On Monday, 16 people were injured in a crowd crush at a Maghi festival in Tundikhel. The crowd was too dense for the last remaining grounds of what was once a vast open space in Kathmandu’s centre.&nbsp; Over the years Tundikhel has been fragmented and encroached upon by the military and other institutions, reducing it to not even 15% of its original expanse. Even as it has shrunk, new projects have been proposed for Tundikhel. The latest plan by Kathmandu Metropolitan City (KMC) under Mayor Balen Shah is to build two football fields at Khula Manch, the part of Tundikhel where historic pro-democracy rallies have been held. &nbsp; “The idea for a football ground came up because local clubs found it difficult to get a field for practice,” says KMC spokesperson Nabin Manandhar, adding that a project report had been prepared.&nbsp; “This will also help to build future athletes,” added Manandhar, who said Machhindra, Sankata, and New Road Team would use it for training, but it would also be accessible to the public. He admits that KMC did not look for alternatives. Shirish Shrestha of Machhindra Football Club said having the field nearby would help build local talent since Kathmandu’s urban sprawl and population density has meant that there are very few open spaces left for them to practice. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/giving-tundikhel-back-to-the-people">Giving Tundikhel back to the people</a>, Sahina Shrestha  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024011905014_dd898411d6db0be41e1f9828871c1e88675ba0eaa2073ff0836538d539dca40b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2024011905014_dd898411d6db0be41e1f9828871c1e88675ba0eaa2073ff0836538d539dca40b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Khuma Manch NT"> <figcaption>POLITICAL FOOTBALL: Khula Manch on Thursday, where KMC plans to build two new football fields. Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  But that is precisely why activists are also against turning one of the last remaining bits of Tundikhel into a football ground.&nbsp; They are worried that ultimately the football fields will be out of bounds for the public. “KMC is merely a trustee of Khula Manch. It does not have the right to build over public land,” says Sanjay Adhikari, advocate and spokesperson of Occupy Tundikhel, a citizen-led movement to reclaim Kathmandu’s open spaces. “Its role should be to protect and manage the site, not build it over.”&nbsp; Occupy Tundikhel wants KMC to stop the plan since it will erase the identity of the space. Biren Maharjan of Ward 28 where Khula Manch lies says KMC did not consult local stakeholders before moving ahead with the plan.&nbsp; Says Maharjan: “Khula Manch is public land and it should be accessible for everyone and not just the football clubs.” Activists say clubs can easily use the stadium or Sano Gauchar for training and Khula Manch can be utilised for the purpose it is actually meant for. Business consultant Ashutosh Tiwari of SAFAL Partners posted on Facebook: &nbsp;‘Khula Manch as the name suggests is a stage and has a history just like London’s Hyde Park. It is an open space, civic space and a citizen space. Not a private space. Trying to convert it into a football field is a narrow and useless way of thinking.’ Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/the-way-we-were">The way we were</a>, Kunda Dixit  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240119070136_1aebdf17bc52af9f35f35e3f866157bb651f3b46e7158717e46751f41c3c065c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20240119070136_1aebdf17bc52af9f35f35e3f866157bb651f3b46e7158717e46751f41c3c065c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1649" height="639" loading="lazy" alt="Occupation of Tundikhel NT "> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240119070136_de6b9face976efee2046304207d8443fab1e46645f16d347e75405436353308b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20240119070136_de6b9face976efee2046304207d8443fab1e46645f16d347e75405436353308b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1647" height="622" loading="lazy" alt="Occupation of Tundikhel NT "> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240119070136_18e82666289ea633465b2c0cd4f22e18627a09c4fdaf65b87fa970a1b18defe0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20240119070136_18e82666289ea633465b2c0cd4f22e18627a09c4fdaf65b87fa970a1b18defe0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1646" height="627" loading="lazy" alt="Occupation of Tundikhel NT "> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240119070136_f010702f771569782cb9f8b70e22e316b75bd09caca598cca6ce06dc279eba21.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20240119070136_f010702f771569782cb9f8b70e22e316b75bd09caca598cca6ce06dc279eba21" data-rendition-name="original" width="1932" height="750" loading="lazy" alt="Occupation of Tundikhel NT "> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240119070136_ed0910cae224a10f12c03a682a1314080e3ebf609f1f41e2d74d672b6b1f3da1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20240119070136_ed0910cae224a10f12c03a682a1314080e3ebf609f1f41e2d74d672b6b1f3da1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1659" height="642" loading="lazy" alt="Occupation of Tundikhel NT "> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240119070136_3e56623f40229876e1687033c9adac668691d5f986cbfd4ebf3f976b0917ec79.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20240119070136_3e56623f40229876e1687033c9adac668691d5f986cbfd4ebf3f976b0917ec79" data-rendition-name="original" width="1640" height="621" loading="lazy" alt="Occupation of Tundikhel NT "> </figure>  This is not the first time the KMC has proposed a development plan at Khula Manch. Last year, it wanted to build a three-storey underground parking at the site but had to cancel it after public uproar. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/kathmandu-loses-its-open-spaces">Kathmandu loses its open spaces</a>, Tom Robertson and Nilima Thapa Shrestha Khula Manch is located behind the Army pavilion which itself is an encroachment on Tundikhel. And as its name suggests, was a Panchayat-era open air theatre. It has since been the scene for the 1990 and 2006 People’s Movements and political rallies.&nbsp; It is also culturally important as to its northwest is Dui Maju, the goddess of grain which is considered the unseen energy linked to Goddess Taleju. The Newa people of Kathmandu called the open space Tinkhya, which later became Tundikhel. The Nepal Indigenous Legal Society in a letter to the KMC says that the Newa people left the area open for cultural and religious activities, and that encroaching on it is against the United Nations Declaration on Rights of Indigenous People as well as ILO Convention 169, Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention, 1989. ‘It is deplorable that Khula Manch is being turned into a football field without conducting research on alternatives. Moreover, setting aside a budget for a task that shouldn’t even be taken up is similar to committing corruption,’ the letter read.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024012310014_ad873f1b0755949e6901614e95b564c61d48b519203b89005834ef9278b60726.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="2024012310014_ad873f1b0755949e6901614e95b564c61d48b519203b89005834ef9278b60726" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="1920" loading="lazy" alt="Tundikhel"> <figcaption>An aerial view of Tundikhel and the surrounding area. Photo: Kunda Dixit</figcaption> </figure>  Former Defence Minister and MP Bhimsen Das Pradhan who represented Kathmandu-6 says that historically Khula Manch has always belonged to the public and &nbsp;remained open even during the Panchayat. &nbsp; Says Pradhan, “The people of Kathmandu elected Balen as mayor with a lot of expectations but he is going against people’s sentiments. Khula Manch is an integral part of Nepal’s socio-cultural and political history. As before, the people will rise up against turning this into a football ground. If they don't back down we will take them to court." Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/let-tundikhel-be-what-tundikhel-was">Let Tundikhel be what Tundikhel was</a>, Anil Chitrakar  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024011905014_88d7d3d6c3cd120682de0e1fc67190355ebd00cf3cae3d7d880cb07ccbe69b2b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="2024011905014_88d7d3d6c3cd120682de0e1fc67190355ebd00cf3cae3d7d880cb07ccbe69b2b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Khula Manch NT"> </figure>  Tinkhya (Tundikhel) was a vast open space set aside by Kathmandu's ancient rulers and indigenous people for social and cultural events. It originally stretched from where the Dasrath Stadium is today to Rani Pokhari in the north.&nbsp; Over the centuries, successive rulers and government agencies fragmented the space.&nbsp; 1671: Malla king Pratap Malla constructed Rani Pokhari on the northern end of Tundikhel.&nbsp; 1956: The southern section of Tundikhel was turned into a stadium to mark the coronation of King Mahendra.&nbsp; 1961: Shahid Gate was built with a road that bifurcated Tundikhel into two halves. The Royal Nepal Army then occupied the northern end for a parade pavilion.&nbsp; 1962: Ratna Park, dedicated to Queen Ratna, was carved out of Tundikhel, and in 1973 the Khula Manch open-air theatre was added. 2010s: The Army took over the southern half of Tundikhel and captured the Thapathali-Bhadrakali road. 2016: The bus park was shifted to Khula Manch and parts were rented out to vendors.&nbsp; 2022: KMC proposed a three-storey underground parking at Khula Manch, but abandoned the idea after public outrage. 2024: KMC now plans to build two football fields at Khula Manch. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/nepali-cities-must-champion-climate-action">Nepali cities must champion climate action</a>, Rastraraj Bhandari and Simone Weichenrieder

Sahina Shrestha

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The occupation of Tundikhel

<figure><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230112100124/63bfd2809c7e80680e0d3027jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Illegal construction in Khula Manch as seen in this photo from May 2020. All photos: GOPEN RAI</figcaption></figure>Over the centuries, as Kathmandu expanded, the vast open space of Tundikhel that was once on the fringes of the old town has become the heart of the new city.The name comes from the Newa Tinkhya, a ‘khya’ means large open space on the outskirts of town set aside for social and cultural events. As dynasties came and went, Nepal’s rulers used the public space for their own convenience, and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/let-tundikhel-be-what-tundikhel-was/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer"> </a><a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=5876#.Y4qyrS2B3ow" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Tundikhel</a> went from a place for festivals, to supposedly being the largest military parade ground in Asia, and started being occupied piecemeal by the Army.Today, not even 15% of Tundikhel’s original expanse is open to the public. It is fragmented into sections under either institutional and/or military control. After the 2015 earthquake, even the area with public access has mounds of debris and is fenced off to park tipper trucks.In the latest instance of blatant encroachment, Kathmandu Metropolitan City (KMC) under its <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/making-kathmandu-great-again/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">new mayor Balen Shah</a> has revived the idea of turning Khula Manch in Tundikhel into a parking facility.The area behind the Army pavilion with its Panchayat-era open air theatre has been the site for historical events like the People’s Movements of 1990 and 2006, and political rallies. After the earthquake it housed a tent city for survivors.Earlier this month, the 10th executive meeting of KMC set aside a budget to prepare a detailed project report for a three-storey underground parking in Khula Manch. <figure><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230112100124/63bfd2849c7e80680e0d3028jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Activists and experts are up in arms, saying the decision was taken without proper homework and consultation, and would threaten one of the last remaining <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/kathmandu-loses-its-open-spaces/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">open public spaces in Kathmandu</a>.“The authorities have never understood the essence of Tundikhel,” says activist Ganapati Lal Shrestha of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/let-tundikhel-be-what-tundikhel-was/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Occupy Tundikhel</a>, a citizen-led movement to reclaim encroached open spaces. “We had hoped that at least the newly elected local representatives would understand its importance, but even they have not.”The KMC has not divulged details, but activists are concerned that an underground parking will be detrimental to Kathmadu’s ecology and culture.“Underground parking will disturb the aquifer and water flow in the hiti around the area,” says Shrestha. “If it is about managing traffic, the basement of the commercial buildings which the Mayor previously cleared, and new parking facilities would be enough. Why target Tundikhel? And they should have consulted local stakeholders.” Kathmandu’s historic heart does not have much space left for new development. The plan should have been to use and improve what already exists.“Traffic management in the city core has been a challenge for KMC, and adding parking space makes sense. But from an ecological point of view, underground parking would impact the environment. How much are you willing to compromise on that front is a political decision,” says land and water management engineer Padma Sundar Joshi.Like other open spaces in Kathmandu Valley, Tundikhel plays an important role in the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/water-table-of-kathmandu-valley-falling-fast-recharge-to-replenish,4100" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">groundwater recharge system</a>  While surface water is replenished every monsoon, deep aquifers need to be recharged. “Underground parking can help in traffic management but there has to be a proper design and it should be carried out only after conducting a geological study,” says Joshi. “If the new mayor does not follow due process and consult the public, how is he any different from the previous mayors?” KMC spokesperson Nabin Manandhar admits that an economic feasibility study and geological investigation has not been conducted. <figure><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230112100124/63bfd2899c7e80680e0d3029jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Apart from the ecological impact, Khula Manch is also culturally important. To its northwest is Dui Maju, the goddess of grain which is considered the unseen energy linked to Goddess Taleju.According to Uddhab Karmacharya, the priest of Taleju temple, Dui Maju is always established where the goddess Taleju Bhawani exists. A special worship for Dui Maju takes place in April to coincide with special puja at Hanuman Dhoka. “The state cannot do whatever it likes, but they need to understand the importance of the space for Dui