Kashmir’s community canals now struggle to flow alone

Once the lifeline of village life, Kashmir’s kuels or kuhls are drying as the centuries-old tradition of community care is fading. Kupwara, Jammu and Kashmir: Adnan Rasheed Dar (25) of Khuroo village in Jammu and Kashmir’s Kupwara district remembers the announcement from the mosque loudspeaker this April clearly.“It wasn’t time for the adhan (call to prayer), so I feared it was bad news,” he told 101Reporters. “We usually use the loudspeaker to announce someone’s death or share urgent information with the community. But this time, it was a call for kuel wann. The community canal-cleaning day.”Kuel wann is a tradition where an individual, a family, or sometimes even a government worker cleans a canal on their own. It is usually a small, personal effort, done out of care, habit, or responsibility,  to keep the water flowing. It was the first such announcement for kuel wann that year, but only a few people showed up. Most of them were big landlords, carrying tools like belcha (spade), khein (iron spade), and beil (shovel) to clean the canal that runs through the paddy fields of Khuroo village in Langate. They managed to clean only a few kilometres before giving up.Noorul Shahbaz clears a patch of the canal in his village, Porupeth doing his bit to revive a tradition that once brought communities together (Photo - Khursheed Ahmad Shah, 101Reporters)Water and lifeThe kuls of Kashmir once flowed not just through the fields but through the very heart of village life. From irrigating crops to connecting communities, these water channels shaped daily routines.In the early mornings, long before the day’s bustle began, women would walk to the yarbals, familiar spots along the canals,  to fetch water. “They would talk and laugh together as they began their day,” said Shah Saniya (22) from Zachaldara village.Kashmiri poet Habba Khatoon captured this world in a popular folk song often sung by rural women while drawing water or working in paddy fields. The song describes a woman’s daily life at her in-laws:Gari drayas aabe natis nout mea futmo maalineo,Ya dei toom nati nota nat nati chei haare maalineo hoTranslation:A pitcher slipped from my hands as I went out to fetch water.O, my mother’s home! Give me pitcher after pitcher,No matter the cost, O my mother’s home!Her words describe her sense of longing for her home and her familiar routine. “That world is quietly fading now,” said Shaista Masoodi (36) from Handwara. “The kuls are drying, and the lively sounds once heard at the yarbels are gone. What used to be full of life is now abandoned.”She remembers a time when the water was so clean to wash utensils using grass, clay, and ash. “Today, it’s just foul water and drainage waste. Women cannot even go there alone anymore. With stray dogs roaming around, these places do not feel safe like they used to.”(Right)Reporter on ground, speaking to locals and gathering their perspectives (Photo - Sajid Khan)The community’s lost festivalEarlier, kuel wann was a community event, almost like a festival.“I remember when kuel wann was led by the mudgam or village head,” recalled Altaf Zargar, a writer from Handwara. “The doel wala (drum beater) would go around, calling on everyone to join. It brought the whole village together.”That changed after the Jammu & Kashmir Irrigation Act of 1978 brought traditional, farmer-managed zamindari kuls under government control. The Act defined these channels under Section 2(cc) as "irrigation channel which was maintained by the beneficiaries themselves but taken over by the Government for the purpose of remodelling, repair or maintenance”. With this shift, local communities gradually stepped back. “People assumed it was now the government’s job,” Zargar said. “That shift in mindset became one of the main reasons for the decline of these traditional water systems.”Today, many kuls have become dumping grounds, choked with waste, diapers, and plastic bags. “Losing these kuls means losing a critical support system for our local economy, especially agriculture and horticulture,” he added.This kul once carried crystal-clear water and served as a source for ablution before prayers. Today, it flows with wastewater, no longer fit even for farming (Photo - Khursheed Ahmad Shah, 101Reporters)Disconnect and declineFarooq Ahmad Dar, president of the Dah Gam Kul Association, a local union of farmers, also spoke of the significance of loss. “The kul in our area is called Dah Gam Kul, the ten-village canal. It starts at Pohru Check and flows from Bangus to lower Qaziabad, ending at Ganapora,” he said. “A few years ago, the entire stretch was cleaned by locals. Now, it’s at the mercy of God.”The disinterest, he said, stems from the maali levy tax. “Farmers pay Rs 30 per kanal (0.05 hectares) for kul water and Rs 150 if they use pump water. They feel that since they are paying, they shouldn’t have to maintain it.”Kul water flows naturally along the surface, guided by gravity without external force or machinery. Pump water, in contrast, is drawn from rivers or streams and transported with high-powered motors and heavy equipment. This lifted water is channelled into irrigation streams to maintain a steady supply, especially during the paddy season when the natural flow is insufficient or disrupted.Dar, who has led the association since 2007, said they once organised several volunteer-led cleaning