<a href="https://myrepublica.nagariknetwork.com/news/dhm-forecasts-above-average-rainfall-and-temperatures-for-2025-monsoon-28-10.html">This year, </a>Madhes Province received less rainfall than was forecast by the &nbsp;Department of Hydrology and Meteorology (DHM), reducing groundwater recharge of shallow aquifers which are the lifeline for domestic use and irrigation.&nbsp; The crisis was serious enough for the government to officially declare a drought emergency during the monsoon, with the province declared a '<a href="https://kathmandupost.com/national/2025/07/23/cabinet-declares-madhesh-province-a-disaster-crisis-zone?">disaster-hit zone</a>' in July.&nbsp; The monsoon scarcity hit farmers hardest, a majority of whom depend on rainfall for agriculture. Data from Dhanusa’s <a href="https://add.madhesh.gov.np/noticefiles/%E0%A4%A7%E0%A4%BE%E0%A4%A8-%E0%A4%B0%E0%A5%8B%E0%A4%AA%E0%A4%BE%E0%A4%87%E0%A4%95%E0%A5%8B-%E0%A4%B5%E0%A4%BF%E0%A4%B5%E0%A4%B0%E0%A4%A3-%E0%A5%A4-1752227917.pdf">Agriculture Development Directorate</a> shows that only 33% paddy plantation was completed by mid July, in comparison to <a href="https://kathmandupost.com/money/2024/07/31/fastest-transplantation-rate-sows-hope-for-bumper-paddy-harvest?">92% planting the same time last year</a>. Only 49% of agricultural land in Nepal is irrigated — farmers in the rest of the arable land rely on rainfall, private wells and groundwater extraction. During the dry seasons and droughts, water insufficient groundwater recharge worsens the water crisis.&nbsp; Nearly 88% of households depend on groundwater in Madhes Province which has about 100,780 shallow tube wells and 60,660 deep tube wells. But in recent times, the tube wells and hand pumps have dried up every year.&nbsp; This shortage disproportionately impacts low income families and small-scale farmers, who have no other alternative to irrigate their land. And because paddy accounts for up to 7% of Nepal’s economy, Madhes’ water crisis is not confined to within the province, but has serious implications on the national economy.&nbsp; Underground water Groundwater extraction for irrigation began in the <a href="https://jvs-nwp.org.np/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/Water-Nepal-A-historical-Perspective.pdf">1970s, </a>shallow and deep tube wells for irrigation were introduced with support from development partners. By the 2021 agriculture census, <a href="https://agricensusnepal.gov.np/upload_file/files/post/1731650149_1221316497_Agriculture%20Census%202021_District%20Summary%20Report_by%20Province.pdf">groundwater irrigated land had increased </a>to 41.7%, up from &nbsp;<a href="https://agricensusnepal.gov.np/upload_file/files/post/1694250757_1312300734_National%20Sample%20Census%20of%20Agriculture%202021_22%20(National%20Report).indd.pdf">29.8% in 2011.</a>&nbsp; A lack of strong policies and regulation to monitor unchecked extraction has meant that with the exception of some parts of Kathmandu Valley, domestic users, subsistence and commercial farmers, restaurants, hotels and industries across Nepal can draw any quantity of groundwater from desired depths and location. While the dependence on drilling for water has risen due to limited expansion of surface water infrastructure, there has been little attention to groundwater recharge. This competing use of groundwater threatens the fundamental right to drinking water.&nbsp; The ecologically sensitive Chure and Bhawar watershed play a crucial role in groundwater recharge. However, deforestation and indiscriminate riverbed mining has severely reduced its recharge potential over the years. In addition, widespread monoculture plantation of fast-growing non-native eucalyptus trees, replacing native sissoo and sal trees has compounded the crisis. Eucalyptus, a water intensive species indigenous to Australia, was introduced in the Bhawar region in 1978 for supplying wood. The Tarai’s recurring water crisis is not only climatic. Years of fragmented planning, inadequate budget allocation for groundwater management, as well as limited intra- and inter-government policies and coordination have contributed to the disaster just as much as droughts and floods caused by changing weather patterns. The United Nations said decades ago disasters are not natural, and they occur when we fail to prepare.&nbsp; Groundwater management is <a href="https://www.opmcm.gov.np/download/%e0%a4%86%e0%a4%af%e0%a5%8b%e0%a4%9c%e0%a4%a8%e0%a4%be-%e0%a4%b5%e0%a4%b0%e0%a5%8d%e0%a4%97%e0%a5%80%e0%a4%95%e0%a4%b0%e0%a4%a3%e0%a4%95%e0%a5%8b-%e0%a4%86%e0%a4%a7%e0%a4%be%e0%a4%b0-%e0%a4%a4/?wpdmdl=8990&amp;refresh=683b8df54ffef1748733429">the shared responsibility of federal, provincial and local</a> governments, but there is a lack of <a href="https://www.iwmi.org/blogs/stakeholders-in-nepal-work-together-to-enhance-collective-action-for-municipal-groundwater-management/">integrated planning, &nbsp;budgeting, data sharing</a>, and collective action for groundwater extraction and recharge.&nbsp; Sustainable groundwater use in the plains requires inclusive and equitable practices that combine water science-informed interventions with a long-term cross-disciplinary approach.&nbsp; Groundwater is mainly available either in shallow unconfined aquifers that are close to the surface and directly linked to rainfall and rivers, and deep confined aquifers between semi permeable or impermeable ground layers. Locating and mapping such aquifers would help us find what depth they lie at, how much water they hold, what we can do to recharge them and how much time recharging would take—enabling sustainable use of groundwater. Construction of surface water projects such as the Sun Kosi Marine Diversion Multipurpose Project, which serves a dual purpose of expanding irrigation and recharging groundwater, must be expedited.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251027071020_a9442084bc412998d3e7417cf0d057cae8a2b98f5e47ac1a8cc0630612ff2a55.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20251027071020_a9442084bc412998d3e7417cf0d057cae8a2b98f5e47ac1a8cc0630612ff2a55" data-rendition-name="original" width="1778" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Mitigating the Madhes water crisis NT"> <figcaption>Photo: ONION FILMS / IWMI</figcaption> </figure>  Such infrastructure have a conjunctive use recognised by the National Irrigation Master Plan 2019 and the National Irrigation Policy 2023, wherein farmers can rely on canals for irrigation during monsoon and groundwater during dry seasons.&nbsp; Nature-based solutions such as rainwater harvesting, managed aquifer recharge techniques, restoration of wetlands and retention ponds, and floodwater reservoirs, particularly in ecologically sensitive regions like the Chure Bhaban, should be explored. &nbsp; The management of green water — the water stored in soil and vegetation — is equally as critical as that of blue water (rivers, canals, and groundwater). Green water is lost through evapotranspiration, which contributes to nearly half of the rainfall on land. Deforestation, soil degradation, poor land use practices, and loss of wetlands contribute to the disruption of the evapotranspiration cycle, affecting rainfall patterns and groundwater recharge. Solutions Rising temperatures compound this situation by increasing evapotranspiration. Soil water conservation, vegetation cover, wetland restoration, and nature friendly land use practices must therefore be prioritised. Water-efficient technologies and practices including drip irrigation use of sprinklers, mulching, and soil fertility improvement should be scaled up.&nbsp; At the same time, we must promote irrigation techniques and technologies along with crop choices and cropping patterns that give more yield per drop of water so that food production and water conservation go hand in hand. &nbsp; The government provides subsidised electricity for irrigation starting at Rs2.3/unit, some local governments are even supplying power for free. While such subsidies support farmers and increase productivity, &nbsp;it also poses serious risk of over extraction of groundwater.&nbsp; Flat subsidies in electricity or solar irrigation must be replaced by targeted subsidies in order to balance domestic and agricultural needs with ecological conservation. The 2015 <a href="https://kvwsmb.gov.np/public/uploads/board_act_&amp;_rules/rule-1.pdf">directive for groundwater licensing</a> developed per the Drinking Water Management Board Act 2006 for Kathmandu valley prohibits groundwater extraction from shallow aquifers for commercial and industrial uses. The directive also has provisions for licensing, and renewals, and mandates for license holders to contribute to groundwater recharge. The Madhes needs similar context-specific policies to address its groundwater crisis and safeguard water rights. Shallow aquifers in the region should be prioritised for domestic use while <a href="https://link.springer.com/chapter/10.1007/978-981-10-3889-1_11">deep aquifers, which are still underutilised, should be tapped</a> in a sustainable manner for commercial, industrial and large scale irrigation and drinking water projects.&nbsp; While <a href="https://www.frontiersin.org/journals/human-dynamics/articles/10.3389/fhumd.2023.1181734/full">technical solutions</a> are important, they are not enough to solve Madhes’ water crisis. Nepal’s Constitution and the Local Governance Operation Act 2017 empower local governments for water management in their constituencies. But beyond the letter of the law, local units require community tailored groundwater policies, regular groundwater monitoring and up-to-date data, and investment in local recharge initiatives such as retention ponds, restoration of wetlands, and rainwater harvesting. Coordination between all three tiers of government is crucial, particularly among agencies that pertain to drinking water, water resources, irrigation, agriculture, land use, environment, climate change, and urban development. &nbsp; Heeding indigenous knowledge will be crucial to understanding the water crisis in Madhes and initiating solutions that will fit the context and needs of the region. Local engagement in groundwater monitoring can help to create self -aware, accountable, cost effective and participatory groundwater management practices.&nbsp; To ensure water security in Madhes, we thus need inclusive governance, coherent policies, active engagement of citizens, integration of local and indigenous knowledge and a principle of equity that puts people at the centre. &nbsp; Sumitra KC, a policy and governance researcher in natural resources management, is the National Researcher at the International Water Management Institute (IWMI), Nepal. Manohara Khadka, PhD, an expert in natural resources management, gender equality, and social inclusion, is the Country Representative of IWMI, Nepal.