Maju and work to preserve it,” says Karmacharya. “They are turning Kathmandu into concrete with no regard for heritage conservation. They should leave Khula Manch alone.” This is not the first time the KMC has tried to turn the place into a parking lot. A feasibility study was conducted in 2016 for underground parking coverinf 23,133 sq m for 2,000 light vehicles.That year, the KMC started work on the 17-storey Kathmandu View Tower across the road, and moved the bus park from there to Khula Manch. After the bus park moved out, the area became a dumping site for construction material and temporary rooms for contractors. The KMC only acted to clear the area in 2019 after a public outcry by activists and heritage conservationists.The plot belonging to Dui Maju was leased for five years by the Guthi Sansthan to a certain Amrita Bhattarai who was supposed to upkeep the holy site. Instead, she leased the prime real estate to Marin Thakur International which sublet it to vendors. After widespread public protests in 2019, then Deputy Mayor Hari Prabha Khadgi padlocked the gates and announced that the city would take charge of the upkeep and cleanliness of the religious site.Urban Planner and Former VC of National Planning Commission Jagadish C Pokharel says adding underground parking will not ease <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/cars-vs-people-in-kathmandu/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">congestion in Kathmandu’s core</a>.“Underground parking is not a good idea in Kathmandu. We must keep in mind the soil condition and seismic aspects, and also how it will impact the water table,” says Pokharel.Concentrated parking there will affect the traffic in the surrounding roads, and it will need other infrastructure to ease traffic flow in and out.“The wiser route to go”, says Pokharel “is to decentralise traffic and study pocket parking areas above-ground with earthquake resistant technology.” <h2>Fragments of Tundikhel</h2> <figure><img width="780" height="1044" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230112100124/63bfd28d9c7e80680e0d302ajpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The first mention of Tundikhel was in a 1709 scripture engraved in Taleju Bhawani temple by Queen Bhuwan Laxmi. This was during the Malla period, when Tinkhyo (Tundikhel) was a vast open space set aside by Kathmandu's rulers for social and cultural events. The Italian Jesuit Ippolito Desderi who visited Kathmandu in 1721 in his chronicles mentions a two- mile long plain. In the 1850s, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/250-years-of-nepals-history-through-art/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Henry Ambrose Oldfield</a>, the British resident surgeon in Kathmandu, wrote in his book Sketches of Nepal that Tundikhel originally stretched from where the stadium is today to Rani Pokhari in the north. He estimated that it measured 2-3 miles in length, and 300 yards in width. Over the centuries, rulers as far back as <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/no-time-like-the-past/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Pratap Malla</a> divided it up for their own convenience. Today only 15% of the space is open to the public. In 1671, King Pratap Malla constructed <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/building-back-rani-pokhari-even-better/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Rani Pokhari</a> on the northern part of Tundikhel. In the 1800s and early 1900s the Rana Regime used Tundikhel mostly for military parades and the pronouncements of edicts. When Bhimsen Thapa built a palace for himself in Lagan Tole south-west of Tundikhel, it brought the army even closer to Tundikhel. Barracks were constructed, and a canon foundry went up on the south-western side. Before Jang Bahadur, it used to be Chhauni that military drills were held. Once he returned from England, he turned Tundikhel into a parade ground for the Nepali army. There were two trees that stood at the centre of Tundikhel for many years, and one of them was a Chakala sima (खरीबोट in Nepal) around which a marble platform was later built. The other tree was called Yaka sima, the lone tree. Both are now gone. Major proclamations were made by the Rana rulers from the platform. In 1885, Bir Shumshere proclaimed himself prime minister from there, an in 1924, Chandra Shumshere announced the emancipation of the slave. In 1945, the end of World War 2 in which 20,000 Nepali soldiers fighting for the British Army were killed in action, was announced in the same place. In 1956, the southern part of Tundikhel was turned into a stadium for sporting events to mark the coronation of King Mahendra. In 1960, Sahid Gate was constructed with a road dividing Tundikhel into two halves. The Nepal Army then built a permanent pavilion for parades, and this Panchayat era structure is still used and is fenced off from the public. In 1962, Tundikhel was further fragmented to build Ratna Park dedicated to Queen Ratna and in 1973 Khula Manch was added with an open-air theatre. <h2>The demon of Tinkhya</h2> Tundikhel is steeped in folklore in which demons and deities once inhabited its open spaces <figure><img width="1500" height="983" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230112100124/63bfd2939c7e80680e0d302bjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>One of the more popular stories about Tundikhel begin in the monastery in Itumbaha.Keshchandra came from an affluent family, but was addicted to gambling. Over time he frittered away his posessions until he had no money even to buy food. He went to his sister’s home in Bhagawan Bahal where his sister gave him food in a plate made of solid gold.After eating the food, he gambles away the golden plate. A few days later he goes to his sister’s house again. This time she serves him food in silverware. Keshchandra once again gambles it away.The next time he goes to his sister, she serves him food on the floor. Humiliated and chastised, Keshchandra picks up the food food in a piece of cloth and goes on a pilgrimage to Gosaikunda.A few days into his journey, he becomes hungry and opens the cloth bundle. But the food is mouldy and he goes to sleep on an empty stomach. While Keshchandra is asleep, birds feast on the food. A voice comes from the heavens, ordering the birds to compensate Keshchandra for the food. <figure><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230112100124/63bfd2989c7e80680e0d302cjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The birds offer him droppings which turn into gold flakes. The shrewd Keshchandra pleads with Gurumapa to help him take the gold home, calling the demon his paju (mother’s brother).After much persuasion Gurumapa agrees, but on one condition, Keshchandra must feed him. Keshchandra permits him to eat any child in Kathmandu who cries. The two make their way to Itumbaha, where Gurumapa lived on the top floor of the northern wing of the monastery complex.Gurumapa proceeded to eat disobedient children, terrorising Kathmandu. Mothers would warn their children that if they were disobedient and cried, the Gurumapa would gobble them up.Soon, the demon had devoured most of the children in the town. Keshchandra was not bothered, until one day his own son cried and Gurumapa ate him up as well.Bereft with grief Keshchandra banishes Gurumapa to the open fields of Tinkhya, present day Tundikhel, in return for a feast of rice and buffalo meat.It is said that Gurumapa lived under the yaka sima, the lone tree in Tundikhel. And to this day, every year, in keeping with the deal made in Kathmandu's mythical past, a feast of rice and meat is laid out for him.As told by Amrit Man Shakya, priest of Keshchandrakrit Paarawat Mahavihar.