drives. “But people’s thinking has changed. They no longer see this as their duty.”The irrigation department, meanwhile, is severely understaffed. “On each kul, there are only two to five employees, most of them daily wagers. How much can they do?” Dar said.Junior Engineer Shabeer Hussain Alamgir explained that the work now largely falls under the Rural Development Department and is executed through the Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Act (MGNREGA) scheme. “We don’t have the resources to clean canals regularly ourselves. We don’t have much involvement in it anymore. We just pass on the requirements and the rest is handled through the Net NREGA portal,” he said.There was a time when this kull supported marine life and flowed clean through Handwara in Kupwara district. Today, it’s filled with diapers, polythene, and all kinds of waste lifeline turned into a dumping ground. (Photo - Khursheed Ahmad Shah, 101Reporters)Reviving a dying traditionAlamgir explained that most canals do not have perennial water sources. “We rely on pumping stations. Lal Kul in Kupwara, for example, is maintained by a dedicated pump. Most of these canals in Pohru check are connected to Nallah-e-Mawer near Khan Tulwari in Langate.”But restoring them is not just a technical issue. “For years, this water was used not only for farming but also for drinking. Sadly, that’s no longer the case,” said Noor-ul-Shahbaz, lecturer in law and former acting principal based in Porupeth village. “It is not just the government's responsibility. It’s ours too.”He also talked about the disappearance of Halsheri, the tradition of voluntary community desilting of canals. Halsheri is a step above kuell wann. It is when the whole village comes together to clean the canal as one. No one asks for money. People join in willingly led by local elders, mohallah committees, or the sarpanch. It is not just about cleaning, it is about the community working together for a common good. “In many places, the irrigation department can’t even intervene because canals are too narrow or there’s no community support. That puts immense pressure on major kuls like Dah Gam Kul, which serves over ten villages,” Dar explained. The department can only carry out desilting or repair work if there is proper road connectivity or access to the site. For example, an excavator needs at least an 8 to 10-foot-wide path to operate, but in many places, the tracks alongside the kuls are barely 1 to 2 feet wide. The terrain can be steep and uneven, and dense vegetation often blocks entry altogether. Without community-led kuell wan to take care of these smaller, hard-to-reach stretches, and the larger canals end up bearing the burden of supplying water to multiple villages.He added that civil society must step up. “NGOs, private groups, or local organisations should work with the government to maintain these water bodies. These kuls are part of our heritage, some even 200 to 500 years old. These canals have been the lifelines of our communities,” he said.Administration response and the way forwardAzad Ahmad Bhat, former sarpanch of Yaroo Panchayat, told 101Reporters the consequences of an uncleaned canal. “If the kuls aren’t cleaned in time, weeds and silt pile up. The flow stops, and fields dry out.”“Last year in Yaroo, paddy suffered the most because it needs water all the time. We do not want to see it happen again,” Bhat said.  An official from the Irrigation Department acknowledged the scale of the problem. “We do carry out desilting work across districts, but urbanisation has created new challenges. We don’t have enough machinery, and there are no proper dumping sites for the silt,” he said.He explained that the responsibility for this work has now shifted to the Rural Development Department (RDD) under the Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Scheme MGNREGS.  “We’ve shared all the required details with them,” he added.“However, in May, the entire process was disrupted when most government websites, including the MGNREGA portal, went down amid a war-like situation, bringing all related work to a sudden halt”Each block has only about 10 staffers, expected to serve over 20 villages. Some kuls stretch over 50 kilometres in a single village. “It’s impossible to manage without community support,” the official said.Even when cleaned, canals quickly fill again with waste. “We clean Dahgam Kul every day. By the next morning, there are polythene bags, diapers, and garbage in it again. It’s not just disheartening. It’s frustrating,” he said.Cover photo - Once a lifeline for the people of Handwara, this kull ran through the heart of the town, providing clean water to nearby residents. Today, it looks more like a drain, with only shallow, murky water left (Photo - Khursheed Ahmad Shah, 101Reporters)

‘The land turned against us’: Kashmir farmers suffer as pests swarm fields and homes

