Kashmir’s Degenerating Social Fabric 

By Dr. Ashraf Zainabi 

Kashmir, the Reshwaer, the land once sanctified by the footsteps of saints and softened by the words of mystics, now trembles under the weight of its own undoing. It was here that Lal Ded wandered, shedding the chains of materialism, and here that Nund Reshi’s silence was mightier than a thousand decrees. 

This was the land where prayers rose with the morning mist and settled like dew upon the hearts of its people. But now, what remains of that Reshwaer? What remains of that sacred breath, that divine touch?

Amir Khusrau, enamored by a Kashmir, wrote, “If there is a paradise on Earth, it is this, it is this, it is this.” Paradise-like no longer exists. If he were to return today, would he still call it paradise? Or would he find himself gasping for air in a place where truth has been buried, and honor has been sold to the highest bidder? 

The tragedy of Kashmir is not merely in its political wounds, nor simply in its territorial struggles. It is in its moral decay, its spiritual erosion, its betrayal of self. There was a time when Reshwaer meant humility, a land where a traveler could sleep under the shade of a chinar, unafraid of deceit or violence. 

Kashmir was a place where generosity was instinctive, where a stranger was fed before he could ask, where the wealth of the valley lay not in its gold, but in its grace. Today, the same land is haunted by the ghosts of corruption. The streets that once welcomed poets and seekers now echo with cries of crime, obscene, immoral acts, the fields that once blossomed with saffron are now buried under highways and shopping malls. What was once a land of faqeers (God fearing & anti materialists) has become a playground for opportunists and pscycho breed like Razak bab.

A crime against the soul

A greater crime than the theft of land is the theft of virtue. Theft is no longer done in the secrecy of night; it is a craft practiced in daylight, sanctioned by power, justified by necessity. 

The youth, both men, women, young, old, once seekers of knowledge, now seek refuge in intoxication, drowning their disillusionment in a haze of substance abuse. The hands that once wove the finest Pashmina now tremble under the weight of despair.

A couplet in Kashmiri language translates into “What will the oppressor take with him? Lal Ded has shown the path”. But the path is obscured, lost beneath the rubble of greed. The mosques are grander, the sermons louder, yet hearts are darker, and intentions more hollow. Faith has been reduced to performance, religion to a ritualistic routine that serves the ego more than the soul. What use are long prayers when they do not translate into honesty? What worth is a bowed head when the hands are tainted with deceit?

The streets reek not only of economic poverty but of moral bankruptcy. Corruption is no longer an exception; it is the rule. Those entrusted with justice have turned it into a commodity. Those meant to uphold truth have auctioned it for convenience. Nepotism thrives while merit is strangled. Reshwaer has been turned into a marketplace where everything—land, faith, loyalty—is up for sale.

The destruction of the sacred land

Nature, once the valley’s greatest poet, now laments in silence. The Karewas, the ancient plateaus that cradled saffron fields and almond orchards, are being razed, their soil sold by those who should have safeguarded it. Concrete suffocates what was once a breathing landscape, rivers carry filth instead of purity, lakes mirror the neglect of their keepers. If the land is lost, if the water is lost, if the air is lost—what remains of Reshwaer and the Paradise? 

Of Reshwaer, it is not just the land that is being consumed; it is it’s identity itself. The Wular that once sustained villages now swallows its own banks (encroachment’s). The Dal, once a mirror to the heavens, now reflects the ruin of our conscience. The waters that once carried the whispers of saints now carry the waste of an indifferent people, morally, environmentally corrupt. Kashmir, which once commanded reverence, is now being dissected, dismantled, and degraded, piece by piece, inch by inch.

The vanishing spirit

Once upon a time, Reshwaer was not just a land; it was a way of life. It was simplicity, it was generosity, it was truth. That spirit is now an artifact, spoken of in past tense, admired in nostalgia but abandoned in practice. This is the greatest malaal, the deepest wound—the loss of what made Kashmir more than just a valley of mountains and rivers.

“A land as beautiful as the first glimpse of paradise,” wrote Sir Walter Lawrence. But what is beauty if it is hollow? What is paradise if its people live in despair? What is Reshwaer if it’s people list morals and lost the purpose of very being.

Is redemption possible?

We, as an individuals and a society have reached to a point when redemption is the only way. Can Reshwaer be saved? Perhaps. But it will take more than mourning. It will take more than mere remembrance. It demands action, reflection, and an unwavering courage to break the chains of greed, to cleanse the conscience, to reclaim the truth.

This Reshwaer didn’t  die overnight. Also its redemption is not possible on memory alone. If Reshwaer is to breathe again, it must first be cleansed—not by force, not by authority, but by the return of honesty, by the revival of integrity, by the rediscovery of purpose.

Until then, the question will remain unanswered. The lament will remain unresolved, and the sigh of Reshwaer will continue to echo—“Kya gov malaal yeth Reshwaraey?“

Views expressed in the article are the author’s own and do not necessarily represent the editorial stance of Kashmir Observer

• The author is a Teacher,  researcher and a freelance columnist 

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