Giving Tundikhel back to the people

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151120/636a663d9c7e80680e05996ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1312"/><figcaption>illustration: DIWAKAR CHETTRI</figcaption></figure>The earthquakes of April 2015 literally shook all of us out of our complacency, and forced us to understand the value of open spaces -- just as after the 1934 earthquake, when tens of thousands of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/leaving-tundhikhel-shelter-camps,2447">Kathmandu residents moved to the open grounds at Tundikhel</a>, or to Lagankhel in Patan.But memories of disasters are short-lived, and in the past five years instead of protecting the last remaining spaces in Kathmandu Valley, we have allowed them to be encroached upon. At the heart of Kathmandu, Tundikhel represents in a microcosm what is happening across urban Nepal as people move into the cities and real estate prices soar.The land mafia, with its political protection, has infiltrated school management committees and taken over most school playgrounds located on prime real estate. The government created a green belt on the Ring Road -- now it is busy chopping down the last remaining jacarandas. The vehicle lobby is obviously stronger than the tree lobby.This newspaper has been <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=5876#.Xe8odIMza70">covering the shrinking Tundikhel since 2002</a>, and for the first time printed maps showing the army’s steady encroachment into the open space. Since the government seems to be too slow to act, it is the public and communities that need to be vigilant -- which is why the current #OccupyTundikhel campaign is so important.One good way to begin protecting open spaces like Tundikhel would be to have every local government across the country make an inventory of such spaces in its jurisdiction. These should then be added to a national open space protected list, and legislation passed to ensure no one who eyes them can actually get their hands on these invaluable areas.Former Patan mayor Buddhi Raj Bajracharya set a good example by protecting community spaces during his tenure. A national database could be created and made available online so that no one dares to buy, sell or encroach on these open spaces.Rituals and festivals can be important reasons to save many of the Kathmandu Valley’s open spaces from encroachment.  Tundikhel hosts annual festivals like the feeding of the Gurumapa, Ghoda Jatra, Shivaratri and, more recently, the New Year’s Day showcase of numerous ethnic groups from across Nepal.A published calendar of such events could help enhance the feeling of ownership of open spaces across the country. Disaster preparedness drills in places like Tundikhel could also be pencilled in as regular events.Nepal’s stellar performance in the South Asian Games 2019 could be another reason to invest in saving open spaces. Tundikhel can be dedicated to all future Nepali gold medallists at the Olympics, World Cups and Asian Games. Names of all those who win medals for Nepal could be inscribed on a special monument. With only temporary structures allowed, sports could provide an effective incentive to care for these spaces.At a time when many Nepalis believe the way to prosperity is not education or enterprise but politics, open spaces could be protected as places where Nepalis gather and practise free speech. The name Khula Manch, which means ‘open stage’, has always held a Hyde Park connotation in Kathmandu, even during the days of absolute monarchy. It is a place where anyone can say anything and not face prosecution of any kind. The country should designate Khulla Manch(s) in all 753 municipalities, inspired by the first one at Tundikhel.The oral tradition of the Kathmandu Valley tells us that Tundikhel (Tinkhya) was land bought by wealthy Lhasa traders who needed space to unload and load goods and as a camping ground for porters and pack animals. After the Sugauli treaty of 1816, Muktiyar Bhimsen Thapa used Tundikhel to parade the Nepal Army, in a bid to impress the British of the country’s military might.This great open space has shrunk over time. Rana rulers built Bir Hospital and the military hospital and the Panchayat leaders constructed the post office, the RNAC building, NEA and City Hall. These were all within the boundaries of greater Tundikhel. The road around it was widened during the state visit of Queen Elizabeth II in 1962.From charging ground water to impressing the British envoy and from hosting ancient rituals to New Year’s Day celebrations, Tundikhel has served us well. The temporary bus terminal and school have to be moved immediately and the army has to return to the people what rightfully belongs to them. After the next earthquake, let us not be forced to say: “I told you so.”And let us not listen to economists and finance experts who tell us we need to monetise everything. Not everything should be valued in cash. Let Tundikhel be what Tundikhel was. End of the debate.Anil Chitrakar is President of <a href="http://www.siddharthinc.com/">Siddharthinc</a>

Anil Chitrakar

Let Tundikhel be what Tundikhel was

The dawn air in Muktikot is dewy as the sun sets over the horizon in the mountains of western Nepal. A sad farewell song drifts across the village from a mud plastered house.&nbsp; Rani BK sings a half melody, half lament: “I feel like my own hands are being cut off as you leave.” She is bidding farewell to her youngest brother, 37-year-old Ranne, his wife Akashe. They are going to Bangalore in India to find work. Neighbours gather quietly in the gathering light, some wiping their eyes, others joining in song. “Please, don’t cry,” Ranne says softly. “These tears will haunt us on the journey.” Migration is not new to Muktikot, but the tears are. For decades, nearly every household here has sent its men to India every winter to work. They return in spring to plant their crops.&nbsp; What is new is that women like Akashe BK are now also going, and for longer periods. The couple is leaving their two of their children behind, and will be away for at least five years.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130224_f8d2d5980da1f3c1e22944003969d64cffd10f280c523ab207f983ef42b4cb9b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260203130224_f8d2d5980da1f3c1e22944003969d64cffd10f280c523ab207f983ef42b4cb9b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Daughter and son left behind with Rani BK after departure.</figcaption> </figure>  Ranne has been a daily wage labourer since he was 17, moving across Nepal and different parts of northern India. This journey is different — it will be to southern India.&nbsp; He had borrowed Rs50,000 from a local lender to cover the travel cost, hoping to recoup it from his earnings as a security guard. Aakashe plans to work as a household helper.&nbsp; “We would not go if we have a choice,” Aakase says quietly, her eyes fixed on “We are forced to leave our children. We cannot afford to educate them, there is little to eat here, no water, no work, no electricity.” Their daughter Sitala, 12, and son Dipson, 10, put auspicious red tika on their parents’ foreheads. Aakase sobs as she asks relatives to look after their children and their house.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130224_a6316df8ff8a7f95d963396f2a01a7549dca3dcc1ac0364763eecd9f29b7bed7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260203130224_a6316df8ff8a7f95d963396f2a01a7549dca3dcc1ac0364763eecd9f29b7bed7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Departure of Ranne BK.</figcaption> </figure>  “We may return by the time you finish school,” Ranne tells Sitala, who is in Grade 6. Sitala stands forlorn by herself, not saying anything. Across Muktikot, women who once stayed back to raise children and manage households now join their husbands in India to support families in these remote mountains of western Nepal.&nbsp; Unnati BK, 30, and her husband Barune BK decided to migrate to India after their home was damaged by landslides in 2021 and the family was nearly killed. The arid farms did not produce enough food as rains failed. “Nothing grows here,” says Unnati, who is also leaving for Bangalore with her husband, along with Ranne and Akashe.