On a misty hillside in Lamachaur and Purunchaur, farmers have learned to harvest their crops in haste. The moment corn begins to ripen, gangs of rhesus macaques descend from the trees, tearing through fields and leaving behind shredded stalks. “They destroy everything except rice,” sighed Ratna Mohan Paudel, a lifelong resident of Pokhara Metropolitan City-19. “With tall trees nearby, it’s impossible to chase them; they just climb up and mock us from above.”

Last year, local frustration in Paudel’s neighborhood boiled over when the ward office issued a notice calling on residents to cut down trees around their homes to curb the monkey menace. The decision, spearheaded by Ward Chairman Pushpendra Pandey, cited a provincial policy and gave households ten days to comply. Pandey defended the move as a practical step, saying it would be paired with reforestation using smaller plants and fruit-bearing trees to prevent monkeys from leaving forests in search of food.

But the plan backfired almost immediately. Conservationists and residents alike took to social media to condemn the idea as ecologically blind, warning that it would worsen habitat loss. The city’s mayor, Dhanraj Acharya, intervened and revoked the order, saying the ward lacked legal authority and that the measure “defied logic at a time when climate change and deforestation are pressing global concerns.”

Though the episode faded from headlines, it exposed an uncomfortable truth: human–monkey conflict is no longer a local nuisance: it’s a growing crisis across Nepal’s hills. Monkeys raiding crops and homes have become a familiar story across Nepal’s middle hills, from Pokhara and Palpa in the west to Dhankuta and Sankhuwasabha in the east. Farmers say the animals are growing bolder, moving in troops that sometimes number more than a hundred.

In some districts, villagers have abandoned farmlands altogether. A 2022 study by the Agriculture and Forestry University found that over 60 percent of households in the mid-hills reported severe crop losses due to monkeys, and more than one-third of families had stopped farming certain crops. Another survey in Pokhara valley found 58.3 percent of households suffered significant crop damage, while 21.7 percent reported injuries or harassment from monkeys. The losses are financial, emotional, and cultural, many villagers now skip planting maize or pulses altogether, fearing raids.

The impact is not limited to western Nepal. In the country’s eastern hills, entire settlements have been abandoned due to the monkey problem. The once-bustling village of Manebhanyang in Bhojpur district now lies in ruins after residents fled repeated crop raids. According to Prakash Parajuli, a local resident and principal of Bhanubhakta Primary School, around 150 families have left the area over the past decade and a half, forced to migrate from Ramprasadrai Rural Municipality-5 after years of failed harvests and relentless monkey attacks.

A similar story is unfolding in Dubindada village of Galyang Municipality, Syangja district, where the monkey menace has reached such intensity that locals are abandoning their land. Some have already migrated in search of safety and livelihood, while large portions of once-productive farmland now lie uncultivated.

Experts trace this worsening conflict to habitat degradation and monoculture forestry. For decades, reforestation programs across Nepal have favored single-species plantations, mostly pine, eucalyptus, and alder, chosen for timber or quick growth. These trees, while dense, don’t provide fruits, shoots, or flowers that monkeys rely on for food.

As a result, Nepal’s forests have grown in area but not in biodiversity. “Our forests have become green deserts for wildlife,” said Dr. Mukesh Kumar Chalise, Nepal’s leading primatologist. “Monkeys are not invading human spaces because they like people. They come because the forest no longer feeds them.”

Nepal is home to three main monkey species; the Rhesus macaque, Assamese macaque, and Hanuman langur. Of these, rhesus macaques are most often involved in conflict. Highly adaptable, they thrive on human food, reproduce quickly, and can survive in fragmented forests or even urban settings. The population of rhesus macaques is estimated at about 500,000 nationwide, according to the Department of National Parks and Wildlife Conservation.

Forest fragmentation has only worsened the situation. Studies show that Nepal lost nearly 48 percent of its native forest cover between 1930 and 2014, replaced by smaller, disconnected patches. With fewer fruit-bearing trees such as bayar (Indian plum), katus (chestnut), and ainselu (Himalayan raspberry), monkeys have shifted to raiding farms.

While the government compensates farmers for wildlife-related losses, monkeys fall into a legal gray zone. Killing or exporting them is prohibited under Nepal’s National Parks and Wildlife Conservation Act (1973) and international conventions such as CITES, which bans trade in wild primates. Cultural reverence adds another layer: in Hindu tradition, monkeys are considered sacred as followers of Lord Hanuman, making culling socially unacceptable.

That leaves farmers with few options beyond chasing or deterring them—a near-impossible task. “Even 15 or 16 people can’t drive away one troop if there are trees nearby,” Paudel said.

Some have proposed sterilization programs or relocation of troops, but both are expensive and logistically challenging. In 2018, the government piloted a monkey sterilization project but it was suspended due to lack of funds. Experts now urge a shift from reactive measures to habitat-based solutions: diversifying forest plantations, restoring natural fruit trees, and improving food availability in the wild. They also advocate non-lethal deterrents like fencing, reflective tape, noise devices, and community patrols to protect crops. “Tree-cutting is the last thing we should be doing,” said Dr. Chalise. “The answer is to make forests livable again for wildlife.”

Local governments, too, are beginning to acknowledge the need for coordinated policies. Some municipalities are exploring compensation schemes or insurance for farmers, while community forests are being encouraged to mix native fruit and fodder species instead of monocultures. For residents like Paudel, however, progress feels distant. Each harvest brings a new wave of furry raiders, and each failed crop brings renewed resentment. “They’re clever, fast, and never scared,” he said. “Sometimes I think the monkeys are adapting faster than we are.”