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Mitigating the Madhes water crisis

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230112100128/63bfd3509c7e80680e0d3055jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1041"/><figcaption>CALVING OFF: In the past 30 years, the Imja Glacier in the Khumbu has grown into a lake 2km long as the permafrost and ice melts. Photo: KIRIL RUSEV</figcaption></figure>The Himalaya is the largest storehouse of water as ice after the polar regions, which is why it is called the Third Pole. The world’s highest mountain range is also referred to as the Water Tower of Asia, but the roof of the world is running out of water.Sky rivers bring moisture from the ocean and precipitate it as rain or snow on the mountains. Much of it seeps into the ground with the mountains acting like gigantic sponges. The rest is stored as ice and melts slowly in summer when glaciers bring them down.But climate change is <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/climate-change-is-a-disaster-in-the-nepal-himalaya/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">heating up the Himalaya</a> faster than the global average, disrupting this water cycle. The rains are becoming more erratic, either coming in torrents or not at all, groundwater is depleting, and glaciers have shrunk.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230112100128/63bfd3549c7e80680e0d3056jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="200" height="109">Rivers originating in the Himalaya and the Tibetan Plateau that sustain the inhabitants of the mountains as well as 1 billion Asians downstream will have less water in the dry season in the coming decades.If greenhouse gas emissions are not reduced, scientists predict that two-thirds of Himalayan glaciers will be gone during this century. Already, there is a river running through Everest Base Camp, and runnels in the Khumbu Icefall may turn it into a waterfall in the not-too-distant future.Khim Lal Gautam, who was part of the team that measured the height of Mt Everest to greater accuracy in 2020, has climbed the world’s highest mountain twice and has noticed the changes.“The moraine and permafrost here at the Everest Base Camp is melting dangerously. The glacier is collapsing, every time I come here there is less and less ice,” says Gautam.He adds: “The accelerated melting means there is now this big river running through Base Camp. In the last six years, the average temperature here has increased by six degrees.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/it-is-getting-hotter-on-the-roof-of-the-world/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">It is getting hotter on the roof of the world</a>, Kunda Dixit<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230112100128/63bfd3569c7e80680e0d3057jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3000" height="671"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Across the Himalaya, iconic peaks like Mt Machapuchre have turned into bare rock during some seasons. Between October 2008 to October 2020, Mt Saipal at 7,031m in far west Nepal lost most of its ice, shocking mountaineers, scientists and locals alike.In 2006, the serac below the summit of Ama Dablam that gave the mountain its name broke off killing six climbers. “Ama Dablam means mother’s necklace, and a chunk of this big block of ice collapsed and thundered down,” says environmentalist and entrepreneur Dawa Steven Sherpa. “We are not just losing our mountains but a large part of our identity and what they mean to us.”Researchers have made similar observations in the Karakoram in Pakistan, in the Tibetan Plateau, Bhutan and India where the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-mountains-are-melting/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">permafrost is melting and glaciers receding</a>.“In the past, glaciers in the Karakoram were more stable than elsewhere in the Himalaya … but now even these glaciers have started melting,” says Pakistani remote sensing specialist Sher Muhammad, who is with the Kathmandu-based International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development (ICIMOD).Accelerated melting has also meant that the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/danger-nepals-glacial-lakes-are-filling-up/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">number of glacial lakes is increasing</a>. Nepal’s longest glacier, Ngozumpa below Mt Cho Oyu, now resembles Swiss cheese, riddled with melt pools and debris. Imja Glacier has turned into a glacial lake in just 30 years.“Imja didn’t used to be a lake, it used to be a solid glacier,” adds Dawa Sherpa. “My father camped on the glacier 60 years ago with a Japanese expedition. Today, we need a rubber boat to be where he was back then.”There are 3,252 glacial lakes in Nepal, and they are shrinking three times faster than in 1998. Many of these are filling up with melt water and are in danger of bursting. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/tracing-past-glacial-floods-in-kangchenjunga/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Glacial Lake Outburst Floods (GLOFs)</a> are a threat not just to human settlements but to infrastructure projects, many of them hydropower plants which are built along rivers downstream.The massive debris flow on the Melamchi River in June 2021 that killed at least 30 people, submerged settlements, and nearly destroyed Nepal’s biggest infrastructure project to supply water to Kathmandu, was caused by a heavy monsoon downpour bringing down glacial sediments no longer cemented by permafrost.While melting mountains are more visible, many more people are affected across the Himalaya by springs going dry and reduced flow on rivers. People are <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepal-must-prepare-for-climate-migration/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">abandoning villages and homesteads</a> because of prolonged droughts and dry springs.Women left behind are having to <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/women-and-water/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">shoulder the burden</a> of household chores including fetching water from further away, even as there is less water to irrigate terrace farms. In parts of Nepal, this has led to an increase in child marriage and the school dropout rate for girls, undermining the country’s past gains.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/global-heating-melts-mountains/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Forests replace glaciers in the Himalaya</a>, Tufan Neupane<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230112100128/63bfd35a9c7e80680e0d3058jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="4288" height="2848"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The theme of this year's International Mountain Day on 11 December is 'Women Move Mountains'. Climate change in the mountains is not just a crisis but also an opportunity to empower women and local communities.From rainwater harvesting, reviving ponds, and drip irrigation to planting sugarcane and Napier grass on riverbanks to reduce flood risks, there are many successful examples in Nepal of local adaptation.But much like air pollution, tackling the impact of climate change in the Himalaya needs a cross-border and regional collaboration. In fact, worsening regional air pollution is leading to <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/a-terrifying-assessment-of-himalayan-melting/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">an acceleration in melting</a>.Black carbon and soot particles from vehicular emission, industries and fires are reaching higher altitudes and increasing the melt rate of glaciers already thawing due to global warming.Says <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/we-have-not-respected-the-fragility-of-the-himalaya/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">ICIMOD Director General Pema Gyamtsho</a> from Bhutan: “We need to put more focus on building transboundary cooperation. That has always been our mandate, but I think now, we need to fast forward these initiatives.”The Himalaya has more biodiversity than any other place on earth because of its elevation and moisture range. Researchers say this makes it an extraordinary place for species to flourish. But climate change is impacting on this diversity of plant and animal life that have evolved in the sensitive mountain ecosystem. Many have never been studied and could have immense medicinal and utilitarian value.The recently concluded <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/make-or-break-climate-summits/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">COP27 Climate Summit in Egypt</a> agreed on a mechanism to compensate poorer countries for loss and damage from climate change, but fell short of required decarbonisation targets. There is now serious doubt if global average temperature can be limited to 1.5C above pre-industrial levels.Scientists and governments are meeting in Montréal this week to find ways to avert what they call the 'sixth extinction' -- the largest loss of biodiversity in the planet since the meteorite strike that wiped out the dinosaurs 65 million years ago. Some of this is due to the climate crisis, but human settlements and consumption is also destroying habitats. Just as at COP27 in Egypt, the UN Biodiversity Conference (COP15) in Montréal will also set targets for the global biodiversity framework.Himalayan geographer Alton C Byers who has been studying the impact of climate change on the ecosystem of the Kangchenjunga region warns: “People think mountains are invulnerable, invincible. They are not, they are some of the most fragile ecosystems in the world which is why we need to give them special consideration and protection.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/mountain-women-on-the-climate-frontlines/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Mountain women on the climate frontlines</a>, Torun Dramdal and Pema Gyamtsho

