The light arrives gently over Chhatiwan, a freshwater lake in the Western district of Doti in Nepal. Egrets skim the surface, goats and fishermen share a narrow path along its edges, and as the morning mist clears, the lake reveals itself as a mirror, like glass held in place by pine-covered slopes and terraced fields.
To those who live along its edge, it is, of course, more than a magnificent view. The lake provides water for irrigation, drinking and nourishment for livestock. It is a setting for rituals and cultural practices. Here, water, forest and agriculture are inseparable. The pine-covered slopes regulate the lake’s flow, the lake nourishes the terraced fields below and together they sustain livelihoods and culture.
Along the shoreline, mats of wild taro and iris fan outward, following the lake’s contours. Locally, they are known as jaluka and bojo. For a casual observer, their role in this intricate ecosystem is easy to miss. Their roots trap sediment washed down from the hillslope, slowing runoff as it clouds the water. Thick rhizomes knit the bank together when monsoon rains flood the slopes, while their stems offer shelter for fish and insects. For generations, these plants have been part of household medicine. Taro tubers, carefully cooked, is used to settle digestion, while iris roots are applied to sores and infections.
A short walk from the lake, the path bends toward an old spring. Icons of various animals are carved into its walls. Women once gathered here to fill earthen pots, exchange news, and offer prayers to the naga snakes believed to inhabit the water. Today, this spring source is mostly dry.
In western Nepal, springs like this have long been the backbone of rural water systems, feeding lakes, fields, and households alike, but scientists now estimate that roughly one-fifth of Nepal’s springs have disappeared. Recent studies in this region indicate that 70% of spring water flow is decreasing over time.
Some causes of water scarcity are regional and familiar — erratic rainfall, dry winters and longer dry spells linked to climate change. Others are closer at hand. The hills above Chhatiwan were once covered with mixed broadleaf forests — chilaune, katus, uttis, rhododendron — that held moisture in the soil. Over recent decades, many of these slopes have been replanted or overtaken by fast-growing pine.
Pine plantations helped stabilize hillsides quickly, but their spread has come with trade-offs that are now visible. Pine forests cause high evaporation and provide less opportunity for undergrowth vegetation. They also pose a higher fire risk and decrease biodiversity. Many locals indicate that springs have declined in many places, soon after pine became dominant.
Chhatiwan’s northern slope is visibly more bare than it once was. Fallen trunks lie where they dropped, some scorched from past fires. During heavy rains, debris funnels into the lake, gradually reducing its depth. Local accounts and district reports have noted this process for years: deforestation and soil erosion carry the hillside into the water.
Dharma Devi Bhandari’s house sits just above the lake. She confirms the wear and tear that the landscape has been going through, as well as erratic rainfall patterns and dry spells and connects it to reduced agricultural production. “Back when my father- and mother-in-law were younger, they could sell so much surplus seeds grown here in Chhatiwan,” she says, referring to surplus grain —rice, millet, mustard— that households once saved and sold after meeting their own needs. “Now it’s not enough to even feed the family.” Her experience reflects a deeper connection in the lake area, where forests, water sources, and agriculture function as an interdependent system; changes in rainfall, vegetation, or water flow directly influence farming economies.
Her observation is echoed across rural Nepal. Declining winter rainfall over the last few decades has reduced dry-season crops, while pests and heat stress have cut yields further. Bhandari tends goats and a small plot of maize. When asked whether committees responsible for the management of water, forests and agriculture meet together to work on these various interconnected problems, she shakes her head. “Everyone does it separately,” she responds.
Photo: Sunny Deshar/IWMI
In Nepal, as in many countries, responsibilities for natural resources are distributed across ministries and agencies. Projects move forward on largely parallel tracks. For example, an irrigation canal may cut through forest land with nominal local coordination, cutting trees may alter recharge zones without reference to downstream farms, a hydropower scheme may change river flows that farmers depend on. But as seen here in the case of a lake and life around it, these systems are deeply interlinked.
The emerging approach towards holistic management of natural resources stem from a clear contrast: while traditional management treats these resources in a fragmented way — treating water, energy, food, and ecosystems as independent systems, integrated management considers the interdependence of all these natural resources. Globally, this gap has prompted a shift toward what is known as the Water–Energy–Food–Ecosystem (WEFE) nexus. The idea is fairly straightforward: WEFE form interdependent systems and should be managed as such. It is an approach to increase water, energy and food security without compromising ecosystems, by examining interactions, trade-offs and synergies among sectors rather than optimizing each in isolation.
What distinguishes WEFE is not just the promise of harmony, but also its recognition of inherent cost and benefits when using natural resources. It accepts that gains in one area may impose costs in another and asks that these be thought through. Pine plantations, for example, can restore tree cover quickly, generate income, and sequester carbon. However, they increase fire risk and reduce groundwater recharge if they become monocultures.
In practice, a WEFE perspective would mean viewing the pine hills, the natural spring, the taro mats, irrigation channels and Bhandari’s family and animals as parts of one equation.
It would ask whether restoring native tree species in key recharge zones could revive springs without slowing reforestation? Whether small check dams uphill could slow sediment before it reaches the lake? Whether household composting could improve soil fertility while reducing dependence on imported fertilizers? And whether solar-powered irrigation could reduce diesel use without overdrawing groundwater?
Crucially, it would require that water user groups, forest committees and agricultural cooperatives sit at the same table to think these through.
Building on this understanding of interconnected systems, IWMI is already applying WEFE thinking on the ground in places like Nepal’s Rangun watershed, working with local governments, communities and stakeholders to move beyond sectoral silos. IWMI’s work helps communities and municipalities think about how actions in one domain interact with others, identify where synergies can be amplified and trade-offs managed, and support cooperative planning across administrative boundaries. Nepal has seen early experiments along these lines. Spring-shed management initiatives now combine hydrological mapping with community planning, replanting native species and building recharge structures. In several cases, springs that had run dry have begun to flow again. The constraint is rarely technical. It lies in aligning institutions with the realities of interconnected landscapes and ensuring that those who bear the daily costs—often women—also shape decisions.
Chhatiwan’s story resonates far beyond western Nepal. Across the Global South, uncoordinated efforts undermine resource management, and fragmented governance slows adaptation.
Closer to home, Nepal’s irrigation expansion targets under the 16th Five-Year Plan and its resilience commitments under National Development Commitment 3.0 are not sectoral ambitions alone — they are fundamentally water–energy–food–ecosystem challenges. Expanding year-round irrigation requires groundwater stewardship, energy access for pumping, ecosystem safeguards, and equitable allocation across upstream and downstream users. Climate adaptation similarly depends on managing trade-offs across these interconnected systems. The WEFE framework makes these interdependencies visible, enabling more coherent planning, reducing unintended harm, and distributing benefits more equitably.
