• Agriculture Homepage
  • Write the author
  • Deliverance from drought
    Pritha Sen on how a village in Rajasthan has become a genuine oasis amidst miles of arid and barren land.
    Mail this page to a friend
    August 2002: Laporiya, a village in India's northwestern state of Rajasthan, appears suddenly, a genuine oasis after miles of arid and barren land. The air is thick with sand blown in from the Thar Desert, just 45 miles away.

    Courtesy, Changemakers.net
    Respect reaps plenty. The oasis that is Laporiya agricultural fields. (Photo credit - GVNYM)

    The cloud of dust settles and Laporiya emerges like a vision of green: fields of waving wheat, lentils and vegetables, and thick shrubbery and trees. Brilliantly plumed peacocks flit in and out of the undergrowth. Women in colorful mirror-worked skirts sway past, carrying pots of water on their heads.

    Is this a mirage in this drought-prone district, now reeling under drought? Decidedly not. The village of Laporiya, located in the Dudu block of Rajasthan's Jaipur district, made headlines last year as the only village in the district that did not require aid in the form of water tankers when all the surrounding villages suffered from lack of water. It is barely 6 p.m. on a cold December evening when darkness descends on the tiny village. The silence is broken only by the sounds of cattle settling down for the night.

    Village elder Ramkaran Gujjar, resplendent in a traditional red turban, sits on his haunches next to a hissing gaslight and narrates a story that has been handed down for generations. It has become an intrinsic part of the local lore.

    "Once upon a time, long, long ago, a herd of cows went to a pond for a drink of water," he says. "While all the cows drank, the Gau Mata (mother cow) stood back. When asked why she wasn't drinking, she replied that the pond was polluted. It hadn't been worshipped and feted before being made available as a watering hole. So how could she drink from it?"

    Respect for Water Reaps Plenty

    Courtesy, Changemakers.net
    Even after three consecutive years of drought, the Tanks have not run dry. (Photocredit - Pritha Sen)

    This very story has changed the fortunes of Laporiya by making the people realize that water is precious and must be cherished and worshipped if it is to be enjoyed. Respect for water has reaped plenty.

    The villagers have traveled from drought and thirst to self sufficiency under the leadership of Laxman Singh, age 45. He has dedicated his entire life to reviving traditional rainwater harvesting systems in a parched and barren land.

    Singh is head of the Gram Vikas Nav Yuvak Mandal (GVNYM – "New Youth Village Welfare Association"). His method of transforming a trickle water into lush abundance is unusual: he is leveraging the village's rich religious and cultural values and its traditional customs to create an awareness of the need to conserve and preserve water as a scarce commodity, and therefore precious.

    "In the olden days, there was no need for such resource management," Singh says. "There was less population and more cattle wealth. One tank (water reservoir or pond) sufficed, and cattle dung fertilized the land. People lived simpler lives close to nature and drew on practical traditional knowledge.

    "Now, the population has exploded, needs are of a different nature, and people have lost touch with nature. They live in concrete houses, use cooling systems like huge water coolers, and watch TV. Forests have been denuded and traditional knowledge has been lost."

    Reviving Simple, Traditional Systems

    Rajasthan is a semi-arid state in northwest India that harbors the Thar Desert, the nation's only desert. Before population and development pressures began depleting local water supplies, a good monsoon season brought 12 to 35 inches of rainfall. The water, if harvested in the village's single tank, was sufficient for its needs.

    But this year there has been only about six inches of rainfall, Singh laments, so how can the exploding population be sustained if water is not managed judiciously?

    Compounding the problem, the Indian government's public water supply systems have removed communities' ownership of forests and water resources, and therefore, their responsibility for these resources. As a result, water resources fell into the exploitative hands of the bureaucratic system and became embroiled in caste disputes. Concrete, brick and cement tanks replaced traditional storage methods and did nothing to ease the water crisis.

    Since then, under Singh's leadership the village's severe environmental problems have been reversed by adopting simple techniques to tap every path that water follows along natural occurring watersheds. The villagers have rebuilt broken embankments, stored water in community ponds and repaired or constructed talaabs (masonry tanks for storing water) and earthen percolation reservoirs (reservoirs built to store rainwater that percolates gradually into the nearby wells). Now they divert water from these networks to agricultural plots and pasturelands through simple canals and aqueducts.

    But reviving these traditional systems for water harvesting and managing was not sufficient to prevent waste, or to ensure sustained conservation. Singh turned to local lore and the forgotten customs and rituals of the region to make the people understand the need to conserve water in this arid land.

    "I therefore placed all natural resources on a pedestal in the form of deities to preserve the sanctity of the environment," Singh notes.

