Before much of the world realised the impact and severity of the climate crisis, Nepal was already moving towards clean energy through ‘small is beautiful’ technology that improved on traditional tools and methods.&nbsp; Today, Nepal is building multi-billion dollar hydropower projects and importing fancy electrical appliances. But few know that both the government and the country’s development partners were actively promoting small, renewable, and green energy sources before climate change became the buzzword. The drivers behind this movement beginning in the late 1970s, included the widespread belief that Nepal was losing its forests at an alarming rate resulting in soil erosion. Called the ‘Himalayan Degradation Theory’, it was later debunked, but not before international conferences and workshops on appropriate technology were held to address the threat of denuded mountains. &nbsp; In 1978, Nepal-based Belgian Jesuit Bertrand Saubolle and Swiss engineer Andreas Bachmann authored the popular book, Mini Technology. They wrote about how to cool a house without air-conditioning, how to chill beer without a refrigerator, how to produce gas for cooking and lighting, and how to make crows trap themselves.&nbsp; Although afforestation and agricultural programs in Nepal 45 years ago received the bulk of foreign and domestic assistance, a small but important portion was devoted to the development of alternative sources of energy for cooking, lighting, and work. Even back then, Dipak Gyawali, Krishna Murari Gautam and Kunda Dixit were already publishing the Biogas Newsletter and the Nepali language alternative energy journal Shakti to highlight small-scale sustainable solutions to the energy, food and water needs of Nepalis. Some of the technologies developed and tested in Nepal are shown below. Some are from 50 years ago.&nbsp; Technicians and tinkerers drove the development of these alternative tools. Some, like Andreas Bachman and Akkal Man Nakarmi, were certified engineers. Many were mechanically-inclined amateurs with a mission, some would say passion, for developing and disseminating simple technologies that could make life better and easier for the average Nepali farmer. All were convinced that their work would one day in one way or another lead to poverty alleviation, better natural resource management, and improved livelihoods. Today, it is important to ask: did the decades of appropriate technology research, development, and dissemination have an impact?&nbsp; Biogas is one of the success stories of Nepal with over 400,000 household biogas plants installed, while large-scale industrial plants are in various stages of operation today. The spread has now slowed because of outmigration and the entry of cheap LPG. Hundreds of improved ghatta are still in use. Scores of micro-and mini-hydropower plants continue to provide power for hundreds of Nepal’s isolated mountain villages. Solar lighting is common in thousands of trekker’s lodges throughout Nepal, as are solar battery chargers for the now-ubiquitous cell phones and laptops. Solar water boilers for kitchen use, and solar driers for fruit preservation, are in use in Nepal’s more arid and sunnier locations, such as Khumbu and Mustang. Solar pumps irrigate fields in difficult terrain. Unfortunately, the Arusha windmill never left Kathmandu Valley, and the legendary winds of the Kali Gandaki proved to be too much for what proved to be a poorly anchored Savonius windmill.&nbsp; Likewise, solar reflectors and insulated cookers never really caught on, most likely because they were too cumbersome or inconvenient to use regularly. And whatever happened to the predictions of catastrophic loss of forest cover on the mountains, one might wonder.&nbsp; Unexpectedly, the &nbsp;‘deforestation’ pressures of the 1970s were largely reduced by outmigration, abandoned farmland, LPG cylinders and second-growth forests. Nepal's successful community-based forestry initiatives of the 1980s also deserve credit, and has nearly doubled its forest cover in the past 25 years.&nbsp; Reduction in fuelwood use brought about by improved chulo, solar water heaters, backburner water heaters, and locally sourced electricity assuredly played important roles as well. Nepal is the pioneer of appropriate technologies in South Asia. But how do all of the empirical successes, and some failures, stack up against the gigawatts of energy being produced by massive new hydroelectric stations that is making possible the current switch to electric vehicles?