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130228_50db0f2d1827584bc9aa6d19d7d79b385ea1211192ccfc1f1147b245c941912e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260203130228_50db0f2d1827584bc9aa6d19d7d79b385ea1211192ccfc1f1147b245c941912e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Unnati BK</figcaption> </figure>  After 54 families lost their homes in landslides four years ago, the district administration has set aside Rs500,000 for families including Unnati and Barune. But although nearly complete, they have received only Rs175,000 each. Unnati had realised and told her husband that if they stayed in the village, their sorrows would multiply. So they planned to leave, hoping that a little extra hardship in India would allow them to pay for the education of their three children, who are 11, eight, and six years old. “We chose Bangalore because relatives told us it is easy to find jobs there for both men and women,” Barune says. They plan to leave their children with Unnati’s parents for now, and later send them 250km away to Kailali to attend school.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130228_3ee37136e936fe7dba7d1320452c83a17f08805663a7cbb4b6efa986c79147ed.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20260203130228_3ee37136e936fe7dba7d1320452c83a17f08805663a7cbb4b6efa986c79147ed" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Landslide four years ago caused 54 families to lose their homes.</figcaption> </figure>  More than 75 couples from 350 households in Muktikot have left for cities like Mumbai and Bangalore in the past three years alone, leaving behind their children either with their in-laws or in the Tarai cities where they go to school. Ajay Kumar BK, chair of the rural municipality of Muktikot says, “There is a clear intention to leave the village altogether.” &nbsp; Diksha BK, 25, has three sons aged six, three, and one. Her husband Dhirjan works in Surkhet. She and her husband have given up on Muktikot, saying they see no future there. DISASTER-PRONE Muktikot is populated mostly by Dalit families, and used to be named Dumkot after a derogatory term used by higher caste people for Dalits. During the Maoist conflict, many Dalit boys joined the guerrillas and the rebels renamed it Muktikot, meaning ‘freedom’.&nbsp; The village clings to a steep mountain flank wrinkled with rain-fed farm terraces. Many of the men who have left for India have never come back, and now even the women are leaving. The 2020 Disaster Preparedness and Response Plan of Bajura identifies Muktikot as a disaster-prone area, making its rain-fed agriculture vulnerable to droughts. The denuded slopes above are at risk of landslides.&nbsp; The 2021 International Migration in Nepal report counted 13,482 people migrating to India from Bajura alone that year. There are an estimated 3.5 million Nepalis living and working in Nepal — mostly from the western mountains.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130228_df4f333c7a5bc0b0a7fd75ae6c2e9f02444a097fc5b13c24dc61a276ea6ac3ff.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20260203130228_df4f333c7a5bc0b0a7fd75ae6c2e9f02444a097fc5b13c24dc61a276ea6ac3ff" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Houses being built under resettlement plan.</figcaption> </figure>  National Environment and Equity Development Society (NEEDS) Nepal found that 70% of households in Sudhurpaschim Province have had at least one member migrating to India at some point in their lives. “Female migration used to be low, but there is now an observable trend of women migrating for work from Sudhurpaschim,” says Prakash Madai of NEEDS Nepal. However, anthropologist Jeevan R Sharma says female migration is not new, what is different is the scale and duration of women migrants. Increasing demand for part-time household help in India makes it a pull-factor for Nepali women from the rural west to enter the informal workforce. “Women used to go only when opportunities arose, working for half a year to maximum two years, and frequently going back and forth,” says Sharma. “The potential rise is likely due to the need for greater income driven by rising cash-based expenses for health, education, food, and purchase of consumer goods.” COST OF LEAVING “Previously people struggled for basic needs, and we did not have the money or the roads to travel to Kathmandu, which is why most people went to India for manual work,” says Kartik Kami, 60, of the rural municipality. “Migration trends have changed because both men and women can make money washing, cooking, and cleaning in cities. Soon, there will be no one to conduct weddings or funerals, only children will remain.” While women from other parts of Nepal began participating in foreign employment three decades ago, women from traditional Sudurpaschim families are only now venturing into the Indian labour market. “This surge is filling a labour vacuum in India created when its domestic migrants shifted their focus to Gulf countries,” explains historian Yadab Devkota. Yet, research paints a social cost. A 2020 study found that children of migrant parents suffer loneliness and neglect due to the absence of parental care and love. Children fall back in studies, and girl children are burdened with excessive workload managing the household and siblings.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130232_e1e02cd082e7cbb77243103b2197fd1dfca75531bb9d6f518763afccb9ed452c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20260203130232_e1e02cd082e7cbb77243103b2197fd1dfca75531bb9d6f518763afccb9ed452c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Sitala BK, daughter of Ranne and Aakashe.</figcaption> </figure>  The emotional toll is manifested in anxiety, stress, depression, and in some cases, suicide, especially for those whose mothers have migrated.&nbsp; “The significant shift towards couple migration is driven by families making difficult and high-cost decisions in the hopes of breaking the cycle of poverty,” says Arjun Kharel at the Centre for the Study of Labour and Mobility (CESLAM ). “Migration remains primarily a strategy for subsistence rather than development, it is a calculated family decision made in the absence of local opportunities.” Migration to India remains largely invisible to the Nepal government. The country’s foreign employment framework does not extend to migrants going to India. And because they travel through the open border, they are not regulated by formal systems.&nbsp; There is no accurate count of how many Nepalis are working in India, or of Indians in Nepal. According to the Indian Population and Housing Census, there are 600,000 Nepalis working in India, but this is a gross underestimation.&nbsp; A study by Aapti Institute describes Nepali migrants in India as ‘liminal’ neither fully protected as citizens nor recognised as foreigners there, exposing them to exploitation and risk.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130232_14a613729f6ebb1db0bec63032cc78abe3087341680b2f88bc0ab4456621b012.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20260203130232_14a613729f6ebb1db0bec63032cc78abe3087341680b2f88bc0ab4456621b012" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Ranne and Aakashe's last night at home.</figcaption> </figure>  “Nepali migrants in India are not covered by compensation if they fall sick and or if die, unlike migrants to other overseas destinations who can receive compensation of up to Rs700,000,” notes labour migration expert Saru Joshi. The recent draft National Labour Migration Policy 2025 of the Ministry of Labour, Employment, and Social Security offers a flicker of hope for migrants to India with provisions for welfare, social security, and mental health support for families left behind. The draft also mandates better data collection of the movement of people.&nbsp; It is unlikely that these initiatives will make any difference to the people who remain in Muktikot. Many like Ranne and Akashe are likely to go to India for work. “If I had only two or three children, I would take my wife to India too,” says Jaya BK, 46. But he has seven children, including newborn twins, whom he has stayed behind to help his wife look after this time, rather than leaving for Uttarakhand in winter like he usually does.&nbsp; With the support of Internews' Earth Journalism Network.

