Jagadishpur Lake Birds Pay the Price for Progress
Conservationists warn that motorboat tourism at Jagadishpur Lake is harming rare birds and wildlife in this vital Ramsar wetland of international importance.
Once upon a time—not long ago—Jagadishpur Lake shimmered with the serenity of an untouched Eden. Tucked away just eleven kilometres from Taulihawa, in Nepal’s Kapilvastu district, this Ramsar-listed wetland was more than a patch of scenic beauty. It was a sanctuary. A haven where migratory birds from as far afield as Russia and the Korean peninsula would alight after a punishing journey across skies. But now, instead of birdsong, the lake echoes with the mechanical whirr of a ten-seater motorboat—and nature, quite understandably, is packing its bags.
In a move that’s left conservationists clutching their heads, the Jagadishpur Reservoir Management Multi-Stakeholder Forum has awarded a contract to operate said boat—despite the lake’s management plan explicitly banning motorboats. That’s right: the ink is barely dry on a five-year blueprint approved by the Division Forest Office which permits nothing more disruptive than pedal boats. And yet, since 17 April, a chugging, smoke-spewing monstrosity has been slicing through the western waters, leaving ripples far deeper than the eye can see.
Frankly, it’s enough to make a heron weep.
Experts, including the widely respected ornithologist Hem Sagar Baral, are sounding the alarm. Jagadishpur, he laments, was once home to over 20,000 water birds. Now, fewer than 8,000 grace its waters. And the culprit? Human interference dressed up in the shiny garb of eco-tourism. The engine’s drone, the exhaust fumes, the ceaseless human activity—it’s all a bit too much for creatures whose lives depend on silence, space, and sanctity.
“There’s no provision for motorboats in the management plan,” a forest official admitted, promising to look into the matter. But as we’ve seen time and again, by the time bureaucracy puts on its boots, the birds will have long flown the nest—quite literally.
To make matters worse, the forum’s process of awarding the contract to operate the boat has raised more eyebrows than a magician at a sceptics’ convention. The deal—sealed at Rs855,000—was won under murky circumstances, with sources whispering about unofficial shares and shadowy interests. The Kapilvastu Municipality even chipped in Rs500,000 for the boat’s purchase, which, according to records, was hauled in from Sarlahi last year for a tidy Rs1.35 million. One wonders: who exactly is this boat serving?
The public, they say. The tourists. Development, they cry, wagging their fingers. But must all progress come at the cost of peace? Must we always barge in with brass bands where a gentle flute would suffice?
The forum claims to have set “non-bird” zones for the boat to operate in. But seasoned ornithologists like Hathan Chaudhary are having none of it. “Any kind of motorboat operation will erode the site’s natural beauty and ecological value,” he says. And he would know. After all, birds do not obey human maps. They do not tiptoe around “zones.” They fly, they flee, they disappear.
Lest we forget, this is not the first time development’s heavy hand has left a mark on Jagadishpur. A decade ago, the same forum dreamt up the grand idea of installing a colossal Buddha statue in the middle of the lake—mud pedestal and all. It took a public outcry to send that plan down the drain.
And yet, here we are again.
Yagyamurti Khanal of the Lumbini Province Forest Directorate has reminded us that no activity should take place in a Ramsar site without a proper Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA). But the motorboat, much like an uninvited guest at a wake, has already made itself at home.
Professor Karan Bahadur Shah, a leading expert on reptiles and turtles, rightly points out that the lake’s very vastness once offered a sense of refuge to its inhabitants. Now, smoke, noise and human bluster are robbing them of that last bastion of peace. What’s next? Jet skis?
This isn’t just about a lake. It’s about the principle of stewardship. Ramsar sites are not playgrounds for petty contracts and half-baked development schemes. They are treasures of global ecological importance. Jagadishpur isn’t just Nepal’s largest man-made wetland—it’s a symbol of what’s possible when nature and humanity strike a delicate balance.
But that balance, dear reader, is tilting dangerously. And the birds—who once flew in from thousands of miles away to find a safe berth—are voting with their wings.
If the noise continues, and the smoke clouds gather, it won’t be long before the only birds left are in faded photographs. And Jagadishpur, that once-proud paradise, will become just another cautionary tale in the long ledger of ecological folly.
It’s high time we pulled the plug—before the silence becomes permanent.
Sources : The Katmandu Post
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