BARMER, BIKANER, LITTLE RANN OF KUTCH
About 40km southwest of Jaisalmer city, at Sam, a large swathe of golden sand dunes—rising and falling like waves—suddenly emerges. As it is still autumn, with the desert air holding a lingering warmth, the peak tourist season is yet to pick up. However, a few early visitors dot the landscape, riding atop camels draped in vivid saddle cloth called jhul and with necks adorned with colourful beaded tassels and ankles jingling with tiny ghungroos or bells.
It is a stunning sight but also a perplexing one. Just across the road, the scene shifts dramatically: no dunes, no camels—only a line of tents, hotels, restaurants and roadside dhabas—as if the dunes and camels exist more as ceremonial props, carefully staged to deliver the ‘typical’ desert experience.
Strangely enough, this isn’t just a Sam phenomenon. It reflects a larger, rapid transformation sweeping across the Great Indian Thar, one that threatens this resilient ecosystem, its diverse flora and fauna and a way of life that has endured for centuries despite miserly rain and harsh conditions.
Imagine Kashmir turning into a rainforest, or mangroves taking root in central India, or Kerala becoming a desert. Sounds implausible? Yet, something equally dramatic is unfolding in the Thar.
The desert is turning green!
A greener, wetter desert
When IIT Gandhinagar professor Vimal Mishra, with collaborators Hiren Solanki and Ramakrishna Nemani, published ‘Greening of the Thar Desert driven by climate change and human interaction’ in the journal Cell Reports Sustainability earlier this year, they might not have anticipated the buzz the paper would create. The study records the Thar desert in India seeing a staggering 38 per cent rise in greening over the past two decades. Otherwise known for its dunes, rocky trails, seasonal grasslands and salt plains, the Thar in India is primarily spread across 13 districts of Rajasthan, northwestern Gujarat (mainly the Kutch region) and parts of Punjab and Haryana. It further extends into southeastern Pakistan.
What is even more striking is that the region, typically characterised by extremely low rainfall, experienced a dramatic 64 per cent rise in precipitation between 2001 and 2023. Along with climate change-induced rise in rainfall, human intervention in the form of groundwater pumping and irrigation facilities through canals has also contributed to the Thar’s greening. Rainfall contributes 45 per cent of the greening annually, states the study, while groundwater supports 55 per cent.
Water, water everywhere?
In the parched stretches of the Thar, women traditionally walked long distances to fetch the desert’s most precious commodity—water—balancing earthen pots on their heads and snug against their waists. Along the way, they would create songs, melodiously describing the importance of rainfall and water. One of these is ‘Panihari’, meaning a woman who fetches water, which remains a popular folk song in Rajasthan.
But today, in Boli village of Rajasthan’s Barmer district, rain is no longer only a blessing. Despite the autumn season, signs of unseasonal shower are everywhere. A woman, clad in a traditional attire, covers harvested bajra with a plastic sheet, protecting it from the unexpected downpour before slipping into her dhani—a mud-and-thatch hut—whose roof, too, is now wrapped in plastic.
Shortly after, a farmer, Tikmaram, steps out into the field. “Half the crop is gone,” he says flatly. “Rain is good for farming, but not when it comes at the wrong time.”
Some 240km south, in Gujarat’s Little Rann of Kutch, known for its vast salt marshes, Sujabhai Pathubhai Rajput’s field lies submerged, a consequence of relentless rains. “The entire field is now covered with salt, and it will take months before it gets cleared,” says Rajput, 53, who has witnessed two droughts in his lifetime but admits, “I haven’t seen anything like that in the last 20 years.”
“We have gone back by at least a year,” says Niru, whose field—where her family grows jowar, maize, peanuts, cumin and mustard seeds—too, is inundated by water. “We also lost 10 cows,” she laments.
Until August 27, Gujarat had recorded 473.7mm of rainfall—32 per cent above normal. Rajasthan had received 452.5mm, a staggering 52 per cent surplus, compared to the 7 per cent national surplus. Last year, the state received 678.4mm of monsoon rain against a normal of 435.6mm, making it the third-highest since 1908. In western Rajasthan, which comprises much of the Thar, six of 10 districts recorded ‘large excess’ rainfall (60 per cent or more). These included Barmer, Bikaner, Churu, Jaisalmer, Jodhpur and Nagaur, as per the Rajasthan Monsoon Report-2024. By mid-August last year, Jaisalmer, typically India’s seventh driest district, emerged as the eighth wettest in the country. By then, it had received more rainfall than anywhere in north India except Bageshwar in Uttarakhand.
