In the early days of spring, before the first buds of almond trees began to bloom, our village would come alive with the sounds of anticipation. It was the time of Gangul, a cherished tradition that marked the beginning of the farming season in Kashmir. The sharing of walnuts, a symbol of prosperity, and the sweetened rice, a token of sweetness in life, were blessings bestowed upon the next generation.

It was a moment when the community came together, bound by a shared purpose and a collective memory of the seasons that shaped our lives. The rhythmic clatter of wooden ploughs. My father, along with other farmers, would lead their bulls to the fields, guiding them with steady hands and seasoned eyes. The bulls, adorned with colorful garlands, symbolized strength and hope. As they broke the ground, elders would gather the children, distributing walnuts and rice mixed with sugar—a simple yet profound gesture that connected us to the land and to each other.

The essence of Gangul is beautifully captured in the words of Sheikh Noor-ud-Din Noorani, also known as Sheikh-ul-Alam or locally known as Nundreish, a revered Sufi saint of Kashmir:

“Yus kari gongul, sui kari kraw”

“He who sows, shall be the one to harvest too.”

Sheikh Noorani’s teachings extended beyond spiritual realms; they were deeply rooted in the realities of daily life. In another of his verses, he reflects on the transformation of tools of war into instruments of cultivation:

“Kartal phtrem ta garimas drati”
“I broke the sword and molded sickles out of it.”

The sword turned sickle was not just a metaphor for peace, but also a call to dignity through cultivation, and a reminder that creation, not destruction, anchors societies. This profound shift from violence to nurturing, from destruction to creation, mirrors the evolution of Kashmir’s agrarian practices. Historically, the region’s farming communities endured the burdens of begar (forced labor) under feudal systems, where peasants were compelled to work without compensation. This exploitative system fractured the backbone of the Kashmiri peasantry, leading to widespread discontent and eventual reforms.

The transition from such oppressive structures to a more equitable system was marked by significant land reforms. The Land to Tiller Act aimed to abolish the feudal system, granting ownership rights to the actual cultivators. These reforms were not just legal changes; they represented a reclaiming of dignity and autonomy for the farmers, aligning with the spiritual ethos of Sheikh Noorani’s teachings.

But as I stand in the fields today, I see a new kind of dispossession unfolding. In the name of development, prime agricultural land—the backbone of Kashmir’s economy—is being systematically sabotaged and swallowed. Orchards that once stood as symbols of prosperity are being uprooted to make way for highways, railways, industrial parks, and military garrisons. Fertile fields that nourished families for centuries are fenced, demarcated, and reclassified, often without the meaningful consent of those who have lived and labored on them.