Why Nepal’s Breadbasket of Hope Remains Empty
A year ago, I traveled to Karnali. The journey itself was exhausting—winding roads, long hours, dust, and silence. But what stayed with me was not the hardship of the road; it was the faces of the farmers. I saw women carrying heavy loads of barley, children eating rice brought from the Terai, and men speaking of sons who had left for India to earn a living.
Standing in an apple orchard in Jumla, I wondered: How can a land so rich in soil, rivers, and resilience remain so hungry?
That question motivated me to write this vlog—not as a tourist, but as an agriculture student and as a concerned citizen.
1. The Picture of Karnali
If you have ever traveled to Karnali, you know the feeling. The air is crisp, the hills roll endlessly, and farmers walk for hours carrying loads of firewood or a basket of apples. But behind this beauty lies a hard truth: Karnali, the largest province of Nepal, is still the hungriest one.
It stretches over 27,984 square kilometers, almost one-fifth of Nepal’s land, yet contributes barely 5% to the national economy. Here, nearly every household depends on agriculture, but the land often gives back less than what is needed to survive.
2. Agriculture That Fights for Survival
In the fertile valleys of Jumla, farmers grow apples so sweet that they could rival any imported fruit. In Dolpa, yak and sheep graze on high pastures. In Humla, women still sow buckwheat, barley, and beans in the same way their ancestors did.
And yet, Karnali cannot feed itself. The province needs around 522,000 metric tons of grain each year, but it produces only 357,000. The gap is so wide—165,000 tons short—that year after year, trucks of rice from the Terai and India climb the narrow roads into Karnali to keep people alive.
3. Why is Karnali Left Behind?
The answer is not simple, but let us walk through it together.
The Roads: In many villages, a farmer’s apple may rot before it reaches the market because it takes days of travel. Studies show nearly 40% of produce is lost post-harvest, not because it wasn’t grown well, but because it couldn’t be delivered on time.
The Water: Only 8% of farmland is irrigated. The rest is at the mercy of erratic rainfall. Imagine being a farmer who prays for clouds every season, never knowing if they will bring a flood or a drought.
The Poverty: About one in three people here live below the poverty line. For many families, sending a son or daughter to India for labor feels safer than investing in uncertain crops.
The Climate: The temperature in the highlands is rising at nearly double the global rate. Apples in Jumla are ripening too early; barley in Dolpa struggles against untimely frost.
This is not just an agricultural issue—it is about dignity, about survival.
4. What Karnali Could Become
But let us not only look at the pain. Let us also imagine what Karnali could be.
Karnali uses fewer fertilizers than any other province in Nepal—less than 30 kg per hectare. In an age where the world is crying out for organic food, this is not a weakness; it is an opportunity. Karnali could be the organic province of Nepal.
The apples of Jumla, the beans of Humla, the herbs of Dolpa—jatamansi, yarsagumba—these are treasures. If only there were roads, cold storage, and fair markets, Karnali could supply not just Nepal but the world.
And then there is tourism—both cultural and agricultural. Imagine eco-travelers walking through apple orchards, staying with local families, eating yak cheese and buckwheat roti after a day of trekking in Dolpa. Imagine visitors witnessing the age-old practice of barley harvests, or learning how beans are dried and stored for winter. This is agro-tourism at its finest, but it goes beyond farms: it connects farming, food, culture, and livelihood.
Karnali’s untouched landscapes—Rara Lake, Shey Phoksundo, Dolpa’s high trails—already attract tourists. If agriculture were woven into this experience, Karnali could offer the world not just sights, but stories of survival, resilience, and flavor.
5. Why We Must Act
But none of this will happen on its own. Karnali has been left behind not because its people are weak, but because our policies have been blind.
When irrigation canals are built in the Terai, why is Karnali left with broken pipes? When highways connect Kathmandu to Birgunj, why do Jumla and Dolpa still wait for gravel roads? When budgets are divided, why does Karnali’s share for agriculture barely touch 5%?
If Nepal truly wants inclusive development, it cannot afford to forget Karnali.
6. The Way Forward: Personal Opinion
As a student, and as a citizen, I see four urgent needs:
Connect the Farmers – Roads, storage, and digital platforms must link Karnali’s crops to the market. An apple should not die on the roadside.
Irrigate the Fields – The mighty Karnali River flows through, yet only a fraction is harnessed. Expanding irrigation from 8% to even 20% would change everything.
Honor Local Crops – Finger millet, naked barley, beans—these are not poor people’s foods. They are climate-smart, nutrient-rich superfoods.
Bring Back the Youth – Give young returnee migrants credit and training to farm with technology, not just with sickles.
7. A Province of Possibilities
Karnali is often spoken of as a burden—hungry, poor, left behind. But I see something else. I see the possibility of turning the so-called “weakest province” into Nepal’s strongest example of sustainable mountain farming.
The real question is not whether Karnali can change—it is whether we have the courage, the vision, and the commitment to walk with it.
Because when Karnali rises, it will not rise alone. It will carry the heart of Nepal with it.