Tree Fallen, Birds Gone And Peace Vanished

When I was finding it hard to adjust to my new life after marriage in a different home, a flock of parrots in the big tree of my compound filled my heart with warmth and greeted me with their songs. Their chirping made the environment lively, and at that moment, I felt the coziness of my home again. It was a sweet nostalgia of my golden childhood days, when trees were abundant and the sight of birds over the trees was a common delight. Those moments reminded me of the time when the golden sun used to rise with the songs of birds and the evenings were of the fluttering of wings against the setting sun. 

However, this could not withstand the changing Kathmandu. With the rapid unplanned urbanisation of Kathmandu Valley, the number of trees has declined sharply, and the sight of a flock of parrots has become a rare event. The city that once echoed with the songs of nature is now filled with the noise of engines, construction, and human fuss. The only tree in my compound, which had been the refuge for those parrots, could no longer survive the growing urban pressure. It became a victim of development—a casualty of the road expansion project that promised progress but silently erased a piece of my memory.

Strange emptiness

With the tree gone, the birds no longer came to my compound. The mornings grew quieter, and I no longer felt the warmth I once did. The sense of belonging I thought I had with the presence of those birds slowly faded. It was as if something within me had been uprooted along with the tree. The disappearance of the birds brought a strange emptiness, a feeling of loss that went beyond nostalgia. It was as if the absence of their songs mirrored the growing distance between humans and nature.

This sense of loss deepened into what I later realised was a form of solastalgia—a distress caused by the transformation of one’s home environment. The landscape that once comforted me is disappearing, filling it with more concrete, which could accommodate more people in the city, but could hardly hold the emotions of humans. Maybe the birds, on the other side of nature, might be suffering the same fate. They, too, might have been suffering in silence. They, too, might be learning to adapt to constant human disturbances. The noise, pollution, and their shrinking habitats might have been worrying factors for them. Maybe with this new phenomenon, they must be living under constant vigilance.

Today, birds are rarely seen flying freely in the sky. The cheerful sounds that used to mark every dawn are more often replaced with blares from chaotic traffic and ever-busy humans. The stripping of the resilient and ecologically coherent landscape has inflicted emotional traumas not only on those who cherish nature but has also caused lasting damage to the environment where we survive. This delicate balance between humans, trees and birds – the triad that sustains life- has been broken – the consequences of which are yet to be noticed to full-swing. Our anthropogenic world has made the entire ecology precarious.

What may seem like a small act of cutting down a single tree has far-reaching consequences. The destruction of even one patch of greenery disrupts an entire chain of life. Trees outside forests—what experts call “Tree Out of Forest” (TOF)—play an essential role in supporting birds and biodiversity within urban spaces. In Kathmandu Valley alone, approximately 550 species of birds have been recorded in the past. But with the skyrocketing population and uncontrolled urban slump, their numbers have drastically declined, with some species on the verge of extinction.

Now, only crows and pigeons are commonly seen on the roofs of our concrete houses. These are the survivors—species that have learned to adapt to human life. Crows build their nests on electric poles, using pieces of human clothing and plastic wires. Pigeons have turned temple courtyards, window ledges, and building corners into their new homes. In temples, their presence has become part of the urban scene—pigeons fluttering close to humans, feeding on corn offered by devotees. For many, this sight feels soothing and peaceful. It has even given rise to small street businesses selling corn to tourists who take delight in feeding them.

But beneath this pleasant image lies another concern. The close contact between humans and these urban-adapted birds has brought health risks. Pigeons, for instance, can carry pathogens that transmit zoonotic diseases. What appears to be an innocent act of feeding the birds can sometimes invite silent threats. It is a reminder that when we cause damage to nature, the imbalance is harmful not only to the other-than-human worlds but is equally harmful to humans as well. 

The transformation of Kathmandu Valley’s landscape over the past few decades tells the same story in broader form. According to satellite observations, unorganised urban built-up areas have increased dramatically, while agricultural lands have shrunk. The fertile green fields that once defined the valley are being replaced by concrete structures and narrow lanes. Between 1990 and 2021, the valley has seen a 30 percent increase in built-up areas, while agricultural areas have decreased by over 33 percent as per a 2024 study published in The Himalayan Review titled “Urban Climate Change in Populated Kathmandu Valley, Nepal: A Case Study.” This rapid land conversion has caused a rise in land surface temperature, turning the valley into an urban heat island. Summers feel hotter in addition to the worsened air quality and drying water sources. 

The vibrant and coexisting ecology of Kathmandu Valley has now been transformed into a dense urban landscape filled with concrete buildings, traffic congestion, and environmental degradation. The valley, once known for its green, fertile, and scenic basin surrounded by the forested hills of Shivapuri, Phulchowki, Chandragiri, and Nagarjun, is losing its soul. What was once an example of harmony between humans and nature has now become a cautionary tale of what happens when development forgets its roots.

The suffering of this triad relationship—humans, birds, and the environment—reflects the precariousness of all existence. When one element in the chain collapses, the others soon follow. The story of the missing parrots in my compound may seem small, but it mirrors a global crisis. Across cities, the same pattern repeats: trees fall, birds disappear, temperatures rise, and humans lose their connection with the earth.

True prosperity 

In our rush to development, we often forget the harmonious relation. With every tree fall and with death of birds, our existence is also put into danger. Our interwoven relation with the nature makes us the ultimate sufferer of our reckless actions. So, it is beneficial to our survival if we could redefine development. True prosperity never comes at the cost of nature. Roads, buildings, and industries are the needs for development, but they should complement nature. Rather than replacing the essence of nature, we should strive to grow cordially with the environment. The planning of Kathmandu Valley requires a sustainable module that could nest nature and humans peacefully. 

Citizens, communities and authorities should be mindful of rebuilding on what has been left, instead of ruining it further. Destruction of nature cannot bring sustainable development. Citizens should be mindful to plant trees, not only for beautification but as an act to heal nature. Children should be nurtured to be environmentally sensitive. Authorities should enforce laws and rules that promote healthy environmental habits. 

It is high time for us to realise the reality that with the destruction of nature, the development we are striving for today will turn meaningless. A city without shades, without clean air and without birds is also without peace. The tree that once stood in my compound may be gone, but its memory lives on as a call for reflection—a call to protect what remains before it is too late.

(The writer is a government officer pursuing her master’s degree at Hiroshima University of Japan as a JDS Scholar.)