When a spring sings again: How a Himalayan village revived its lifeline

After years of watching their spring run dry, the residents of Kolbong in the Darjeeling Hills, eastern Himalayas have managed to revive it through a community-led effort that blends hydrogeological science with traditional knowledge — offering a model for water-scarce Himalayan villages. Their story demonstrates how science, local knowledge, and community action can revive not just water sources but entire landscapes. 

For nearly a decade, summers in Kolbong were troublingly quiet. The gentle flow of the spring — once a familiar melody at dawn, mingling with the birdsong — had faded away, its absence felt even more sharply during the lean months. The situation grew increasingly dire as private water sellers began reaching these far-flung hills — a clear signal of scarcity in a place where water once flowed freely from almost every slope. The arrival of commercial suppliers revealed an unsettling shift: a basic right, rooted in tradition and shared responsibility, was slowly being turned into a commodity.

Among those who remember this change vividly is Dhondup Golay, now in his late sixties. The year 2020 proved to be a turning point. Researchers from Sikkim University arrived in Kolbong, carrying with them the findings of a major assessment conducted in 2019 across 300 springs in Darjeeling. Their report identified Kolbong’s sources as among the most vulnerable, making the urgency impossible to ignore. But their arrival did not inspire instant optimism. Villagers had watched many development projects come and go — collecting data, taking photographs, yet rarely leaving behind lasting change. A little scepticism was only natural. So was caution.

Trust and community leadership

What changed everything was the decision of one retired government employee, Binod Dhanukia. He agreed to postpone construction near the spring’s catchment — a structure that would have jeopardised efforts to recharge groundwater. His gesture signalled trust, and others followed. Slowly, the idea of a community-led springshed management effort began to take shape — rooted in hydrogeological science but guided by the indigenous wisdom carried quietly through generations.

Yet the challenges lay not only beneath the soil, but also within the social fabric. Darjeeling’s hills, long admired for their communal harmony, reflected in memories of sharing the first harvest or the tradition of paicho, the quick borrowing of essentials, had seen trust fray as springs dried and resources dwindled. Disagreements over access to water sparked tensions, threatening the cooperative systems that had sustained mountain life for centuries. Water scarcity went beyond a physical crisis and became a social one.

The proposed solution required a remarkable commitment: nearly 100 hectares of land set aside for three years of interventions. In the mountains, every square metre matters — for food, fodder, family inheritance. Yet the people of Kolbong understood the deeper cost of doing nothing. Reviving the spring meant restoring stability, dignity and the security of future generations. Crucially, the heart of the initiative was never external control — it was community ownership.

Science joins tradition

Once trust settled in, the work began on the slopes, forests and farmlands where water is stored quietly beneath the ground. Guided by hydrogeologists, villagers learned to read their land anew: the direction in which roots grew, the curve of a ridge, the density of native vegetation, each one influencing the hidden flow of groundwater.

The commitment from the community was extraordinary. Families contributed portions of their already limited land for ponds, percolation pits, contour trenches, vegetation dams and plantations of water-retaining species such as panisaaj, lapsi and kainjal. The spring had been completely dry in summer, and even during the monsoon its flow struggled to meet basic demand. The urgency was undeniable, and people stepped forward to do their part.

Elders shared memories of forgotten streams and historic recharge zones; young people — trained as para-hydrogeologists — mapped these with modern tools. Women, who once walked long distances to fetch water, became the strongest custodians of the revival effort. They kept meticulous records of spring discharge and took on maintenance tasks with unwavering dedication.

Together, they built soil-and-stone structures to slow the monsoon rains, giving water time to percolate into the earth, recharge the aquifer and slowly return to the spring when it was needed most. Every trench, every sapling, every ridge reinforced went beyond a technical measure and became an act of resilience, a promise to protect a heritage as essential as the mountains themselves.

As the work progressed, the community rediscovered an old truth — that their ancestors had long understood the importance of safeguarding springs. The tradition of Devithan — sacred groves revered as the abode of local deities — had, for generations, served as natural protection for spring catchments. People avoided disturbing spring tops not only out of spiritual reverence but because they instinctively knew that interfering with these fragile spaces could jeopardise the water source.