    Today, the village is dotted with small temples and fluttering commemorative flags dedicated to the guardians of the water preserves. There is a small shrine next to each little tank or well. It is dedicated to traditional Hindu gods and goddesses – primarily the mighty Shiva, who controls the cosmic cycle in his role as both creator and destroyer. He is worshipped in the form of the phallic symbol, which represents the entire cycle of life: procreation, birth, death and rejuvenation.

    Courtesy, Changemakers.net

    Some villagers prefer the different forms of Durga, the goddess who represents the victory of good over evil, the symbol of female energy and emancipation; Hanuman, the son of the God of the Winds, venerated in the villages as guardian of the pasturelands; Manasa, goddess of snakes and hence a protector against venomous reptiles that abound in rural areas; and Seetala, the goddess of infectious diseases and epidemics. Last, but not least, a Muslim shrine has been constructed next to the main village well in consideration of Laporiya's only Muslim family.

    According to the village elders, holding values, such as respect for natural resources, was a way of life, long ago. But such basic respect for the environment along with the need to share and conserve has taken a back seat as the population has exploded, the environment has deteriorated, and scarcity has ensued.

    Today, with scant regard for the environment, people selfishly try to grab what they can. Villagers dismiss modern environmental theories as the spoutings of "urban, English-speaking sahibs" (Europeans of high social or official status). To counter that, by focusing on religion that inherently holds more meaning and instills more reverence, Singh has cultivated an understanding of the need to protect, preserve, and rejuvenate natural resources.

    Revering Animals and Plants

    Cattle and other animals are deemed sacred here, as is the land. Hinduism forbids the killing and eating of beef, a custom cleverly woven into religion around the 6th century BC when cattle were needed to pull the iron implements used for tilling the land. All other forms of meat are acceptable to Hindus. But hunting for sport or food has been forbidden in Laporiya and surrounding areas, Singh notes.

    Animals are necessary to the ecology and therefore must be protected, he said. Grazing ensures that seeds and roots are embedded deep into the soil, and animal manure provides fertilizer. Birds serve as carriers of seeds and help to replenish the ecosystem. "If people want to eat meat, they can rear their own chickens or ducks," Singh says.

    Peacocks and jungle fowl run free throughout Laporiya, darting in and out of the fields and vegetable patches. Deer and nilgai (the largest Asian antelope) roam the pasturelands alongside goats, sheep, bullocks (oxen used for plowing), and cows.

    Flocks of pigeons, parrots and other local species swoop down on raised feeding platforms that have been built for them atop the granaries. "If we have enough grain, we must make sure they do too," Singh said, as he points to water and fodder troughs built especially for animals and birds at certain locations in the village.

    For the villagers, the trees represent a circle of brotherhood and protect them. Singh draws on a popular festival called Raksha Bandhan ("the protective tie of brotherhood") to stress the importance of trees in this barren environment.

    The ritual has an interesting history. Because Rajasthani women were often prey to marauding invaders during medieval times, they tied friendship bands (rakhis) on the wrists of their brothers and other men they thought could protect them, in the way of the knights of medieval Europe who protected damsels in distress.

    Once such a string was tied, a man was bound to protect his "sister" under any circumstance and the "sister" in turn pledged to look out for his welfare anywhere, anytime.

    So, on Raksha Bandhan day, trees are anointed with tilak (a holy symbol made with with vermillion, sandalwood and other substances). The entire village lines up, holding a 300-foot long string, and each person takes a little bit of it to create a rakhi.

    The priest chants a prayer saying that "all trees are our brothers and sisters, and we vow never to kill them." Then the villagers tie their strings around the trees standing tall around them and pledge protection. This action automatically guards against destruction of the forest.

    Beyond this, the village council imposes a fine of 1,100 rupees on anybody caught cutting a tree. Instead of a fine, the violator may be told to plant two trees in place of the one he cut and to contribute five kilograms of grain to feed the birds.

    "The latter is better, because when there's a question of money, corruption creeps in," Singh said.

    Whether it is the beginning of the sowing season, a marriage, a birth or a death, all special occasions in a family begin and end with offerings and songs to nature's deities. No villager shows disrespect for nature's scarce resources nor wastes them. Part of the first water of the day that is drawn from the wells or tanks is poured as an offering on the Shiva shrines built next to each watering hole.

    Trees and plants like the peepal (ficus religiosa) and tulsi (ocimum sanctum) are worshipped on a regular basis. Each household has a small altar with a tulsi plant that is worshipped twice a day. Plants such as tulsi and other local species are known to keep mosquitoes and insects away and to have medicinal properties.