&nbsp; In terms of total energy output, appropriate technology’s current contribution is miniscule. But the spirit of innovation and the need for locally-appropriate solutions in rural areas will continue to have relevance to many. Simple, cost-effective solutions may just be what Nepal, and the world, need most in the long run.&nbsp; This is especially true because expensive hydro infrastructure and dams are at a higher risk of climate disasters as seen in Melamchi and Sikkim, and Tama Kosi recently. &nbsp; <h2>&nbsp;IMPROVED CHULO</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250201030220_5165e36a6f8f2644f30835ec703dec59566e8167408ac6849bea7e3f616bb654.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20250201030220_5165e36a6f8f2644f30835ec703dec59566e8167408ac6849bea7e3f616bb654" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1007" loading="lazy" alt="Small is still possible NT"> <figcaption>Engineers test the efficiency of a traditional firewood stove, measuring the temperature of water. Photo: ALTON C BYERS</figcaption> </figure>  Chulo stoves were tested at the Royal Nepal Academy of Science and Technology (now NAST) to be disseminated across rural Nepal. Form-fitting holes for pots, fire breaks to direct the flames more directly to the bottom of the pots, and chimneys to remove smoke increased the efficiency of traditional firewood stoves, and improved health. <h2>HONEY BEES</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250201030220_7ec4ac53f7bdf614e258436b244bf2bdefe8d5d6da7a3103d141561c75377f8c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250201030220_7ec4ac53f7bdf614e258436b244bf2bdefe8d5d6da7a3103d141561c75377f8c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1508" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Small is still possible NT"> <figcaption>Bertrand Saubolle with a beehive in Godavari in the early 1980s. Photo: BORT COBURN</figcaption> </figure>  Jesuit priest Bertrand Saubolle was a tireless promoter of 'small is beautiful' technology like biogas, solar driers and small hydropower. <h2>BIOGAS&nbsp;</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250201030224_300fe4d23c85dc7ae859a2ca593ca5e8cdb623faab7afc25ecd656eb2ce858bc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20250201030224_300fe4d23c85dc7ae859a2ca593ca5e8cdb623faab7afc25ecd656eb2ce858bc" data-rendition-name="original" width="1300" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Small is still possible NT"> <figcaption>A biogas plant in Kathmandu in the 1980s, and a homemaker cooking using clean methane gas from a digester. Photos: BROT COBURN</figcaption> </figure>  In the mid-1970s, the United Mission to Nepal (UMN) introduced the first village biogas plants based on successful models from India. Each unit produced clean methane gas for cooking and lighting, as well as a nutrient-rich slurry that made an excellent pathogen-free fertiliser. The innovative underground dome Nepali design was maintenance free, and cheaper and spread rapidly with subsidised loans from the government. <h2>SOLAR PLANTS</h2> Despite the dismal state of investment and research into solar plants in Nepal today leading to a chronic lack of diversification in the energy sector, the opposite was true in the 1980s. Engineers at Balaju Yantra Shala were testing and marketing the first generation of solar water heaters for domestic home use.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250201030220_8fd43115360c6f633c131a277c4e4f27960b7e8d27097f2f65716589450f8468.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20250201030220_8fd43115360c6f633c131a277c4e4f27960b7e8d27097f2f65716589450f8468" data-rendition-name="original" width="1667" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Small is still possible NT"> <figcaption>Solar water heaters on display at Balaju Yantra Shala. Nepal is still benefiting from this early investment in passive solar water heaters. Photo: ALTON C BYERS</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250201030220_27f9c80b02a924c70b4d156905c66d98bc35235a87b6ce7504b162b450076608.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20250201030220_27f9c80b02a924c70b4d156905c66d98bc35235a87b6ce7504b162b450076608" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1098" loading="lazy" alt="Small is still possible NT"> <figcaption>A solar apple dryer being tested at the apple farm in Marpha in 1982. Photo: ALTON C BYERS</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250201030228_22fd5f332d0929f46e791cd58ec18ab58de9c1c8b75b36972b2026c61f733968.