It is perhaps ironic that while a section of Bikaner’s ornate Junagarh Fort, aptly named the Badal Mahal (cloud palace), celebrates rain through its vivid blue-and-white frescoes of clouds and lightning, its desert counterpart, Jaisalmer’s 12th-century Sonar Fort, suffered structural damage, with a wall collapsing following last year’s rainfall. Built by Rawal Jaisal and a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the Sonar Fort, the colour of whose walls mimics the sand, is one of the few living forts in the world.
While more rain is generally seen as beneficial, particularly in desert ecosystems, it is not always so simple. “It is erratic and localised, meaning it is heavy in some places and barely there in others. It arrives with a grand entry, followed by long lulls. When we look at the numbers, we often focus on the averages, but miss the fine print,” says Anshul Ojha, head of the Desert Resource Centre, at Urmul Seemant Samiti, a nonprofit organisation in Bajju village, Bikaner, that works in health, education and employment sectors.
When irrigation transforms a desert
Groundwater pumping, along with irrigation infrastructure and power supply, also contributed to the greening, cites the study. The region, often rendered as barren and unproductive, also experienced a significant agricultural expansion with cropped area rising by 74 per cent and irrigated area by 24 per cent between 1980 and 2015.
From Barmer city to Boli village, farms now stretch across the landscape. Shifting sand dunes that once lay in the middle of the road, blocking the way, are now replaced by puddles of water. Buffaloes, not your traditional desert animal owing to their high water needs, can be seen lazing here and there. Wild cacti still line the roads, but beyond them, expansive fields unfold in varying shades of green, nourished by sprinkler irrigation. It is a striking juxtaposition and a fitting representation of what the Thar was, and what it is becoming.
While he has traditionally grown bajra, cumin and isabgol, Tikmaram now cultivates wheat as well. “Earlier, wheat wouldn’t grow here,” he says. “But since the sweet water of the Narmada reached us, I have started growing it as a rabi crop.” He is referring to the Narmada Canal, which brings water from Gujarat’s Sardar Sarovar Dam to Rajasthan’s drought-prone districts of Jalore and Barmer.
In Gujarat’s Little Rann of Kutch, Niru echoes a similar shift. Farming, once limited to a single three-month monsoon cycle, has expanded. “Now we grow crops three times a year, thanks to the availability of groundwater,” she says.
Date farming has picked up in the Thar, so has pomegranate. While these are still resilient to hot and dry climates, reports of a farmer growing apples in the desert stunned many earlier this year. Meanwhile, water-intensive rice cultivation also expanded in Rajasthan, rising from 1,46,674 hectares in 2021-2022 to 1,81,063 hectares in 2022–2023. Between 2021–2022 and 2022–2023, Rajasthan’s gross cropped area increased from 2,74,41,850 hectares to 2,81,71,106 hectares. During the same period, the gross sown area rose from 93,12,252 to 97,48,549 hectares, while the gross irrigated area grew from 1,18,64,951 to 1,25,82,891 hectares.
Already the most populated desert in the world, the Thar witnessed a dramatic rise in urban areas between 1985 to 2020, the report noted. While low land prices and cultivation potential contributed to this expansion, a key driver was improved water availability.
Here, the Indira Gandhi Canal, which channels Himalayan water from the Sutlej and Beas rivers via Punjab’s Harike Barrage, has been especially transformative, reshaping the arid landscape of northwestern Rajasthan.
The canal paradox
The introduction of the Indira Gandhi Canal in the 1980s was no less than a watershed moment for the Thar. The canal enters Rajasthan at Suratgarh in Sri Ganganagar district, flows through Hanumangarh and then enters the desert areas of Bikaner. From there, it extends further into Jaisalmer, Barmer and parts of Jodhpur.
The canal water thus changed this parched landscape by enhancing water availability, fuelling agricultural expansion and fostering more economic opportunities.
However, this prosperity has come at a cost.
“No doubt, the canal has brought many benefits to the region,” says Ojha. “But if you visit canal-irrigated areas today, it hardly feels like Rajasthan any more, [it is more like] Punjab. And since we already have a Punjab story, we shouldn’t be so keen to recreate it. As a matter of fact, we are recreating it. You will see a change in the food system, along with social changes such as a rise in crime and drug use. Where is it coming from? It happens when the nature of a bio-region is transformed.”