Sonia Awale

The climate crisis is a water crisis in the Himalaya

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016114/636d137b9c7e80680e0a9924jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2048" height="1365"/><figcaption>Kathmandu shrouded in smoke and smog from stubble and industrial pollution from northern India, as well as the valley's own vehicular emissions on Monday morning. Photo: AMIT MACHAMASI</figcaption></figure>Just as the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/copout-at-cop26/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">deadlocked climate summit in Glasgow</a> was being extended by a day last week, Kathmandu was once again shrouded in smoke and smog from stubble burning and industrial pollution from northern India, as well as the valley’s own vehicular emissions.Nothing could have drawn the link between <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepals-greenwashing-in-glasgow/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">global negotiations in Scotland</a> to save the planet from catastrophic heating, and the clear and present danger stemming from flawed policies of national governments.India was blamed for watering down the final resolution by changing ‘phaseout’ to ‘phasedown’ of coal, while rich countries like Australia, the US and others did not have to put their cash where their mouths were to make up for historical emissions.There were two Conference of Parties (COPs) going on simultaneously in Glasgow last week: one where mainly male politicians in suits protected their <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/sino-american-impacts-climate-action/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">national interest to negotiate</a> commas and brackets, and the other dominated by young women trying to warn world leaders that it was their future they were messing with.The toxic air covering northern India and Nepal while COP26 was taking place was a stark reminder that developing countries cannot go around hectoring industrialised countries about ‘climate justice’ when their own policies poison their air, water and soil.With winter approaching, it looks like this year’s Indo-Gangetic smog will only get worse since India does not have to ‘phaseout’ coal, and there is no mandatory timetable even for ‘phasing down’.Nepal is not doing much better. Its petroleum import bill is doubling every few years, and we do not see the political commitment to implement provisions in the updated Nationally Determined Contribution, or the Climate Ambition at the Top of the World report that was unveiled in Glasgow.Nepal was praised internationally (and also modestly patted itself in the back) for its three pledges in Glasgow: to <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/will-nepal-ever-be-paid-for-saving-trees/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">increase forest cover</a> to 45% by 2030, start reducing emissions to become carbon negative after 2045, and ensure climate resilience for all vulnerable people by 2030.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016114/636d137d9c7e80680e0a9925jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3600" height="2400"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The forestry target is the most do-able, because Nepal’s total forest area is already at 44.74% -- we just have to make sure no more trees are cut in the next nine years. So, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepal-must-save-nijgad-forest-to-receive-climate-funds/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">no Nijgad</a>.But we have no idea how the government expects to help all Nepalis adapt to climate impact. That goal is so vague and non-measureable as to be meaningless.And then there is the aim to be ‘net-zero’ by 2045. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/net-zero-is-not-zero/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Net-zero is an excuse</a> to keep burning fossil fuel, hoping that forests somewhere will absorb the carbon. Besides, net-zero will not protect citizens from toxic emissions car tailpipes and smokestacks.Nepal’s commitment is conditional upon financial support, and there may be a strong moral argument for ‘loss and damage’ compensation because the country only contributes 0.5% of total global greenhouse gas emissions.However, we do not have to wait for donors in order to switch from petro-energy to hydro, solar and wind. Tax rebates for <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/from-a-fossil-past-to-an-electric-future/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">electric public transport</a>, subsidies for cooking appliances, switching industries like cement, steel and manufacturing to electricity just need political will.As we have argued here before, Nepal needs to do this not so much to avert a planetary emergency, but to save our economy from collapse, and to protect the public from breathing <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/air-pollution-is-more-dangerous-than-smoking/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">poisonous air</a>.Every year, Kathmandu’s pollution level sets a new record. This spring, the Valley’s air quality index (AQI) <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/kathmandu-air-pollution-hits-record-high/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">hit nearly 700</a> because of vehicular emissions combined with wildfire smoke. This was 40 times the level deemed safe to breathe by WHO’s new guidelines. Covid patients at ICUs across the country are being replaced by people with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD).Given Nepal’s small carbon footprint, we might even attain net-zero status before 2045 because vehicles manufacturers are going electric, so we could not import diesel buses after 2030 even if we wanted to. But government policy must align with our Glasgow pledges. The on-again-off-again tax rebated on EVs in the past four years does not bode well for the future.In addition, Nepalis need help to adapt to cope with the water crisis and resulting food insecurity as well as the impact of weather-related disasters like <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/still-chasing-the-melamchi-mirage/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Melamchi</a> and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/himalayan-floods-a-sign-of-worse-to-come/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Manang</a> this year.After returning from lobbying rich country delegates in Glasgow, Nepali activists and scientists should now turn their attention to putting pressure on our own government to get climate smart.Sonia Awale

Good COP, bad COP

<figure><img width="640" height="427" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8779c7e80680e0737e2jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Photo: SONIA AWALE</figcaption></figure>Haphazard urbanisation, a continually growing population and long delays in the finalisation of the Melamchi Project have resulted in an increasing water scarcity in Kathmandu Valley. But these are not new issues. What is new is that they have become the subject of renewed discussion during the Covid-19 outbreak. The state authorities have repeatedly told people over the last few months to reduce transmission of the virus by washing their hands ‘properly’ (michimichi), scrubbing with soap and water. That this is very difficult to do without easy access to water. Also, this new demand for water comes on top of the usual requirement for safe drinking water and water for other household uses. Most residents of Kathmandu Valley own or rent small dwellings, and only a few are able to find the space for a storage tank on the roof, in the garden or underground. More than 70% of the Valley’s population relies on piped underground water sources officially maintained by the local authorities. Just before the monsoon started this year, the Kathmandu Upatyaka Khanepani Limited (KUKL) was distributing piped water once every 11 days. When the monsoon is over in a month the situation will become acute. Last year’s annual report of the agency shows that the average water supply, after deduction of the 20% losses through leakage, is 103mld/day (million litres per day) as against the total requirement of 430mld/day. Kathmandu has only a quarter of water that is needed (see chart). <figure><img width="512" height="408" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8799c7e80680e0737e3jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Source: KUKL 2018-19</figcaption></figure>Kathmandu Valley has been suffering from a shortage of water, especially drinking water, since at least the 1980s, and the situation has been getting worse year by year. Policy-makers, engineers and others consider the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/melamchi-coming-to-kathmandu">Melamchi Water Supply Project</a> as the long-term solution. The project was designed to divert fresh water to Kathmandu Valley from the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/light-at-the-end-of-the-melamchi-tunnel/">Melamchi River in Sindhupalchok District</a> through a 26km tunnel to Sundarijal. Work on the scheme started in 1998 and it is still under construction, having suffered innumerable delays owing to problems with lending agencies, contractors, and corruption, and, most recently an accident in the tunnel that killed two staff.  