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20250201030228_22fd5f332d0929f46e791cd58ec18ab58de9c1c8b75b36972b2026c61f733968" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1508" loading="lazy" alt="Small is still possible NT"> <figcaption>Solar reflector cookers and hotbox cookers being tested in the early 1980s which, along with similar parabolic reflectors, focused the sun’s rays on a pot of water that could rapidly bring it to a boil. Photo: BORT COBURN</figcaption> </figure>  Other solar technologies included solar dryers for drying apples in Marpha, reflective and hotbox cookers that reduced fuelwood use by placing a boiling pot of rice into an insulated box, and solar water boilers that quickly produced hot water for kitchen use. <h2>&nbsp;WINDMILLS</h2> Windmill technology was also being introduced and tested, and included an Arusha-style windmill constructed by Peace Corps Volunteer Jack Martin and RONAST in 1980, and a Savonius-style vertical axis windmill built by Swiss and Nepali engineers at Balaju Yantra Shala in 1980.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250201030220_0cf47b4603fb4b8445a34f99e5fb8de9345b6de8fe6cb15c26835c0b6fdb05e2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20250201030220_0cf47b4603fb4b8445a34f99e5fb8de9345b6de8fe6cb15c26835c0b6fdb05e2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1300" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Small is still possible NT"> <figcaption>An Arusha-style windmill constructed in 1980 (left), and a Savonius-style vertical axis windmill (right). Photos: ALTON C BYERS</figcaption> </figure>  The latter was eventually installed and tested in Jomsom by USAID’s Resource Conservation and Utilisation Project (RCUP) in 1981, but came to grief due to high winds. <h2>MICROHYDRO</h2> Micro- and mini-hydropower technologies, although common to Nepal’s urban regions for nearly 70 years, were being disseminated to more rural locations by the 1980s as well.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250201030232_d73ce5b0ad5d9654016a2dc8c2efd503866c57928e50ecd7c5a0bcffcfcba755.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20250201030232_d73ce5b0ad5d9654016a2dc8c2efd503866c57928e50ecd7c5a0bcffcfcba755" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1508" loading="lazy" alt="Small is still beautiful"> <figcaption>A Penstock pipe being installed below Namche Bazar in 1985. Photo: ALTON C BYERS</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250201030220_c841d624c525286ed3449f0dd47c258d81b29e469b61063c8316a6035dc1f6f7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20250201030220_c841d624c525286ed3449f0dd47c258d81b29e469b61063c8316a6035dc1f6f7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1508" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Small is still possible NT"> <figcaption>Namche Bazaar (3,440 m) at night with its first electric lights in 1985, and Mt Thamserku looming above. Photo: ALTON C BYERS</figcaption> </figure>  In 1985, former Peace Corps volunteer Brot Coburn and UNESCO designed and installed the first micro-hydroelectric system in Namche Bazar. It was later washed away by the Dig Tso glacial lake outburst in 1985.&nbsp; <h2>IMPROVED GHATTA</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250201030236_a3ef5bb9385a5da005dbed93179dc09bba74be49e11fcc7dce788a135ea3d41e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20250201030236_a3ef5bb9385a5da005dbed93179dc09bba74be49e11fcc7dce788a135ea3d41e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1508" loading="lazy" alt="Smaii ls still possible NT "> <figcaption>Engineers Akkal Man Nakrami and Andreas Bachmann at a workshop in Asan in 1982. Photo: BORT COBURN</figcaption> </figure>  Engineers like Akkal Man Nakrami and Andreas Bachmann &nbsp;developed improved ghatta, or Multi-Purpose Power Units (MPPU), that not only improved traditional grain grinding efficiency, but also produced electricity. For the first time hundreds of villages across the country had access to electricity at night. The more efficient water mills used better designed paddles on ball bearings that could be connected to a dynamo to generate enough power for domestic lighting in remote areas.&nbsp; Alton C Byers, PhD, is the Faculty Research Scientist at the Institute of Arctic and Alpine Research (INSTAAR) at the University of Colorado at Boulder.&nbsp;

