In the village of Puthalaha in Darbhanga district, Bihar, Ganesh Ray stands knee-deep in his makhana pond, watching the sun rise over the water. For him, this isn’t just farming; it’s a legacy. “I’ve been doing this for 20 years,” he says. “Now my son has joined me too. Makhana is booming.”
A few years ago, makhana, also known as fox nuts, was largely confined to puja offerings, household kitchens in eastern India, and the occasional loose snack sold in neighbourhood shops. Today, it sits alongside almonds, protein bars, and trail mixes on supermarket shelves, marketed as a light, clean, and “guilt-free” snack. This shift has little to do with tradition and everything to do with changing food habits.
As urban consumers seek snacks that are low in fat, minimally processed, and easy to eat on the move, makhana has quietly found its moment. Packed with protein, low in fat, and promoted as a “superfood”, it is now sold in international snack aisles and wellness stores. Demand has surged in India and abroad, driving prices up and transforming a traditional aquatic crop into a high-value commodity. Estimates place the broader makhana economy at close to a ₹50,000-crore industry, a scale unimaginable a decade ago.
But this prosperity rests on water. As rainfall grows erratic, ponds dry earlier, and groundwater increasingly fills the gap, makhana’s success raises a larger question for Mithila: can a crop so deeply dependent on water continue to grow without exhausting the very systems that sustain it?
Health-driven eating trends are reshaping snack markets worldwide, and makhana has emerged as an unlikely winner. In India, the makhana market was valued at about ₹8.5 billion in 2024 and is projected to grow to nearly ₹19.6 billion by 2033, at a compound annual growth rate of over 9 percent. Around 60–65 percent of urban snack consumers now actively seek healthier alternatives, pushing fox nuts from a niche product into the mainstream.
This rise parallels the rapid expansion of India’s packaged food sector, which is growing at roughly 13 percent annually. Makhana has ridden this wave closely. Flavoured varieties now account for nearly 30 percent of retail sales, making the snack more familiar to younger and urban consumers. What was once cultivated almost entirely in traditional ponds is now increasingly grown in flooded agricultural fields as well. This shift has boosted yields and incomes, turning makhana into a viable commercial model for farmers. It has also intensified pressure on water, labour, and local ecosystems.
Bihar produces nearly 90 percent of India’s makhana, with the pond-rich Mithila region at its heart. Darbhanga, Madhubani, Purnia, and Katihar form the core belt, where ponds shape both landscape and livelihoods.
The scale of expansion has been striking. Bihar’s makhana cultivation area grew from 13,000 hectares in 2012-13 to 35,000 hectares in 2021-22. Seed production increased from 20,800 tonnes to 56,400 tonnes over the same period. Under state-supported schemes, cultivation spread from 10 districts to 16, marking a decisive shift from subsistence livelihoods to commercial farming.
For farmers, the attraction is clear. Traditional pond cultivation yields around 15 quintals per hectare. Field-based cultivation—a relatively recent innovation—produces about 25 quintals per hectare, while experienced growers report yields of up to 30 quintals per hectare using field methods. Few crops in the region offer comparable returns.
Makhana cultivation begins in late winter, when ponds are desilted and cleared of weeds. Farmers repair embankments, building gentle earthen slopes to prevent collapse. Lime, manure, and fertiliser are added to improve soil conditions. Seedlings are raised in nursery ponds during March and April, using either saved seeds or those supplied by Krishi Vigyan Kendras. By mid-April, they are transplanted into main ponds.
Water depth is critical throughout the cycle. The crop requires 2–4 feet of water initially, rising to 4–6 feet by harvest. Aquatic weeds present major challenges during the planting stage. Common species include Cyperus difformis (most prevalent), Sagittaria guayanensis, Marsilea quadrifolia, and in flooded summer plots, Cyperus rotundus and algae. Farmers control weeds primarily through manual removal and by lowering water levels. Herbicides have limited effectiveness once monsoon rains refill the ponds.
Harvesting begins in August–September and remains entirely manual. Mallah labourers wade chest-deep into water for six to eight hours a day, pulling lotus-like leaves and collecting seed pods by hand or with knives. The work continues for weeks until all pods are gathered. While some stages of processing—washing, grading, roasting—have seen partial mechanisation, field labour has not.
“Makhana is used in our food, rituals, and day-to-day life,” says Ganesh Ray, a makhana farmer, invoking the familiar proverb “pag pag mach makhan”—fish and makhana at every step. For him, the crop is inseparable from local culture. What was once cultivated mainly in ponds owned by landlords has now become a livelihood for many small farmers. New entrants are also taking up cultivation by flooding agricultural fields.
Ray notes that declining surface water has altered practices. Most farmers now rely on groundwater to fill ponds, a shift that worries many in the region.
Farmers follow different arrangements to manage cultivation. Some lease out land, earning ₹5–6 lakh per acre annually. Others adopt the bataiya system, sharing profits equally with fisherfolk who handle cultivation. Ray manages the operation himself. On average, he harvests 8–10 quintals per acre, selling makhana at ₹28,000–33,000 per quintal, depending on demand. Prices rise sharply during festivals such as Durga Puja, Diwali, and Chhath.
For Mithila’s fisherfolk, makhana cultivation has become both a necessity and an opportunity. Ramsurat Sahni, a makhana farmer from a nearby riverside village, belongs to a fishing community that traditionally depended on rivers for livelihood. With declining catches, Sahni and his family now lease land for makhana cultivation. “We don’t have our own land. My son and I handle all work from harvesting to processing,” he says. For his family, makhana provides employment for nearly ten months of the year.