Over time, such beliefs weakened and catchment areas were slowly encroached upon, but through this initiative, age-old practices found their way back. Worship and conservation — once inseparable — fell into place again. The annual festival dedicated to the water goddess returned to the community calendar and was celebrated at the spring itself.

What science explained through maps and groundwater flow, tradition had safeguarded through cultural reverence. This cultural revival strengthened local institutions such as the Samaj — an informal but socially recognised community body — which played a crucial role in sustaining collective action and guiding the work forward.

The revival

The work continued throughout the year, driven by a renewed sense of purpose. Science offered direction; tradition gave meaning; and community spirit supplied the strength. The Samaj brought these threads together into a shared vision. In Kolbong, the revival of a spring became the revival of identity, proof that when a community protects its water, the mountains respond in kind.

What began with a small team of researchers from Sikkim University, led by professor Vimal Khawas, soon evolved into a full-fledged community movement. Once the percolation pits, contour trenches and recharge ponds were constructed — and rain gauges and soil-moisture monitors installed — the next step was crucial: community ownership. Villagers took charge of regular monitoring, maintenance and seasonal desiltation of the structures. They led their own plantation drives, making the project truly “by the community, for the community”.

Women stood at the forefront of this transformation, with an intimate understanding of the hardship caused by water scarcity — walking long distances, navigating steep slopes, waking before dawn. Their leadership unified the village, strengthened participation and rekindled a shared sense of guardianship over land and water.

During the initial survey in October 2019, the spring’s discharge was recorded at 19 litres per minute. By October 2023, it had reached 27.1 litres per minute, as per the National Mission on Himalayan Studies project Spring Rejuvenation for Water Security in Himalaya (2019–2024) (data used with permission from the project’s Principal Investigator, Darjeeling, West Bengal). 

While the numbers told an encouraging story, what mattered even more was the change people felt. In June 2023, a researcher received an excited call from a community member: “The spring didn’t dry this time, even in May and June!” For the first time in many years, water continued to flow through the harsh summer months. Although scientific monitoring had already indicated improvement, 2023 brought the full emotional realisation of recovery on the ground.

The once-dry spring had returned, restoring far more than water. It reduced the physical burden and invisible labour carried by women; cultural memory and collective stewardship and renewed pride, unity and a sense of belonging. 

Spring revival efforts deserve national priority

The revival of springs in the Himalayan region is not entirely new, but the depth of community ownership demonstrated in places like Kolbong offers a model worthy of national replication. The state of Sikkim, in the Eastern Himalayas, has been undertaking similar efforts for many years under the Dhara Vikas programme, achieving considerable success — especially in its southern districts. Yet one major challenge persists: spring rejuvenation has still not received widespread acceptance among policymakers, despite its proven success.

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, around 200 million people depend on spring water — particularly in ecologically fragile mountain ecosystems such as the Himalayas, the Western and Eastern Ghats, and the Aravallis. Yet until recently, these vital water sources received very little attention in national water governance. India’s national water policies of 1987, 2002 and 2012 — despite being comprehensive — made no mention of springs, reflecting long-standing institutional neglect.

A meaningful shift came only in 2018, when NITI Aayog formally acknowledged both the importance and the deterioration of spring systems through its landmark report, Inventory and Revival of Springs in the Himalayas for Water Security. While this was a welcome step, the recommendations have yet to translate into action.

The Jal Jeevan Mission did mark progress by incorporating springshed management into its guidelines — something earlier national programmes lacked.

However, the absence of dedicated funding, and reliance on convergence with multiple schemes such as the Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Scheme, the Integrated Watershed Management Programme, Finance Commission grants, various state government programmes, the Members of Parliament Local Area Development Scheme, the Members of Legislative Assembly Local Area Development Scheme and Corporate Social Responsibility, has significantly limited implementation on the ground.

This makes community-led success stories like Kolbong particularly important. They demonstrate a practical pathway to water security in the Himalayan region at a moment when the sustainability of newly installed tap connections under JJM faces serious challenges. Reports are emerging of functional household taps without water — especially in the Himalayas, where springs, the primary sources, are rapidly drying. Unless this is addressed urgently, the core vision of Har Ghar Jal may remain unfulfilled in the mountain regions, undermining both investments and community trust.

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