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Small is still possible

Recent outrage in Sikkim over an Indian Army expedition climbing <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/saving-kangchenjunga">Kangchenjunga</a>, the world’s third-highest peak, has spiked attention to the need to balance mountaineering jobs with indigenous reverence for sacred landmarks. Kangchenjunga (8,586m) is not a peak as much as it is a mountain range with 16 peaks above 7,000m on the border between India and Nepal -- the word itself means ‘five treasures of the snows’ in Tibetan. Some of the highest prominences like Kangchenjunga West and Kangbachen are in Nepal, while the Main, Central and South Peaks are on the border. Climbing the peak from the Indian side has been banned since 2001 because the indigenous Lepcha community there regard the mountain as the abode of Dzoe-nga, the patron deity of Sikkim, which was an independent Himalayan Kingdom until it was annexed by India in 1975.&nbsp; Buddhists in Sikkim say their saint, Padmasambhava, recognised the mountain as a protective spirit. The state has declared the base of the mountain Kangchenjunga National Park, which covers an area one-third of Sikkim. ‘The act of scaling this sacred peak is not only a matter of serious concern but also a violation of both the prevailing legal provisions and the deeply held religious beliefs of the people of Sikkim,’ read a letter from Chief Minister Prem Singh Tamang (Golay) to Amit Shah, India’s Minister of Home Affairs and Cooperation.&nbsp; Tamang continued: ‘We further request Your Honour to take up the issue with the Government of Nepal to ensure that no future expeditions are permitted on the sacred mountain, in deference to the deeply held beliefs and cultural values of the people of Sikkim.’ Kangchenjunga was climbed for the first time exactly 70 years ago by a British team who told King Tashi Namgyal, the Choegyal of Sikkim, that they would not set foot on the summit. Since then, there have been about 532 successful climbs of the peaks and 52 have died while trying.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250628060616_5c268e08cf49f36b79ef9b31933fc2d9bf9a6f65414e7ca06dd028bf04e7ccc1.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250628060616_5c268e08cf49f36b79ef9b31933fc2d9bf9a6f65414e7ca06dd028bf04e7ccc1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1782" height="1178" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga: too sacred to climb NT"> <figcaption>Indigenous communities in Sikkim held purification ceremonies following the Indian expedition to Kangchenjunga. Photo: THE VOICE OF SIKKIM / FACEBOOK</figcaption> </figure>  <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/peak-climbing-season-2025-s4abrxny">This spring climbing season</a> alone, there were 70 climbing permits for foreigners issued for Kangchenjunga by the Nepal government, and made it to the top while one French climber died.&nbsp; One of the expeditions this year was an Indian Army team led by Col Ranveer Jamwal, who has summited the highest peaks on all seven continents, and Mt Everest thrice. Jamwal’s team was on the final leg of a ‘<a href="https://economictimes.indiatimes.com/news/india/nimas-summits-mt-kangchenjunga-concludes-historic-har-shikhar-tiranga-mission-successfully/articleshow/121341315.cms?from=mdr">Har Shikhar Tiranga</a>’ (The Tricolour on Every Peak) mission to plant the Indian flag at the highest points of each of India’s 28 states. Kanchenjunga was the last peak they had left, and the hardest, but the expedition put five climbers on the summit. What seems to have incensed the Sikkimese is that while it has banned climbing the mountain from its side, it was an Indian military expedition that went to Nepal to climb the mountain. After news broke of the climb in May, the Sikkim Indigenous Lepcha Tribal Association asked people to observe purification ceremonies in temples across the state. Mayalmit Lepcha of the association acknowledged that the Sikkim government was also partly at fault: “I don’t think such an expedition could have gone forward without the state government being informed, so it could have done something to intervene. It shows weakness. What’s done is done, all we can do is carry out these sanctification ceremonies.”