spring due to lower rainfall and higher than average temperatures, turning into fuel for devastating wildfires.”

European Drought Reaches Across the Continent
The lack of rain has driven four of Europe’s largest rivers—the Rhine, Danube, Loire, and Po—to dangerously low levels. Near Cologne, Germany, the Rhine fell to a fresh record low of 49 centimetres by mid-August, according to the Rhine Waterways and Shipping Authority — nearly 20 centimetres below the previous record of 68 centimetres set earlier in the summer, which had itself broken the prior all-time low recorded in 2018. Because large cargo boats need deeper water to float safely, operators have been forced to carry much lighter loads to avoid getting stuck on the riverbed, and in places river traffic has largely halted. Carrying smaller loads requires more trips, creating major shipping delays for important industrial materials across central Europe.
At the same time, low water levels and rising temperatures are creating a serious energy crisis across the continent. In France, power companies had to cut back nuclear energy production because river water became too warm to safely cool reactors without harming aquatic life. Hydroelectric power generation has also plunged across the Alps, northern Italy, and central-eastern Europe. Copernicus analysts noted that low river flows on the Danube are creating “serious operational challenges” for power plant cooling. In Italy’s Po Valley, the dried-out river basin has triggered a separate disaster: saltwater from the Adriatic Sea has flowed inland into depleted channels, ruining farmland soil and cutting off freshwater supplies for local crops.
Wildfires Burn Over 550,000 Hectares Across Europe
Dry plants and extreme heat have triggered widespread wildfires across the continent. According to August 11 data from the European Forest Fire Information System, 552,437 hectares of land have burned within the European Union since the start of the year, spread across 1,614 individual fires of 30 hectares or larger. Although this total remains below the 667,342 hectares burned by the same date in 2025 — a season that went on to become the worst on record for EU wildfires, with 1,034,552 hectares burned in total — it is significantly higher than the 20-year historical average.
Recent satellite data shows a clear shift: large wildfires are no longer staying just in southern hotspots like Spain and Greece. As dry weather pushes northward, fire risks are expanding into cooler regions, including northwestern France, southern Great Britain, the Alps, and the Balkans. Experts at the Joint Research Centre emphasized that “wildfire risk is no longer confined to southern Europe but is increasingly affecting wider parts of the continent under prolonged hot and dry conditions.”
Declining Harvests and Rising Health Risks
Continued heat and dry soil are dealing a heavy blow to European farmers. According to assessments by the European Joint Research Centre, crop yields across central and eastern Europe have dropped significantly. Production estimates for key spring and summer crops, such as grain maize and sunflowers, have fallen by six to seven percent. Winter crops have also suffered, with yield forecasts declining between one and four percent compared to earlier projections.
High temperatures are having a severe impact on human health as well. Monitoring data from public health agencies and the World Health Organization reveals a sharp surge in heat-related emergency admissions and deaths during extreme temperature episodes. Data compiled from national health agencies — including Germany’s Robert Koch Institute, which alone recorded an estimated 11,900 heat-linked deaths — put the region’s heat-related death toll above 25,000 as of early August, highlighting the severe human cost of this summer’s weather.
Seasonal Outlook and Emergency Response
Weather predictions indicate that dry conditions will continue through early autumn. According to the Copernicus Climate Change Service, drier and warmer weather is expected to persist across central-western Europe and southern Scandinavia through September. Climate experts also warn that a developing El Nino pattern could keep global temperatures higher than normal well into spring 2027. “Water resources, crops, energy systems, river transport, and ecosystems are all under growing pressure,” the report warned, with heatwave risks remaining high through August.
To coordinate emergency aid, the European Union activated its Civil Protection Mechanism. A dedicated fleet of 22 firefighting aircraft, 5 helicopters, and ground teams have been placed on standby across 12 countries. Meanwhile, the Copernicus satellite service has responded to more than 30 emergency requests since June, providing real-time mapping data to help local authorities track active fires and assess land damage on the ground.
Climate
Indigenous Peoples and Nature Conservation: What the Research Shows
Research shows that Indigenous Peoples and local communities play a significant role in protecting forests, biodiversity and carbon-rich ecosystems. Evidence suggests that secure land rights, traditional ecological knowledge and equitable participation in conservation governance can strengthen environmental outcomes.
Climate and biodiversity policies often focus on forests protected, carbon stored and species conserved. But an increasing body of research points to another factor that can influence these outcomes: who lives in, manages and makes decisions about ecologically important landscapes.
There are an estimated 476 million Indigenous Peoples across 90 countries, representing about 6.2% of the global population. Their territories overlap with many of the world’s remaining ecologically important landscapes, making their role increasingly relevant to climate and biodiversity policy.
The evidence does not support the blanket claim that Indigenous Peoples are inherently better conservationists. It does, however, show that land rights, ecological knowledge and meaningful participation in environmental governance can be important to conservation outcomes.
