Part 4:
The Faded Green – Forests Looted in the Shadow of Chaos
I Ahmed Wani
The first three parts of this series opened up the sad story of Kashmir’s land mess: the mad rush of ownership under laws like Roshni, the quiet stealing of Pandit homes during 1990’s terror, and the forgotten fields left with custodians after 1947’s partition wounds. But nothing hurts more than the forests those holy green lungs that once covered our valleys like a mother’s warm shawl. They were not just trees; they were the backbone of our rivers, the home for our animals, the silent protectors against floods and hunger. Sheikh ul Alam, the 15th-century saint-poet, said: “Ann poshi teli yeli wan poshi” food will last only till the forests last. Today, those words sound like a sad song over empty hills.
I remember as a kid in 1990, when violence hit us like a big storm. Terrorism started, and the government just disappeared from the woods. Control went away quicker than morning mist. We the people living near the edges, the needy, the greedy ones picked up axes. It began small: a family clearing a bit for potato fields, a villager taking logs for winter fire. But soon, it turned into a crazy rush. Angry crowds burned government offices, signs of a hated power, and destroyed anything marked “state property.” Forests became open for all. No one was left out – not the poor farmer wanting more land for goats, not the trader planning a shop. Even mosques and schools were built with wood that once stood tall in the wind.
By night, gunshots sometimes militants giving orders, sometimes just sounds of fear cleared the way. Armed men, like shadows in the dark, took the “green gold” to cities. Deodar and pine, Kashmir’s old giants, went down rivers or in trucks to markets in Jammu, Delhi, or farther. Even security forces had rumours of joining in: camps needing wood for bunkers, roads cut through bushes for patrols. Everyone had a role in the looting. In those days without law, timber smuggling was not a crime; it was staying alive, fighting back, or doing business. Over five lakh big trees gone from places like Budgam’s Sitharan alone between 1990 and 2010, say ex-smugglers who now guard the woods. The Valley lost 152 square kilometres of forest since 1989 a cut that left soil open to washing away, rivers to flooding wild.
From Kral Sangri’s soft pine whispers to Kokernag’s far villages, Verinag’s springs to Kupwara’s border jungles, the same tale everywhere. Once-holy lands, snow-topped and green, now full of scars. In Kral Sangri, near Srinagar’s side, villagers remember 1990 crowds pulling logs under militant watch, building houses where oaks grew. “We thought it was fair,” one old man says over chai, “taking what the state kept for itself. But we took our tomorrow too.” By 1996, when voted governments came back, the harm was fixed in stumps. The Public Safety Act (PSA), made by Sheikh Abdullah in the 1970s to lock up dangers, was for smugglers. But leaders hid them under democracy’s cover. “Wah re rajneeti,” as people laugh bitterly – what a politics. No big recoveries, no mass PSA locks. Instead, forests paid for elections, filled pockets.
Numbers show the loot in hard facts. Jammu and Kashmir’s noted forest land is 20,230 square kilometres, just 20% of our 101,387 square kilometre area – way less than the national hill goal of 66%. But the stealing is huge: 19,501 hectares (over 3.86 lakh kanals) grabbed illegally as of September 2025, from Forest Department’s RTI answers. That’s 27,712 cases in Kashmir alone, eating 5,891 hectares Srinagar Circle with 1,170 hectares, South Circle (Anantnag to Awantipora) taking 3,268. Jammu is worse: Ramban at 2,106 hectares, Rajouri 1,974, Poonch 1,472. Across India, J&K is high in grabs, with 19,810 hectares in 2023 a 146% jump from before, from city growth and no checks.
Since 1990, the damage piles up. A 2016 study with Landsat satellites saw 126 square kilometres fully cut and 139 more spoiled in a 3,376 square kilometre part of Kashmir Himalaya from 1980-2009 losses that could get REDD+ (Reducing Emissions from Deforestation and Degradation) help, but ignored. Predictions to 2030 say it will speed up, with models showing thicker scars if things stay same. By 2023, fires burned 952 hectares; smuggling and grabs took 3,230 more in twenty years. The Valley’s real forests dropped from 660 square kilometres (8.3% of land) in 2010 to much less, says Global Forest Watch. Thick cover fell 18% from 1972-2010, leaving ground bare for landslides like in Frasnad and Shalnand in 2015, killing 18. Grabs rose 88% from 2003-2012, with 6,281 hectares turned without new planting.