&nbsp; In 2000, one year before Sikkim’s ban, the state allowed an Austrian team to attempt Kanchenjunga’s northeast face for a fee of $20,000, on agreement that they would stop 10m before the summit. Despite this, there was outrage over the expedition on the grounds that it violated Indian laws regarding the defiling of religious sites and Sikkim’s rights to maintain its culture after merging with India. The Indian Army expedition was also seen to have circumvented Sikkim’s law and violated religious sensibilities by going through Nepal. While the team may have thought they were respecting Sikkim’s beliefs by finding a way to complete the mission, the people of Sikkim saw it as defilement.&nbsp; The somber mood of the Sikkim people at the ritual contrasts sharply with Jamwal’s sense of accomplishment. “Without a doubt, the most difficult summit of my life,” he told reporters after the climb. “It tested every ounce of our will.”&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250628060616_ccfe079c78dab788d19fe2080ee8a5d5dcb11de4157316f6d94e5964da097157.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20250628060616_ccfe079c78dab788d19fe2080ee8a5d5dcb11de4157316f6d94e5964da097157" data-rendition-name="original" width="787" height="377" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga: too sacred to climb NT"> <figcaption>Prayer flags along the Sikkim-Kangchenjunga trekking route. Photo: TREKKINGININDIA.COM</figcaption> </figure>  The <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-rise-and-fall-of-nims-purja">controversial Nepali-British mountaineer Nirmal Purja</a> was also on Kangchenjunga this spring the mountain, on a mission to summit all 14 8,000m peaks for a third time. He echoed Jamwal about the tough conditions: “The conditions above camp were extremely tough, with deep snow and challenging terrain—more crevasses than usual.” Nepal’s government has not said anything publicly, but it is unlikely that it will ban climbing on Kangchenjunga, since it is becoming popular with expeditions because of its technical challenges, and overcrowding on Mt Everest. Nepal does have bans in place for some of its mountains out of respect for local beliefs. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/to-open-machapuchre-for-mountaineering-or-not">Mt Machapuchre</a> (6,990m) the imposing pyramid that looms over Pokhara, for example, is seen as an icon of purity by the Gurung people and a symbol of Vishnu by the Hindu communities who live at its base. A strict climbing ban has been in place since 1957, when a British expedition led by Col Jimmy Roberts stopped 45m short of the summit – either because the last bit was too difficult or out of deference to local sentiments.&nbsp; Khumbila that stands above Namche Bazar is only 5,761m high, but like Kanchenjunga is considered the protector deity of the Sherpa people. Gauri Shankar on the Nepal-China border, called Chomo Tseringma by the local community, was off-limits between 1965 and 1979 due to its association with Lord Shiva and Gauri, his consort. Although expeditions are now allowed, there are not too many takers. In Tibet, climbing Mount Kailash is prohibited by the Chinese government because it revered by the Hindus, Buddhists and followers of the Bon faith. Even Mt Everest is regarded as sacred, and its Sherpa name is Chomolungma, Goddess Mother of the Earth.&nbsp; Economically, climbs on Kanchenjunga bring in decent revenue. This climbing season, the 41 permits, at $1,800 each, brought in $73,800. This is somewhat comparable to Makalu, Lhotse, and Annapurna I, but these numbers are dwarfed by the $4 million in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-everest-industry">Everest permits</a>. Revenue from Kanchenjunga climbing permits is something Nepal could potentially forgo if necessary, but the expeditions also provide jobs to hundreds of high altitude guides, porters, base camp support staff and other logistical costs.&nbsp; As the third highest mountain in the world and the tallest in India, there will always be significant motivation to climb it from the Nepal side, especially as climbers are drawn by the technical climbing at high altitude.

Kangchenjunga: too sacred to climb?

The monsoon this year arrived on time, and brought life-giving rain — irrigating paddy terraces, recharging groundwater, reviving springs, and increasing electricity generation.
