My father rarely speaks with such heaviness in his voice, but that evening, as we sat together, he began recounting a story from his childhood. A story filled with wonder, innocence, and a quiet sorrow for what has been lost. What he shared was not merely a memory of a place, but a heartfelt lament for a fading heritage. This is the tale he told me about Sherbagh and the “queen fish” of his boyhood.

There was a time, my son, when childhood in Anantnag meant running barefoot toward the clear waters of Sherbagh. Our laughter rang beneath the chinars, and innocence flowed as freely as the springs themselves. For those of us who grew up in this old town, no day felt complete without several dips in that cherished spring. It was never just water; it was magic. It was belonging. It was life at its purest.

Each spring in Sherbagh held a story of its own. The glistening fish were not merely creatures of water; they were heroes of our childhood tales. We believed with absolute conviction in a grand “queen fish” that ruled the main spring. With eager eyes, we searched for that enchanted fish whispered to wear a golden ring in its gills. Those stories may seem innocent to you now, but they were sacred strands woven into our growing years. What beautiful faith we carried. What untouched innocence.

Those waters refreshed more than our bodies; they soothed our spirits. Even today, when I think of those afternoons filled with splashes and secret legends, my mind feels lighter and my heart calmer. Sherbagh was never just a place to swim; it was an ecological jewel and an emotional refuge.

But today, my son, it pains me to hear of fish dying, gasping in the very waters that once symbolized purity. Pollution, carelessness, and thoughtless interference are slowly draining life from that dreamlike place. Waste dumping, sewage inflow, plastic litter, and reckless construction near water bodies are turning living ecosystems into stagnant pools. At times, it feels as though a quiet monster of indifference has crept in and stolen the sparkle from our childhood sanctuary.

And Sherbagh is not the only one suffering. Many other water bodies across Anantnag town are being choked, narrowed, or polluted because of unplanned construction and neglect of ecological balance. The town once proudly known for its springs Anantnag, the “land of springs” now stands at the risk of losing that very identity.

What saddens me further is that this is not only our story; it is a global concern. Across the world, communities are realizing the urgency of sustainable development, a way of growing that meets today’s needs without stealing from future generations. The United Nations’ Sustainable Development Goals, especially Goal 6 on Clean Water and Sanitation, Goal 11 on Sustainable Cities and Communities, Goal 12 on Responsible Consumption and Production, and Goal 13 on Climate Action, remind us to protect nature and build resilient ecosystems. Our springs are part of that shared responsibility.

One meaningful idea we must understand, my son, is the Circular Economy, a system where waste is reduced and resources are reused wisely. Instead of throwing things away carelessly, we must learn to recycle, recover, and respect what we consume. Segregating waste at home, composting organic matter, cutting down on single-use plastics, and supporting recycling efforts can greatly ease the burden on our water bodies. When garbage is handled responsibly, it does not end up choking fish or contaminating freshwater life.

Still, policies alone will not restore Sherbagh. Real change begins with people like us. Every resident of Anantnag must consider themselves a guardian of these springs. Authorities must improve waste systems, control construction near water sources, and regularly monitor water quality. Laws should not exist only in files; they must be visible in action.

Schools, too, can make a difference. Imagine schools adopting nearby springs or ponds, and students keeping them clean and protected. With guidance from teachers, they can organize cleanliness drives, awareness rallies, and campaigns to inform families about the harm caused by dumping waste into water bodies. When young people learn to care for nature early, they grow into citizens who carry sustainability as a lifelong value and become agents of change.

Community effort matters just as much. Mohallah committees, volunteers, and resident groups must work together to safeguard local water sources. Religious and community leaders, whose words carry influence, can speak about environmental responsibility in gatherings and sermons. In a land where water holds spiritual meaning, protecting it should feel like a sacred obligation.

Media, social organizations, and youth groups can further spread awareness, reminding people of both the ecological and emotional value of these springs. Cleanliness should become a continuous practice rather than a symbolic event. Planting trees near water bodies, preventing encroachments, and restoring natural drainage must become shared goals.

Remember, my son, sustainability is not a distant theory; it is a daily habit. It lives in refusing to litter, questioning careless construction, saving water at home, and learning to respect nature. The springs of Anantnag are living systems; they replenish groundwater, balance temperatures, nurture biodiversity, and sustain human life. If they disappear, we lose far more than memories.

So if you ever hear me speak of the “queen fish” and those shining waters, know that it is not mere nostalgia. Memory alone cannot protect what we love. We must turn remembrance into responsibility. We must rise not as silent mourners of what once was, but as active protectors of what still remains.

I do not want your generation to inherit stories of vanished springs and lifeless waters. I want you to see flowing streams. I want you to witness thriving ecosystems. I want you to inherit wonder, not regret.

Sherbagh gave us a childhood filled with purity and joy. Now it is our duty to give it protection, sustainability, and collective care. Only then will Anantnag truly deserve its name the enduring land of living springs.

Muhammad Ruhaan Baldev is a Student of Class 11th , Resident of Anantnag Town

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