    "Ritual and regeneration have become part of the lives of the people of Laporiya and strengthen their belief that they can beat the drought and never thirst for water again," Singh said.

    Courtesy, Changemakers.net

    The village's lush and green appearance supports this assertion. Laporiya is the only village in the district that still boasts fields of crops and generous pastureland. Three consecutive years of drought have lowered the water table, but the villagers have enough water to last them until the next monsoon season, six months hence.

    Water table levels in the village have risen to just 15 feet below the surface, from a depth of 60 feet in 1991 when Singh first started his work. "Unlike other parts of Rajasthan, nobody here is starving," said Ramkaran Gajjar, one of Singh's chief conservation aides. "Even today, we have enough food to fill our stomachs."

    Corruption Creates a Crisis

    Singh's grandfather began the work of digging Laporiya's wells. He excavated the first large tank in the village and, according to Singh, dug 100 wells.

    At that time, the feudal lords of the village managed welfare work for the villages, Gujjar said. After independence, India's land was distributed among the people according to the tenets of socialism. As a result, many people switched occupations from animal husbandry to cultivation and sold their cattle.

    Politics crept into the management of the villages, and with it came corruption. Soon nobody but the government was responsible for village administration, and it turned a blind eye.

    Wells fell into disrepair, ran dry, became defunct. People were hard-pressed to get enough water for their day-to-day domestic needs, let alone for the growing amount of land under cultivation.

    When Singh began to revive the village's water harvesting systems in the 1990s, there was a drought and an acute shortage of water for drinking and agriculture. Cattle were dropping dead like flies.

    The old wells were dry, and those that still worked were insufficient for the village's needs. The only existing water tank had exceeded 200 feet in length and 15 feet in depth, and precious water was draining out.

    "I felt that my village had to overcome the crisis," Singh said. So, in 1991, he began digging 50 new wells, three large natural tanks, and a unique dyke system to capture rainwater in pasturelands. The latter has been hailed as an astounding feat of indigenous engineering and has ensured that this once-arid village will never fall short of water.

    "The number of tanks excavated in our village and surrounding areas in 1991 alone was worth 2.5 million rupees (US$52,000)," Singh said.

    To begin a process he calls "the road to livelihood," Singh drew on the indigenous knowledge and traditional skills of gajdharis (indigenous engineers and experts in land and water conservation). In 1994, he traveled to Alwar, an area about 65 miles from his village to study water harvesting systems in other parts of Rajasthan. He also studied community development under the guidance of Rajinder Singh, the 2001 Magsaysay Award winner for his work on water management systems.

    Rediscovering a Royal Responsibility

    The modern paradigm of development bypassed many remote corners of India after it achieved independence. Laporiya, a village of 189 families located some 45 miles from the Thar Desert, was one such stepchild of the government, and it remained untouched by the Green Revolution of the 1960s.

    However, many other parts of Northern India experienced an agricultural awakening after the introduction of new canals and irrigation networks plus high-yielding seeds and technology-aided methods of farming. Rajasthan benefited form a network of irrigation canals originating at the Rajasthan Canal, later renamed the Indira Gandhi Canal. It was fed by the perennial rivers that flow through the northern plains.

    But Laporiya, like many other districts in the area, did not benefit from this project. By the early 1970s, it was almost on its last legs, gasping for even basic drinking water, never mind water for cultivation and animal husbandry, the traditional occupations of the people.

    Singh, then age 18, arrived home from school in Jaipur town to find his village on the verge of starvation. This aroused pride in his heritage, and he felt the need to honor his family's traditional role as feudal lords.

    Singh traces his roots to the ancient Rajput royal family of Jaipur. His ancestors were rulers of Laporiya, but after Independence in 1947, they voluntarily relinquished their claims to a large portion of their lands in the village and slipped naturally into the role of commoners.

    This development followed the dictates of the law at that time, but in the eyes of the villagers, Singh remained the heir – Sarkar ("His Highness") – to the fortunes of the village, for better or worse. Singh understood the implications of this age-old mantle.

    Drawing inspiration from his grandfather, the original benevolent ruler who had first started the work of excavating tanks and wells and storing grain in anticipation of drought-prone years, Singh never returned to school in Jaipur. Instead, he began to organize volunteers in his and neighboring villages to take turns in tilling each others' fields.

    By the late 1970s, government records described Laporiya as barren with highly saline landscapes and denuded pasturelands, capable of producing only one low-value monsoon crop. During summer months, 40 percent of the population migrated to the cities in search of jobs and, due to lack of fodder, some 75 percent of livestock was moved to nearby states.