But Nepal has to deal with either too much water or too little. On a clear April day before the monsoon, the hills of Sindhuli district were parched, and there were wildfires burning out of control. There had been no rain for the past six months.
And that has been the perennial crisis for Nepal’s farmers: that 85% of the rainfall occurs during just four months of the monsoon with little rain for the other eight months.&nbsp;
The water crisis is related to the powerful changes sweeping the mid-hill region of Nepal. With better roads, higher incomes and more exposure, many residents now aspire to have the kind of water supply seen in urban homes. They want hot or cold water at the turn of a tap, showers and flush tank toilets.&nbsp;
To meet this rising demand, many local and provincial governments are investing in large water supply projects often by lifting water from rivers hundreds of metres down the mountain. But these new systems may not be sustainable in the long run.
Many villages in Sindhuli are switching from local springs to piped systems, and even in rural homes, overhead tanks are becoming common.
But this new convenience comes with big challenges. Lifting water from rivers far below requires long pipes, electric pumps, and constant maintenance. These systems are costly, and the streams themselves often shrink to a trickle in the dry months. Big water-lifting schemes look impressive, but there is doubt if they can meet growing water demand.
A much more sustainable solution would be what some communities are doing: restoring old ponds or build new recharge systems. But those villages are exceptions, in most places traditional ponds and wallows are being filled up to be turned into sports fields, or make way for buildings.
Where there are new ponds, they are sometimes in the wrong places or without proper design. Roads and drains are not engineered properly and have increased landslides and erosion. Water management in hilly areas is not just about building things, it is about building in the right way, in the right place.
Traditional water systems were based on nature. They were not perfect, but they used the land wisely. Ponds used to hold rainwater and slowly refill springs which supported families, farms, and forests.&nbsp;
Not everything worked well in the past, but we can learn from traditional water management practices. Across Nepal, some rural municipalities have launched campaigns to store monsoon runoff — either in tanks, ponds or by recharging the aquifers.
But not all efforts have been successful. Some ponds are built without any hydrological study. Some are rushed to meet deadlines rather than real needs.&nbsp;
Now, the Muhan initiative hopes to revive springs to make households more resilient and help farmings. With the financial support of the Australian Centre for International Agricultural Research, research is being done to understand how springs work and how they are affected by changes in rainfall, land use, and development.&nbsp;
Instead of just building pipes and tanks, the project maps the entire springshed so we can understand the root cause of water shortage. In Sindhuli, the problem is not the amount of rain, but the loss of natural systems that store it and the social systems that manage water.&nbsp;
Nepal’s towns and villages now face a major challenge: how to manage water all year round as demand rises with people’s living standards. Depending only on river-lift systems is not a sustainable solution.&nbsp;
We need a mix of approaches that help store water from the rainy season to make it available for the rest of the year, whether by directly harvesting rainwater, restoring ponds, managing springsheds, or smart management of demand.
Rural Nepal is also seeing dramatic depopulation. Much of the outmigration can be stemmed if there is easier water supply for agriculture and household use. Across the mid hills, villages are emptying because springs are going dry. Government policy needs to catch up with the reality on the ground, and support solutions that work for people and nature. Every water supply plan should include recharge structures. Every road or building project should consider water flow and erosion. Local governments need more than budgets: they need training, tools, and data.
Ngamindra Dahal is with the Nepal Water Conservation Foundation, Kathmandu. Hemant Ojha collaborated in this piece and is associated with the Australian National University.

