How to kill a lake

[Wular lake, near Sopore, Kashmir]

Text and images Sameer

There is a lake in Scotland called Loch Ness. Legend has it that it is home to the Loch Ness monster. For ages the monster has captured popular imagination in the western world and kept it at such frenzied levels that hordes can still be seen descending upon Loch just to catch a glimpse of the beauty, dubbed Nessie. Of course the monster story is pure imagination. With or without its famed beast the Loch is reported to have more fresh water than all the lakes of England and Wales.

Back home in Kashmir, a few minutes’ drive from home is another beautiful lake. This one has no beast in it. My sister likes to garnish history with some local lore. She believes there is an entire city submerged in the lake [Kalhana, the 12th century Kashmiri chronicler of historic fables supports her claim]. Wular, the Indian sub-continent’s largest fresh water lake, is no less mysterious.

Wular is azure everywhere you look. It has schools of carp and rosy barb swimming in its blue waters. Across the lake shore it is not uncommon to see little egrets, pecking away, their snowy feathers reflecting in the water. Dabbling ducks, with green heads like the Pakistani national flag, quack to each other on Wular’s placid waters. Pallas's fish eagle with a light chocolate hood over a white face can be spotted flying over the lake, watching over the marbled teal, the diving duck that is both rare and friendly.

Kashmir's celebrated King Zain-ul-Abedin is known to have been bewitched by the lily-embroidered lake. On many clear moonlit nights in 1444, the noble king – watched the still waves of Wular -- slowly weave their lakelet magic in ancient aqua loops. To contemplate in nature’s lap the King got an artificial island made in the middle of the lake. It still remains and is locally called Zaina lank. People say that at noon, almost daily, tides occur in Wular which are usually accompanied by mild storms. Fishermen at the lake take refuge in Zaina lank if the storm gets bad.

I have been bothered by recent reports from Wetland International [WI], South Asia, a reputed global organization dedicated to conservation of wetlands. The report for Wular is particularly distressing. The lake has shrunk to half its size due to massive encroachment, inflow of sewage and siltation. The reason – no brownies for guessing this one – bad policies by subsequent state governments. The WI note further says that deterioration of Wular has led to increased floods and droughts in the region besides affecting the fish and bird species. The 217 sq km lake has now been reduced to a mere 87 sq km. Encroachment continues.

In a place where opportunities are limited and ignorance is unlimited – and the specter of poverty always haunts -- it does not come as a surprise that such things transpire. As many as 18 villages tucked away around the shores of Wular have their sustenance attached to the lake in one form or the other. Close to 10,000 fishermen make their living by catching fish in the lake. The conversion of vast catchment into agriculture land and the hunting pressure on waterfowl remains widespread. This nonsense has to end. And now.

Wular is our heritage. All the fat guys in the ecology and wildlife department are busy in Srinagar, ostensibly cleaning the Dal up. That is another scandal where endless money has gone down the drain [or Dal must we say]. No one cares, not the least the environment and remote sensing department of the J&K government. They watch as the largest fresh water body in the sub-continent gets dirtier, than their deeds. The Environment and forest minister has to ensure that his guys don’t come to plant trees around the lake, which they did in the past in clear violation of wildlife norms [they forget to plant the saplings where they need to].

At the community level too there is absolutely no alternative to people’s active involvement. Awareness is key. People just cannot afford to dump garbage into the lake. Any illegal encroachment around Wular has to be quickly reported. We need the Pied Woodpeckers and European Hoopoes in our midst.

Already the number of migratory birds [which used to number upwards of 30,000 each year] is dwindling. If we don’t act now Wular will be a stinking pool filled with carcasses, plastic and human shit.

Sameer

Water Wars

Water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink. The rhyme of the ancient mariner sprang to my mind as I hopscotched through Kashmir during my last visit. Vale of my childhood, where water was the last thing people would possibly bother about. We used to throw water on each other at school and the fun was fondly called ‘Aab Jung’ [water war]. But those were innocent years, with only a few residential areas and a lot of farm land. The rivers were overflowing and filled with fish. The Lakes, I remember, meandered around hills and the golden kingfisher would dive in to catch a little trout in its beak. In the years to come, that innocence was gradually lost. It was molested by indifferent times. The fish drowned in the waters. Then there was scarcity.

