Stop plotting to preserve arable land

Nearly five decades ago, when I was a student of economics at the Tribhuvan University, all master’s level students had to serve in rural areas of the country—they had to perform social work and teach in schools under the program called National Development Service (NDS). Normally, master’s degree programs took two years to complete, but the NDS component turned into a three-year program.

My assignment was at a lower middle school in Khurkot (Sindhuli district) and I was the first NDS student to be sent to this school, where I received a warm welcome from the teachers and villagers.

Our primary task was to help build a toilet at the school, as there was none. Local people and teachers came together, pooled in necessary resources and built the toilet in three months. In addition, I organized an inter-school quiz competition, launched an awareness campaign encouraging parents to send their daughters to school and worked to reduce anti-social activities.

A bridge between the hills and the Tarai, Khurkot, located at the foot of the Mahabharat range and on the banks of the Sunkoshi river, has been a center for trade and commerce between the people of the hills and the Tarai for centuries. These days, Khurkot, with roads all around it, namely the Dhulikhel-Bardibas road (west), Khurkot-Manthali road (north) and the Khurkot-Katari road (east), has transformed into a bustling small town on the Sunkoshi banks with shops, hotels and lodges.

Despite these changes on the outside, there has not been any marked improvement in the life of its residents. The most visible change, perhaps, is the replacement of thatched roofs with zinc sheets. What struck me was that many of the shops, hotels and lodges that have sprung up in Khurkot do not belong to the local people; they belong to outsiders.

Primarily, Khurkot is home to Chhetri and Bahun (Brahmin) communities, most of whom are farmers, with a handful in civil service. Many youths from these communities have gone abroad for work to support their families, leaving behind the once fertile land near the Sunkoshi that is now home to nearly 1,000 families.

This is a departure from the past when people used to live off less fertile land, particularly on the lap of the Mahabharat range, growing crops like maize, paddy and wheat. In those times, they used to grow crops three times a year.

Close by Khurkot are the fertile farmlands of Jhagajholi, Ratmata, Mulkot and Khalte that support the livelihoods of around 5,000 households. But during my recent visit to Khurkot, I saw a disturbing trend from Ghurmi and beyond: the conversion of fertile farmlands into residential plots everywhere—across the hills, the valleys and the Tarai.

While taking a break from the journey in Khurkot, I had the opportunity to strike a conversation with some locals in a shed, which is a popular hangout. When I took up the issue of loss of farmland through its conversion into residential plots, they acknowledged that the farmlands could have supported a thriving agricultural economy. They lamented that they no longer had fertile land for farming.

Mulkot too has lost its fertile land and turned into a concrete jungle.

In summary, Khurkot and Mulkot point at an alarming rate of loss of fertile land across the country, a phenomenon that has caused a drastic decline in food production and increased our dependence on food imports, exacerbating food insecurity and landlessness.

Time has come to reverse this disturbing trend.