The sons of the soil in the Madhes, who toil relentlessly under the scorching sun, relying on the mercy of the skies for rain, now find themselves humiliated at border checkpoints and treated like criminals, even facing jail, just to secure a sack of fertilizer for their own land. This is the harshest reality of Nepali agriculture.

On the morning of Asar 17, Suresh Prasad Singh and his brother Nagendra Prasad Singh of Balara-5, Sarlahi, went across the border to Sonbarsa, India, to buy fertilizer for their fields. Not only did they fail to bring back fertilizer, but they were also arrested by Indian security personnel and ended up in jail. This is not just a personal incident involving two farmers—it is a grave symbol of the failure of Nepal’s agricultural policy, the state’s dependent mentality, and our collective addiction to chemical fertilizers.

This incident raises a question: Can farmers truly not survive without chemical fertilizers? Or has a decades-old agricultural system instilled such a belief in them? If today’s farmers are willing to risk jail by crossing the border, it is not just a matter of fertilizer shortage. It is also the result of a dependency developed in our agricultural consciousness, a psychological bondage, and a lack of policy direction.

Every year in Nepal, the rice planting season brings a repeat of the chemical fertilizer crisis. The government claims there is enough fertilizer, but farmers do not get it in their fields. In a country with an annual demand of about 1.3 million tons of fertilizer, the government has set a target to manage only about 600,000 tons this time. So, the shortage is no surprise. But the more serious question is: Why do we repeat this problem every year? The answer lies not only in supply management but is hidden in our agricultural philosophy.

Agriculture in Nepal ran for thousands of years without chemical fertilizers. Systems based on manure, compost, green manure, livestock, and forests kept the soil alive. Fields were not just places of production; they were living ecosystems. Millions of microorganisms, earthworms, organic matter, and natural nutrient cycles were active in the soil. Farmers regarded the soil as a ‘mother,’ not just a means of production.

However, in the latter half of the twentieth century, the so-called ‘Green Revolution’ that spread worldwide changed the very thinking about agriculture. Along with high-yield seeds, chemical fertilizers like urea, DAP, and potash were made symbols of modernity. Multinational companies, international financial institutions, government agricultural extension systems, and the market collectively convinced farmers that chemical fertilizers were the only way to increase production. Thus, the center of agricultural knowledge shifted from the farmer to the market and the technocracy.

Just as environmentalist Rachel Carson warned in her classic book ‘Silent Spring’ about how chemical aggression renders nature mute, and agricultural activist Vandana Shiva described the Green Revolution in Punjab, India, as ‘The Violence of the Green Revolution,’ Nepal too is paying a heavy price for blindly following that path.

When farmers are taught for years that ‘crops won’t grow without fertilizer,’ ‘urea is the lifeblood of grain,’ and ‘chemical fertilizer is scientific agriculture,’ it becomes not just a technology but a mental structure.This is where the addiction to chemical fertilizers began. Addiction is not just the use of a substance—it is a psychological state where life without it seems impossible, even when alternatives exist. When farmers are taught for years that ‘crops won’t grow without fertilizer,’ ‘urea is the lifeblood of grain,’ and ‘chemical fertilizer is scientific agriculture,’ it becomes not just a technology but a mental structure. Farmers’ decisions gradually become based not on their own experience, but on beliefs created by the market.

This psychology also means dependency. Farmers become dependent not on their own fields, soil, barns, and biological resources, but on external markets, imports, and government subsidies. Such dependency is not only economic but also intellectual and psychological. Ultimately, the farmer becomes more of a consumer than the owner of his own field. The use of chemical fertilizers appears to increase yields in the initial years. This experience boosted its popularity. But short-term gains masked long-term damage. The organic matter in the soil gradually decreased. The diversity of microorganisms began to disappear. Earthworms started to vanish. The soil structure deteriorated. Its water retention capacity declined. Today, many farmers admit that where one sack of fertilizer used to suffice, now two or three are needed. This does not mean the soil has become more fertile; rather, it is losing its natural strength.

