In Darjeeling’s remote hills, women walk hours each day to fetch water from dying springs.
Once self-reliant, mountain communities now depend on imported vegetables and packaged milk.
Climate shifts, deforestation and neglect have silenced the natural springs that sustained Himalayan life.
Nearly half of all Himalayan springs have dried up, threatening livelihoods and culture alike.
The loss of these waters is an ecological, economic and human crisis rolled into one.
This is the first of a two-part series.
Dhanmaya Sarki, a 70-year-old resident of Kolbong Khasmahal, a remote village in Darjeeling, wakes up to a silent morning. The first light of dawn no longer carries the familiar murmur of flowing springs. The chirping of birds, the lowing of cows, and the sounds of pigsties now feel hollow in their absence.
Like her, hundreds of women in the village share similar experiences, having missed the song of the springs for many years, especially during the lean season. The silence of flowing water symbolises barren lands, villages emptied of youth, water-stressed crops, and young people forced to migrate to cities in search of livelihoods.
Until a few years ago, the village was known for supplying fresh, high-demand vegetables and milk. Today, small shops in the steep, isolated corners of the settlement are stocked with vegetables brought in from Dhupguri or Maynaguri towns in North Bengal known for commercial farming. Packets of Amul toned milk and cheese have replaced the fresh, locally produced milk and cottage cheese known as churpi that once sustained the community.
This shift reflects not only market penetration into rural areas but also the disappearance of livelihoods rooted in generations of traditional knowledge. It marks a move from aatmanirbharta (self-reliance) to dependency, contrary to the national vision of sustaining local economies through the “Vocal for Local” campaign.
Even more alarming is the additional burden on women, who now spend long hours fetching water from distant springs, a form of labour that often goes unrecognised. On average, women spend about two hours each day collecting water, a routine that begins with carrying heavy buckets along steep, uneven paths.
Where mornings were once filled with the singing of springs, they are now marked by the weary voices of women making their way to collect water. These enduring voices reflect not only the pain and resilience of women managing households largely on their own, but also their hope that the education and well-being of their children will bring positive change.
This is more than a local inconvenience, it is part of a wider crisis sweeping across the Indian Himalayas. Changing rainfall patterns, deforestation, and unsustainable land-use practices have caused the steady decline of natural springs, the primary source of freshwater for rural Himalayan communities. As springs dry up, agricultural lands turn barren, households lose their livelihoods, and villages are gradually emptied as people migrate to cities in search of work. During the COVID-19 pandemic, many who had migrated returned, only to confront parched soil, non-flowing springs, and the absence of sustainable income. The consequences of drying springs are social, economic, and deeply cultural—threatening not only the environment but the very fabric of Himalayan life.
According to a 2018 report by central think tank NITI Aayog, nearly 50 per cent of springs in the Indian Himalayan Region (IHR) are either drying up or have already dried. Across India, roughly 200 million people depend on spring water, particularly in ecologically fragile mountain systems such as the Himalayas, the Western and Eastern Ghats, and the Aravallis. Yet, until recently, these vital sources received scant attention in national water governance frameworks. India’s national water policies of 1987, 2002, and 2012 — the most comprehensive to date — made no mention of springs, reflecting a broader pattern of institutional neglect. It was only in 2018 that NITI Aayog formally acknowledged both the significance and degradation of these sources, releasing its first report on the Inventory and Revival of Springs in the Himalayas for Water Security.
Beyond environmental loss, the drying of Himalayan springs is a crisis for communities, culture, and livelihoods. Millions depend on these waters, yet their decline remains largely overlooked in policy and public discourse. The silence of the springs is a warning that without urgent attention, the voices, traditions, and lives tied to them may disappear forever.
The author acknowledges the support of IUCN India. This commentary is an outcome of the ‘Stories of Hope’ Fellowship by IUCN India under Himalayas for Future.
Kabindra Sharma is an IUCN Stories of Hope Media Fellow. He recently submitted his PhD thesis at the Department of Peace and Conflict Studies and Management, Sikkim University, focusing on drying springs in the Darjeeling Hills and their implications as a non-traditional security threat. He is currently an Associate Fellow at SaciWATERs (South Asian Consortium for Interdisciplinary Water Resources Studies), where he works on regional water governance, management, and climate resilience initiatives.
Views expressed are the author’s own and don’t necessarily reflect those of Down To Earth