Kashmir’s Wounded Heart Awaiting Revival
Syeda AB Jan
On the northern edge of Srinagar, where the city’s bustle softens into quiet marshlands, lies Anchar Lake—a once-thriving wetland now fading under neglect, pollution, and the scars of Kashmir’s turbulent years. This gentle body of water, cradled by the Jhelum River’s flow, was a cornerstone of the valley’s ecology, culture, and livelihoods. Its clear waters once brimmed with fish, lotus stems (nadru), and visiting migratory birds, sustaining communities and traditions. Today, Anchar is a shadow of its past, choked by algae, shrunken by encroachments, and overlooked amid decades of unrest. Yet, with care and effort, this forgotten gem can shine again.
Anchar Lake, stretching nearly 20 square kilometers in its prime, was born from the geological dance of the Kashmir Valley, shaped by ancient rivers and glacial retreat. Nestled near Ganderbal and linked to Dal Lake and the Sindh River, it was a vital piece of Srinagar’s water network. The lake soaked up floodwaters during heavy rains, cleansed pollutants, and fed groundwater reserves. Its marshes welcomed flocks of migratory birds—Siberian cranes, bar-headed geese—each winter, making it a haven for biodiversity. Fish like the Schizothorax thrived in its depths, supporting local fishermen. For the Hanji, a water-dwelling community, Anchar was home. Their boats glided through its channels, harvesting nadru for dishes like nadru yakhni, a creamy lotus stem curry cherished across Kashmiri tables. The lake wasn’t just nature’s gift—it was a lifeline, woven into the valley’s songs, stories, and sustenance.
This vibrant world began to unravel in the late 20th century, hastened by Kashmir’s socio-political turmoil. The insurgency that erupted in the 1980s brought chaos, curfews, and weakened governance. Environmental oversight crumbled as the region grappled with conflict. The Jammu and Kashmir Lakes and Waterways Development Authority, meant to protect water bodies, faced funding shortages and bureaucratic inertia. In this vacuum, Anchar suffered. Land grabbers, exploiting the unrest, filled its shores with illegal constructions—homes, shops, and roads. By 2020, studies showed the lake had shrunk to under 7 square kilometers, a devastating loss of over 60% of its original size. Sewage from growing settlements around Soura and Shalabugh poured untreated into its waters. Chemical runoff from nearby farms, laden with nitrogen and phosphorus, triggered eutrophication—algal blooms that suffocated fish and plants. Recent tests reveal high levels of total dissolved solids and heavy metals, making the water unfit for fishing, farming, or even touching.
The turmoil’s ripple effects ran deep. Waste management systems faltered during years of instability, and garbage piled into Anchar’s once-clear waters. The Hanji, whose lives depended on the lake, faced dwindling fish stocks and sparse nadru yields. Many abandoned their traditional trades, pushed toward economic hardship and cultural displacement. The 2014 Srinagar floods laid bare Anchar’s decline. Once a natural sponge for excess water, the lake’s shrunken basin failed to protect the city, worsening the deluge that submerged homes and streets. Kashmir’s unrest didn’t just scar its people—it wounded its waters, leaving Anchar a silent casualty.
Yet, Anchar’s story doesn’t have to end in loss. Revival is within reach, and the path forward is clear. First, the lake’s boundaries must be marked and guarded to stop further encroachments. Legal protection, perhaps under frameworks like the Ramsar Convention, could shield it from future harm. Sewage treatment plants near the lake can stem the flow of pollutants, while campaigns to teach nearby communities about proper waste disposal would foster care for Anchar. Clearing invasive weeds and sediments can restore water flow and oxygen levels, inviting fish and plants back. The Hanji, with their centuries-old knowledge of the lake’s rhythms, must be at the heart of this effort. Training and support can help them lead conservation while sustaining their livelihoods. Stronger local governance, backed by regular scientific monitoring, can ensure accountability. As climate change brings fiercer rains to Kashmir, a restored Anchar could once again shield Srinagar from floods, as it did in its healthier days.
Anchar Lake is more than water and marsh—it’s a piece of Kashmir’s soul, holding memories of boats, birds, and nadru harvests. Its decline mirrors the valley’s struggles, but its revival could reflect its resilience. With collective will—government action, community care, and scientific support—Anchar can bloom again. Its waters can run clear, its birds can return, and its people can reclaim their heritage. The time to act is now, before this gentle lake fades into a memory.