Unseasonal droughts and climate shifts have triggered a growing pest crisis across Kashmir’s farmlands.Kupwara, Jammu and Kashmir: In May, as the skies stayed still and the soil cracked open, farmers across Jammu and Kashmir’s Kupwara district waited for the first rains. What arrived instead was an invasion.From the forests and dry fields, insects began creeping out, black millipedes and ball armyworms, drawn by heat and thirst, fanning across villages in search of moisture.“When I stepped outside, it looked like someone had spilt black paint everywhere,” said Tariq Lone (26) of Potushai village. “They were everywhere, on the fields, the roads, even on our walls. It felt like the whole village was wrapped in a moving blanket of insects.”Lone and his family, who grow fruit on their orchard land, tried everything: burning dry grass to make smoke, sprinkling salt, pouring kerosene around the crops. “Nothing worked,” he told 101Reporters. “They just kept moving toward the wet patches, courtyards, water channels, freshly planted fields.”Soon, similar scenes began playing out across the district, in Doniwari, Diwer Marg, Kalaroos and Gulgam.“Within days, they were inside kitchens, storerooms, even bathroom pipes,” said Mohammad Rafiq Mir (40), a resident of Gulgam. “They hid in cool, damp corners. No matter how many times we cleared them, they came back.”“This was the first time I saw pests overpower humans,” said Abdul Satar, 59, a farmer from Doniwari. “They were in our kitchens, our bathrooms. We had to take all the carpets out of the house.”He paused, then added: “It wasn’t just the itching. There was something unnatural about the way they moved. As if the land itself had turned against us.”Ball armyworms and millipedes have started appearing in the fields of Lolab, showing signs of movement from nearby forests (Photo - Khursheed Ahmad Shah, 101Reporters)A season of damageThis year’s pest outbreak was far more intense than previous ones, both in scale and severity. In areas like Potushai, Lolab, Gulgam, and Chandigam, large sections of maize, oats, and paddy plantations were damaged within days. Leaves were shredded, growth stunted, and entire fields turned pale—clear signs of early crop stress.“Kupwara had just experienced a prolonged dry spell,” said Dr Firdous Ahmad Raina, a plant protection scientist at Krishi Vigyan Kendra (KVK), Kupwara. “This kind of weather, dry conditions followed by sudden rain, forces millipedes and armyworms to surface in search of moisture. That’s exactly what happened this year.”Millipedes are mostly harmless, though in large numbers, they overwhelmed homes and clogged drains. The ball armyworm, however, is far more destructive.“These pests feed on the tender shoots and leaves crucial to a crop’s early growth,” Dr Raina explained. “First reported in India in 2018, armyworms have since adapted to multiple climate zones, including high-altitude areas like North Kashmir. They lay eggs on maize leaves, and the larvae aggressively devour foliage, stems, even developing cobs.”“The infestation this year has been much larger than the usual millipede outbreaks,” he added. “These pests target green vegetative parts and destroy them like anything.”Unlike pests that typically affect one crop, the ball armyworm is polyphagous—it feeds on many. “In Kupwara, it first attacked wheat and oats,” said Dr Raina. “Then it moved to maize and paddy.”Dr Kaiser Mohi-ud-din Malik, Director of KVK Kupwara, confirmed this pattern. “The damage mostly occurred during early growth stages,” he said. “We’re still learning how to manage the infestation. There’s no official estimate yet, but in the initial weeks, combined crop loss across affected areas was around 5 kanals—roughly 0.05 hectares. Oat crops in Potushai and Gulgam were hit the hardest.”Crushed hopeFor some farmers in Kupwara, the season ended before it even began. Their hopes were crushed in the earliest days of cultivation, as pests wiped out tender crops just weeks after sprouting.“These pests didn’t spare anything, they ruined our khaseel, maize seeds, even the paddy,” said Javeed Ahmad (40), a farmer from Kupwara. “For the last two harvest cycles, we have already been going through a tough time. Water levels have dropped so badly that we could not even irrigate our fields properly. Every season, we are just hoping something works out.”“This year, we thought we might finally manage. We tried to fix things, made small water channels, saved whatever littlewe could, and tried to bring the land back to life. But before we could even see the result, this pest attack happened.”Ahmad paused before continuing, his voice heavy with disappointment.“I had a good sipping of maize this time. I was really hopeful. I used to stand there and look at it every day. But within a few days, most of it was gone. They cut everything down while it was still growing. I felt helpless. You keep waiting, watering, caring for it like it’s something of your own, and then it just disappears, like it was never there,” Ahmad told 101Reporters. “Now I’ve no option but to reseed the whole garden again. It’s heartbreaking. We put in so much effort with the little we have, and again, we’re starting from zero. It’s like every time we try to rise, something pushes us back down,” Ahmad said. Given the spread of pests in the region, agriculture and horticulture departments, Sher-e-Kashmir University of Agricultural Sciences and Technology of Kashmir, and KVK Kupwara carried out sanitisation drives. “The coordinated efforts helped minimise damage, and the results were encouraging,” said Dr Raina.However, farmers said they did not see much difference on the ground. Retailers saw the impact too. In Kupwara’s Iqbal Market, Mohammad Iqbal Shah of Shah Agro, a pesticide and agri-input store, said demand had spiked. “Farmers from nearly every household in the affected areas bought insecticides this time, and that wasn’t the case in previous years,” he said. “Usually, half a litre would cover 20 tubs of spray. But this year, because of the heat and how aggressive the pests were, they had to double the quantity.”Shah said Chlorpyrifos, Rogor (Dimethoate), Cypermethrin, and Ethion were most commonly used.