TO most people agriculture in the desert sounds like an oxymoron. Without some paltry rain – mean annual rainfall of roughly 250 mm in the case of Bikaner district – practically no life would exist. Yet, this rainfall, if timely, can easily meet the food security requirements of an average family of six, for four to six months. In the early ’90s, rainfed agriculture in this region implied a single crop of either bajra and moth or guar and moth with kakdi, a kind of cucumber and mateera, a melon, as additional crops.

Barring a brief period when there was excitement about a short duration variety of moth, in over a decade at least no significant change in rainfed agriculture took place. By the end of the ’90s, farmers in many parts of Bikaner district, in response to changes in the microclimate, had taken to setting aside a portion of their land for a winter crop of gram or wheat and sometimes rai, an oilseed. A rational response to a new situation.

Switch to an entirely different ecological zone – the central Himalayas in Kumaon and we are amidst farmers again. The mean annual rainfall in Nainital district is between 1000-1100 mm; the sand storms have been replaced by howling winds and rain, and the heat by the cold.

Farmers in rainfed areas in this region favour temperate fruit trees – apples, peaches, plums, apricot and pears. They have also largely shifted away from traditional cereals and pulses and instead cultivate vegetables – potatoes, cauliflowers, peas, cabbage, tomatoes and French bean. Come summer and one will need to watch out for the trucks on their daily trips from the mandi at Haldwani up the hills and back again.

On the face of it, it would seem that the farmers in the hills are much better-off than their counterparts in the desert. Their crops are of a higher value and the location and relative distance from the large markets of the plains ensure reasonable market access. Yet, the reality is that here too agriculture is stagnating. Farmers want to shift away from apples to peaches since they believe that changes in the micro-climate necessitate it. Too many farmers are cultivating the same vegetables, bringing down the price, and the crops are all afflicted with the same diseases.

Rainfed agriculture, whether in the desert or the mountains, is at the best of times a risky proposition. One often wonders whether it can ever be lucrative, but the reality is that without this agriculture, with all its risks, families would not even be able to survive. The number of families dependent on rainfed agriculture for their survival far exceeds those who can benefit from irrigation. Yet, though irrigated agriculture accounts for only a small proportion of the total area under cultivation in the country, it receives greater attention.

What plagues rainfed agriculture? Is there a future? What are the opportunities? This article seeks to explore some of the constraints and challenges facing rainfed agriculture by drawing on experiences from the desert and the hills.

 

In 1992, towards the end of a hot summer, Dhanji, then my mentor, and I were on our way to visit a farmer in an area that received some irrigation from the Indira Gandhi Canal. Dhanji stopped, peered closely at the ground and asked me what I could see. As I couldn’t see anything, I was asked to look closer. Sure enough, I saw some ants. Dhanji pointed out that the ants were carrying little pieces of grain out of their ant-hill. Indeed they were all scurrying out with grain. He sighed and said that it would rain. Ants carrying the grain out in the month of aashaad was a sure sign that there would be significant amount of rain. As the ants anticipated that their store would get flooded, they were moving their stock to safer ground.

 

Anyone who has spent time with farmers will have a plethora of similar stories. Farmers in rainfed areas essentially depend on information passed on by word of mouth from one generation to another. Most of this information is based on observation and the cause and effect of events – all tested over time. In several areas, for example with regard to traditional methods of weather forecasting, some traditional knowledge could be found wanting simply because of the rapid pace at which the micro-climate has altered. Thus, one should not romanticise traditional knowledge for its own sake.

‘Modern education’ and the knowledge emanating from it is presently at a premium. Farmers too recognise the benefits of education that the schooling system provides. Quite logically, they expect new and ‘scientifically’ tested answers to their problems with land and water. Unfortunately, their demand for knowledge is not met. Worse, confronted with two knowledge systems – the traditional, passed on by word of mouth and the modern, that the education system, television and newspapers represent – they shun their traditional knowledge but are unable to adequately access relevant information through other means. In most cases, several of the traditional practices – even if relevant today – have been discarded merely because of a lack of faith, in the expectation that there are answers available elsewhere.

Caught as they are between the proverbial rock and hard place, where can they access the relevant information? Who will make it available?

 

In two years of living in the mountains, I have never come across an agricultural extension worker. Though the agriculture university in the region, research institutions and the Krishi Vigyan Kendra do occasionally organise training programmes for farmers, but regular farm visits as a part of extension work seem to be non-existent.