When completed, the Melamchi project will be able to supply about 170 mld/day of water, but this will not meet even current demand, let alone future requirements. Since the state utility has not been able to meet water demand, people have come to rely on alternative sources, including wells and boreholes. An  increasing number of households now purchase water as a matter of course from commercial water tankers or, for drinking water, buy plastic jars. Some still rely on <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/renew-commitment-to-preserve-ancient-water-spouts,2931">‘traditional’ sources</a>, such as springs, wells and rivers, water spouts or tanks. Many of these underground water sources, however, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/water-of-the-ages/">have been damaged by the development of urban infrastructure</a> and extraction of underground water on an unprecedented scale in the past three decades.  The <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nation/water-table-of-kathmandu-valley-falling-fast-recharge-to-replenish,4100">unregulated extraction of underground water</a> by both private operators and KUKL, has lowered the groundwater table. Similarly, new construction has reduced the open spaces that would allow recharge of the water table. One consequence is the destruction or degradation of traditional water systems that have dried up stone spouts and wells that had served the people of the Kathmandu Valley for hundreds if not thousands of years. This water supply system in Kathmandu Valley can be traced back at least to the Licchavi era more than a thousand years. It was not built during a single regime, but gradually improved upon over the centuries. It is only in recent times that it is threatened. <img width="650" height="573" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba87a9c7e80680e0737e4jpeg.jpg" alt="">The major source of water for the stone spouts was the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=9129#.X0yYDSgzaUk">raj kulo (Royal Canal)</a> which started from the foothills on the Valley rim, and fed into ponds which stored and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepal-must-keep-water-on-its-land/">recharged water for the aquifers</a>, which were themselves largely dependent on rainwater. A single stone spout may have had a single or multiple sources of water. Many were fed by either an individual spring or a local aquifer. Some sunken spouts were fed by shallow aquifers using percolated surface water, others were located near or far from a source. A single aquifer might supply water to a single spout, or to multiple spouts serving a number of communities. Water was channelled through burnt clay or wooden pipes to the stone spouts through passages so that the water could flow easily. Most of the stone spouts had a base platform to capture discharged water, and a drain it through the side which served to supply another stone spout downstream, or irrigate nearby farms, before finally flowing into a river.  When the springs and other water sources went dry and the water level in  shallow aquifers went down, the stone spouts also discharged less water or became dry. In this way, a complex and heterogeneous system was gradually developed over the centuries that utilised water from different sources, channelled it, often over considerable distances, and discharged it eventually through the spout, acting as a tap, for use by local communities.Centuries after they were built, water from these sources are still being used by households, hotels, restaurants, factories and tanker operators, for laundry, personal hygiene and cleaning vegetables. Residents fall back on the traditional systems when there is not enough available water from the government piped system. However, the water is not potable anymore.It is late, but not too late, however, to recognise the potential value of these systems with their multiple water sources, complex distribution channels and stone spouts. With proper conservation, they continue to supply much needed water to people of the Kathmandu Valley, in addition to maintaining an important archaeological heritage and the rich cultural associations of these living monuments, particularly for the Newa people whose forebears built them.   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RggblppqixsSince people in Kathmandu Valley still use these water sources for cleaning, washing, bathing, irrigation, they could play an important role by integrating them with modern technologies. Water from these historical systems could contribute to a sustainable solution to the Kathmandu Valley’s increasing water scarcity. The first pre-requisite is that there is no interruption in the water’s source, route and eventual outlet at the spouts by new physical infrastructure. An effective system needs to be devised for adequate water storage in reservoirs or tanks to maintain water supply throughout the year. Along with storage, the water must also be treated appropriately. If these prerequisites are met, water from these age-old spouts could be easily accessible, of good drinking quality, and be free of cost. Given the right storage, the spouts can supply water continuously, complementing the official piped water system or public water tankers -- particularly for low income households which cannot afford to buy water.   <figure><img width="1379" height="748" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba87c9c7e80680e0737e5jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Iku hiti where water from stone spout is still being used for drinking, bathing, washing and cleaning. Photo: RIISHTA SHRESTHA</figcaption></figure>One working example of just such an outlet with a viable storage system is Iku Hiti in Dhobighat of Lalitpur, where water from the sunken spout flows into a storage tank of 80,000 litres operated by the KUKL, and distributed to people in the nearby communities. Shree Krishna Dongol of KUKL says water is distributed to communities every alternate day from 5AM- 6.30AM, in addition to its own supply which is once a week. Water supply is extended to 9AM-12.30 and 2-4PM during the monsoon. The same pipe is used at homes to distribute water from both the sources and the communities pay according to the meter fixed by KUKL at their homes. The management committee also charges Rs5 / jar for those who collect water for restaurants or hotels. Families pay less, and those who live near the area do not pay at all. The money is used for cleaning and maintenance of the stone spout and its premises. The committee is also constructing a separate pond to wash clothes so that the stone spout area can be clean and safe. <figure><img width="1378" height="689" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba87f9c7e80680e0737e6jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Washing facility at the Iku Hiti with water from the spout. Photo: RISHTA SHRESTHA</figcaption></figure>There are grounds to justify serious initiatives and additional efforts by state and local authorities, non-state entities, private organisations and local communities, to protect, rehabilitate and renew these traditional water supply systems, and to ensure their survival and maintenance, so that they can, once again, meet the needs of the modern residents of Kathmandu Valley. <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/GUEST-COLUMN/positive-alternatives-to-federalism,350">David Seddon</a> has undertaken research and consultancy on development issues in Nepal over several decades.Ranjan Prakash Shrestha, PhD,  has research experience in climate change and indigenous knowledge and practices related to urbanisation and sustainable water resource management.

