Missing in the Mountains: Indian Pilgrims Lost in Nepal-Tibet Border Floods

Sudipto Bhattacharya was at home in India when his wife's messages stopped coming. The last one arrived at 08:03 on the morning of August 26—a simple line saying her group was waiting to cross into China. Before that, at 07:57, she'd sent a photograph of her departure stamp from Nepal immigration. After that, nothing. His wife, Subhrasree Chakraborty, was 43 years old, a medical technologist working in critical care at a city hospital. She had trained in CPR and emergency procedures. She was fit, experienced, and she was supposed to be safe. She was part of a pilgrimage group of about 30 people heading to Mount Kailash, the sacred Himalayan peak that Subhrasree had dreamed of visiting for years.

Within hours, Bhattacharya learned why the messages had stopped. Flash floods had struck along Nepal's border with Tibet that morning, and at least 290 Indians were now unaccounted for. Most of them were pilgrims like his wife, traveling to Mount Kailash after the route had reopened following pandemic closures and geopolitical tensions between India and China. Thousands of Indians make this journey each year. Subhrasree had left Kolkata on August 21, taking the Mithila Express to Raxaul, then crossing into Nepal by bus. She spent three nights in Kathmandu, sending photographs home—images of herself in a blue tunic standing in a temple courtyard, in red clothes posed against the carved wooden architecture of Durbar Square. She told her husband the countryside was beautiful. She was very excited. This was her dream.

On the morning of August 25, her group departed Kathmandu by bus for Syabrubesi, a small mountain settlement about 122 kilometers north, a gateway to the Langtang trekking region. The journey took nearly twelve hours. A landslide blocked their route for four hours before the army cleared it. But when Subhrasree spoke to her husband that evening, she said the skies were clear. The weather was good, she told him. It was warm. It rained sometimes. There was little warning of what was coming.

The next morning, she left her hotel shortly after seven o'clock. She called her husband. They messaged back and forth. Around an hour later, she wrote that Nepal immigration was complete and the group was waiting to cross into Tibet. To enter China, pilgrims walk on foot from the Nepal immigration facility to the Chinese immigration building in Gyirong. Bhattacharya believed his wife was inside or very close to that Chinese facility when the disaster struck. He knew there would be no cell service on the Tibet side, so he waited for her next message. At about three in the afternoon, he saw news reports of the floods. He began calling other pilgrims in her group. No one answered. He called the tour operator. He called the two managers accompanying the group. Still nothing. The family has heard nothing from Subhrasree since.

Bhattacharya believes his wife and the others may have already crossed into Chinese territory before the floods hit. But he has received no confirmation of who made it across or what happened to them afterward. He has asked for a list from the Chinese government—missing, dead, and rescued. He wants an update. "What do I tell you?" he says. "Sleepless nights, working on the phone."

For the family of Rina Banerjee, the uncertainty is even deeper. Rina was 54 years old, an unmarried private tutor from Kolkata, traveling alone with the same tour operator as part of the same pilgrimage group. Her nephew, Dwaipayan Mukherjee, says the family had spoken to her over video calls while she was in Kathmandu. She was happy. She was doing a trip after a long time. Rina was no stranger to mountains—she had hiked with her family before and was quite fit. She had told Mukherjee about the landslide on the way, how the group was stuck for four hours. The next morning, the tour operator sent a group photograph showing Rina outside the Nepal immigration center. Like Subhrasree, she had received her departure stamp. After that, silence. "I don't know whether they crossed the border or not," Mukherjee says. "Whether they were on the Chinese side or the Nepal side, we are still wondering."

Both women appear on Nepal's official government list of 537 missing people. But that list offers little clarity. Their families still have no idea where they are or whether they are safe. The Kolkata-based tour operator says they have no information about the fate of the group. For both families, the journey has ended with the same unanswered question: did the women make it across the border? And if they did, are they alive?