Blight in potato and leaf curl in peach are two of the most important diseases that affect farmers in this region. For the first, no solution, if available, has found its way up to these parts. For peaches, a regular stream of pesticides from Haldwani just at the onset of buds in the trees provides the solution. There is a widespread and irrational spraying of pesticides – irrational in terms of the timing, dosage (often sub-optimal), the schedule of sprays, and the nature of pesticide being used. For a region that exports peaches to Mumbai, it would seem worthwhile to invest in solutions to these major problems. Alas, there are none.

I once attended a training programme on pruning and training of temperate fruit trees that had been organised at the request of farmers. Some of the best apple growers in our immediate vicinity were present. To our horror we discovered that the basic system followed to prune trees had changed. In other words, since the last interaction with extension services and experts several years ago, the government had taken to recommending an entirely new system for pruning trees. But in our area, most of the trees were trained and pruned using the earlier system. To prune and re-shape the trees will now take our farmers years!

Uttaranchal has been declared an ‘organic state’. The rationale is that since most agriculture read rainfed agriculture – in the state is by default organic, inasmuch that few or no external inputs are utilised, farmers should seek certification and market their produce as ‘organic foods’. Prima facie it is a great idea! Think of it, no pesticides and fertilisers up in the Himalaya – the source of our rivers. Surely, customers should pay a premium for that alone. Ironically, there is not a single, complete package of organic practices available for even a single temperate fruit in the state. On contacting the concerned line department we were horrified to discover the complete absence of any extension material, possibly because no one there has ever bothered to research these issues. Fair enough, but the line department concerned had no intention to put together any available information either.

So who does the extension work – neighbours, entrepreneurs or rich farmers? Companies that offer buy-back of either seeds or produce? The retailers of pesticides and fertilisers? Though everyone talks about the significant role of women in agriculture, is extension activity ever specifically targeted towards women?

 

In days when swathes of land in the north-eastern part of Bikaner district was set aside for haadi, or the rainfed winter crop, we tried to understand this practice by speaking to farmers. Farmers would plough their fields in the summer to remove all vegetative growth. Not a single blade of grass was left behind in the belief that when it rained the land would retain the moisture, which would aid the winter sowing. A quick drive through the villages was sufficient to identify the fields being used for haadi since they would be bare. However, within a few years, small sand dunes started emerging on the periphery of such areas. Obviously, the removal of vegetative cover in the summer led to an erosion of the topsoil. It is not that the farmers were unaware, yet they remained firmly of the opinion that there was no other way of land preparation for the winter crop. I often wonder whether any farmers, a decade on, will have discontinued the practice simply because of a decline in the productivity of these fields as a result of the the loss of topsoil.

 

In the hills, the problem is similar. Even in apple orchards with 20 year old trees, farmers use only an insignificant amount of manure. Evidently, they do not see any connection between manure use and age of trees. Nor is green manuring a general practice either. Instead, farmers believe that the problem is with the varieties. I wonder how a piece of land that has produced fruit for 14 or 15 years can maintain its productivity with practically nothing being added to replenish it.

In the past – and the practice probably still continues in many other parts of the state – when terraces were made, the slopes would be inwards. If line sowing was practiced, then the lines would be along the contours not perpendicular to them. In several villages now, the slopes of terraces are all outwards and when line sowing is practiced, little attention is paid to the contour of the land.

If such a huge amount of topsoil is being washed away, or if the fertility of soil is systematically declining, why is it that we do not have a national mission to improve soil fertility? How can agriculture in rainfed areas ever be a viable proposition if soil fertility continues to decline?

An enterprising farmer in our area, at a public meeting once described the adatiya or commission agent as his ATM. While he was correct in his description, it did not entirely reflect the true role of the adatiya. The adatiya is also an extension worker and supplier of inputs. Farmers call their agent and describe the problem or place a demand, and sure enough inputs arrive in the bus the next morning.

 

Availability of quality inputs in rainfed areas, particularly those with a difficult terrain like the desert or mountains, remains a problem. The cost of transportation is high, the quality indifferent and supply erratic. Take seeds of traditional cereals and pulses or coarse grains. Though the premier agriculture research institutions periodically release new varieties of seed, when and how will they get to farmers? Even for those farmers in rainfed areas willing to invest in seeds or fertilisers, supply can still be a constraint. For over a year now, large apple farmers in our region have been demanding CAN, a fertiliser supplement that is not only popular in Himachal Pradesh but considered essential. But the reality is that our mandi does not even have a single retailer.