    Shrugging off government apathy, Singh continued his work. In 1990, he formed GVNYM. Moving from agriculture and health and hygiene issues, he charted a course of voluntary work for the village youth, beginning with rainwater management and conservation.

    Singh's royal lineage came in handy. "When I started going out on my own with a spade and shovel to repair the only existing talaab (tank), Ann Sagar ("Ocean of Grain") which had been breached, people joined me because they felt beholden to help their Raja (King)," he noted.

    At that time, the only existing talaab was highly silted and in no condition to store and conserve rainwater, which drained toward the monsoon stream that ran parallel to the village. "When I started repairing the talaab, the villagers thought it was blasphemy that I should be doing this menial work," he said. "But I welcomed it. From just two of us, the numbers gradually swelled until the entire village was involved. Caste system lines have also blurred due to this culture of volunteerism and a common goal."

    Eleven years later, Singh cocks his trademark canvas topi (hat) and begins a guided tour of Laporiya's road to self reliance. "This is Ann Sagar," he says, bowing in reverence to the first tank excavated to provide water for the village. His associates follow suit.

    "My grandfather dug this," he said. "At that time it took care of all our needs because the population was small." Eventually, siltation and breaching of the dykes rendered it useless.

    "We restored it in 1994," Singh said. "As a result, there was a bumper harvest in 1996."

    Villagers grew wheat in Laporiya for the first time in 20 years, downstream from the tank. The amount of irrigated land area increased to 741 acres (300 ha) and the village's agricultural production increased more than 12 times.

    The tank was not merely an engineering structure for the villagers. They sang songs about it, and it soon became a hub of social life in the village. The tank was named Ann Sagar ("Ocean of Grain") because of the prosperity it brought to the village.

    After Ann Sagar was restored, the villagers constructed two percolation tanks to recharge groundwater and to supply the remaining needs of the villagers and their livestock. They named them, out of reverence, Phool Sagar ("Ocean of Flowers") and Dev Sagar ("Ocean of the Gods").

    Celebrating Nature as Sacred

    Each little haven of water is sacrosanct. The traditional rituals and customs woven into the fabric of these unique conservation efforts, along with the monetary contributions and voluntary labor, ensure they will be maintained and protected.

    Next to Phool Sagar are two temples and a platform that supplies grain to birds, below which there is storage space for excess grain. Alongside Dev Sagar is a well covered by an impressive canopy that keeps the water clean.

    The villagers have voluntarily contributed all the development work. Each family contributes 100 rupees towards each new project and volunteers the labor on a rotating basis. Those who cannot contribute money contribute their own labor during the three months after the first harvest (May, June and July).

    Courtesy, Changemakers.net
    Water is scarce, therefore precious. Laxman Singh leads the prayers to appease 'INDRA' - The God who rules the waters. (Photocredit - GVNYM)

    Part of Singh's development strategy has been to coordinate construction with the traditional festival season. Festivals occur in November and December. When the work on Ann Sagar began in 1990, Singh revived a traditional festival called Devudhni Igyaras, which falls on the 11th day after Diwali, the Indian festival of lights.

    Diwali occurs after the first harvest season is finished, and it ushers in the second season of the farming calendar. Devudhni Igyaras is considered an auspicious time to initiate new activities, including the desilting of water bodies and all other activities connected to the soil.

    There is an air of festivity in the village on the designated day. The villagers begin a procession to the fields and pasturelands amid much fanfare.

    It is time to pledge their protective vows. Bearing ritualistic offerings, colorfully attired men, women, and children wend their way through the village, singing songs and chanting slogans for the protection of their trees, water and pasturelands. One of the songs they sing was composed by Singh's assistant, Ramkaran Gajjar:

    "O Lord and master
    All the villagers have come together
    We have taken shovels
    We are going to dig a tank
    We will build the embankments
    When the tank is excavated
    It will fill up with water
    Everything will be full and fertile
    Victory to the King
    Victory to the Gods."

    They stop to sing and worship at a designated point in the fields. A Hindu priest performs the rituals and by giving thanks, invokes the blessings of the Gods. By sprinkling holy water and milk, the priest gives the entire area of the pastureland a kar (holy boundary line), thus establishing the limits of the area and ensuring its safety as a protected ecozone.

    "Behind all these rituals is the need to conserve scarce resources rather than any kind of religious fanaticism," Singh said. "Reverence for natural resources is common to all religions and is woven intrinsically into the customs of the land."

    Establishing a Model

    This strategy has worked wonders. Singh's work has extended to some 200 villages surrounding Laporiya where these customs are observed.

