Madhes Province, Nepal's agricultural breadbasket, is enduring one of the most worrying droughts in recent memory. With groundwater levels plummeting, hand-pumps failing and once-fertile land turning parched, communities are confronting an escalating water crisis. Standing in Rautahat today, I feel the future cracking under my feet. The land that has for generations been feeding us and supporting the country's GDP has parched. The hand-pumps, once a symbol of progress, are sputtering to a halt. This is not a drought; it is the predictable outcome of a slow-motion catastrophe born of our own making – a crisis of policy failure, unchecked greed and a profound disrespect for nature.

For decades, we have treated our most vital resource, groundwater, like an inexhaustible treasure to be plundered. We aggressively promoted subsidised tube wells in the 1990s and then, when subsidies were rolled back, we simply looked the other way as unregulated private extraction exploded. The data tells a damning story: between 2011 and 2021, our reliance on groundwater for irrigation surged from under 30% to over 41%. We created a system with no rules, no oversight and no accountability. Local and provincial institutions, which should be the guardians of this shared resource, have been left powerless.

At the same time, we have been systematically destroying the very source of our water. The Chure hills, the great sponge that recharges the Tarai's aquifers, are being torn apart by illegal mining and deforestation. Few have forgotten the heavy environmental price of the 2006 peace process, when resettling Maoist combatants came at the cost of the Chure's forest destruction in 2007/08. The ghost of 2007 still haunts the Chure, and the Tarai pays the price. We are sawing off the branch we are sitting on, cementing over our natural recharge zones, and mining sand and boulders to help neighbours with their planned infrastructure while abandoning our own traditional farming terraces that once helped hold and absorb the monsoon rains.

The consequences of this negligence are not abstract statistics; they are etched onto the faces of farmers in the Rautahat. It is the smallholder farmer watching his crops wither while his so-called aid agency drills yet another deep borehole. It is the family forced to choose between buying water and buying food. This crisis is deepening the chasm of inequality, ensuring that those with the least power suffer the most from a problem they did not create. We are not just depleting aquifers; we are draining the lifeblood of our rural economy and jeopardising our nation's food security.

But pointing fingers is not enough. The path forward, while steep, is clear and demands courage, not just conversation.

First, the work must begin immediately at the grassroots. We must empower communities with emergency relief, but more importantly, with the tools for self-sufficiency. This means scaling up rainwater harvesting, promoting water efficient irrigation technologies, climate-smart farming techniques and supporting farmer-led Water User Groups to manage resources equitably. Initiatives like the 'groundwater game,' which helps farmers visualise their collective impact, prove that community-led action can shift behaviour far more effectively than top-down decrees.

Second, we must undertake the hard, systemic changes we have avoided for so long. It is a national disgrace that Nepal still lacks a comprehensive groundwater policy. We need an enforceable legal framework that regulates extraction, licenses boreholes and protects our critical recharge zones. The President Chure-Tarai Madhes Conservation Programme must be given real teeth to halt illegal mining for good. We must shift our development bias from grey concrete to green infrastructure – revitalising wetlands, restoring watersheds and rehabilitating traditional canals that allow water to seep back into the earth. Launch a federal-provincial partnership for 'Payment for Ecosystem Services' that makes upstream water stewardship an accountable, shared priority.

This is not a utopian dream, and Nepal need not walk this path alone. We can draw inspiration from arid regions like Arizona, US, which have faced similar crises in the 1960s-1970s and forged viable solutions.

Look to the Verde River, where The Nature Conservancy, an environmental organisation, has pioneered partnerships with local farmers. By helping fund the modernisation of century-old irrigation systems, less water is diverted from the river. The result is a win-win: farmers still get the water they need for their crops, while the river's flow is boosted, supporting the ecosystem and local economies. This proves that community-led conservation can directly benefit both agriculture and the environment.

On a broader policy level, Arizona confronted its own catastrophic groundwater overdraft decades ago. In 1980, through a combination of state and county government leadership, the state passed the landmark Groundwater Management Act. This legislation established a robust legal framework to measure, monitor and strictly regulate groundwater withdrawals in the most populated areas. While challenging, this forward-thinking policy forced conservation and steered the state away from a seemingly inevitable water crisis, demonstrating that courageous, long-term governance is the ultimate tool for resilience.

The models for success exist, blending grassroots partnerships with decisive policy. The question is no longer what can be done, but whether we have the courage to do it. These models of resilience prove what is possible when modern science, traditional wisdom and community will are combined. The solutions are within our grasp. The question is no longer what can be done, but whether we, as a nation, have the courage to do it before the wells, and our future, run dry for good.

Dhungel is a visiting faculty at Pokhara University where he teaches Integrated Watershed Management