Indigenous Lands Overlap With Important Ecosystems
A 2018 study published in Nature Sustainability mapped Indigenous lands across 87 countries and politically distinct areas. It estimated that Indigenous Peoples manage or have tenure rights over at least 38 million sq km, more than one-quarter of the world’s terrestrial surface.
Their territories intersect approximately 40% of terrestrial protected areas and ecologically intact landscapes, including boreal and tropical primary forests, savannas and marshes.
The finding does not mean all Indigenous territories are pristine or formally protected. It demonstrates the substantial geographical overlap between Indigenous lands and landscapes that remain important for conservation.
That overlap matters for climate policy as well. Forests, wetlands and other intact ecosystems store carbon while supporting biodiversity and regulating water and other ecological processes.
One-third of Irrecoverable Carbon
The climate significance becomes clearer when carbon is considered.
A 2022 study in Nature Sustainability identified 139.1 gigatonnes of irrecoverable carbon remaining in Earth’s ecosystems, with considerable uncertainty around the estimate. The researchers found that 33.6% of this carbon—46.7 gigatonnes—is within lands managed by Indigenous Peoples and local communities, compared with 23% within protected areas.
“Irrecoverable” carbon refers to ecosystem carbon that, if released, could not be restored by mid-century—the timeframe considered critical for reaching net-zero emissions.
The figure does not mean Indigenous management itself creates these carbon stocks. It shows that a substantial share of carbon that climate policy has strong reason to protect is located within Indigenous and local-community lands.
Knowledge Accumulated Through Generations
Indigenous knowledge adds another dimension. Indigenous and local communities have developed detailed knowledge of species, habitats, seasonal cycles and natural resources through long-term relationships with particular landscapes. Such knowledge can complement scientific monitoring, particularly when environmental changes are observed over long periods.
The important question, however, is not simply whether conservation projects can use this knowledge. It is whether the people who hold it have a meaningful role in decisions affecting their territories.
A 2024 review in One Earth examined this question across conservation research. The researchers reviewed 648 empirical studies and analysed ecological outcomes in a subset of 170 studies. They found that more equitable governance arrangements—where Indigenous Peoples and local communities had equal partnership or primary control—were associated with significantly more positive ecological outcomes.
The study identifies an association, not proof that Indigenous governance automatically produces better results in every ecosystem. Conservation outcomes also depend on local institutions, ecological conditions, economic pressures and enforcement. But the finding challenges a model in which communities are merely consulted after conservation decisions have already been made.
The 30% Target Makes Governance Important
This issue is becoming more relevant as countries work towards the Kunming-Montreal Global Biodiversity Framework’s 30-by-30 target: conserving and effectively managing at least 30% of terrestrial, inland-water, coastal and marine areas by 2030.
The target itself calls for conservation areas to be equitably governed and recognises the rights of Indigenous Peoples and local communities where applicable. That means expanding protected areas cannot be measured only in hectares. How those areas are governed—and who has authority within them—also matters.
Climate Action Can Create New Pressures
The relationship between Indigenous territories and climate policy is not limited to forest conservation. The transition away from fossil fuels requires minerals used in batteries, electricity infrastructure and other technologies. Research published in Nature Sustainability found that more than half of the world’s energy-transition mineral resource base is located on or near the lands of Indigenous and peasant peoples.
This creates a potential contradiction: technologies intended to reduce emissions can generate new pressures on land and communities through mineral extraction.
A credible climate transition therefore has to consider not only the emissions avoided by new technologies, but also where their materials come from and whose territories are affected.
India: Where Forest Rights Meet Conservation
The global evidence has a clear relevance to India, although India’s legal framework generally uses the terms Scheduled Tribes and other traditional forest dwellers rather than the broader international category of Indigenous Peoples. India’s 2011 Census recorded about 104 million Scheduled Tribe people, representing 8.6% of the country’s population.

The Scheduled Tribes and Other Traditional Forest Dwellers (Recognition of Forest Rights) Act, 2006, commonly known as the Forest Rights Act, recognises rights of forest-dwelling Scheduled Tribes and other traditional forest dwellers over forest resources. It also provides for community forest-resource rights, including the right to protect, regenerate, conserve and manage community forest resources. Government data show the continuing scale of implementation.
As of December 31, 2025, the Ministry of Tribal Affairs reported 44,33,940 forest-rights claims had been settled, meaning a decision had been taken. These comprised 42,56,845 individual claims and 1,77,095 community claims. The data cover implementation in 20 states and one Union Territory.
The difference between individual and community claims is significant because community forest rights concern collective relationships with forests and their management. For India, therefore, the conservation question is not simply how much forest can be protected. It is also how communities with established relationships with forests participate in managing them and how their legally recognised rights are implemented.