Solution to Kathmandu’s water crisis

International Mountain Day on 11 December should inspire celebration, not cynicism. It follows &nbsp;a small but rare diplomatic win: the agreement at COP30 in Belém to hold a dedicated global dialogue on mountains in 2026, and to include mountain-specific indicators in the new climate adaptation framework.&nbsp;
A welcome shift, certainly. But the old narrative lingers — mountains are fragile, disaster-prone, eternally vulnerable. But the uncomfortable truth is that safe and environment-friendly development in the mountains is simply too expensive than anyone wants to admit.
To build a kilometre of two-lane highway in the Tarai costs Rs200 million. That same kilometre on a Himalayan slope with retaining walls, drainage, bioengineering, and landslide protection costs more than Rs1 billion. Add tunnels, viaducts or highways designed for minimum 80km/h speeds and that figure can easily triple.
This pattern repeats across all sectors. A 50MW run-of-river hydropower plant that costs $80 million in low-ling valleys costs four times more in the mountains. The headrace tunnels have to be longer, desanding basins must trap the silt, the access roads cost more than the entire project. And there is no way to prevent the scheme from being washed away by a glacial collapse flood.
Nepal's annual road budget is only Rs150 billion. It is scattered thinly across 753 municipalities, most of them perched on steep, unstable slopes. When resources are inadequate and political cycles are short, the incentives for corruption are predictable &nbsp;— shaving a mountain flank at 70 degrees instead of 45, taking a shortcut on drainage canals, skimping on asphalt thickness, or skipping the Gabion.
In high Nepal, the bulldozer is the engineer. We hang on the prayer that the monsoon will be merciful. July arrives, and reality returns. Mountains fall on roads, flash floods wash away swathes of expensive highways.
The entrance to the Siddhababa Tunnel in Palpa collapses yet again. The Nagdhunga Tunnel faces another landslide delay. The Melamchi headworks go under — again. Each failure costs more to repair than proper engineering would have cost when that infrastructure was built.
We are not just paying once. We the taxpayers are signing up for a subscription to disaster. The real fragility of Nepal’s mountains is of governance, not geology.
This is what the international climate conversation habitually misses. Mountain communities are repeatedly told to ‘respect nature’ and avoid linear infrastructure, often by the same countries proudly announcing new expressways and airports in their own countries.
Mountain people are not anti-development. They want what everyone else wants: electricity that does not flicker, roads that survive the monsoon, schools their children can reach in winter. What they lack is not aspiration, it is the budget required to build things safely that is not stolen by politicians and their crony contractors.
If the world truly wants to protect the Himalaya, Andes or Alps, and the billions who rely on them for water, the answer is not more romantic slogans about fragility of the mountains. It is concessional, patient financing that narrows the gap between cheap and dangerous versus expensive and resilient. And it is transparent government that spends that money wisely.
This means money for tunnels instead of unstable surface cuts. Money for bioengineered slopes instead of naked bulldozer scars. Money for hydropower built for 1-in-100-year floods, not 1-in-25-year budgets.&nbsp;
This is not charity. Mountain infrastructure safeguards global water, carbon, energy and biodiversity systems. It is a global public good, and should be financed as such.&nbsp;
In Syangja, small investments under the Climate Adaptive Equitable Water Management Practices have restored nine community ponds, protected recharge zones and increased dry-season spring flow by about a third. All of this for less than the cost of repairing a single kilometre of poorly built hillside road after the next landslide.
Our experience from the Subnational Governance Programme (SNGP) in some districts of mountains and plains show that when municipalities receive practical guidance backed by scientific research, they can scale these solutions with modest, targeted budgets. Local governments are not the problem — they are the missing link. &nbsp;
The tragedy is not technical incapacity; it is chronic under-financing of the most cost-intensive terrain on earth. Lets stop romanticising mountain poverty on 11 December, International Mountain Day. Let us retire the language of fragility that excuses inaction.
Mountains are not pleading for sympathy. They are demanding fairness: that the true cost of safe development in the world’s steepest geographies be acknowledged and shared. Until that bill is paid, the monsoon will continue to do the accounting, one landslide, one road, one abandoned promise at a time.
Ngamindra Dahal is a water and climate adaptation practitioner based at the Nepal Water Conservation Foundation, Kathmandu.