Mass migration from Muktikot

The Himalayan mountains are also known as the Third Pole because it is the largest repository of water stored as ice outside the two polar regions. However, it is divided by political boundaries that nature does not recognise – be it the air pollutants that flow or migratory birds that fly over the peaks. The Himalaya is also a geopolitical and climate change hot spot. In these geopolitically and environmentally challenging times, it becomes even more important to create oases of conversations, where candid and future-oriented discussions can take place at a people-to-people level. Platforms dominated by inter-governmental agencies have been able to do little. The Himalayan Future Forum (HFF) aims to be a platform that stands at the crossroads of climate, community, and connectivity, fostering dialogue and promoting citizen-led action. Growing up in the Indian Himalayan town of Kalimpong and spending the nascent stages of my career helping in setting up offices of the award-winning Annapurna Conservation Area Project (ACAP) that fostered community involvement in conservation, I have witnessed transformations both good and bad.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260205070244_6e2087b11fff0cc6704eebaee6f169848a9cfd57c4a02d7d1fd45db2526d2f67.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260205070244_6e2087b11fff0cc6704eebaee6f169848a9cfd57c4a02d7d1fd45db2526d2f67" data-rendition-name="original" width="5559" height="3711" loading="lazy" alt="HFF 2026"></figure>  There are initiatives like Nepal’s forest cover doubling in 30 years, or Bhutan’s drive for high-end sustainable tourism. At the same time, I have seen landscapes destroyed by bulldozers and tall buildings competing for air and sunlight in expanding cities. From crony capitalists patronised by political leaders engaged in plundering natural resources to citizen-led initiatives on cleanliness drives and waste management, the Himalayan region is full of stories from both ends of the spectrum of disappointment and hope. Life is about observing and, in one’s little sphere of influence, taking baby steps towards catalysing positive transformation. This is why, Nepal Economic Forum (NEF) had been hosting the Himalayan Consensus Summit in Nepal from 2014 to 2020 following which the Himalayan Future Forum (HFF) was incubated since 2023. HFF is an initiative to encourage multi-faceted dialogues on the topics of climate, community, and connectivity in the Himalayan region by bringing together leaders, experts, institutions, and practitioners from different countries and sectors.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260205070244_a7e673507dcdb6e265cb6f76f2890f17af36f17006a7f6d0f2f0e1a288c89a09.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260205070244_a7e673507dcdb6e265cb6f76f2890f17af36f17006a7f6d0f2f0e1a288c89a09" data-rendition-name="original" width="5364" height="3581" loading="lazy" alt="HFF 2026"></figure>  In this year’s edition, there are a series of sessions on 6 February with 34 speakers including ten international panelists. On day two the Himalayan Haat aims to showcase a variety of local, indigenous, and sustainable products. As in 2024, it is believed that the conversations and interactions at the HFF will lead to more partnerships and collaborations from climate financing to managing disasters to taking Himalayan brands global. YOUNG FELLOWS Beyond this, there are sessions on topics such as geopolitics and the Himalaya, as well as on migration which are especially relevant considering the past few years that have seen many events which impacted the global world order. One of the key features of HFF, guided by our ethos of bringing together experts, experiences, and enthusiasm, is also to ensure stronger youth representation through the HFF Youth Fellowship. This year, following a rigorous screening process, youth fellows were selected out of an overwhelming response. Those chosen will be able to attend the events as well as collaborate in future research and publications. Selected fellows will also be provided with full scholarships to the public policy program at Takshashila Institution, an independent centre for research and education in public policy in Bangalore. In a region where half of the population is under 25 years, it is important to get the future generations also in the room.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260205070244_3416bd14d5249afeb357b11f760f49b0cd1d77feeac71d820406b2d9e86696bc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260205070244_3416bd14d5249afeb357b11f760f49b0cd1d77feeac71d820406b2d9e86696bc" data-rendition-name="original" width="5273" height="3520" loading="lazy" alt="HFF 2026"></figure>  Nepal presents an ideal location to hold meetings such as this, where no-holds-barred conversations can take place face-to-face. The country has good air connectivity and one of the most liberal visa policies in Asia. And while Davos is a good example to follow for convening global voices, we need not have so many private planes burning fossil fuel, as we can have participants take scheduled commercial flights or have regional participants simply take a road trip. Ultimately, the Himalayan region is also about festivities. No exchange of ideas is complete without immersing in art, culture, culinary experiences, and music. This is why HFF envisages graduating to a Himalayan Jatra, rooted in a region where people smile from the heart, and teach the world to smile with them. Join us at HFF 2026 as we move closer to this vision. See the schedule <a href="file:///Z:/%231297%20February%206/pix/page%209/HFF%202026%20Program%20Schedule%20(1)_compressed.pdf">here</a>. Sujeev Shakya is Chair of Nepal Economic Forum and Convenor of the Himalayan Future Forum.