I think the water problem does not come as a surprise. To make things worse everyone wants a separate home, complete with gardens and flowers and fencing in Kashmir. And a place for keeping that sparkling car. This has lead to a steady shrinkage of agricultural land and a dip in the ground water table. Natural resources are -- naturally -- stretched thin. Private construction is at an all time high – homes in all kinds of concrete shapes are coming up. But everyone complains that winters are too cold now and you want to tell them: Look here, when you use too much concrete and glass – trying to replicate Delhi architecture -- you can’t expect the cosy warmth of a Kashmiri home.

And it results in Water wars of a different kind. I first noticed the desperation when we drove to the Manasbal Lake. There are tiny picaresque villages on the way. The narrow pot-holed road is lined with beautiful orchards full of red, juicy fruit, ready to be plucked. At a bend in the road, near a hamlet called Poshwari [meaning flower meadow – no flowers though], we met with villagers, who were blocking the road. They told us that we cannot go further up because they are protesting the acute water shortage in their area. No mini-bus, car or scooter was allowed to pass. Only the occasional security vehicle whizzed past, because nobody dares stop the ‘military’. The villagers were pretty animated and no excuses worked. So we parked our car to one side and waited.



I knew all my media accreditations – that usually allow me an entry to the Prime ministers’ garden in Delhi -- won’t work with these folks. So I warmed upto a few protesting guys. Why are you troubling people like this? I asked. “Jinab, they shot back [That native naïve way of addressing anyone dressed in city garb] we have resorted to this extreme step because we don’t have a drop of water to drink”. Our women walk five miles to fetch a pail of water and all we can do is sit and watch helplessly. “We couldn’t even take a bath on the Eid day,” a young man added for effect. I noticed dandruff on his shoulder; I guess he was not exaggerating. Do you think anyone will take notice of your peaceful sit-in? I questioned an old man who was snorting his tobacco. “We don’t know – Jinab – but what else can we do. We have tried everything possible,” he said with an exasperated expression.

We finally made our way through the melee but I felt bad for the poor guys. It is hard life for them. We live in a world of contrasts, I often tell myself. Bottled mineral water and 24 hour water supply for some – me included – and nary a drop to drink for others.

[My pals in the US drink Evian water. Direct from Évian-les-Bains, on the south shore of Lake Geneva, a close friend remarked last month].

I broached the issue with a top tourism officer – incharge of Manasbal waterways. Though the guy was smart and knew quite a bit about water sports, he gave me that amused look as I raised the topic. You know Sam, he went on in an avuncular fashion, you are a financial journalist, how can you can’t understand this local, petty stuff. These villagers are illiterate, uncouth and they don’t understand the water schemes the government launches for them from time to time. I couldn’t buy his government-like argument. It was a typical passing-the-buck and blaming-the-aggrieved answer. I looked on.

Two days before I took a flight to Delhi, I went to see Tanseer’s [best buddy] folks. I hired a Tonga [horse carriage, good old way] and we rode off. About half a kilometer from my destination, we were signalled to stop. People were furiously pelting stones at vehicles and the Tonga-Walla [Carriage driver] thought the horse might bolt. I got down and walked the remaining distance. I thought it was a usual demonstration against the security forces but it turned out to be a water protest. This time in the heart of a major township. I am sure the crowd was dispersed some time soon because the gathering was not around when I returned. I am sure no one heard them, let alone the authorities.

Back in Delhi, as I sat covering an international event in a five star hotel days later, I asked for some water. As I waited for the maitre d'hotel to bring me water, I casually asked a second attendant for water. Two bottles of Himmelsberger arrived in the next one minute. German water. The extravagance of our lives. I thought about the peasants in that lovely flower meadow. I know no one ever took care of their necessity.

Sameer
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Villagers blocking the road at Poshwari, Kashmir [Mobile Pic]