The Himalaya is not fragile

This is the 76th episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad. We did not have a whole lot, but did not grow up in scarcity either. When I was in Grade 7, my father migrated to Malaysia but returned just after 18 days and was heavily in debt. It is the interest and not the principal from loan sharks that ruins borrowers. As we grew up, family expenses rose and my father migrated again to Qatar, determined to make it work this time. I used to watch him via IMO in buildings under construction eating rice out of plastic bags. There was no AC, no oven, no shade. Those images are etched into my memory.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6" data-rendition-name="original" width="600" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Family picture from 2014 sent to Anil's father who was working in Qatar.</figcaption> </figure>  After Grade 10, I was encouraged to take up computers in +2 as I was a bright student. I did not have access to a computer, and the 30 minutes we got weekly at the computer lab was just not enough. My parents could not afford to buy a computer, but a friend had both a desktop and laptop at home.&nbsp; I did his homework in exchange for using his computer. When my father in Qatar, found out he bought me a laptop. Today, a decade later, I am still using it. Maybe I valued the computer more because it was bought with my father’s sweat. The laptop reminds me of how he toiled overseas.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil still uses the laptop his father bought him ten years ago.</figcaption> </figure>  The money he sent home did help with household expenses. My mother did tailoring, although the income was not stable. After my father returned from Qatar, we he bought a three-wheeler which he still uses in Makwanpur. After completing Grade 12, I came to college in Kathmandu to study IT. It cost Rs20,000 a month in tuition, rent and food just to survive. I could not complete my bachelor’s. Although my father kept saying, “Don’t worry, I am here,” he just did not have the money to pay for me. So, I took up a data entry job which helped cover living expenses. The pandemic meant my father could not earn money from his auto-rickshaw. We had no savings and had outstanding loans. Migration was the only way to get us out of the rut. I told my father that both of us should go abroad to earn some money. He could return earlier and I would stay on.&nbsp; My father agreed, and I visited recruiting agencies with both our passports. After reviewing our CVs, they said it was easy to find jobs for my father but not for me, given my educational background and my experience in software. “How can we send you for jobs as a cleaner or security guard?” they asked. I finally found a job in Romania, and decided to have my father stay back because going to Europe would have doubled the cost. My mother and sister came to see me off at Kathmandu airport. It felt just like my father leaving for Qatar many years ago. Perhaps some day, my brother would also leave in a similar manner, I thought.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's sister hugging him at the airport before he left for Romania.</figcaption> </figure>  In Romania, I work in a factory making car seat belts. It is not physically demanding and it is indoors. Even though I did not share it with my family, the initial period was difficult as I had no experience standing and working for so many hours at a time. Once, when I was tired at work, I wondered how my father managed in Qatar in a much more physically taxing job. Here I was not carrying heavy loads, my work was not outdoors. I was so emotional, I wrote a ghazal in my head. The words “खाडीको तातो घाम” kept repeating in my head. After work, I jotted down the verse in my diary:&nbsp; बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot become like you कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot imagine how hard it is म मान्छे हेर्दा मात्रै ठूलो I only look like a grown man बानी अझै बच्चै छ But I am still childish किनकि जता त्यतै जान मन लाग्छ I feel like roaming around जे देख्यो त्यो खान मन लाग्छ Eat whatever I see. न पैसा बच्छ I cannot save. न खाएको कुरा सबै पच्छ The food doesn’t agree with me&nbsp; कहिले काहीँ त मलाई म्याकडोनाल्डको बर्गर पनि पच्दैन Not even a burger at McDonalds तर प्लास्टिकमा पोको परेको त्यो चिसो भात But how did my father eat that cold rice खाडीको त्यो तातो घाममा सेक्दै खाँदा मेरो बुवालाई कसरी पच्छ? Under the hot Gulf sun? मेरो पेटले यस्तो पचाउन सक्दै सक्दैन I would not be able to eat that. बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot be like you. कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot say how difficult it is.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil Gole's diary entry of his ghazal compares his migration with his father’s journey.</figcaption> </figure>  I posted it online, and it went viral. But more importantly, people found the words relatable and engaging. My sister first saw it on Tiktok and shared it with my mother. It moved them to tears while my father kept watching it on repeat, deep in thought. Even though my birth father decided to leave my mother when I was less than a year old, my step father never made me feel the absence of anything. My friend from Grade 6 in Makwanpur, Sharan, introduced me to ghazal. He was six years older because he had to pause his studies during the Maoist conflict. He worked in a brick factory in Kathmandu, saved money, and returned to school. He was very talented and we became friends through the school children’s club.&nbsp; Sharan and I spent most of our time together, sharing meals to save money and even skipping classes. One day, in Grade 9 when our teacher was absent, he wrote a ghazal on the spot and explained the form, the rhyme, the meter. I listened half-heartedly as it was not of interest. We left it at that. Shortly after, Sharan was diagnosed with leukemia and he could not finish exam. Because he was a sharp student, the teachers decided to not hold him back. He died just before Grade 10. I cried. I do not have any pictures of Sharan. He had small ears, and I used to tease him that people with small ears do not live long. That still haunts me. <div class="embed-block"><div style="max-width: 56vh;"><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 0; position: relative; padding-bottom: 177.7778%;"><iframe src="https://cdn.iframe.ly/api/iframe?url=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutube.com%2Fshorts%2FLpizGQWTbMs%3Ffeature%3Dshare&key=87ca3314a9fa775b5c3a7726100694b0" style="top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; position: absolute; border: 0;" allowfullscreen scrolling="no" allow="accelerometer *; clipboard-write *; encrypted-media *; gyroscope *; picture-in-picture *; web-share *;"></iframe></div></div></div> At the school assembly at the start of the new year, we were asked to share a talent. I did not know what to do, but I wrote a ghazal just as Sharan had taught me and dedicated it to him. Halfway through, I started crying and the principal took me to his office and calmed me down.&nbsp; I do not write much poetry except a few posts on social media here and there. But a video of me reciting went viral on TikTok and that encouraged me to write more. That made me feel validated, and I began writing more about real life experiences. It has been three years in Romania. My brother will also be joining me soon. Things have improved for us financially, but we are not where we want to be. We will get there. When we do, I will resume my studies. I’m interested in programming, especially back-end development and working with databases. It is on hold right now.&nbsp; I do not have big dreams, I just want to make sure my parents get what they deserve. It is okay if I get delayed if my parents are able to access what they had scarified for us when they were of my age. For now, my family is my priority.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34" data-rendition-name="original" width="2016" height="1512" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's family.</figcaption> </figure>