Himalayan Futures Forum 2026

When I landed in Kathmandu last November, I arrived with a Diwali hangover. Not the festive kind, but the coughing, dust-coated, throat-scratching kind gifted by North India’s winter air. After a decade of breathing in Delhi’s seasonal gas chamber, my lungs were in an open revolt. But within days of landing in Kathmandu, my cough vanished. It felt almost miraculous. The air was crisper. The Air Quality Index was kinder, and the Himalayan peaks rose on the horizon.&nbsp;
But by the third week, the familiar grey veil returned. First as a faint blur, then peak by peak the Himalaya began to disappear. Locals said it had been getting worse every year.&nbsp;
Much of this haze is not Kathmandu’s doing. What drifts into Nepal each winter is a toxic spillover from the plains of North India and Pakistan: black carbon, brown clouds, and fine particulate matter carried across borders by seasonal winds. Kathmandu’s bowl-shaped valley simply traps what the region exhales.
Abid Omar, founder of the <a href="https://pakairquality.com/" target="_blank">Pakistan Air Quality Initiative</a>, put it bluntly: “We often view air pollution and climate change as separate silos, but in the Himalaya, they are one and the same.”
Black carbon is essentially soot from diesel emissions, brick kilns, and crop burning. It may be short-lived in the atmosphere, but when ash settles on snow and ice, it reduces reflectivity and accelerates melting.&nbsp;
Omar adds, “Black carbon is a threat to the water security of the entire Indus and Ganges basins.”
What burns on both sides of Punjab do not stay in Punjab. It ends up on glaciers that feed rivers, sustaining hundreds of millions of people downstream.
In November 2024, AQI levels in New Delhi hovered near 500 and about the same time Lahore briefly became the world’s most polluted city, with the AQI count crossing 1,100. These numbers are not abstract.
According to the <a href="https://www.stateofglobalair.org/resources/archived/state-global-air-report-2024" target="_blank">State of Global Air 2024 report</a>, India recorded more than 2 million deaths attributable to air pollution in 2023. Bangladesh and Pakistan each saw over 200,000 deaths. Air pollution is now one of the leading causes of premature death across South Asia.
Nepal, often imagined as cleaner by default, tells a sobering story of its own. Air pollution in Nepal led to an estimated <a href="https://www.worldbank.org/en/news/press-release/2025/06/17/air-pollution-is-the-number-one-health-risk-factor-in-nepal#:~:text=Vehicle%20Emissions:%20Continuing%20to%20electrify,airflows%20carry%20pollutants%20across%20borders." target="_blank">48,500 premature deaths</a>, with the loss of more than 1.4 million disability-adjusted life years. The University of Chicago’s <a href="https://aqli.epic.uchicago.edu/post/nepal-capital-chokes-as-wildfires-rage-en" target="_blank">Air Quality Life Index</a> estimates that particulate pollution cuts 3.4 years off the life of the average Nepali. In the Tarai region, life expectancy drops by nearly five years. In Kathmandu, residents lose 2.6 years.
Says infectious disease specialist Anup Subedee: “Air pollution is killing at a far higher rate than Covid-19 did during its worst years in Nepal. People are dying in their twenties of cancer, or having heart attacks and strokes in their thirties and forties.”
Nearly <a href="https://www.icimod.org/press-release/kathmandu-choked-on-polluted-air-for-75-of-the-last-90-days/?utm_source=chatgpt.com" target="_blank">40 per cent of winter particulate pollution in the Kathmandu</a> valley originates outside Nepal. Black carbon carried from Punjab, Haryana, and Uttar Pradesh in India, besides parts of Pakistan, rides the winds north, settles on Himalayan snow, and accelerates glacier melt by absorbing heat.
“The pollutants travel across borders within shared airsheds, creating one gigantic plume of polluted air over India, Nepal, Bangladesh, and Pakistan several times a year,” says Subedee.
In some Himalayan regions, <a href="https://www.icimod.org/success-stories/chapter-2/black-carbon-and-glacier-melt/" target="_blank">scientists estimate</a> that black carbon can increase localised melt rates by up to 30%. Yet global climate negotiations continue to treat glacial loss primarily as a carbon dioxide problem.&nbsp;
CHINA’S APPROACH
The South Asian story is transboundary, and more immediate as well as more preventable. This is not only about emissions. It is about coordination, and China offers an instructive contrast.
Since 2013, China has dramatically improved its air quality by declaring a '<a href="https://www.aljazeera.com/opinions/2025/12/12/what-new-delhi-can-learn-from-chinas-war-on-air-pollution#:~:text=In%20the%20following%20years%2C%20Beijing,29.3%CE%BCg%2Fm%C2%B3%20in%202024." target="_blank">war on pollution</a>'. A major air pollutant, suspended PM2.5 levels fell sharply through strict controls on coal, vehicles, and industry, massive investment in renewables, and legally binding national action plans.
Crucially, China shifted from city-by-city firefighting to a regional airshed approach. Provinces shared data, coordinated emergency responses, enforced unified standards, and tied environmental performance to political accountability. South Asian countries have done none of this.
Isolated national actions are insufficient when pollution itself ignores borders. India, Nepal, Bangladesh, and Pakistan share the same airshed. Without cooperation, each country keeps breathing its neighbour’s mistakes.
“As the government representing the largest population affected by air pollution, India should lead this effort. Instead, the region has drifted away from cooperation, and the cost is becoming catastrophic,” Subedee says.
The haze over Kathmandu is not only Nepal’s burden. It is a <a href="https://sapannews.com/2024/12/27/could-climate-diplomacy-be-the-googly-a-gamechanger-for-regional-cooperation/" target="_blank">regional failure</a>. The melting of South Asia’s glaciers is not just a global warming story. It is also a local one, written in the smoke rising from our own fields, factories, and highways.
If we keep ignoring black carbon, the Himalayas will keep losing time, snow, and stability. The disappearing peaks of Kathmandu are not a metaphor. They are a warning.
