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**Circles of Connection**
सुसेली हाली बयेली खेल्छ बतास रातमा
जूनले पोख्छ शीतका थोपा धानका पातमा ।
सुनौला बाला झुलेर होला भुइँलाई छोएको
फलेको हाँगो कहिले छ र ननुही रहेको ?
— किसानको रहर, लक्ष्मी प्रसाद देवकोटा
The monsoon in June moistens the fertile soil of the valley. Agrarian communities living around the field start to hum songs around our connections to the earth and its kindred souls, as they sow green blades of rice seedlings ‘byu’ one at a time, almost pacing to the beats of a ‘Ropain’ song.
It's perhaps the lushness of this agricultural season or the crucialness of this grain that there is a national date assigned to mark this occasion.
Ropain Diwas | Asar 15 | National Paddy Day
This day is celebrated with ‘Dahi Chuira’, laughters preceeding a light mud-fight, and songs to cherish communal bonds.
But how did rice rise to such prominence, shaping not just landscapes but our lives?
Before rice dominated our plates and fields, Himalayan and hilly communities thrived on diverse, resilient grains: sampha (barley), dhido (stone-ground cornmeal), kodo (millet), and phaapar (buckwheat). Rice was rare—reserved for celebrations or the wealthy. Its image slowly shifted. It became a symbol of aspiration, status, and progress.
During the catastrophic drought of the late 1960s, Nepal faced hunger and devastation. In response, India—bolstered by the Green Revolution—expanded rice production using high-yielding seeds and chemical inputs. Nepal, receiving aid, airlifted rice to the Karnali region, branding it “food-scarce.” But as food activist Mohan Rai reminds us: Karnali wasn’t food-scarce. It was rice-scarce. People had long sustained themselves with local grains.
Still, this emergency relief began changing perceptions. Rice became associated with survival, modernity, and care. Over time, local grains were devalued. Farmers stopped cultivating them, turning instead to rice distributed by the Nepal Food Corporation and international donors like the WFP. A cycle of dependency took root, eroding self-sufficiency.
Today, rice continues to dominate. It covers 1.49 million hectares of land and yields an average of 3.76 metric tons per hectare (as of 2019). With rising remittance income, foreign employment, and road access, even remote communities have shifted toward branded, imported, long-grain rice, further marginalizing ancestral grains.
Yet rice is more than a commodity—it is cultural, spiritual, and seasonal. It weaves through rituals and life events, from pasni (rice weaning) to weddings, death rites, and festivals across the calendar.
In Baishakh, rice grains and vermillion are offered to household deities (kul devata) for renewal. Jestha sees fields prepared with oxen and ploughs, tools readied, and rice seedlings stored. In Asar, communities gather to transplant those seedlings on Ropain Diwas, singing and splashing in the mud. Shrawan brings chamre and kheer, nourishing dishes after weeks of labor.
By Mangshir, harvests begin. The season’s first rice is offered in the nuwagi ritual—served with curd and sugar. In the Kathmandu Valley, this aligns with Yomari Punhi, honoring the harvest through sweet dumplings. In the eastern hills, Rai and Limbu communities mark Udhauli and the Dhan Naach, giving thanks and entering rest.
Post-harvest months become a time of preservation. Paral (rice straw) is turned into mats and roofing. In Magh, the Tharu community prepares rice wrapped in banana leaves—both nourishment and offering. In Chaitra, Chaitra Dashain closes the cycle, signaling readiness for a new agricultural year.
Throughout, rice remains at the centre. But its dominance came not only from soil—it grew from policy, perception, and power. And while we honour rice, we must also remember what it displaced.
The seed remembers.
The soil remembers.
Perhaps, now, we too can remember.
Further sources and notes will be added after the main event on 12th July 2025.
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Chronicles by @asthaha , Creatives by @creative_minefield, Curated by @srichchha, Compiled with ChatGPT5