My father’s son

Singha Bahadur Lama worked for six years in Malaysia, but back home in Nepal he is now earning more than he ever did overseas. Here in his village 60km east of Kathmandu, Lama now harvests Buddhachitta seeds from sacred trees that grow in the mountains, and turns them into prayer bead necklaces revered in Tibetan Buddhism. The Buddhachitta tree (Ziziphus budhensis) is indigenous to Nepal and grows in the mountains of Kavre district, and demand boomed after the Dalai Lama proclaimed that the seeds found in Nepal were the best. People from Kavre had gone to Bodh Gaya 12 years ago and presented the Dalai Lama with Buddhachitta prayer beads. Not long after, while speaking in Taiwan the Dalai Lama told followers that the seeds from Nepal had special powers.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141220_dd1fddffc2f22652f57b0fdebe5d0612aa48c79c1e5c1a82da10b1d0a0af69b8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251209141220_dd1fddffc2f22652f57b0fdebe5d0612aa48c79c1e5c1a82da10b1d0a0af69b8" data-rendition-name="original" width="737" height="536" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> </figure>  Lama shows a visiting journalist different types of Buddhachitta seeds. Single-faced beads are the rarest and most valuable, as are the smallest 8mm beads. A prayer necklace made of 108 beads would easily cost Rs1.5 million (over $10,630). “We cannot say if our trees will give smaller beads or even how many faces or clear eyes, it’s all natural,” says Lama, who now works as a consultant, advising people all over Nepal about planting the tree, and has since spread it across the country. Four years ago, a Chinese middleman made 7mm plastic cups to cover the seeds, hoping the trees would produce smaller pods. It did not work, and the trees died. Such is the demand for high-quality Buddhachitta beads that a group of 20 men employed by a Chinese dealer cut down a tree along the Rosi River last year. The harvest from that tree had made $212,600 the year before. With that kind of price, the trees are in danger of being chopped down. &nbsp; Lama himself used to make Rs10 million ($70,880) from the seeds of each tree. With this money, he built new houses and sent his daughter to Japan, all with Buddhachitta income. But the market for the seeds is volatile.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141224_0fd29cdc36db0c3ad5f5add513b8b220d0101760e1c42d5c54266eac7c2dfe75.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251209141224_0fd29cdc36db0c3ad5f5add513b8b220d0101760e1c42d5c54266eac7c2dfe75" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> </figure>  Lama invested Rs10 million when prices were high ten years ago, but he lost most of that when the prices collapsed for bigger seeds.&nbsp; He adds: “That year the demand was only for small seeds, and it has only been three years since the prices have risen again for seeds that make no sound when you shake them.”&nbsp; HISTORY Legend has it that Guru Rinpoche left seeds of Buddhachitta while meditating in the Temal region of Kavre district in the 8th century as a blessing. He is known in the Himalaya as the ‘Second Buddha’ whose birth was foretold by the Buddha himself, and spread Buddhism in Tibet. Now, almost every household from the Tamang community here has on average 50 trees. The tree thrives on gravel and sandy soil, needs to be protected from excess water, and can grow up to 10 meters high. It starts bearing fruit annually from its third year and one tree lives for 90 years. The fruits are handpicked every June and July, and then have to be processed by boiling the seeds to remove their hard outer skin. The seeds are then dried in the sun for a few days.&nbsp; “Our families have been growing Buddhachitta for generations, but it started becoming hugely profitable only about 12 years ago, it has become a cash crop and has even replaced staples like maize,” says Dev Lama, 55.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141224_7820e90f918489045c0668465190df37120167cc7d4401bb128adf931e156bc3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251209141224_7820e90f918489045c0668465190df37120167cc7d4401bb128adf931e156bc3" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> <figcaption>Dev Lama</figcaption> </figure>  What helps is that Buddhachitta is not a high-maintenance crop, it just needs some weeding, watering, and protection from hailstorms and pesticides. Once it matures, it does not need much care, and farmers intercrop it with other grain.&nbsp; “You don’t have to work on it every year like maize, which needs to be planted year after year,” explains Shova Shrestha, 33. “We also continue to grow other vegetables and spices, all of which help to preserve soil nutrients.” Generally, farmers do not sell directly to Chinese traders but deal with local middlemen who take a cut before they take it to the Chinese traders who lodge in Kathmandu during the harvest season. But the bulk of the profit is made by Chinese wholesalers across the border. &nbsp; And now with the proliferation of the plant, and with nearly every family growing several trees, farmers sometimes struggle to find buyers and are often severely short-changed, as was the case with Maiya Tamang’s family.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141220_2d82949a8a32b272216e4f288e976c5af68abf65f52500947ba366526a9b2a2c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251209141220_2d82949a8a32b272216e4f288e976c5af68abf65f52500947ba366526a9b2a2c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> <figcaption>Maiya Tamang</figcaption> </figure>  “I wasn’t home that day two years ago, but my sons later told me that my husband sold an entire tree for just Rs1,500,” recalls Tamang, 60. “We asked him why he sold it for a price that wouldn’t even buy a sack of rice, and he just shrugged.” Tamang did make a profit two years ago, but last year’s crop was destroyed by a hailstorm. Despite this, the bead business has augmented the income of a family dependent on subsistence agriculture. &nbsp; A neighbour, Sonam Tamang, had a few Buddhachitta trees in his backyard and has bought saplings from a nursery to expand. Saplings cost Rs500, but it is double that for plants that give high value seeds. Says Sonam Tamang: “The middlemen sometimes cheat us by offering much less than the seeds are worth, and they don’t allow us to speak directly with the Chinese buyers. But even if we did, there would be a language barrier.” Meanwhile, Singha Bahadur Lama who started out as a Buddhachitta farmer now owns a nursery and is a dealer in saplings himself. Some Nepalis have tried to sell directly in China, but face added costs of travel and hotel while there. &nbsp; With contributions from Qian Sun, Global Voices.