Generations of experience with water give fisherfolk a distinct advantage, yet land ownership remains elusive. Many continue to work as lessees or labourers despite their expertise. Monu Kumar, another fisherfolk worker, explains, “Our family has been working in makhana fields since my grandfather’s time. Many of us migrate to Katihar and Purnia, but my mother, wife, and I work here.”
Specialised knowledge shapes every stage. “Sowing requires precise understanding of water depth, and we remove weeds before harvest to protect future yields,” he says. The first harvest alone can take ten days with a team of ten people, after which women collect leftover seeds.
Despite the boom, wages remain low. Harvest wages typically range between ₹40–60 per kilogram of raw seeds, translating to ₹500–800 per day, depending on output. During peak demand, payments may rise to ₹100 per kilogram, but rates remain informal and inconsistent. Injuries mean unpaid days of rest, and work is seasonal, concentrated between April and May and September and November.
Dr Manoj Kumar, Senior Scientist at the National Research Centre for Makhana (NRCM), Darbhanga, has witnessed the crop’s rapid transformation. Established in 2002, NRCM remains the world’s only institute dedicated exclusively to makhana research. “Five to seven years ago, makhana was grown on about 15,000 hectares. Today, it has crossed 40,000–45,000 hectares,” he says, calling it “a major transformation for any crop in such a short time.”
This expansion coincides with a shift from ponds to fields. “Earlier, yields were around 15 quintals per hectare. Now farmers routinely get 25 quintals, and experienced growers even touch 30 quintals,” he explains.
Income gains have been equally striking. “Farmers earning around ₹50,000 per hectare five years ago are now making ₹3–4 lakh, and up to ₹5 lakh in good years,” Dr Kumar says. India currently produces around 35,000 tonnes of makhana. “Given rising global awareness of its nutritional and medicinal value, this could increase tenfold,” he adds.
While Mithila remains the core, cultivation is spreading to Madhya Pradesh, Assam, Chhattisgarh, Jharkhand, Uttar Pradesh, and West Bengal. “‘Mithila Makhana’ is a Geographical Indication, not a variety,” Dr Kumar clarifies.
As an aquatic crop, makhana is deeply sensitive to water quality. “Excessive use of agrochemicals can easily pollute water,” Dr Manoj Kumar warns, urging farmers to minimise pesticides and adopt organic practices. Neem-based biopesticides, used at 3–5 ml per litre, offer safer alternatives.
Water source is equally critical. “Makhana should not be expanded in groundwater-dependent areas,” he cautions. Instead, cultivation should rely on surface and rainwater. Integrated systems—combining makhana with fish—offer promise, provided 15 percent of the pond area remains open and water depth is maintained at 3–4 feet.
Harvesting is physically demanding and dangerous. Workers face risks of drowning, snake and scorpion bites, waterborne diseases, and heat exhaustion. There is no standard wage or insurance coverage.
Processing is no easier. After drying seeds for nearly ten days, they are fried repeatedly before being cracked. Raman Kumar, who handles this stage, says, “My wife and I spend the whole day on this.” Standing besides the furnace affects health, but the work keeps the family rooted. “It is still better than migrating to Delhi or Punjab,” he adds. Prices for cracked makhana range between ₹600 and ₹800 per kilogram, depending on quality.
Government support has expanded alongside the boom. The GI tag for “Mithila Makhana” was granted in 2022. Farmers receive a 75 percent subsidy on cultivation. With total costs estimated at ₹97,000 per hectare, cultivators bear only ₹24,250.
The Union Budget 2025–26 announced a ₹100 crore Makhana Board for Bihar, aimed at improving price discovery, branding, research, and storage. Twenty-one cooperatives have been formed in Darbhanga and Madhubani districts to provide farmers with marketing channels.
Women’s participation has increased, with several FPOs and processing units now women-led. Yet structural gaps persist. Anil Kumar, a social worker, points out that makhana farming remains under-mechanised. “There is a serious lack of appropriate machinery and productive equipment for makhana cultivation here,” he says. Women, who are involved in multiple stages from cleaning and grading to processing, often do this work without adequate tools or technological support. Much raw makhana is transported outside Bihar for processing. “When processing happens elsewhere, Bihar loses indirect employment,” he explains.
Makhana farming in Mithila sits squarely at the intersection of water and climate risk. The region’s agriculture depends heavily on rainfall and surface water, making it especially vulnerable as weather patterns become more erratic. Over the last decade, rainfall in North Bihar has grown increasingly unpredictable. A 2025 assessment noted that in 2024 alone, nearly 40 rivers had dried up, triggering water shortages in wetlands during the crucial summer months of April and May.
These shifts are being felt on the ground. Traditional fishing communities and makhana farmers alike depend on sustained water levels, and both are now forced to adjust to unseasonal rains, sudden floods, and prolonged dry spells. Farmers report higher costs as they try to manage either too much water or too little, often within the same season.
Rising market demand has added another layer of pressure. To protect yields, many farmers have turned to pesticides and herbicides, practices that are raising concerns about groundwater pollution in an already water-stressed landscape. While the Makhana Research Centre conducts regular trainings and workshops to promote safer practices, structural constraints remain. Darbhanga, for instance, faces acute water scarcity between mid-July and September, precisely when water demand for crops peaks. Increasingly, farmers are relying on groundwater to bridge this gap.
Makhana offers something rare in Bihar: a livelihood that allows people to stay. Yet benefits remain uneven. Labour-intensive cultivation, water stress, unsafe working conditions, and the export of raw produce limit local gains.
For now, in the ponds of Mithila, this crop continues to sustain generations. The proverb pag pag mach makhan' still holds. Whether makhana’s future brings shared prosperity or deeper ecological strain will depend on how water, labour, and value are managed in the years ahead.