Walk the paths now, and the guilty ones look back. Government offices sit on forest land: buildings in Kupwara’s Kehmil area, where 445 hectares taken; camps in Verinag’s fields. Hotels pop up in Kokernag’s saffron areas “Green Valley Resorts” on 50 kanals of pine, built after 1990 with stolen wood, now charging visitors for “eco-stays.” Security forces not clean: 243 hectares given to army and paramilitary since 2019, plus 135 in Jammu’s Chowadhi for BSF shooting spots carbon holders cut for bunkers. In Dachigam National Park, a planned CRPF camp risks 8% more loss, people begging National Green Tribunal: “It’s ruin for our Hangul deer, our water.” Plans for 10 CRPF camps and IAF runways eat unknown greens, all under “important” excuses.
The 1990s were the fire. Militancy at top; checks failed. Smugglers locals made criminals by no jobs in winter joined militants for protection, Ikhwanis (government militias) for power. In Doda, 1.5 lakh trees cut by gunmen; Bandipora’s woods left empty. Tosamaidan, given to army in 1964, turned smuggling spot lakhs of deodars gone, fields hurt by guns and axes. “We cut to live,” says Javed Ahmad, old smuggler in Budgam. “Militants took share; forces turned blind eye.” By 2000, 84,000 kanals grabbed statewide; today, three times more. Voted leaders from 1996 promised action but gave soft words. PSA? Not for big fish. Corruption grew: forest guards beaten (320 hurt in 2020 alone), officers in deal.
The people cost? Total loss. In Kral Sangri, a widow Naseema holds old photos: “My husband’s fruit trees touched the woods. Now, concrete for a hotel. 2014 floods took our house.” In Kupwara’s border areas, Gujjar nomads like Bashir Khan wander thinner grass: “Our goats hungry; we took one kanal in need. Now, removal papers.” Down in Srinagar, Jhelum river clogs with mud, forests’ help gone. Animals suffer: Hangul deer less, medicine plants disappear. Weather hits hard 2°C warmer nights since 1990, say AJK reports; floods like 2014’s, killing 300, from bare hills.
Some tries shine, but weak. High Court cases since 2012 want back land; 9,000 kanals got by 2015, 55 hectares in 2025. Total, 14.28 lakh kanals back from 17.22 lakh grabbed but forests slow, only 550 hectares in 2020. The Forest Protection Force, started 2001 with 2,257 guns, does joint work: 242 grabs cleared this year, fenced and replanted. Apps and hotlines from 2020 for tips; 4,041 kanals out June-August 2021. But at 1,430 kanals a month, full fix? Years away. Politics stops: 2023’s bulldozer stop for “poor people’s policy,” after Gandhi noise.
What next? Truth first: open list of grabs – who, where, why. Quick courts for PSA on big gangs, not small ones. Pay for innocents, like the Hyderpora taxi man who bought smuggled land. Stop give-aways without strong new planting; fence edges, give guns to guards. Village deals: Gujjars as watchers, locals in REDD+ money. Plant crores – local deodar, not foreign eucalyptus.
But votes beat good deeds. Leaders promise small plots for no-land people, yet protect hotels on hills. NC wants green J&K; PDP cries over bulldozers; BJP looks at “Hindu greens.” All quiet on the 19,501 hectares stolen. Ex-smugglers in Budgam, now nature guides, beg: “We took; now let us return.” Tosamaidan’s fields flower again, after army lease over proof fix can happen.
Yet, without courage, forests die. Green thins, rivers fill with dirt, air gets hot. From 1990’s axe to 2025’s concrete, we swapped heaven for pieces of land. The call stays: When will trees return home? Roshni’s dark lingers andhera ab bhi hai. But in every young plant, a light. Plant it, or we die.
