Dear Rain, we people from the Terai hope this message finds you — wherever you are. Here in the Terai, we are not just waiting for you; we are desperate for your arrival.
Due to your absence, our fields are cracked, our hopes are fading, and farmers need you so much that they’ve started praying for your return. We are heavily dependent on agriculture, and — believe it or not — we have even married frogs just for you.
Yes, actual frogs. We gave them a good bath in turmeric, adorned them with flowers, and wed them with full Hindu rituals. The whole village came to witness it. Priests chanted, and TikTok videos of frogs getting married went viral. But you? You still ghosted us.
What more do you want? The land is breaking apart in places like Bara, Parsa, and Rupandehi—not only because of the ruthless heat but also because of heartbreak. Farmers waited patiently, planted nurseries, and prepared the land.
But all they got was silence and charred soil. Before they could move the seedlings from the nursery beds, the greenery intended for transplanting dried up.
This country has engineers, irrigation departments, and foreign aid to deal with climate change. But when the water runs out, all we can do is tie frogs together in holy matrimony and pray for rain.
Because this is a tragedy rather than a season, farmers now traverse their fields like mourners at a funeral. Only one out of eight deep borewells is still in use in some locations. The others have given up—just like the clouds.
Once the unsung hero of Terai farming, groundwater is now disappearing more quickly than the government has ever promised anything. Even our backup plans now require a backup, as the water table has fallen so low. Pumps suck dust, tubewells wheeze, and the underground silence is as loud as the authorities’ silence.
The federal government, on the other hand, declared Madhesh a “disaster-hit zone.” It sounded good at first—but then reality hit. Fire trucks were sent out, and some ministers gave speeches full of emotion.
Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli even flew over the dry plains in a helicopter. He saw cracked ground, dried-up canals, and parched fields from 30,000 feet up.
But what happened after that? There were promises of 500 deep boring systems—but no deadlines, no coordination, no funding. The Prime Minister flies over our pain, while farmers on the ground are left to choose between replanting or giving up the season altogether.
Because of this lack of concern, frog marriages are no longer just a tradition; they are pleas for help. We value culture—but should Nepal still rely on rituals with amphibians to solve climate issues in 2081 BS?
Until you decide to grace us with your presence, we will continue to monitor the sky, dig dry wells, and, yes, marry frogs—because someone has to attempt something, even if the government refuses.
This country has engineers, irrigation departments, and foreign aid to deal with climate change. But when the water runs out, all we can do is tie frogs together in holy matrimony and pray for rain.
Do we really have to believe that the weather depends on an arranged marriage between frogs?
Ironically, we in the Terai are praying for just one drop of rain, while the mountains and hills are flooding. A glacial lake in Rasuwa burst, killing at least nine people and destroying homes and roads. The hills flood, the lowlands dry up, and Nepal becomes the setting for a climate crisis comedy—but no one is laughing anymore.
To put things in perspective: Madhesh has just around 33% of its paddy fields cultivated, whereas the national average is 70%. Due to a lack of water, grass, and fodder, livestock ranchers are being forced to sell their animals.
Borewells don’t work. Dust is forming from the soil. And all we receive in exchange are meaningless announcements and aerial inspections.
So what else do you want, sweet Rain—really? The frog wedding is what we’ve done. We’ve said a prayer. We have waited.
Next, should we set up a TikTok challenge? Burn an umbrella as a sacrifice? Or perhaps compose a public love letter—like this one?
Until you decide to grace us with your presence, we will continue to monitor the sky, dig dry wells, and, yes, marry frogs—because someone has to attempt something, even if the government refuses.
Yours truly,
Desperate Terai People
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