Revisiting hiti in Kathmandu’s urban future
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?
