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As we celebrate the Rato Machhindranath Jatra, the biggest and longest festival of Patan, it is worth pausing to recognize that this festival is not merely celebration and fanfare, but carries a much deeper meaning, carefully embedded by our ancestors.

The story behind the Jatra goes that saint Gorakhnath once came to the valley seeking alms during planting season. The residents, busy with their work, paid him no attention. Enraged, he meditated and trapped all the nagas of the valley. Since nagas were closely associated with rainfall, the Kathmandu Valley saw no rain for several seasons, leading to famine. To remedy this, the king and a renowned tantric devised a plan to bring Gorakhnath’s own guru, knowing the saint would rise to pay respect, releasing the nagas in the process. 

The king, tantric, and a porter traveled to bring Karunamaya, also known as Lokeshwor or Machhindranath. The all-merciful guru, moved by the suffering of the valley’s people, agreed. His essence was transferred into an idol and carried in a chariot procession. Upon seeing his guru, Gorakhnath immediately rose and released the nagas, bringing rain back to the valley. This is why Rato Machhindranath is revered as the god of rain and provider of food.

Woven into this story is one of the most powerful demonstrations of the valley's culture-based water management, or the Hiti system. Though commonly referred to as dhunge-dhara in Nepali, the stone spouts are only one part of a larger network. The Hiti system encompassed state canals (rajkulo), ponds (pokhari), natural aquifers, pipes, and stone spouts, working together to ensure year-round water access, enable groundwater recharge, and reduce urban flooding.

The Jatra itself is deeply tied to this system. Before the chariot procession begins, all major ponds in and around Patan must be filled with water. Since the procession takes place during the dry months, the only way to fill them is through the state canals—meaning their maintenance must be completed every year before the Jatra begins. The procession route, too, reflects this connection. It begins at the strategically located Kamalpokhari of Pulchowk and rests at Purnachandi Pukhu of Gabahal, then at Nuga-Hiti (Sundhara), Langa-Pukhu (Lagankhel), and finally ends near Jawlakhel Hiti and Pukhu.

Each resting point carries ritual significance. At Nuga-Hiti, water from the spout is used in the daily ritual of Lord Machhindranath, as it is at Tangah Hiti, Lagan Hiti, and Jawalakhyo Hiti. In effect, the Jatra cannot proceed unless all Hiti infrastructure is sound and functioning. By embedding water stewardship within religious practice, the festival transforms maintenance from a mundane task into a sacred act of devotion, generating genuine community ownership.

The wisdom embedded in the Jatra goes even further. Beyond annual upkeep, larger maintenance works are needed periodically, and this too is woven into the tradition: every twelve years, major water works are carried out, mirrored by the renewal of the chariot itself, which is built anew and pulled all the way from Bungamati to Lalitpur.

The Jatra also served as a vehicle for intergenerational knowledge transfer. Young people learned where water came from and why it mattered through participation, not textbooks.

Modern urban development in Kathmandu has largely abandoned this integrated approach. Ponds have been filled for construction, underground canals severed by roads, and recharge zones overlooked in land-use planning. Water is now treated as a commodity delivered through pipes, rather than a system sustained by nature and culture together. The consequences are visible: falling groundwater levels and growing dependence on distant, expensive sources.

Learning from our ancestors, Kathmandu must move toward a more sustainable water future. Traditional systems should be recognized not only as heritage monuments but as active components of urban water strategy. Protecting ponds, mapping underground canals, promoting groundwater recharge, and safeguarding aquifers must become integral to development and land-use planning. Equally important, the cultural practices tied to water must be preserved alongside physical restoration—they are the social fabric that ensures long-term care. Recognizing that earlier societies managed scarcity through balance rather than extraction can help reshape the development mindset of today.

As we celebrate the Rato Machhindranath Jatra this year, let us also pause and reflect on the profound wisdom of those who came before us.

Kathmandu’s water crisis is no longer a seasonal inconvenience. It is structural, chronic, and growing. Even after decades of investment in large supply projects, water remains unreliable, unequal, and expensive for many households. As the city expands and climate risks intensify, it is becoming increasingly clear that relying solely on centralized infrastructure will not secure Kathmandu’s water future. In this context, the hiti system—Kathmandu Valley’s traditional network of stone spouts—deserves renewed attention, not as a relic of the past, but as a relevant urban planning tool for the present.

For centuries, hitis supplied water through an integrated system of shallow aquifers, canals, ponds, and recharge areas. These systems were carefully aligned with local geology and topography and embedded within settlement patterns. Importantly, they were decentralized, resilient, and community-managed. Today, while many hitis have dried up or fallen into disuse, their underlying logic remains deeply relevant.

The decline of hitis did not happen overnight. As Kathmandu urbanized rapidly, land use changed faster than planning institutions could respond. Agricultural land was converted into housing, ponds were filled to create buildable plots, and natural drainage channels were covered or encroached upon. In many cases, development unknowingly severed the underground connections that sustained the hiti system.

