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In the arid landscape of Bundelkhand, where water scarcity and erratic rainfall define the rhythms of daily life, a quiet revolution is underway. At the forefront are rural women volunteers—known as jal sahelis—who are emerging as tireless champions of water conservation, community hygiene, and ecological revival.
For centuries, traditional water sources like ponds, tanks, and small rivers have been the lifeblood of Indian villages. But in recent decades, these age-old structures have suffered neglect, made worse by the rise of piped water schemes and a general decline in community maintenance practices. The result has been predictable: silt-choked tanks, weed-infested ponds, and drying rivers. Yet, amid this deterioration, the resolve of jal sahelis offers both inspiration and hope.
A striking example of their commitment came in the blistering heat of mid-June, when a group of jal sahelis turned out in large numbers to clean the Mansarovar tank in Talbehat town. Their self-driven efforts—without the backing of a formal campaign or government directive—speak volumes about grassroots motivation and the deep connection these women share with their environment.
These water warriors are closely associated with Parmarth, a Bundelkhand-based voluntary organization known for its water conservation work. As Gaurav Pandey of Parmarth observes, “Even when no official program is scheduled, the jal sahelis find time from their busy routines to clean and maintain water sources. Their passion often draws others in, making it a community-wide effort.”
The stories emerging from villages like Chaudhri Khera in Chhattarpur district are nothing short of remarkable. When a local tank fell into disuse due to superstition, a woman volunteer named Ganga led a team of friends to de-silt it and build a bund to revive its water level. Their bold action not only brought the tank back to life but also helped the community break free from outdated beliefs.
Across the region, tanks in villages such as Siwaha, Mankani, Dhardati, Katora, and Badera have witnessed similar transformations, thanks to the voluntary work of jal sahelis. In Kirri, their efforts have extended to the restoration of historic water structures, reviving not just water flow but also cultural memory.
Similar efforts were seen on the Ghurari river, a tributary of the Betwa, where women waded into weed-choked waters to restore the river’s natural course and save aquatic life. These efforts, often carried out in grueling conditions, have drawn widespread appreciation from both villagers and environmentalists.
The jal sahelis’ work doesn’t stop with water bodies. In several villages, they’ve promoted the use of greywater from kitchens and baths for cultivating kitchen gardens—boosting household nutrition while demonstrating practical water recycling. In sanitation too, their contributions have been significant. Volunteers like Sarkunwar have ensured toilet access for marginalized families left out of earlier government programs, reinforcing public health and dignity.
These women exemplify what sustainable development can look like when rooted in local leadership, traditional wisdom, and voluntary action. Their achievements are not just about cleaning water sources—they’re about reclaiming community ownership over natural resources and rebuilding rural resilience in the face of climate stress.
At a time when ecological challenges loom large and government schemes often struggle to meet the ground reality, the jal sahelis offer a replicable model of citizen-led conservation. Their story is one of courage, collaboration, and quiet transformation—a reminder that when empowered, rural women are not just participants in development, but powerful leaders of it.
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The writer is Honorary Convener, Campaign to Save Earth Now. His recent books include Man Over Machine, Protecting Earth for Children, and India’s Quest for Sustainable Farming and Healthy Food
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