Water for Life

<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/the-last-of-the-kusunda">The Kusunda</a> are among the last remaining hunter-gatherer communities left in Nepal, and it has only one fluent speaker left of a language that is not related to any other language group in South Asia.&nbsp; The Kusunda call themselves the King of the Forests ((गेम्येहाक़ in Kusunda,वन राजा in Nepali) and used to have a nomadic lifestyle till recently. But decades of exclusion from mainstream society and modernity have forced the Kusunda to assimilate. &nbsp; Today, most Kusunda live across Nepal’s mid-hills and western plains, choosing to identify themselves as Thakuri and adopting names like Sen, Shahi, and Khan to avoid ostracisation. Over time, inter-ethnic marriages between the Kusunda and other communities became increasingly common.&nbsp; However, the assimilation with other communities also meant that almost no one from the Kusunda community can speak their mother tongue – considered by linguists to be a ‘language isolate’ not related to any other language group in the world, and lacking set rules of grammar that are foundational to other languages. There are no words for ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ in Kusunda, nor are there words to signify direction. There are 23 languages with less than 1,000 speakers listed in Nepal's 2021 census, with Kusunda being the language with the least number of speakers. The number of people who identified as Kusunda has decreased with each subsequent census. Only 253 individuals identified themselves as Kusunda in the last National Census of 2021, down from 273 in 2011.&nbsp; <div class="embed-block"><iframe src="https://creators.spotify.com/pod/show/raithane-bhakha/embed/episodes/Kusundas---the-last-of-the-forest-kings-e23ge6p/a-a9peei1" height="102px" width="400px" frameborder="0" scrolling="no"></iframe></div> The government’s decision to provide a social security stipend to the community for the past few years has prompted many from the Kusunda community to reclaim their identity and in the process, explore their culture and language. Kamala Sen Kusunda, who lives in Dang, is the only fluent native Kusunda speaker alive, although there are now other Kusunda and non-Kusunda people learning how to speak the language. By the time Kamala Sen Kusunda was born in 1975, her family had settled in a village in Rolpa. Although she did not experience the nomadic life of her forebears, she still roamed the forests freely as a child and many of the values and socio-cultural practices of her community were instilled in her and her siblings.&nbsp; This meant that Kamala grew up speaking Kusunda with her family. But by then, the Kusunda had increasingly begun to interact with people beyond their community, and inter-ethnic marriages had become a norm.&nbsp; Kamala herself married at 18 to a 52-year-old man from the Chhetri community. She would go on to have four children, but they were brought up with her husband’s culture and community rather than her own, and teaching them her mother tongue seemed impractical.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250628030648_afaa298bf8ea3b7086e2ed086b11eab463ef2b20a82a4aad74df3dd2e922a4c3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20250628030648_afaa298bf8ea3b7086e2ed086b11eab463ef2b20a82a4aad74df3dd2e922a4c3" data-rendition-name="original" width="855" height="641" loading="lazy" alt="Kusunda NT"> <figcaption>Gyani Maiya Kusunda with Kusunda youth in 2015.</figcaption> </figure>  “If I had spoken my language to them when they were children, they would have learned,” she tells us ruefully. “But they were growing up in a different community, so I never pushed, and they never expressed interest.” At the time, she had other things to worry about, such as earning a livelihood and sustaining her family. To find work, Kamala and her family moved to Shimla in India, where she worked at an apple orchard for six years.&nbsp; Over the next years, Kamala and her family moved back and forth between India and Nepal for work, and Kamala was not actively conversing in the language of her people or being able to connect with members of her community now scattered across Nepal.&nbsp; Had she not forgotten her language after all those years? “How could I forget the language of my ancestors?” she replies. “Not speaking it did not mean that it ceased to be a part of me.”&nbsp; Kamala had been working at a brick kiln in Thimi seven years ago when the National Language Commission tracked her down, offered her a paid position as a Kusunda language consultant and source person for basic language training in Dang.