Another serious impact of chemical fertilizers is seen in the environment. Excessive nitrogen-rich fertilizers emit greenhouse gases like nitrous oxide, which accelerate climate change. With rainfall, fertilizers run off into rivers, ponds, and groundwater. This pollutes water, causes excessive algae growth, and affects aquatic life. Its indirect impact on human health is also severe. The unbalanced use of chemical fertilizers can increase heavy metals in the soil and reduce the micronutrient quality of food grains, creating a situation where ‘the stomach is full but nutrition is lacking.’

Economically, too, chemical fertilizers have not made farmers independent. Every year, the uncertainty of fertilizer prices, transportation, subsidies, imports, and distribution worries farmers. Production costs rise, but market prices are beyond the farmer’s control. Ultimately, farmers are trapped in a cycle of debt, uncertainty, and risk. Despite so many problems, why does the obsession with chemical fertilizers persist? To enslave a person, you don’t have to put chains on his hands; if you make him believe the chains are freedom, he himself becomes their protector. When we probe the reasons behind the obsession with chemical fertilizers, we arrive at this point, because it is not just a question of agricultural technology, but of development psychology. We equated modernity with foreign goods. We considered imported technology scientific and our own traditions backward. Manure became a symbol of poverty, and factory-made fertilizer a symbol of prosperity. Thus, an import-oriented mindset was given prestige over self-reliance.

This mentality gave the international chemical industry a vast market, and the import-based commercial structure continued to profit. The state itself also opted for easy solutions. Building organic agricultural systems, training farmers, developing compost industries, and reconnecting agriculture with livestock were difficult tasks. Instead, importing fertilizer seemed easier in the short term. As a result, policy prioritized short-term management over long-term solutions.

While the Government of Nepal allocated Rs. 32.46 billion for chemical fertilizers, only Rs. 400 million was set aside for promoting organic agriculture. This ratio is nearly 81:1, meaning that for every 1 rupee spent to save the soil, 81 rupees are spent to import chemicals that degrade it. This budget contradiction shows that while policy speaks the language of sustainable agriculture, in practice it continues down the path of chemical dependency. Unfortunately, the budget’s priorities seem to favor large businesses in the name of ‘commercial agriculture’ rather than ordinary farmers. There is no concrete plan for real farmers with low incomes, but the government has a program to provide a 40 percent subsidy to large agribusinesses investing at least Rs. 20 million. In other words, while the budget talks about farmers, its benefits seem to be designed for traders. The risk of declining agricultural production due to climate change is increasing. And currently, fluctuations in global fertilizer prices are making Nepal’s import costs unstable. Although this heavy subsidy on chemical fertilizers may provide temporary relief, it is clear that in the long run, it will only make our agricultural system more fragile.

The alternative is not in the superficial slogan of ‘let’s ban chemical fertilizers.’ The alternative lies in restoring organic fertility. Organic fertilizer is not just manure—it is a comprehensive system involving compost, vermicompost, green manure, bio-microbes, bioslurry, plant residues, and integration with livestock. This not only nourishes the soil but brings it to life. While adopting organic agriculture may cause fluctuations in yields in the initial years, in the long term, soil fertility and water retention improve, production costs decrease, and farmers become free from external dependency.

For an agriculture-based country like Nepal, organic agriculture is not just a health issue but also a matter of national security. No country should make its food system entirely dependent on imported fertilizers—it is suicidal. Price hikes, wars, or supply disruptions in the international market directly affect farmers’ fields. Self-reliant agriculture is the real foundation of our national independence.

For this, it is not enough for the government to simply increase the fertilizer import budget. It is necessary to establish compost centers in every local unit, promote livestock, provide incentives to cooperatives producing organic fertilizer, and ensure a market for organic products. Subsidies for farmers should focus not on chemical fertilizers, but on programs that increase the soil’s organic fertility. In addition, agricultural research institutions should prioritize research on local crop varieties, mixed farming, and organic technologies. Science does not mean going against nature, but understanding nature’s laws and cooperating with them.

The incident involving the Singh brothers of Sarlahi is actually a mirror. In that mirror, we see not just two farmers, but the face of an entire flawed agricultural policy. If farmers are forced to cross the border to buy fertilizer, the problem is not with them, but with an agricultural system that has not taught them to trust their own soil.