FIDA IQBAL
A few days ago, I had the opportunity to travel in a chauffeur-driven vehicle from Gurdwara Kathi Darwaza in Rainawari to the Nigeen Club after several years. When you are not driving yourself, you have enough time to look around and observe the landscape.
What I saw was deeply disturbing.
I could hardly believe the extent of construction that has come up on either side of the road in such a short span of time. The Dal and Nigeen Lake waters, which were once easily visible from the road, have virtually disappeared behind a maze of constructions. A cluster of secondary roads leading into mushrooming settlements appears to have penetrated deep into what was once the lake and its peripheral wetland. At some places, tall tin-sheet barricades have been erected, apparently concealing ongoing construction. Some newly erected buildings have been hurriedly painted, giving the entire landscape an appearance of haste and improvisation.
The sight took me back several decades, when this road presented an entirely different picture. We would often travel along it to visit friends at NIT, then known as REC—Regional Engineering College. The waters of Dal and Nigeen seemed to touch the road on either side. Small shikaras laden with vegetables and locally made grass mats, or wagoo, were frequently seen along the water channels. For many people living within the lake, these shikaras were not merely recreational craft; they were an essential means of transportation.
The situation undoubtedly deteriorated with the onset of turmoil in the Valley. Yet, even until a little over five years ago, the transformation did not appear as alarming as what I witnessed now. Large showrooms, workshops, garages and sprawling houses have pockmarked what was once one of Srinagar’s most beautiful stretches.
And this, I believe, is only the tip of the iceberg.
Anchaar Lake: a vanishing water landscape
A drive—or even a walk—from Eidgah, more precisely Ali Masjid, towards Sher-i-Kashmir Institute of Medical Sciences (SKIMS), tells another disturbing story.
Here, the encroachment of water bodies and the extension of settlements deep into the Anchaar Lake and its connecting water channels are visible, particularly around the Zonimar area. Automobile workshops, scrap godowns and large houses appear to have emerged along stretches where water once dominated the landscape.
There was a time when, from Zonimar onwards, shikaras could be seen moving through lagoons and interconnected waterways. Today, in many places, one has to make a considerable effort even to locate water, and the few remaining shikaras are often seen stranded in marshy stretches.
The area behind SKIMS presents yet another concern. Huge quantities of hospital waste can be seen being sorted along the banks of the lake. One cannot help wondering whether some portion of this discarded material eventually finds its way into the water body, along with untreated sewage from nearby Bahlochipora and other settlements.
This is only a small section of the shoreline of Anchaar Lake. What has happened to the remaining parts of this once-important water body is difficult to comprehend without a comprehensive survey.
Brarinambal: an appendix of Dal in distress
Then there is Brarinambal, one of the important water structures associated with the Dal Lake system.
This lagoon once played an important role in the hydrological health of Dal. Its degradation has been a gradual process. The proliferation of aquatic vegetation has been encouraged by the accumulation of nutrients and pollutants entering the water body, including runoff and sewage from surrounding areas.
Fortunately, the road around Brarinambal provides a relatively clear demarcation of the water body. Yet this has not prevented encroachment. For nearly three decades, furniture workshops and showrooms along its periphery have steadily pushed towards the water without, apparently, adequate restraint.
Look deeper into the lagoon and the picture becomes even more disturbing. Parts of it resemble an urban slum, with ragpickers and heaps of discarded material occupying the remaining spaces.
More recently, another cluster of flower nurseries has appeared on the other side, with their activities seemingly extending further into the lagoon with each passing day.
Chointh Kul: a forgotten waterway
The Chointh Kul, extending from the River Jhelum along Church Lane, passing by the golf course and eventually returning to the Jhelum near Gowkadal, tells another story of neglect, encroachment and human exploitation.
Along much of its course, untreated sewage and solid waste find their way into the canal. A waterway that once formed part of Srinagar’s intricate network of waterways has increasingly become a receptacle for the city’s waste.
Within this water system lies Chinar Bagh, a beautiful island with scores of magnificent Chinar trees. Strategically located, it was once a favourite camping site for foreign tourists. Several years ago, efforts were made to restore and preserve the place. Unfortunately, neglect appears to have once again allowed petty exploitation to take hold.
Another forgotten water channel
Yet another waterway originating from the River Jhelum near Tankipora and extending towards Safakadal has suffered a similar fate. Garbage, solid waste and untreated sewage from settlements along its banks are routinely dumped into the waterway.
Every conceivable kind of waste appears to find its way into it.
These are not isolated incidents. They are symptoms of a larger failure to protect Srinagar’s historic water ecosystem.
More than Dal and Jhelum
I have mentioned only a few water bodies and waterways. There are several others within Srinagar and its surrounding areas that once formed an integral part of the city’s ecological, drainage and navigation system.
Much of the government’s attention understandably focuses on the Dal, Nigeen and the Jhelum. But Srinagar’s water ecosystem does not consist of these three alone. The smaller lakes, lagoons, canals and connecting waterways are equally important. Their disappearance or degradation ultimately affects the larger system.
For centuries, Srinagar developed around water. Its waterways were not merely geographical features; they were part of the city’s character, economy, transportation system and cultural identity. When these interconnected water bodies are narrowed, polluted, filled or encroached upon, the damage is not confined to a particular neighbourhood. The entire urban ecosystem suffers.
The unchecked expansion of construction and the activities of land grabbers pose an obvious threat. What is even more difficult to understand is how such large-scale changes can take place without timely intervention by the authorities.
When an ordinary citizen travelling along a road can see the transformation of the landscape with his own eyes, one is compelled to ask: How can those entrusted with protecting these water bodies remain unaware of what is happening?
And if the authorities are aware, the question becomes even more serious: what explains the apparent inaction?
The disappearance of Srinagar’s water bodies should not be treated merely as an issue of illegal construction or land encroachment. It is an environmental, hydrological and heritage crisis.
Once a water body disappears beneath concrete, garbage or human habitation, restoring it is immensely difficult—sometimes impossible.
Srinagar cannot afford to lose its remaining waterways one by one.
What is needed is an independent, comprehensive mapping of all the city’s water bodies and their original boundaries, followed by a transparent assessment of the extent of encroachment, pollution and degradation. The findings should be made public, and the remaining water structures must be protected before they disappear altogether.
The question is no longer simply who encroached upon these water bodies.
The larger question is: who allowed them to disappear?
That question deserves an answer from those sitting at the pedestal of governance.
The author can be reached at mail@fidaiqbal.com
