There was a time when the golden fields of Kashmir echoed with the rhythmic thud of wooden ploughs and the calloused hands of Kashmiri laborers tilled the earth with an intimate devotion. In the crisp autumn air, they could be seen stacking sheaves of golden paddy, their voices carrying across the fields in songs of toil and triumph. At dawn, they trudged through mist-laden orchards, baskets slung over their shoulders, plucking apples with the same care as one cradles a newborn. They built homes with their own hands, mixed mortar under a watchful gaze, and carried timber across snow-laden passes with unflinching resolve. Hard work was not just a necessity – it was a way of life, a tradition passed down like an heirloom.

And then came spring – the season of renewal, of fresh hopes, of the valley shaking off the last traces of winter’s slumber. This was when the laborers returned to the land, their hands thick with mud, breathing life back into the fields that had lain barren under frost. The clang of sickles in mustard fields, the scent of tilled earth, the sight of men and women bending over saffron corms with the patience of artisans – these were the rituals of spring, marking the eternal bond between Kashmir’s people and its soil. Spring songs like Roshe Wala Myani Dilbaro (Oh, My Rosy Beloved), Harmukh Bartal (Harmukh’s Peak) and many more were heard from a distance. We have killed that Kashmir!

And today, those fields, orchards, and construction sites tell a different story. The hands that once shaped the Valley now rest, while new ones – strong, unyielding, and unfamiliar – have taken their place. The traditional workforce has receded, replaced by the unrelenting industriousness of non-local laborers, especially from Bihar. Has Kashmir lost its will to work? Or has the influx of Bihari and other non-local workers........

© Kashmir Images