PANAJI
The monsoon has always been more than a season. It is the raison d’etre of agriculture, the rhythm of rural households, and literally, the cultural heartbeat of Goa’s villages.
This year, however, the rains have played truant. Weeks after the India Meteorological Department officially announced their arrival, showers have been at best sporadic and scattered, leaving farmers staring at parched fields, wondering if their season of hope is stolen.
The immediate impact is visible in kharif sowing. Paddy farmers, whether traditional or mechanised, are caught in limbo. The soil, although moist enough for ploughing, isn’t good enough for their nursery beds.
Lift irrigation pumps work only in patches, and bans on pumping from most reservoirs including the Khandepar river to protect drinking water supplies, underline the fragility of the system.
Farmers who rely on dry sowing (xell and chobo) or pre‑germinated seed broadcasting (rov) are either delaying operations or will opt for re-sowing and every day that passes without a drop of rain is pushing them further back.
However the suppressed monsoon is not just a kharif season story. It will trigger a chain reaction without recharge of ponds, wells, and aquifers that is going to make life even tougher for farmers in the rabi season.
Vegetables, pulses, and other winter crops depend on these groundwater reserves built during the rains. If these reservoirs remain low, Agriculture department officials fear the acreage will drastically shrink.
And then, there is the summer horticulture season of 2027 which will also be at risk. Mango, cashew, and coconut plantations need the water table to hold and the weak monsoon now means there will be scarcity and trouble then too.
Policy failures?
Former lawmaker Radharao Gracias, in a widely shared social media post, aptly recalls Goa’s lost water retention system.
“Comunidades once bunded lakes (tollem) and ponds (Ondde), creating temporary reservoirs that raised the water table in every village. The Agricultural Tenancy Act and subsequent destabilisation of comunidades dismantled this system. Today, most lakes remain un‑bunded, and wells run dry,” his post on Facebook earlier this week, said.
The irony is stark: a State that once managed water prudently now watches helplessly as scarcity looms.
The government, meanwhile, has been slow to act. Bunding lakes by mid‑September, as Gracias suggests, is not a romantic throwback but a practical necessity, this year.
A senior agriculture official, speaking on condition of anonymity, said restoring traditional water management practices could cushion this year’s blow of a predicted, erratic monsoons.
However, although a robust ‘Agriculture Policy’ was unveiled with fanfare last year by the then agriculture minister, the late Ravi Naik and Chief Minister Pramod Sawant, the famed bureaucratic inertia has left farmers to mitigate the risk on their own, with little institutional support, if any.
The cultural dimension adds poignancy. The Konsachem Fest, beginning in Raia on August 5, celebrates the bond between rain and rice. It is a thanksgiving feast, rooted in abundance but this year it could face a hurdle and could remind us of vulnerability of Goa’s agrarian identity, tied as it is so deeply to rainfall and a good monsoon.
The suppressed monsoon of 2026 is a warning. Climate variability is no longer an occasional aberration but is increasingly becoming the norm and throwing lessons each time that Goa’s agriculture cannot afford to remain hostage to weather patterns, repeatedly.
Prompt executive and administrative actions to reform water management, revive bunding, invest in irrigation infrastructure, and diversify cropping, all encompassed in the new and nascent ‘Agriculture Policy’ are the need of the hour.
Agriculture in Goa is already under stress from shrinking landholdings, real estate lobby and rapid urbanisation. A failed monsoon could push more farmers out of the fields, further accelerating the decline.
Officials, meanwhile, are clinging to that tiny flicker of hope -- that rains may yet arrive and July-August could still bring relief. But can Goa afford to continue to gamble its agricultural future on a good monsoon alone?
Crisis as catalyst: Reviving bunds
Goa once had a robust water retention system. Comunidades got lakes and ponds bunded, creating temporary reservoirs that raised the water table in most, if not every, village. This ensured wells rarely ran dry, even in lean seasons.
The Agricultural Tenancy Act and the weakening of comunidades dismantled this system. Today, most lakes remain un‑bunded, and villages face chronic water shortages. The collapse of this traditional practice has left agriculture vulnerable to every monsoon fluctuation.
Reviving bunding is a necessity to restore lake bunds by mid‑September, which could recharge aquifers, stabilise irrigation, and cushion farmers against erratic rainfall.
With climate uncertainty now certain, Goa’s future may depend on rediscovering this past water wisdom and no better time than this year to get going.