(Left) An armyworm feeding at the base of a young maize plant, damaging its stem and threatening early crop growth (right) These worms help the soil in small numbers, but when they appear in large groups, they can damage almost every crop around (Photo - AI generated by the reporter)Shifting climateExperts have attributed the events in Kupwara and nearby areas to a shifting climate.“These climate fluctuations are disturbing everything,” said Dr Kaiser Mohi-ud-din Malik, Director of KVK, Kupwara. “The pests that once stayed deep in moist soil or wooded patches are now turning up in people’s homes. That alone says a lot.”According to Malik, the valley has seen less snowfall, more dry spells, and unusual temperature swings over the last few years. These weather changes are forcing even the smallest creatures to adapt. “These are moisture-loving pests, but with fields and forests drying up, they have no choice but to find moisture elsewhere. Now, they’re entering our living spaces.”“Millipedes and armyworms don’t really go away,” said Dr Raina. “Their life cycle typically lasts three to five months, but now they’re breeding almost all year round.”Once they settle into homes or the edges of fields, he explained, they lay eggs in damp corners — places that stay hidden and undisturbed. “When the weather turns favourable again, they hatch, and the problem starts all over.”To tackle the crisis, the Agriculture Department has been conducting regular pesticide spray drives in coordination with Sher-e-Kashmir University of Agricultural Sciences and Technology (SKUAST-K) and Krishi Vigyan Kendra since 2023. These drives are carried out under the supervision of senior scientists and KVK officials, who ensure safety protocols are followed during spraying.The teams use a combination of Finoyal and other targeted insecticides depending on the nature and stage of infestation, aiming to contain the spread and prevent pests from re-entering both crop fields and homes.These efforts are not just about spraying. The teams also conduct training and awareness campaigns to ensure residents use insecticides safely and only when necessary. So far, the outreach has extended to seven villages, each home to over 100 farming households.“To protect the crops from pests, we’re conducting field visits and encouraging people to keep their surroundings clean,” said Dr Malik. “We tell them not to collect cow dung near homes or leave drains open—these are favourite breeding spots for pests.”While there is no consolidated data yet on the extent of crop damage, Malik said that the groundwork is being laid to prevent further destruction.“As of now, we’re just at the beginning of this effort. But we do have a roadmap in place to control the outbreak. Once the harvest season ends in October, we plan to carry out a comprehensive round of spraying to destroy the remaining eggs and minimise next year’s harm. SKUAST-K, the Agriculture Department, and KVK are doing everything possible to stop it.”Cover Photo - Locals in Potushai, Kupwara burn dry grass around fields to keep pests away and save their crops (Photo - Tariq Lone)

In a corner of Kupwara, native fish disappear with the changing climate

As Nallah-e-Mawer dwindles into a threadbare stream, the lives of those dependent on fishing in these waters are being upendedKupwara, Jammu and Kashmir: Atop the snow-capped Kazinag Peak at an elevation of 15,007 ft is the Kazinag Spring and Satkhol Nag, which feeds Nallah-e-Mawer that winds through Kupwara district. Once a vibrant water body, Nallah-e-Mawer now resembles a threadbare stream.“The water level is so low that one can barely pass through with shoes on. How can we expect to find fish in such shallow water? I am fed up with this job. It is a waste of effort and time,” fretted Showkat Rasool Wani (29) from Handwara, a town in Kupwara district.“For the last three years, I have been catching only 1.5 kg of fish per day. Five years ago, this was more than five kg in just a few hours,” he added.“I cannot bear to see this low water level. My childhood and dreams are intertwined with it… Even a decade ago, it was a good time as Nallah-e-Mawer had ample water. I used to catch more than five kg of fish in a day," said Mohammad Raja Akbar (40), a former fisherman from Mawer in Kupwara. “Due to high shortage and low yield, I started a shop in my locality where I sell everyday items and some agricultural products.”   (Left) Raja Akbar, former fisherman from Mawer talking about low yield and (right) Dr Chalkoo explains the ideal environment for Kashir gaad (Photo - Sourced by Khursheed Ahmad Shah, 101Reporters)Locally known as Kashir gaad, Schizothorax (snow trout) genus of fish comprises species such as Schizothorax niger (ael gaad), Schizothorax esocinus (chirru), Schizothorax labiatus (chush), Schizothorax curvifrons (satter gad) and Schizothorax plagiostomus (khont). “They are no longer found in the upper reaches of Nallah-e-Mawer due to low water levels. They survive only in the lower belts where some water remains,” Dr Salman Rauoof Chalkoo, Assistant Director of Fisheries, Kupwara, told 101Reporters.The primary fish species now found in Nallah-e-Mawer are rainbow trout (Oncorhynchus mykiss) and brown trout (Salmo trutta). Rainbow trout inhabit the lower-lying areas of the stream. As a sport fish, it tends to move against the current, always striving to reach higher elevations.