At the same time, modern water supply systems were introduced with the assumption that they would replace traditional ones. Individual household taps became markers of progress, and shared water sources were gradually neglected. This shift was reinforced by weak enforcement of land-use regulations and fragmented institutional responsibility for water, heritage, and urban development. Ironically, even as the municipal system struggled to meet demand, the traditional system that could have provided supplementary resilience was allowed to deteriorate. The result is a city heavily dependent on groundwater extraction and private tankers, while sitting atop an underutilized network of traditional water infrastructure.

In present-day Kathmandu, hitis matter for three key reasons: water resilience, climate adaptation, and urban livability. First, the hiti system offers decentralized water security. It is not meant to replace the municipal supply, but it can significantly reduce pressure on it. During supply disruptions—whether caused by infrastructure failure, disaster, or seasonal scarcity—functional hitis can provide much-needed water. Second, hitis are climate-responsive systems. Kathmandu already experiences intense monsoon rainfall followed by long dry periods. Traditional ponds and recharge areas associated with hitis help absorb excess rainwater, reduce surface runoff, and replenish groundwater. Modern cities now invest heavily in similar ideas under labels such as “sponge cities” or nature-based solutions. Kathmandu already has its own version; it simply needs to be recognized and restored.

Third, hitis contribute to urban livability. They were never just water outlets. The system functioned as public space—places to gather, rest, and interact. In dense neighbourhoods with limited open space, revived hitis can once again serve social and cultural functions, strengthening community life.

Despite their relevance, hitis remain largely absent from contemporary urban planning frameworks. Plans, regulations, and infrastructure projects tend to focus on visible elements such as roads, buildings, and utilities, while ignoring invisible systems like groundwater flow and recharge paths. This disconnect has real consequences. Construction permits are issued without assessing impacts on aquifers or traditional water channels. Road projects cut through rajkulo alignments. Ponds that once served as recharge basins are paved or built over. By the time a hiti dries up, the damage has already been done elsewhere.

Urban planning in Kathmandu still treats water primarily as a service to be delivered, not as a holistic system embedded in the environment. This approach is increasingly unsustainable.

There are, however, encouraging examples within the Valley. In parts of Patan and Bhaktapur, community-led efforts have revived hitis by restoring ponds, clearing blocked channels, and protecting recharge zones. In some cases, water has returned after decades of inactivity. These initiatives highlight an important lesson: technical fixes alone are insufficient. Successful restoration required cooperation among local governments, technical experts, heritage practitioners, and, crucially, the community. Where local ownership was strong, maintenance followed. Where it was absent, interventions remained symbolic. These experiences suggest that hiti revival should not be treated as a standalone conservation effort, but as part of integrated neighbourhood planning.

Integrating hiti into present-day urban planning is not without challenges. Institutional fragmentation remains a major obstacle. Water supply agencies, municipalities, heritage authorities, and planning departments operate with limited coordination.

Another challenge is the lack of systematic documentation. Many hiti systems are poorly mapped, and their recharge areas remain unidentified. Without proper data, planners and developers cannot avoid damaging them, even when there is intent to do so. Public perception also poses a barrier. Hitis are often seen as outdated or ceremonial, rather than as functional assets. Changing this mindset requires demonstrating their practical value in addressing today’s urban problems.

If hitis are to play a meaningful role in Kathmandu’s urban future, planning practice must change in several ways. First, traditional water systems—including hitis, ponds, canals, and recharge zones—need to be properly documented and mapped. These should be integrated into GIS databases and development control systems. Second, urban policies and bylaws must recognize traditional water systems as critical infrastructure. Development guidelines should include provisions to protect recharge areas and underground channels, just as they protect road alignments or public land.

Third, hiti restoration should be linked to groundwater management and climate adaptation strategies. Viewing the system through the lens of water security, rather than heritage alone, opens access to broader planning and financing mechanisms. Fourth, community participation should be institutionalized. Local users are often the first to notice changes in water flow and quality. Empowering neighbourhood-level institutions to manage hiti can improve accountability and long-term sustainability.

Finally, planning education and professional practice in Nepal need to reconnect with indigenous knowledge systems. Modern tools and technologies are essential, but they should build upon local understanding of land and water, not override it.

Kathmandu’s water challenges are complex, and no single solution will resolve them. Large supply projects remain necessary, but they are not sufficient. The future lies in hybrid approaches that combine centralized infrastructure with decentralized, locally grounded systems.

Hiti represents such a possibility. They remind us that Kathmandu once planned its settlements with water at the center. Reintegrating that logic into contemporary urban planning is not about returning to the past—it is about learning from it. As the city continues to grow, the question planners and policymakers must ask is simple: will Kathmandu keep chasing water from afar, or will it finally learn to value and restore the systems beneath its own feet?