&nbsp; It was there that Kamala met her cousin Gyani Maiya Sen Kusunda, the only other person able to speak Kusunda fluently, who had been working with the Commission to conserve Kusunda language and culture. It was also where Kamala met language researcher and lexicographer Uday Raj Ale. Ale had been in the middle of his research into the Tharu language and community 15 years ago when he met Gyani Maiya Kusunda’s son, who told him that his mother was one of the few people who spoke Kusunda, but that no one had shown an interest in studying and preserving the language and culture. Ale met Gyani Maiya, spending time with her learning and researching Kusunda. By 2017, Ale had collected enough words to put together a Kusunda dictionary. The Kusunda vocabulary currently comprises 2,000 words. His research into the Kusunda language and culture has taken him to every known Kusunda household in Nepal. Although the census puts the number of Kusunda at 253, Ale reckons there are only 158.&nbsp; “Kusunda language is endangered due to its lack of use in everyday life, literature, and religious and socio-cultural practices, as well as the prevalence of inter-ethnic marriages,” explains Ale. In 2019 the Language Commission began its language transfer programs for youth from indigenous communities. Since then, the Commission has completed multiple phases of Kusunda language classes in Dang facilitated by Uday Raj Ale. The classes have 20 students, not just from the Kusunda community, but also interested non-native students.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250626120632_c6c378bc00af450f2b7f0cf17af1c3b2b6f7b7226927c458c3e01ec389869d33.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20250626120632_c6c378bc00af450f2b7f0cf17af1c3b2b6f7b7226927c458c3e01ec389869d33" data-rendition-name="original" width="1485" height="1535" loading="lazy" alt="Kusunda NT"> <figcaption>Students learning Kusunda with instructor Uday Raj Ale (second row, left)</figcaption> </figure>  Khamba Rokaya, who worked as a caretaker for young Kusunda children in Dang, became interested in learning the language as she sat in with the children during their lessons, and for the last few years has been among the few non-native Kusunda language learners in Dang. “I am not from the Kusunda community, but now that I have learned the language, I hope to do my part to carry on the work and share my knowledge with as many people as possible,” she says. “One way to ensure that we preserve this language is to extend its speaker base, both within the Kusunda and non-native communities.” Ale and Kamala have continued to work together since Gyani Maya’s passing in 2020, expanding the Kusunda vocabulary and creating appropriate curricula to fit the needs of the students as their knowledge of Kusunda expands.&nbsp; But without any documentation of Kusunda history, the community’s traditions, stories, values and language were at risk of being lost to time. “The loss of an ethnicity, language or culture in a country is akin to losing a vital organ, and a unique perspective of looking at the world,” says Ale. Which is why Archive Nepal in collaboration with the British Council’s Cultural Protection Fund and the UK’s Department of Culture, Media, and Sport in February launched a book of creative writings in the Kusunda language titled पिन्डा (meaning ‘The First’ in Kusunda): A Compilation of Kusunda Literature. The book is a collection of informative essays about the Kusunda language and culture, short stories that explore themes from nomadic life to universal Nepali experiences of poverty and migration, letters to loved ones, as well as conversational pieces by five Kusunda students ranging from ages 16 to 30. The works in the Kusunda language are also translated into Nepali and English.&nbsp; “Language is an important part of ethnic identity, and our indigenous languages cannot evolve or be conserved unless they are spoken or taught,” said Ale during the launch of the book earlier this year. “But most importantly, language exists as long as there exists literature in that language.” Kamala was in Kathmandu for the launch of the book, and smiled proudly as she looked at the young writers who had contributed to the collection. She said: “I’m glad the young people have chosen to learn and preserve Kusunda. Otherwise, our language would have died with me.” &nbsp;

Saving the Kusunda language from extinction

Turkish Airlines has been presented with the Sustainable Financing Pioneer Award by Ishka, recognising its landmark transaction that, for the first time, integrated a sustainability-linked loan structure into a multi-currency JOLCO financing model for the acquisition of two next-generation, fuel-efficient Airbus A321neo aircraft. This innovative transaction, arranged by Societe Generale, links the financing terms to Turkish Airlines’ Sustainability Performance Targets (SPTs), particularly the goal of reducing carbon intensity across its fleet.
&nbsp;&nbsp;“We believe this structure not only supports our fleet renewal and growth objectives, but also reinforces our long-term commitment to becoming a carbon-neutral airline by 2050,” said Chief Financial Officer Murat Şeker.

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Saving the Kusunda language from extinction

Turkish finance