“Various species of Schizothoracinae [snow barbels] also inhabited Nallah-e-Mawer once. We also had Glyptothorax sp. and Triplophysa sp., which were not commercially important. They inhabited creeks, the areas where stream water subsides and collects, as in the case of drainage channels. All these are no longer present in this river due to climatic changes,” noted Chalkoo.Across North Kashmir, fishermen have observed a drastic reduction in their daily catch of Schizothorax, with some reporting an 80% decline — from eight to 10 kg per day to just one kg. Several factors, such as habitat destruction, water pollution and invasive species, have turned Nallah-e-Mawer, the main tributary of River Pohru, into a lifeless waterbody, but the primary drivers are climate change and anthropogenic pressures. As a result, species diversity has decreased by 60 to 70%. While everyday consumption has shifted, cultural traditions still influence fish choices during important events. Despite low availability, there is specific demand for Kashir gaad during traditional festivals such as syundar and aqiqah.“Over 10 years ago, (suppose) the local fish markets had around 100 kg of fish available each day suppose but now it has reduced to only 20 kg,” Farooz Ahmad Bhat, Chief Scientist and Dean, Faculty of Fisheries, Sher-e Kashmir University of Agriculture Sciences and technology of Kashmir (SKUAST-K), told 101Reporters. With the decline in Catch Per Unit Effort (CPUE), the supply of locally caught fish has decreased. As a result, people now rely more on farmed and imported fish for their daily meals.Once a lifeline for nearly 160 families, Nallah-e-Mawar no longer sustains traditional fishing livelihoods. Families have been forced to turn to agriculture, daily wage labour, small businesses and traditional handicrafts to survive. However, Chalkoo noted that this shift is not just a consequence of ecological destruction, but a reflection of the social stigma surrounding the struggling fishing trade.Nallah-e-Mawar no longer sustains traditional fishing livelihoods (Photo - Adnan Rasheed)The unwelcome human footprint  One main anthropogenic factor affecting Nallah-e-Mawer is illegal sand mining from the river for two decades, which continues even now with hand tools. This activity disrupts the natural migratory path of fish that move from lower to the upper stretches of the stream. “Fish rely on biological and chemical habitats for survival, and their migration is possible only when there is an adequate water supply,” said Aatif Qayoom, a prominent environmental journalist in Kupwara."Fish sense their surroundings through their lateral line system, which help them navigate towards suitable feeding and breeding grounds. However, illegal mining has deepened the streambed, reducing the overall water level. This decline in water volume disrupts the breeding and feeding habitats, ultimately threatening their survival," he added.When the government signs the e-auctioning agreement, a Letter of Intent is executed with the bidding stakeholders after consent from the line departments.“All of these departments, including the flood control and irrigation departments, issue conditional no-objection certificates in writing that no heavy machinery will be allowed in the auctioned areas. The extraction limit is capped at one metre, a restriction that heavy machinery cannot meet. However, contractors often exceed this limit by extracting up to three metres. Similarly, the absence of adequate checks and balances allows contractors to expand the extraction area to two to three hectares,” Chalkoo said, adding that mining reduces water levels and high temperature reduces the oxygen level in water.A social and environmental activist from Handwara, Advocate Mir Imran pointed to the widespread deforestation in the river’s catchment area, unregulated encroachments and excessive water extraction. “If these environmental challenges remain unaddressed, the region faces an impending water crisis that could alter its ecological and socio-economic landscape,” he warned.But it’s climate change that has so far had the most insidious effect on the native fish population. “Reduced glacier influx, rising temperatures, erratic precipitation, and altered hydrological cycles have affected Schizothoracinae fish species in Nallah-e-Mawer. Glacier retreat has led to diminished stream flow, causing lower water levels, higher temperatures and decreased oxygen availability, making the habitat unsuitable for cold-water fish. Increased siltation from unpredictable rainfall patterns, habitat degradation due to changing its dynamics, and prolonged dry spells have further disrupted the aquatic ecosystem, leading to the disappearance of these species,” Chalkoo noted.Over the last few years, there has been very low snowfall, higher precipitation instead of snowfall, and higher temperatures in summer, triggering faster melting of glaciers and snow. This has resulted in early high-water discharge due to higher temperatures and subsequent dryness of rivers during the summer and beyond.This isn’t just a seasonal fluctuation,” said Mukhtar Ahmad, Director of the India Meteorological Department in Srinagar. “What we’re witnessing is a long-term shift in climate. With warmer winters and declining snowfall, our water sources are under serious threat — affecting everything from farming to drinking water.”