He also points out a stark contrast between rain-fed and irrigated areas. “You would immediately make out a difference between the ambitions of the people,” says Ojha. “And all these are important matters as the control of the canal isn’t with Rajasthan. If Punjab has to decide, it will always prioritise its people.”
Notably, 83 per cent of Punjab’s area is under agriculture. And about 3.3 per cent of its total geographical area is under land degradation and desertification.
From drylands to breeding grounds
Just as water became abundant, so did something the desert had never known before—mosquitoes, and the diseases they carry.
“There used to be no malaria in the desert,” says Dr Partap Singh Kataria, head of the department of zoology at Dungar College, Bikaner. “The Indira Gandhi Nahar Project created new water bodies, which became breeding grounds for mosquitoes. Today, vector-borne diseases are a major problem in the region.”
According to reports, the Thar witnessed its first malaria outbreak in 1990, seven years after the completion of Stage I of the Indira Gandhi Canal. The outbreak claimed 48 lives. An even larger outbreak followed in 1994, resulting in nearly double the casualties. And in 2003, malaria spread despite rain failure.
And mosquitoes aren’t the only problem.
A viral threat
Maheshon ki Dhani is a sleepy village in an otherwise popular Pokhran tehsil. Hordes of sheep, cows and camels can be seen drinking water from a large pond as several birds and butterflies also share the space. Suddenly, camels enter the water body, showcasing how this ‘ship of the desert’ is just as comfortable in water.
“Many of them have skin diseases. I don’t understand why,” says camel herder Kumbh Singh.
Nearby, a cow is sitting on the sandy, thorny ground, swarmed by flies. A little farther away, a calf looks weakened, its body entirely covered with skin lesions. Not just the one, several other cows, too, can be seen with similar lesions.
It is the dreaded lumpy skin disease, or LSD, a viral infection that spreads via mosquitoes, ticks and flies. In 2022, a major outbreak claimed a significant cattle population in the Thar region.
In Gujarat, the Rann of Kutch was among the worst-hit, with 6,000 bovines lost. Heavy monsoon rains worsened the outbreak by creating more breeding grounds for virus-carrying insects. This year, too, the state reported 300 cases in just 15 days of onset of monsoons.
“A desert is a desert because of low rainfall and humidity. But humidity is now rising,” says Sumit Dookia, associate professor at Delhi’s Guru Gobind Singh Indraprastha University, who has expertise in animal ecology and wildlife biology. Humidity, notably, aids the spread of LSD.
Changing cropping patterns
Meanwhile, in Barmer’s Boli village, Tikmaram has lost half his bajra harvest to the rains. Cumin remains his most profitable crop. Yet, he is now noticing changes in its flowering. “I plant an additional crop alongside cumin as a backup, in case it fails,” he explains.
Even isabgol, a hardy, drought-resistant crop, seems to be taking a hit. “I don’t know why it no longer grows. But wherever the water of Narmada reaches, isabgol ceases to grow,” he says.
Khejri, Rajasthan’s state tree, is also known as kalpavriksha—the tree of life. It produces bean-like pods called sangri, a traditional desert staple in the absence of vegetables. Earlier this year, the state’s iconic Ker-Sangri dish received a GI tag. Beyond its pods, khejri provides wood and fodder. However, in recent years, farmers have reported pests and gall formation on the tree, affecting sangri production.
While the greening and expansion of agriculture may seem beneficial initially, villagers and the poor are likely to be the most affected in the long run, says Kataria. “The entire cropping pattern is set to change, and it will take years to fully understand it,” he says.
According to Dookia, the cropping pattern is already changing. While horticulture crops were traditionally limited in the Thar due to the arid climate, sandy soil and low water availability, “a good number of these are being grown here now,” he notes.
Meanwhile, improved water availability has fuelled agricultural expansion, but it has also brought a rise in crop-destroying animals. In the Little Rann of Kutch, farming has increased from once a year to thrice a year. “However, we now face more animals that damage our crops, foremost among them the nilgai (blue bull) and wild pigs,” says Niru.
In Jaisalmer, despite being crippled in one leg, Sawai Singh rears sheep. “I am also a small farmer and grow bajra,” he says. “But wild pigs are a huge challenge. They destroy everything. At times, we stay awake all night to guard the fields, but still don’t get to see the crops ripen.”