And like the air itself, that warning is already crossing borders. ©Sapan News
Pragyan Srivastava is an Indian journalist and associate editor at <a href="http://www.sapannews.com/" target="_blank">Sapan News</a>. <a href="mailto:pragyan@sapannews.com" target="_blank">pragyan@sapannews.com</a>

Cleaning up the Himalayan airshed

On full-moon nights in October and the Nepali New Year in April, hundreds gather to worship at the sacred pond of Mai Pokhari in Ilam. According to legend, the pond was born thousands of years ago from the union of the holy Mai and Tamur rivers in eastern Nepal. Another story tells of an elderly couple whose death gave rise to a life-giving pond meant to quench human thirst. The nine corners of the pond are each believed to house a goddess capable of granting health, fertility, good harvests, and protection from landslides and storms. In every version, one message is constant: when people polluted the water, the goddess moved away. Fear of losing her protection still shapes how people treat the sacred water body today. Besides ponds, wetlands are areas that are saturated with water, permanently or seasonally, including marshes, swamps, and bogs – representing some of the world’s most biologically diverse ecosystems, with distinctive soil, plants and animals. In 2008, Mai Pokhari earned the status of a Ramsar site – a wetland of global importance – for its ecological significance.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202020236_5fdcca89b06fcc0a2f2a7620931bc7fa1e932c72a5c1f5e083d4fd06287218b7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260202020236_5fdcca89b06fcc0a2f2a7620931bc7fa1e932c72a5c1f5e083d4fd06287218b7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Mai Pokhari"> <figcaption>Mai Pokhari in Ilam. Photo: JITENDRA RAJ BAJRACHARYA / ICIMOD</figcaption> </figure>  Its mid-elevation broadleaved forests provide habitat for many epiphytic orchids that grow without soil, attaching themselves to trees, and protected species such as the white-rumped vulture (Gyps bengalensis), leopard cat (Prionailurus bengalensis) and Eurasian Otter (Lutra lutra). For the people of the area, this is more than a wetland. It is a living mother, an ancestral guardian, and at the heart of their cultural identity. But long before it was recognised internationally, it was already being protected through belief, respect, and traditional knowledge passed quietly from one generation to the next. This pattern of faith-based stewardship is repeated across the Himalaya. Spirituality has shaped conservation in ways no law ever could. Fishing, hunting, and polluting wetlands and rivers are strictly forbidden, not by force but by faith. When erosion threatened the pond in the 1930s, villagers planted pine trees along its edges. As forest degradation increased, the community organised itself, establishing community forests in 1992 and 2001. In 2004, the area surrounding the pond was formally recognised as a religious forest –- a recognition based on local devotion rather than outside instruction.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202020236_18ec88be3dadf3573074796decb255e3b536893d5778735cf6e7dc3184330017.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260202020236_18ec88be3dadf3573074796decb255e3b536893d5778735cf6e7dc3184330017" data-rendition-name="original" width="919" height="540" loading="lazy" alt="Map of wetlands in Hindu Kush"> <figcaption>Map showing four wetlands in the Hindu Kush Himalaya. Source: RAMESH KATHARIYA / ICIMOD</figcaption> </figure>  In the lowland forests of western Nepal, lies Ghodaghodi, a wetland complex consisting of large and shallow oxbow lake with 13 associated marshes and meadows surrounded by tropical deciduous forest on the lower slopes of the Siwalik range along the southern edge of the Himalaya. These wetlands and forests serve as a critical wildlife corridor between the lowlands and the Siwalik, supporting several globally threatened species of plants and animals, and rare wild rice. To the people who live around it, especially the Indigenous Tharu, Ghodaghodi is alive – a sacred presence shaped by gods, ancestors, and centuries of belief. The name Ghodaghodi, which means horse and mare, carries ancient memories. Elders tell stories of divine beings who once moved through the landscape in animal form, leaving behind a lake infused with spiritual powers. The waters are believed to be the dwelling place of gods and goddesses, particularly Lord Shiva. This belief has shaped how the wetland is viewed: not as property to be owned, but as a holy space to be respected. Each year during the festival of Agan Panchami, thousands of pilgrims gather at Ghodaghodi, walking barefoot along forest paths with offerings of flowers, fruits, milk, and water. Polluting the water or harming its creatures is believed to invite misfortune. These unwritten cultural rules have conserved the wetland for generations, long before it was declared a wetland of global importance. In the central highlands of Bhutan lies the Gangtey-Phobji in a wide glacial valley. The Ramsar site is the prime wintering habitat for the globally vulnerable, black-necked crane (Grus nigricollis).  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202020236_7a8c7215ecc6928e7160e8057c761095e7021e711e1290f6d8b2c8a50879be64.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260202020236_7a8c7215ecc6928e7160e8057c761095e7021e711e1290f6d8b2c8a50879be64" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="998" loading="lazy" alt="Black necked crane"> <figcaption>Black-necked crane in Phobji. ALEX TREADWAY / ICIMOD</figcaption> </figure>  An annual festival at the Gangtey monastery welcomes the arrival of the cranes in November. Locals revere the birds as sacred messengers, and they are believed to bring blessings and prosperity. It is these beliefs that have helped preserve Bhutan’s flagship Ramsar site. In West Sikkim, the Khachoedpalri wetland was declared a Ramsar site in 2025. This Himalayan high-altitude wetland ecosystem and its surrounding temperate forests provide critical habitat for many species of flora and fauna, and the wetland serves as an important habitat and stopover site for migratory birds. But more importantly, it has religious significance as a pilgrimage site and is revered by both Buddhists and Hindus as a wish-fulfilling lake. It is these values that have supported its conservation from time immemorial. These wetlands are recognised internationally as Ramsar sites for their ecological and other attributes. However, the very cultural practices that preserved these wetlands, along with new external pressures, now threaten them. Many are now increasingly under threat due to growing human intervention – including misplaced practices such as the ritual release of exotic fish by the faithful. Some religious bodies now advise against these practices. Many others are drying out, silting up, or polluted by upstream activity. As these changes intensify, there is concern that not only biodiversity, but also the cultural practices and spiritual values tied to the wetlands may begin to fade. As we mark this year’s World Wetlands Day on 2 February with the theme ‘Wetlands and Traditional Knowledge: Celebrating Cultural Heritage’ it is a reminder that wetlands are not only ecosystems – they are rich cultural spaces. Traditional knowledge and belief systems have quietly conserved these wetlands for centuries, showing that when people revere nature, protection becomes a way of life. It is this profound connection, where culture nurtures ecology that we must safeguard to ensure neither wetlands nor the heritage they hold fade away. Sunita Chaudhary is the Biodiversity Lead at the International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development (ICIMOD).