“This phenomenon alters the phenology of the ecological niche of the watercourses — particularly in terms of water quality — and leads to changes in fish behaviour and physiology. It also alters the availability of food for the fish in these watercourses. The changing water discharge, along with deteriorated water quality and habitat, affects the occurrence, abundance and distribution of fish, ultimately reducing their numbers,” explained Chief Scientist Bhat.Over the last few years, there has been very low snowfall, higher precipitation instead of snowfall, and higher temperatures in summer, triggering faster melting of glaciers and snow (Photo - Khursheed Ahmad Shah, 101Reporters)Native fish can benefit from research and policy support Every year, the Jammu and Kashmir Fisheries Development Department replenishes various water bodies with thousands of carp and trout fingerlings, ensuring the sustainability of aquatic life and supporting local fisheries in the face of dwindling native species. While kashir gaad and other native fish varieties have shown a decline in numbers over the last decades due to the change in water levels, water quality and food availability, exotic varieties like carps (major carps catla, rohu and mrigal, and minor carps grass carp, silver carp and common carp) have outnumbered the indigenous ones as the changing environment favours them, Bhat added.Comparing the growth rates of carps and trout, Chalkoo said, “Common carp has a faster growth rate and is a prolific breeder, which keeps on breeding throughout the year and on very meagre natural triggers like photo period, increase in water temperature or increase in rainfall or water levels. The fecundity of the carp is around two to 2.50 lakh eggs per kg body weight, as compared to native fish with 40,00 to 45,000 eggs per kg body weight.”However, in a significant step toward conservation, the faculty of fisheries at SKUAST-K has successfully developed technology for the seed production of Kashir gaad. This recent breakthrough has teased the potential for promoting native species as a more sustainable and ecologically balanced alternative with the right training and investment to make it economically viable for fishers.“Research is ongoing to extend this breakthrough to other indigenous fish species. The fish seed produced through these efforts is released into major water bodies, including Dal Lake and River Jhelum, helping restore natural fish populations and maintain ecological balance," said Farooz Ahmad Bhat, Dean, Fisheries, SKUAST-K.  Also considering the significant losses experienced by the fishing community, the Government of India has extended support through the National Fisheries Digital Platform (NFDP) and Pradhan Mantri-Matsya Kisan Samridhi Sah-Yojana (PM-MKSSY).Fishermen, fisherwomen, farmers, vendors, wholesalers, and helpers can register with NFDP to get an identity card and recognition. Eligible individuals will receive financial support of up to Rs 4,500, aimed at sustaining their livelihoods during challenging times. The accumulated amount of Rs 4,500 would be disbursed to enrolled beneficiaries by the respective states/UTs at the rate of Rs 1,500 per month for three months. With an investment of over Rs 6,000 crore, PM-MKSSY is designed to provide 40 lakh micro and small fishing enterprises a formal identity, making it easier for them to access loans and credit. It also offers one-time incentives for aquaculture insurance and performance grants to boost business efficiency, improve product safety and quality, and ultimately create more jobs.This story was produced as a part of 101Reporters Climate Change Reporting Grant. Cover Photo - Fisherman's catch from the fish market (Photo - Khursheed Ahmad Shah, 101Reporters)

Women in the woods: why firewood is the ultimate favourite of rural households in Kashmir every winter

No chillai kalan period passes without women collecting firewood from nearby forests a month in advance, despite the forest department's entry restrictions       Kupwara, Jammu and Kashmir: “I prefer zyun [wood] over gas,” states Saja Begum (43) of Rajwar in Kupwara of Jammu and Kashmir. “If we rely on LPG cylinders for both cooking and room heating, they will last only for eight days,” she adds. The preference for firewood and bukharis (traditional stoves) running on it is not for cooking alone, but also for warmth during chillai kalan, the state’s intense cold spell lasting for 40 days from December 21 to January 29. Throughout the winter, bukharis operate from 7 am to 10 pm daily. Even when not cooking, villagers keep it lit for heating purposes.A woman using a traditional stove in the kitchen (Photo - Umer Farooq and Khursheed Ahmad Shah)In the villages of Hamam, Markoot, Pazalpora, Dazana, Pakhwari, Hunoora, Nowpora, Doniwari, Tangmulla, Chatoosa, Khahmoha, Braman, Lariangan, Judinambal and Naribal in Rohama block of Baramulla, approximately 65% of the population depends on firewood, either for heating or cooking, despite having LPG connections. In far-flung areas, LPG cylinders are not an option during winters as these areas remain cut-off from main towns. Though exhausting to collect, firewood is a free alternative.Typically, firewood collection to tide over chillai kalan ends by November. The village women gather one gidh, a bundle of a dozen deadwood or damaged branches, at a time and walk roughly four km up and down the forest to finish the task.  