That’s not all. “Since gaining access to irrigation, we have started using chemicals like urea instead of the organic manure we relied on before,” says Tikmaram. “And if we want higher yields than before, we need to use even more fertilisers. These chemicals heat up the soil, which in turn increases the demand for water.”
Groundwater depletion
No conversation on Rajasthan’s foremost dishes is complete without the mention of Jodhpur’s famous laal maas—‘red meat’. The colour ‘laal’ in it is drawn from the fiery red Mathania chillies, named after the village in Jodhpur where they are grown.
Despite being predominantly arid, the fields of Mathania have long been painted a lush red, thanks to a robust irrigation system with multiple tubewells on every farm since the mid-1990s. For years, the area didn’t face water scarcity, but recently the situation began to shift.
“Our tubewells and borewells are running dry,” says Mahendra Devasi, a driver who also farms in the region. “Earlier, our village could supply water to neighbouring villages. Now, we don’t even have enough for ourselves.”
According to the study by researchers at IIT Gandhinagar, while the Thar has undergone a substantial agricultural expansion, it has, in turn, driven groundwater depletion. “The region is experiencing rapid GW depletion, reflecting an imbalance between water extraction and recharge rates,” the experts noted.
Meanwhile, in Ramsar village of Barmer district, water in the tubewells is saline, the villagers note. Hence, they depend on traditional water conservation techniques such as community ponds, with local organisations such as Dhara Sansthan working towards their upkeep.
“While we have conferences on water conservation, people in Delhi and Mumbai should learn it from those in Barmer,” says Rawat Tribhuvan Singh, member of the erstwhile royal family of Barmer. “Since groundwater is saline at several places here, people add flour to it and feed it to the cattle. So we don’t even waste saline water.”
Meanwhile, at the BSF Golf Club in Bikaner, acres of what would otherwise be arid, sandy ground are now carpeted in green, sustained by sprinklers that draw water from deep beneath the surface. Clusters of native and foreign, often invasive, trees stand side by side: the desi babool beside its foreign cousin, the native khejri next to shisham. A brilliant kingfisher perches on a branch, but the real surprise is the bamboo—a sight one wouldn’t expect in the heart of the desert.
It is a relaxing environment in an otherwise harsh desert. And instantly, a question strikes: is this the ideal that policymakers have long sought to create out of the desert?
A misunderstood ecosystem?
Often referred to as marusthal, or barren land, the desert has long been seen as unproductive and barren. “The term ‘desert’ is ecological but is often used literally, giving an impression there is nothing here,” says Dookia. “Yet, it was this desert ecosystem where we have survived for centuries,” says Singh.
It is assumed that nothing grows in a desert, which is wrong, says Ojha. “If you look at production from an input vs output lens, you will realise that it produces whatever it does at very little cost,” he adds. “For example, much of the milk comes from the Thar region. How is it possible if the land is barren? We also produce essential oils such as mustard and sesame.”
Yet, while the British began planting woody species for timber, successive rulers, governments and policymakers have continued efforts to tame the desert. One of the most well-known being an erstwhile king of Jodhpur who scattered bagfuls of vilayati babool (Prosopis juliflora) to make the desert green. Originally from Mexico, that vilayati babool, an invasive species, went on to take over a large part of the Thar, earning the moniker baavlia (the mad one) in Jodhpur and gando baval (mad tree) in Gujarat.
Similarly, earlier this year, Rajasthan banned the invasive Israeli babool (Acacia tortilis) from its government-run nurseries over ecological concerns. Native to the arid regions of the Middle East and Africa, the tree was introduced in the country in the 1950s-1960s for afforestation and to stabilise sand dunes.
Under Mission Hariyalo Rajasthan, the BJP government in the state will plant 10 crore trees in 2025-2026.
“We have to understand that the desert is an ecosystem—a fully viable, thriving one—where animals and plants have adapted in such a way that they can live in harsh conditions. Because of greening, we are seeing a drop in native species,” says Dookia, who belongs to Rajasthan’s Nagaur district.
Kataria gives the example of Sawan ki Dokri (an old lady of the monsoon), the red velvet mite that would appear in the desert during the rainy season. “It used to be so abundant during the rains that it was named after it. However, now you hardly get to see them,” he says.