Sacred seed feeds boom

Dimar Chaudhary was born and raised in Old Padampur, the village inside what is now Chitwan National Park before it was dsignated a protected area. His Tharu community, as well as other indigenous groups, traditionally relied on Chitwan’s jungles and rivers for generations. Chaudhary himself had grown up collecting medicinal plants and wild vegetables, gathering wood, and grazing cattle in the forest. Chitwan, along with much of Nepal’s Tarai, was plagued by malaria until a US-supported DDT spraying campaign to wipe out the disease in the district in the 1950s. This opened the valley up to trans-migration of farmers from the hills. Before that, Chitwan was inhabited entirely by indigenous people: 90% of the district’s population was Tharu, and the rest were Bote, Mushar, Darai and Majhi communities. In 1973 Chitwan National Park became Nepal's first protected area and in 1996, the Nepal government introduced the Buffer Zone Management Rule under the National Parks and Wildlife Conservation Act to manage forests surrounding protected areas, and ensure local participation in parks management. Old Padampur was subsequently relocated outside the park. Ntional parks formed buffer zone user committees (BZUCs) to manage and oversee community forests. Hundreds of thousands of local people were directly involved in managing buffer zone community forests across the country. Over three decades, these forests have not only made conservation collaborative, but also helped to mitigate wildlife-related crimes and human wildlife conflict. In 2014, 2015 and 2016, Nepal achieved zero poaching for its three flagship species: rhinos, tigers and elephants. But while these user communities have made wildlife conservation participatory, the process hasn’t been inclusive of Nepal’s indigenous and underserved communities. In 2022, WWF supported Community Conservation Nepal to collect data on natural resources used by Tharu indigenous people before the establishment of Chitwan National Park. The project also looked into the inclusion of indigenous, women, Dalit and disabled communities in the Baghauda, Paachpandav, Meghauli, Mrigakunja, and Amaltari Buffer Zone User Committees (BZUC) as well as the Someshwor, Gardi Chure, Radha Krishna, and Baghmara Buffer Zone Community Forests (BZCF).  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251210141228_83a5b021c62b6c4a67888e5eee85d3fdcba3fd34d00e581996213d1ae10d6977.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251210141228_83a5b021c62b6c4a67888e5eee85d3fdcba3fd34d00e581996213d1ae10d6977" data-rendition-name="original" width="1342" height="941" loading="lazy" alt="BZUC map"></figure>  BARRIERS TO INCLUSION The survey found that women are underrepresented in all the BZUCs despite women user groups being larger. Nepal’s Buffer Zone laws dictate that each BZUC has 13 members. Each BZUC is made up of nine units, and as many representatives are elected from those units. The elected members have the authority to choose the remaining four members. This meant that indigenous peoples, marginalised groups, and women have a far lower chance of being elected. Indeed, out of the total members, Paachpandav and Mrigakunja BCUZs had four women, Meghauli had three women, and Baghauda had only one woman, whereas Amaltari user committee had no woman member. In contrast, the BZCF are relatively more inclusive of women, with two out of four surveyed BZCF comprising half women members. Additionally, some grassroots user committees are made up entirely of women. Most women members of the user committees are not appointed through elections, but chosen by elected male members, and are not given positions of leadership. “Women have been the ones protecting the forests ever since the concept of forest conservation initially emerged,” one female participant told us during a focus group discussion. People would get angry when the women stopped them from cutting down trees and grass, and grazing cattle in the jungles, she recalled, adding, “We were dedicated to the user committees. However, we are no longer involved in the committees, nor are we invited to meetings.” When asked about the absence of women in the user committees, one BZUC chairperson responded, “There are only men here because they won the election. Women are unwilling to run for the election. How will they fit into the committee if no woman has ever run for election?” However, not only are women deprived of the chance to contest elections, the chances of them winning polls are also very low because a majority of the positions in the committee will already have been allocated by political parties to their male cadres. Women from marginalised communities face further hurdles.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251210141228_7ee7dc43b925b4d6e97bfdc5a02df85d4d828e8a82eb00d3086217baf2438b43.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251210141228_7ee7dc43b925b4d6e97bfdc5a02df85d4d828e8a82eb00d3086217baf2438b43" data-rendition-name="original" width="959" height="508" loading="lazy" alt="BZUC "></figure>  “No male member from the Musahar community has been elected in the user community, if they had, they could have suggested that women from our community be included in the committee as well,” said a female participant from the Musahar community. While the native Musahar and Bote people lack representation in the BZUC, indigenous people did make up the majority of the members in the committees, while Dalit members were included in some collectives. However, only one committee is led by an indigenous person. The others are chaired by upper-caste hill migrants. In addition, no committee had any representative with disabilities. One of the key reasons for the under-representation of marginalised communities in Nepal’s BZUC is its non-inclusive policy. When Nepal’s Constitution was promulgated in 2015, residents living in proximity to protected areas across Nepal had hoped that policies relating to buffer zones and their governance would be reformed to reflect Nepal’s new socio-political reality. But this has not been the case. However, this has not discouraged indigenous Nepalis, who have continued to demand buffer zone policy reforms that ensure the inclusion of women, indigenous and marginalised communities. In addition to policy revision, it is necessary to reform the buffer zone election so that it is more participatory for underserved communities. Reforms should also regulate the number of members in a user group. Similarly, the budget allocated for buffer zones must be used on activities that benefit conservation instead of local infrastructure development. Women, people with disabilities, indigenous and marginalised communities should be the primary beneficiaries of budget dispensation. Crop damage compensation, which currently is Rs10,000, can be increased by five times to Rs50,000. Policy revisions should ultimately guarantee the rights of indigenous communities like the Sonaha, Bote and Musahar to practice their culture and traditional livelihoods and receive a formal education. Buffer Zone User Committees must apply indigenous conservation practices for park management. Birendra Mahato is an elected member of the Ratnanagar Municipality Ward 6 and Founder Chair of the Tharu Culture Museum Research Centre in Sauraha.

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