The irony is that despite having LPG cylinders, women think it is their responsibility to save every penny possible by depending mostly on firewood. They see firewood collection as their duty — a duty that comes with difficulties.Rural women are often vulnerable to musculoskeletal injuries and chronic back pain. They are more prone to neck, spinal code and knee issues. "It is important to use protective gear, wear proper footwear and adopt correct lifting practices to prevent injuries and to promote better overall health," suggests Dr Nisar Ahmad Shah, assistant professor, orthopaedics, Government Medical College, Handwara. He has treated numerous women who sustained injuries, including thorn punctures that led to infections and cases of plantar fasciitis from prolonged standing or walking on hard surfaces with heavy loads. He has also helped patients recover from spinal issues, such as disc degeneration caused by improper lifting techniques. Many women also suffer from nutritional deficiencies and fatigue. They consume rice, often thrice a day, due to their workload. Their primary source of protein a few years ago was milk. But now, only a few raise cows."Many rural women follow an unbalanced diet, which largely comprises rice, pulses and low-quality proteins, with an excessive reliance on carbohydrates. Additionally, they consume ample amounts of nun chai [traditional pink tea], which, due to its high tannin content, further impairs the absorption of essential proteins and vitamins," notes Dr Pakeeza Kauser, a government medical officer at Vodipora in Handwara.She also highlights widespread issues such as nutritional anaemia, calcium and vitamin deficiencies, and hygiene-related conditions. "Poor hygiene is a major contributor to skin infections such as scabies here," she adds.A woman carrying firewood from the forest (Photo - Khursheed Ahmad Shah, 101Reporters)Restricted access, dwindling incomeShaneena Begum (47) hails from the Kupwara Kandi belt. On average, she collects one bundle of firewood each day from the nearby forest during the collection season (from April to November, except during monsoon season). When there is an extra collection, she sells it to locals or to bakers making nanwai (local bread).  “People come in carts to buy what they need. Though the income is modest, we earn about Rs 1,200 to 1,500 in winter,” says Muneera Begum (40). “Demand is especially high during winter and wedding seasons when firewood is needed for cooking wazan [wedding feast],” she adds.However, the supply has been going down gradually since the 1980s, due to the restrictions on entering the forest. It became more pronounced after the abrogation of Article 370.Dr Humaira Qadri, an environmentalist and associate professor at Government Boys Degree College, Baramulla, tells 101Reporters that conflicts between local communities and forest guards are on the rise, with sometimes women denied access to forest resources. “In Kashmir, the women who collect firewood are mostly rural and indigenous people from communities that have relied on forest resources for generations, particularly in the regions of Kupwara, Bandipora, Baramulla and Anantnag. However, their rights to these forests are ambiguous and unrecognised," she details."The Forest Rights Act, 2006, legally grants scheduled tribes and other traditional forest dwellers the right to access, use and manage forest resources sustainably. However, its implementation in Jammu and Kashmir has been delayed and remains inconsistent due to a lack of awareness and various other reasons,” she adds.Defending the restrictions, Abdul Qayoom Sofi, Block Forest Officer, Jhelum Valley Forest Division, Baramulla, tells 101Reporters that the forest department had to take measures as women stomp on fresh saplings, effectively destroying them. “Moreover, flocks of livestock entering the forest can stop plant growth and regeneration.”  Touching on the issue of firewood shortage in the region, he notes, “When firewood is unavailable in the compartments, we try to intervene and prevent harm. Without this intervention, many women, frustrated by the scarcity of resources, take matters into their own hands and begin lopping off conifers. Unfortunately, this practice dries out the trees and causes them to die.”   Sofi highlights the importance of adhering to regulations under Section 26(1) of the Indian Forest Act, 1927, which aims at protecting the forest ecosystem. “The restrictions are strictly enforced for anyone carrying sharp tools," he adds.According to Qadri, such restrictions have mainly affected low-income families. "A decade ago, the cost of one bundle of firewood ranged from Rs 30 to 50, but due to government restrictions and checkpoints, the availability is low. They cannot collect enough or make enough money by selling it, even though the price has gone up to Rs 100-120 in Baramulla, and Rs 150-180 in parts of Kupwara, such as Putushai Lolab,” she notes. The forest department provides wood for Rs 750 per 100 kg for commercial purposes and Rs 335 for hammams (traditional steam bath) in religious places. These logs require additional labour for transportation