By Lyzander Sohkhlet
As the rains fall endlessly over Sohra, our hearts remain heavy. It has now been days since the young couple from Indore went missing in these beloved hills, and while the terrain may be unforgiving, our collective hope refuses to falter. Every person here from the police officers to the local villagers, from headmen to strangers who’ve never met the couple stands in complete solidarity with the families waiting anxiously for word.
We in Meghalaya grieve with them. We send them strength. And we demand from our government, our authorities, and our leaders that no resource, no effort, and no hour of the day be spared in this search. This isn’t just a matter of protocol, it’s a matter of humanity. It is in moments like these that a society shows who it really is. And here in these hills, you will find a people who will risk the rains, the cliffs, and the wild to help a soul in danger. Sohra’s cliffs may be steep, but so is our commitment to one another. Since May 23, the East Khasi Hills Police, led by SP Vivek Syiem, alongside villagers, Village Parties , headmen, and Special Operations Teams, have combed forests, gorges, and waterfalls. Thermal drones were called in. Dog squads deployed. Two DSPs directly supervising on the ground. The Chief Secretary, DGP, and even visiting MPs from Madhya Pradesh have joined daily reviews. The terrain is brutal, one of the wettest, most rugged monsoon landscapes on Earth. But no one has given up. And no one will.
Amidst this struggle, it was both hurtful and deeply irresponsible to see a national daily thoughtlessly label our beautiful Meghalaya as “crime-prone hills.” Such words are not only a gross misrepresentation, they insult the very spirit of a land that has for generations opened its homes, its valleys, and its hearts to visitors. I must say this plainly: Meghalaya has no history of violent crime against tourists. No record of tourist murders. No reputation for hostility against tourists. What it does have is a record of villagers rescuing stranded trekkers, of locals sheltering guests during sudden storms, of police officers carrying injured visitors down steep paths.
Yes, there are risks here, as there are in any place where nature reigns supreme. Rivers swell without notice. Cliffs crumble in the rain. Trails disappear into mist. But it has always been the elements, not the people, that must be approached with caution. Let’s be clear, Meghalaya like any place in the world, isn’t devoid of mishaps, accidents, or tragedies. Yes, tourists have occasionally lost their way, and yes, sometimes bad things happen when nature itself can turn treacherous, especially during the unforgiving monsoon months. But what is equally true, and what deserves louder recognition, is how our communities respond. When Hungarian tourist, Puskas Zsolt went missing in March, entire villages, village parties, headmen, police, and drone teams combed steep slopes and dense forests in rain and mist for days until they found him. His death was a tragedy, but it was met with human dignity. The locals, many of whom did not even know his name, searched as if one of their own had gone missing. Now, as we face the current incident of the missing Indore couple, the story repeats — not of crime but of care. Police, volunteers, VDPs, and community elders have been out in relentless rain, on treacherous terrain, putting their own lives at risk.
In Sohra, no stone is left unturned. Yet, to reduce a situation born from difficult geography and monsoon risks into a crime narrative is insulting. I say this not to dismiss concerns; every missing person is a cause for heartbreak and urgency. Every family’s agony is valid. But there is a difference between honest reporting and manufacturing alarmist narratives that damage the dignity of a land.
Meghalaya is a land of rain, rock, kindness, and resilience. It has weathered storms, earthquakes, and yes, careless words before. But it stands tall, because its people do. Sohra’s cliffs may be perilous, but its people have hearts wide as its valleys. To those in the media who choose easy labels over honest reporting, understand this: your words do damage. They do not just mark a place on a map but they mark the lives of those who depend on tourism for their children’s school fees, their mother’s medicine, their roofs.
Tourism in Meghalaya has long been a story of community hospitality. In Sohra, Mawlynnong, Nongriat, Dawki, Mawphlang, a majority of homestays are run by families, Treks are guided by locals whose fathers once built the very root bridges you walk on. Tourism here is not an industry, it is a relationship. And for decades, those relationships have been safe, warm, and trusting. Even the government acknowledges that most tourist sites here are owned and managed by local communities. Paul Lyngdoh, our Tourism Minister, rightly said that Meghalaya remains one of India’s safest destinations for visitors, and this recent incident, tragic and worrying as it is, should never be manipulated to tarnish an entire state.
As someone who grew up here, let me offer this too: the monsoon is not to be taken lightly. It is beautiful and brutal in equal measure. Trekkers must always go with experienced guides, especially during the rains. It is wisdom passed down by our elders, to always respect the land. The Tourism Department had sped up to rollout stricter monsoon advisories, mandatory guide requirements, and better signage at remote trekking routes. But let’s be clear, Meghalaya does not need its name dragged through the mud because of nature’s risks. To the family of the missing couple: Meghalaya stands with you.
The government has mobilized every resource. The villagers continue to search. And the people here pray every night for your children’s safe return. I ask the media to show restraint, responsibility, and compassion in its coverage. Focus on the humanity of this story, not cheap headlines. The recent Tourist Buddies initiative is another example of how proactively our government works. Launched across Shillong, Sohra, Dawki, and Mawlynnong, it deploys trained local youth as cultural guides and safety personnel bridging the gap between visitors and communities. These are professional, certified, first-aid trained ambassadors who not only assist but enrich the visitor’s experience.
Meghalaya is safe. It always has been. Our homestays are full this season. Hotels in Shillong and Sohra are booked. Thousands trek through root bridges and waterfalls without incident. What our visitors do encounter, almost without exception, are kind faces, eager guides, helpful strangers, and roads lined with families selling pineapples, betel leaves, and wild honey. Meghalaya today attracts over 1.5 million tourists annually both domestic and international and the vast majority leave with cherished memories and plans to return. It is important though, especially during this season, to remind travellers to exercise caution. The monsoon here is a beauty and a beast. Meghalaya’s hills demand both reverence and respect. Trekkers must hire guides. Tell your host where you’re headed. Don’t venture into dense forests without locals who know the land like the backs of their hands. The government has clear advisories, and Tourist Information Centres are open daily. Emergency numbers are available, and police stations from Shillong to Sohra remain responsive.
Our hills are alive. They are not crime-prone. They are community-owned, community-guarded, and community-loved.
So, to media outlets tempted to chase clicks with careless labels, I urge you, come see for yourself. Talk to the families of Sohra. Walk with the Khasi women who manage Mawlynnong’s spotless lanes. Watch the boatmen of Dawki navigate glass-clear rivers. Speak to tourists who return year after year.
This isn’t a land of fear. It’s a land of resilience, pride, kindness, and yes, rain. And in the rain, you find both beauty and risk which makes it all the more magical.
I commend the Meghalaya Police, the Tourism Department, community leaders, and countless anonymous villagers who, despite no headlines, work daily to ensure every visitor returns with more than photos with stories of kindness and kinship.
This is our home. And it deserves to be spoken of with care.