    "Initially, there was resistance from people with vested interests, like landholding farmers who had leased tree-cutting rights to contractors. I was even arrested once for daring to stop a government contractor," Singh said. But as the results of Singh's work with GVNYM became evident, the people themselves rose in protest and enacted rigid restrictions against any kind of harm to the environment.

    While neighboring villages have come to Laporya residents seeking consultation, government agencies refused to accept the model for a long time. Today, they realize that it is nothing short of a marvel of native engineering, and they are willing to do all they can to promote further scientific testing of the methods employed.

    Singh recalls how the government's agricultural department came, time and again, to build systems of water management in the pasturelands, but failed even to get the measurements of the lay of the land correctly.

    "Our local experts have traditional knowledge of how to do it," Singh notes. "We stand on four corners of a plot and measure by eye and by steps. Then we keep changing places to ensure that we haven't made a mistake. "Government departments were promoting construction of trenches and contour bunding. We had seen these and concluded (and we were right) that these do not promote natural growth of grasses. Besides, there are a lot of useful varieties of grass that require shallow water. They cannot survive in deep waters."

    Ripple Effect

    Laporiya's efforts to conserve land and water are an integrated and multi-pronged approach that requires villagers to make interventions and changes at every step. These efforts extend from collecting waters in tanks and moisture in the pasturelands, to intercepting draining water as it leaves village households, to irrigating fields. It is a chain of efforts that is carefully planned, monitored, and linked to the love and service of the villagers who are not prepared to see a single drop of water wasted.

    The effects and impact of retaining groundwater and allowing the land to regenerate are clearly visible, Singh said. "Look at villages where we haven't worked, and you will realize. The quality of water is bad, with salinity and a concentration of minerals. There are several cases of dehydration and gastric diseases."

    These efforts have produced a ripple or cascading effect. Social issues are being brought to the fore by economic prosperity, and programs concerning health and education have been started. The neighboring villages have all started their own programs.

    Another offshoot is that women are being empowered by women's organizations that are springing up everywhere. They tackle issues of savings, loans, and the evils of child marriage and dowry.

    "There is a strong culture of volunteerism, and along with it, awareness is growing among the women," said Ramkanya Devi, leader of the women's volunteer force in the neighboring village of Avda. "They now sit in on all meetings that address village welfare issues."

    "After Laxman Singh and his volunteers came to our village and explained everything, we formed our own village water management committee," said Ramjilal, head the environmental program in the neighboring village of Sitapura. He bends over almost double in greeting to Singh, a sign of his gratitude for his help with village water management techniques. "In the past year, we have dug three tanks, built temples and shrines along them, and repaired wells. There has been a 50 percent increase in our agricultural output."

    Singh and his band of volunteers are referred to as the Jal Jodhas (Water Warriors) in Laporiya and the rest of the area. "Ram and Laxman have come to our village," said an orange-turbaned villager in Nagar village, a few miles from Laporiya. "In the Ramayana (ancient Indian epic), they defeat evil. Here, they are defeating the drought." He, of course, is referring to Ramjilal of Sitapura and Laxman Singh, not Ram and Laxman, the heroes of the Ramayana.

    Singh has recruited expert organizations like the Center for Science and Environment to assess the economic and social impact of his work. He travels the length and the breadth of India, studying the ecology and environment of different regions. He has received several awards, including the National Youth award from the President of India.

    But Singh realizes that GVNML's work is far from finished. An immediate goal is to consolidate the natural resource management work begun in Laporiya and the 200-odd surrounding villages. To that end, GVNML members are preparing blueprints of the village agricultural and pasture lands.

    "We now have to help them complete them, so that they can continue the natural resource management work on their own," Singh said. "We want to create a self-sustaining model in every village so that they can continue even after we leave."

    Singh has successfully created an environment of mutual concern, understanding, and fraternity at the village level and beyond. He also is attempting to encourage village youth to return to the soil, away from the glitz and glitter of the big city.

    While rural migration to the cities has slowed, it has not stopped altogether. Nevertheless, there is a note of triumph in Singh's voice, as he says, "We have succeeded in a struggle (self sufficiency in water management) that even the government could not handle."

    Pritha Sen
    August 2002

    Pritha Sen is a Delhi-based freelance journalist. She was formerly with the the Indian news-weekly Outlook. Currently she is also a consultant to Ashoka, as Media strategist and chief editor of the soon-to-be launched Ashoka India Web site. Laxman Singh may be contacted at: Gram Vikas Nava Yuvak Mandal, Laporiya, Dudu, Jaipur 303008, Rajasthan. Tel: 01428-24486, 9828019494.

    This article comes to India Together by arrangement with Changemakers.net. It was originally published in the Changemakers Journal.