Part 3: Rivers of Regret – When Leaders Trade Waters for Walls
I. Ahmed Wani
In the first two parts of this series, we looked at how Kashmir’s land slipped away from farmers into the hands of the powerful, and how the homes of the displaced—including Kashmiri Pandits and the owners of 1947’s custodian properties—were quietly taken over through fake papers and slow-moving courts. But this time, the story goes deeper—into the rivers, springs, and canals that are the real lifelines of our Valley.
These are not just streams of water; they are Kashmir’s soul — feeding our saffron fields, our orchards, and our dreams. Today, they are dying — turned into drains, blocked by concrete walls, and sold for profit and votes.
The deadly 2014 floods that drowned Srinagar and killed over 500 people were not just a “natural disaster.” They were nature’s revenge — the rivers’ cry against our greed and mismanagement.
Let’s start from Achabal in South Kashmir, my birthplace. It is famous for its Mughal gardens and a spring so pure it feels like touching heaven. That spring, known as Achabal Naag, emerges from the Bringhi River underground and once provided water to ten villages. The rice fields it nourished looked like green carpets, and trout fish sparkled like silver under the sun. When I was a child, I would dip my feet in its cold flow. The water was alive; it made you feel connected to something divine. But greed slowly poisoned this beauty.
First came Jamaat-e-Islami, who took a large piece of government land near the Achabal-Kokernag road, claiming it for an Eidgah. The area was meant for groundwater recharge, but it turned into a fenced space. Then came the PDP government (2002–2008). Minister Hussain Kadapuri, then MLA of Achabal, used ₹10 lakh from his fund to turn the front side of the Mughal Garden into a shopping complex. He fenced it and gifted it to traders. Though that gate was demolished last year, the complex still stands — a concrete scar that dries the spring.
The Trout Canal that once carried fresh water is now a dirty drain full of plastic and sewage. Government land nearby was cleared for street vendors. The once-lively stream now smells of waste, not of water. The Pollution Control Board says nitrate levels have increased by 260% over the years due to untreated waste. Overuse and encroachment have made the Bringhi Nala unstable, killing thousands of trout during 2022. A University of Kashmir study (2025) says deforestation has reduced water recharge by 30%.
The same tragedy repeats across Kashmir. The Lidder River in Pahalgam, once full of trout and beauty, is now blocked by private villas and roadside stalls. Illegal sand mining has made its riverbed dangerously deep, violating a High Court ban. In Kulgam, the Veshau Nala floods every monsoon, washing away homes—like in 2025, when 7,000 people were evacuated. A 2021 report by the Department of Earth Sciences said illegal walls and shops have blocked 40% of its natural flow.
And the Jhelum River, the heart of Kashmir, has lost its space too. From Verinag to Wular, politicians and land mafias have cut trees and filled the riverbanks for projects and “parks.” Anantnag’s Chairman Hilal Shah filled riverbanks to make a so-called park, while Qazi Yaser built a shopping complex near the stadium, later demolished by the Enforcement Directorate.
Srinagar’s wetlands once protected the city from floods. The Lasjan Wetland used to absorb excess water from the Jhelum and host beautiful birds. Now, housing colonies have taken over. The University of Kashmir reports that wetland areas have reduced from 288 sq. km in 1972 to 266 sq. km in 2025. Concrete surfaces have increased from 34% in 1992 to 65% today.
Places like Bemina, Tengpora, Hyderpora, Peerbagh, and HMT are built on former marshes. Narkara Wetland, once 13 sq. km, is now just 3.25 sq. km due to illegal flats and even a proposed cycle track. And the Dal Lake, the symbol of Kashmir, has shrunk from 22 sq. km to 18 sq. km. Religious and commercial encroachments around Hazratbal have made the water dirty and unsafe. Reports say over 50% of Srinagar’s wetlands have been lost in a century due to constructions approved by both politicians and clerics.
Many politicians and some religious leaders are equally guilty. PDP’s Kadapuri built fences with public money. NC and BJP leaders allowed river grabs for political gain. Religious preachers justified illegal constructions as “community needs.” Now, the Waheed Parra Bill (2025) tries to regularize encroached lands, giving ownership to anyone who has occupied state land for 20 years. Parra calls it a “law for the poor,” but environmentalists—and even leaders like Omar Abdullah—warn that it rewards land grabbers and legalizes corruption.
In 2014, heavy rainfall raised the Jhelum’s level to 33 feet at Sangam. Because encroachments had narrowed the river and wetlands had vanished, the flood destroyed 2,600 villages, fully submerged 390, killed 550 people, and displaced over two million. The National Disaster Management Authority (NDMA) put the loss at ₹1 trillion. Yet, even after that, illegal constructions continue. A 2025 report warns that another flood of the same scale could strike soon.
Farmer Muhammad Ashraf from Lasjan says, “The Jhelum forgets nothing.” And Ritu, a Pandit widow who already lost her home once, says, “We fled the bullets, then the waters. When will we stop running from the people who sell our safety?”
The solution is not complicated: Stop the Parra Bill. Enforce the 2010 Water Act strictly. Create fast-track courts for wetland and river encroachment. Publish a public list of every illegally occupied land. Ban construction within 500 metres of rivers and springs. Restore wetlands like Lasjan and desilt the Jhelum. Make leaders and clerics lead by example, not by land deals.
Today, bulldozers reach only poor men’s huts, while the real encroachers—powerful politicians and land mafias—remain untouched. Rivers are crying, but nobody listens.
As Malik Sahib was raising slogans once in 2007: “Roshni jo andhera hai,” and I, among a few others, was answering with “andhera ko khatam karo.” The light we were promised turned out to be darkness.
When will we finally free our rivers?
When will Kashmir’s real protectors come home—not to grab land, but to heal it?