What the Evidence Tells Us
The research does not justify portraying Indigenous Peoples as universally or inherently sustainable. Their communities, institutions and environmental practices differ widely. The evidence supports a more precise conclusion.
Indigenous Peoples manage or have tenure rights over at least 38 million sq km in the countries covered by the major global mapping study. Their territories intersect about 40% of terrestrial protected areas and ecologically intact landscapes. Indigenous Peoples and local communities manage lands containing 33.6% of the world’s mapped irrecoverable carbon. And a review of 648 conservation studies found that more equitable governance was associated with more positive ecological outcomes.
Together, these findings suggest that Indigenous Peoples should not be viewed simply as beneficiaries of conservation programmes or sources of traditional knowledge. They are already part of the governance of many ecologically important landscapes.
For climate and biodiversity policy, the implication is straightforward: protecting ecosystems can also require protecting the rights, knowledge and decision-making roles of the people who live with them. While that does not replace scientific research or environmental regulation. It expands the evidence and the institutions available to protect nature.
Climate
From Fighting Water to Saving It: The Netherlands Faces a Growing Drought Challenge
A land built to keep water out is now struggling to keep enough of it in — forcing a world leader in water management to rethink its infrastructure
The Netherlands built its global reputation by keeping water out. Now, longer dry spells and intensifying heatwaves are forcing the country to confront a very different problem: how to keep enough fresh water in the landscape. From greenhouse agriculture to homes built on wooden foundation piles, the Netherlands drought challenge is exposing the limits of infrastructure designed primarily for flood protection.
When people think of the Netherlands, the images that come to mind are windmills, tulip fields and the great sea walls that have kept the ocean at bay for centuries. The Dutch built their reputation, and much of their nation, on mastering water — pumping it away, holding it back, and reclaiming land from the sea to build a prosperous country on ground that, by rights, shouldn’t exist. Yet beneath that carefully engineered landscape, the Netherlands is now facing an unfamiliar problem: it is running out of fresh water.
As repeated summer heatwaves sweep across Western Europe, Dutch water authorities say they have reached the limit of what engineering can do. In several regions, officials have exhausted every standard measure available to them and are left with what amounts to a last resort — waiting, and hoping, for rain.
Netherlands Drought Challenge: From Floods to Water Scarcity
To understand how a country famous for its rainfall and rivers has arrived at this point, it helps to look at how the land itself was designed. For generations, the Dutch water system had one job: get excess water out to sea as fast as possible, to prevent flooding. That same efficiency has become a liability as weather patterns shift towards longer dry spells and more intense heat. The pressure peaks in late summer, when temperatures regularly cross 35°C and water evaporates faster than rainfall can replace it.
The consequences of shrinking water reserves go well beyond the daily weather report. They are already reaching into the economy, and into the foundations — quite literally — of Dutch homes.
Thousands of historic Dutch houses stand on wooden foundation piles. When groundwater levels drop, those piles are exposed to air and begin to rot. On clay and peat soils, the ground shrinks unevenly, pulling foundations down and cracking brick walls
Economic Strain and Sinking Homes
In Westland, the heart of Dutch greenhouse horticulture, the Delfland water authority has banned growers from drawing irrigation water from local ditches and canals — the first such ban in its history. According to the growers’ umbrella body Glastuinbouw Nederland, the ban affects around 150 commercial growers, with potential damages running as high as €150 million.
At the same time, a quieter crisis is unfolding beneath people’s homes. Thousands of historic Dutch houses stand on wooden foundation piles. When groundwater levels drop, those piles are exposed to air and begin to rot. On clay and peat soils, the ground shrinks unevenly, pulling foundations down and cracking brick walls. The Council for the Living Environment and Infrastructure estimates that close to half a million buildings across the country could show foundation damage by 2035, with repair costs reaching as much as €54 billion.
From Water Battle to Water Sponge
This reality is forcing a fundamental shift in how the Netherlands manages its resources. For centuries, Dutch policy was simple: fight the water, and push it away. Today, water authorities are engaged in a delicate balancing act, trying to save every drop using canal locks and storage basins. But holding onto existing water can only do so much once the rain stops altogether.
Long-term resilience will require redesigning the landscape itself. Rather than treating rainwater as a threat to be flushed out to sea, experts increasingly argue that the Netherlands needs to function more like a giant sponge — capturing heavy winter rain and storing it safely to survive the dry summer months that are becoming the norm.
A Lesson Beyond Borders
What is unfolding in the Netherlands carries a lesson well beyond it. If a nation this experienced in water engineering is struggling to keep pace with a changing climate, it says something about how quickly conditions can outrun even the most sophisticated infrastructure. As riverbeds stay low and the dry spells drag on, the Dutch find themselves in an unfamiliar position for a country built on water: waiting for the skies to open.
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