Women vs Water

✨ Women vs Water A moral story that will inspire you ✨

High up in the serene Uttarakhand hills, surrounded by thick forests, cool winds, and the distant echo of temple bells, there lay a small but culturally rich village called Raushila. 

This village was beautifully split into two parts—Talla Raushila, settled lower on the mountain slope, and Malla Raushila, perched at the very top. Although both shared the same sky, the same festivals, and the same heritage, their everyday lives were very different.

In Talla Raushila, the earth absorbed the rainfall water with ease. Water gathered naturally in small ponds and seeped into the soil. The government tap, placed at the center of the village, flowed generously almost all year. For the people of Talla Raushila, water was never a worry; it was a gift that arrived without effort.

But the story changed completely as one climbed up the steep path leading to Malla Raushila.
Because it sat at the peak of the hill, the rainwater never stayed long. 

It slid down the rocky slopes like silver ribbons and disappeared into the valleys below. The land remained dry, the soil cracked, and the taps in Malla Raushila remained empty for most of the year. As a result, the women of Malla Raushila walked nearly 2 to 2.5 kilometers every single day—sometimes twice a day—to fetch water from Talla Raushila.

The path was not easy. It twisted around pine trees, curved along slippery stones, and dropped steeply in some places. Every woman carried metal pots on her hips and clay vessels on her heads. 

The journey took strength, patience, and courage. But for generations, the people accepted it as destiny—especially the men, who believed that water collection was “a woman’s duty.”

Among these women was a strong-minded twenty-year-old named Ganga. She was known for her bright eyes that noticed everything, her quick mind that questioned everything, and her heart that refused to accept unfairness. 

As a young girl, she had watched her mother return each day with aching shoulders and cracked feet. Even her grandmother, now old and frail, had walked the same mountainous path for most of her life.

Ganga often wondered, “Why must only women suffer for water? Why does no one think of a solution?”
One evening, as she and the other women climbed back up with their filled pots, a sudden rainstorm broke out. 

The smooth stones turned slippery; the hill path transformed into a dangerous stream. Two women stumbled, nearly dropping their pots. Ganga’s mother gripped her arm tightly to avoid falling. By the time they reached Malla Raushila, all of them were drenched, exhausted, and silent.

That night, as the rain poured outside, Ganga sat near the dim lantern flame and felt anger rising inside her. Not anger at nature—but at the people who allowed this suffering to continue without question.
The next morning, she stood before the women gathered near the empty tap and spoke with a voice more powerful than her size.
“Every year rain falls on our mountain. Every drop belongs to us. But the water never stops here—not because we are unlucky, but because we never tried to make it stay. Why must our mothers and daughters walk miles, while our men sit and watch?”

Her words sliced through the silence like a fresh wind.
Some women looked confused. Some fearful. But many nodded, feeling the fire in Ganga’s words because they had lived the pain behind them.

That afternoon, Ganga invited all the women to gather near the highest rock, where rainwater flowed down quickly. She knelt, touched the ground, and said, “If we create small channels, build storage pits, and gather stones, we can hold the water here. We do not need big machines. We only need our unity.”

The women looked at one another. The idea was new… daring. But something inside them awakened.
From the next day, the women of Malla Raushila began working—quietly at first, almost secretly, afraid of criticism. 

They used shovels, sticks, old metal plates, and even their bare hands. They dug tiny rainwater harvesting pits, built small stone barriers, and shaped narrow channels along the slope so that the water could slow down and collect instead of rushing down to Talla Raushila.

The men of Malla Raushila watched from a distance, whispering and laughing.
“This is women’s foolishness,” one said.
“They can never stop water,” another added.
But the women ignored the voices and continued their work.

After two weeks of effort, sweat, and determination, the hillside no longer looked dry. It had stone lines, small pits, and freshly dug soil waiting for the monsoon to arrive. Even the old grandmother, who could no longer walk far, sat nearby offering guidance and encouragement.
Then came the first monsoon rain.

Dark clouds covered the peaks, thunder echoed across the valleys, and the rain fell heavily. The people stood watching as the water began its usual journey down the slope.
But this time… something different happened.
The water slowed.
It entered the small channels built by the women, filled the pits, and soaked into the soil. Little pools formed. The ground drank deeply.

For the first time in generations, Malla Raushila held its own water.
A week later, the government tap at the top dripped—just a little at first, then steadily. The women cheered as if they had won a great victory. Tears rolled down Ganga’s cheeks, not from sadness, but from pride.

The men, who had doubted them, stood silently, humbled. Some stepped forward and apologized. Others joined in helping build more channels and strengthen the water system.

Even the villagers of Talla Raushila climbed up to congratulate them.
“You have shown that when women lead, mountains listen,” an elder said.
From that day on, the daily walk for water ended. The women now had extra time—to rest, to learn, to work, to dream. The village transformed not just physically, but mentally. Respect grew. Equality grew. And hope grew.

Malla Raushila, once known for its dry land, earned a new name—
“The Village Where Women Changed the Mountain.”

🌿 Moral of the Story

When people—especially women—stand together with courage and unity, even the toughest problems can be solved. Change does not come from waiting; it comes from taking the first brave step.