and for breaking them down into usable small pieces. It also needs official documentation and approval, which takes months together."At present, we provide firewood only to mosques located in municipal or town areas. Even then, the department is not able to fulfil the exact demand of firewood... Only a limited quantity of conifer firewood is extracted and sold... If its commercialisation is allowed, it may put additional pressure on the forests, resulting in their depletion,” Tanveer Ahmad Malik, Block Forest Officer, Nowgam Mawer (Langate range), Kupwara, tells 101Reporters.Though it is believed that women's firewood income is affected by the forest department's sale, Malik believes the real reason is the increasing use of byproducts of horticulture and agriculture instead of firewood in urban areas, and in some rural regions. No chillai kalan period passes without wood (Photo - Umer Farooq)Conifers and energy efficiency“The challenges faced by those collecting firewood vary greatly depending on the type of forest — whether it is a thorny or coniferous forest,” Sajad Ahmad Tantry, Block Forest Officer, Baderkali, Rajwar Forest Range. In any local economy, broad-leaved varieties are important as they provide fuel, fodder for livestock, and manure for agriculture. However, human intervention has often replaced broad-leaved varieties with conifers, which have more commercial value and can be grown for export. "In Kashmir, conifers such as deodar, fir, and pine have traditionally dominated temperate forests due to climate and altitude suitability, and also due to commercial timber value. The broad-leaved trees growing mostly in the lower altitudes include chinar, poplar and walnut, which are significant for the local economy by providing fuel, fodder and agricultural benefits. There are undeniable instances, particularly during afforestation drives of the Department of Social Forestry, when conifers are prioritised. Most restoration strategies favour conifers due to their fast growth and commercial utility, occasionally neglecting the ecological benefits of broad-leaved trees," explains Qadri.According to her, broad-leaved species in lower altitudes have been impacted by urbanisation, developmental activities, timber smuggling and agricultural expansion over the years. "Very little effort has been taken to restore broad-leaved species," she notes.Dry conifers are good for kindling a fire, but their energy efficiency is not as good as deciduous trees as they are less dense and have softer wood. "Conifers, with lower wood density and higher resin content, burn faster and typically generate 14-17 million BTUs per cord. In contrast, deciduous hardwoods are denser, burn slower and provide more sustained heat, delivering over 20 million BTUs per cord. So, deciduous trees are more efficient for long-term heating and cooking. The preservation of broad-leaved varieties in the lower altitudes can provide an all-time solution to the deforestation and encroachment of the conifer wealth," Qadri says. In this context, Qadri advocates for energy-efficient chulas (stoves) that can produce more energy from the same amount of wood. “This can eventually reduce wood consumption, conserve natural resources and lessen environmental impacts.” A gradual shift from overdependence on firewood is already noticed in places like Baramulla, where Turkish bukharis are becoming popular. As against the traditional tin-made bukharis, they are made of iron and can heat up the place better. In addition, they have compartments for cooking. Rather than firewood, biomass — including dried leaves and other tree remnants — can be used to run them.  Tariq Ahmad Chalkoo, a physics tutor at Government Boys Degree College and coordinator of the college's Bio Resource Innovative Cell, is analysing the potential of forest biomass. “Our innovation cell could process biomass [fallen branches, leaves, pinecones and other organic debris] into high-energy resources to make fire bricks that can conserve heat and produce electricity,” says Chalkoo, who is seeking an initial investment of Rs 1 crore to get the project off the ground. Besides reducing dependence on forests locally, the firebricks can be exported, especially to Europe, where the demand for biomass-based products is high.   In the meantime, Kulsum Ahad, a scholar working on women empowerment and rural development in the Department of Social Work at the University of Kashmir, suggests creation of community-managed woodlots, formation of women self-help groups and provisions for better access to financial support and markets to improve the lives of women.All these might take time, so for now, women take the rugged and muddy paths to the forest most of the days. “We start the day with a warm cup of nun chai, before proceeding to the woods. Every step must be taken carefully as there is a constant threat from bears and leopards. A wrong move on these hills could cost us our lives,” says Hafiza Begum (44) from Lolab in Kupwara.Her friend Saleema Begum (42) describes how they ward off fear by constant chattering. “We just go on and on about village events, weddings, about syun [cuisine dishes], etc.” “Talking about our neighbours and village events takes our minds off the danger,” she says, finding comfort in the simple joys of community life. Edited by Rekha PulinnoliCover Photo - A woman using firewood for cooking. (Photo - Umer Farooq)