Currently a single crate of fruit costs roughly Rs 35 or between Rs 1.75 to Rs 2.5 per kg. Unfortunately, unless all farmers come together to book a full truckload of fruit cartons, the situation is not viable for the individual farmer. Worse, the supply of cartons remains a constraint even for those willing to cooperate. When we posed the concerns over packaging cost and damage to fruits during transportation to the premier national institution specialising in packaging techniques, all they could recommend was the use of fibre reinforced corrugated cardboard cartons. When asked for the names of suppliers of these boxes, their suggestion was that we look in the Yellow Pages!

There has always existed an important relationship between agriculture and animal husbandry in all rainfed areas. In the desert, when there was no standing crop, farmers would welcome large herds of sheep or cattle to graze in their fields simply because of the value of manure and urine.

The low productivity of traditional breeds necessitated large livestock herds. The traditional practice meant that a reasonable amount of manure was available for use in the fields. Several years ago, efforts were initiated to promote silage to improve the nutritive value of stored fodder in the villages of this area. The practice did not expand. Subsequent research revealed that the shift in cropping pattern away from traditional crops had reduced the utility of silage for farmers.

Far too often, we ignore the link between agriculture and animal husbandry. This relationship is critical for farmers in rainfed areas. Yet crop diversification is encouraged with little regard to fodder requirements. Similarly, breed improvement is suggested without considering the manure requirement for agricultural fields.

 

Whether we like it or not, markets now play a crucial role in our lives. For farmers too, access to markets is crucial, both to sell their produce and procure inputs. In rainfed areas, where local production is essential for ensuring food security, sooner or later farmers need to make a choice. If they diversify to produce for the market, they need to be confident about meeting their food requirements through purchases from the market.

In the early and mid-90s, many farmers in Bikaner district would harvest their produce – guar or bajra – and sell it to their sanghatan. The sanghatan would arrange for storage and in turn, sell once the price was higher; a win-win situation for the farmers. By selling to their own sanghatan the farmers received payment at the prevalent market price which, though invariably low at the time of harvest, at least enabled them to repay their debts. However, when the sanghatan sold the produce, the profit after taking into account loss due to storage and interest costs, was proportionately distributed. The understanding was that in case of a loss, the members would share the loss as well. Yet I can recall only one instance of a sanghatan making a loss. This is a good example of the market being used for common good through collective action.

 

In some areas, market access is limited by virtue of location. Farmers here either have to opt for crops with a long shelf life or invest in value addition. An increased interest in the cities, limited though it might be, in traditional cereals and pulses, offers enormous possibilities for farmers in rainfed areas if taken advantage of. They would then have a choice of either selling their produce or consuming it.

A comparison between prices of fruits and vegetables at Haldwani (Nainital district) and Azadpur (Delhi) suggests that it makes sense for farmers to collectively sell directly at Azadpur. But this is rarely done. Some management experts were curious as to why no entrepreneur had come forward despite high profits. After all, malls are burgeoning in the National Capital Region; a large number with dedicated space for fresh fruits and vegetables. Would it not make eminent sense for our farmers to sell directly to the malls since most of our vegetables are in demand even during off-season in the plains? Or should the farmers wait for an entrepreneur to arrive at their doorstep? The market is providing opportunities; with skills and information, can farmers use markets to their advantage? Do the risks outweigh the benefits? Is independence to be valued more than an opportunity of profit?

 

Ganesha Ram, a farmer friend, narrated a beautiful story. There had been repeated droughts, the land was parched and farmers were desperate for one good harvest, a zamana. Clouds would flit across the sky, but there was no rain. Farmers debated whether they should take a chance, plough the soil and sow the seeds. In the end they decided to wait. But one farmer decided to go ahead and plough the field. Despite the other farmers mocking him, he was not deterred.

Indira – the god of rain – happened to notice this farmer plough the soil. His curiosity aroused, he descended to the field and asked the farmer what he was doing. The farmer replied that he was ploughing the field. Indira responded that there was no possibility of rain, pointing out that there were no rain-clouds in the sky. So why was the farmer persisting with this foolishness? The farmer rested the plough, sighed and said, ‘I know there are no clouds. But it has been so many years since it rained that I thought I might forget how to plough my field.’ Indira, struck by this comment, decided to test if he remembered how to create rain, and lo and behold it rained.

Hope is all that keeps our farmers going. Can we help them? I regret not thinking or doing enough about agriculture in the desert. I am now trying to make amends, far away, amidst apples and cauliflowers, struck by the fact that the problems that existed in the desert exist here too, in the hills.