Dookia points to the Russell’s viper, typically found in warm, humid climates. “I first spotted one in Jodhpur in 2007. Today, we have well-documented records of the species in both Barmer and Jodhpur,” he says.
Also, despite being the postcard image of the Thar desert, there have been consistent efforts to stabilise sand dunes, hence posing a risk to the native species.
The change in the desert landscape has been especially damaging to the Great Indian Bustard, or Godawan, the state bird of Rajasthan. While the windmills and power lines in the region pose a risk, so does the rise in rainfall. “The GIB roams around on less grassy patches. But due to increased and irregular rain, the grasses become taller. So the bird scatters to other landscapes,” says Parth Jagani, a Jaisalmer resident, who works in the space of ecology, especially on Godawan in the region.
He also points to the decline of the spiny-tailed lizard, a burrowing species “vital for keeping the soil soft. Many birds and animals, including eagles, kites and jackals, also prey on it,” he explains.
Speaking on afforestation drives, Jagani notes that the government often plants non-native trees in the Thar. “Neem, shisham and tortillis are planted, but local animals and birds don’t eat them. In the name of plantation, we are driving our native species toward extinction,” he says.
“We plant invasive species without thinking of its impact on the local flora and fauna, which we only get to see after 5-10 years,” says Kataria. Here, he points at the role of the Indira Gandhi Canal. “Along with the canal water, some Himalayan fishes are also coming to the desert.”
Camels on decline
Notably, while the buffalo population in Rajasthan rose by 5.53 per cent from 2012 to 2019, that of camels, the state animal, dropped by 34.69 per cent from 3,25,713 to 2,12,739.
“Camels didn’t disappear, their use did,” says Singh, referring to it being declared Rajasthan’s state animal that impacted its trade. Mechanisation at farms and in transport also dealt a major blow. “Thirty years ago, a camel would sell for Rs5 lakh. Now it has dropped to just Rs30,000,” he says.
Here, Dr Anil Puniya, director of the ICAR–National Research Centre on Camel, Bikaner, highlights the camel’s unique traits. “A camel browses on 40–45 plant species, including medicinal ones, and converts them into milk, which is highly nutritious, especially for diabetics and individuals with autism,” he says, adding that further research is still needed.
In a bid to reverse the decline in their population, the ministry of fisheries, animal husbandry and dairying is planning to launch the National Camel Sustainability Initiative.
Good or bad? It’s complicated!
In 2018, a group of researchers from Jai Narain Vyas University, Jodhpur, discovered fossils in Barmer belonging to mayflies, a primitive insect with transparent wings that lives near water. Upon study, the fossils revealed that the area wasn’t a desert but was under a tropical forest with vast river systems 55 million years ago. The Thar was also the region where the Indus Valley Civilisation flourished, and where the river Saraswati is believed to have flown.
So does the greening indicate nature restoring the land’s true form?
“Yes, extinction and evolution are natural phenomena where one species dies down, and another takes its place, but this shouldn’t be human-induced. What’s happening is that because of human intervention, the rate of extinction has increased multifold,” says Kataria.
So what’s the implication of the greening of the Thar Desert?
“While the agricultural and urban expansion in the Thar region has been remarkable, sustaining it in the future might be challenging,” the study points out. “Despite the rise in the summer monsoon rainfall, a substantial increase in dry and moist heat extremes during the summer and monsoon seasons may pose challenges for energy demands for cooling and irrigation, reduce labour capacity and lead to water scarcity during the dry season.”
According to Mishra, the greening of the Thar is both good and bad, based on how you look at it. “For livelihood, it is good. But in terms of its impact on the climate in general, there could be changes in micro-climate, wind movements. Sustainability will eventually depend on the greed. So, for example, if we start growing rice or crops unsuitable for the region, we will be using 10 times more water than traditional crops,” he says. “And sadly, most such decisions are made not looking at sustainability but economics.”
Meanwhile, Singh says, although life has become easier with no shifting sand dunes and better water availability, the greening comes at a cost. “What is important is that ecologists come here and tell us what we should plant, and the government should bring about strict laws.”
Here, experts also point out that increased rainfall, and thus, cooling of the desert, could change weather patterns, especially monsoons, as the region works as a suction pump working as a low pressure area during summers.
For Ojha, it is not a matter of green or brown, “but if the resilience of the desert has been compromised with the green”. As Singh puts it succinctly, “It is not that our people should know swimming, we know camel-riding and that’s more than enough.”