At Wular, Asia’s second freshwater lake, the air is thick with a sense of loss. The lake, 62 kilometres north of Srinagar, has become a shadow of its former self. A good portion of the lake has dried up with the water level having fallen drastically impacting the production of fish and chestnuts, a source of earnings for the locals living around the lake.
Muhammad Shaban, 60, a fisherman, laments the slow death the lake is suffering. Sitting in his boat, wearing a nylon cap under the hood of a jacket, Shaban reflected on the days when the lake provided for his family.
"Back in the day, this lake was our lifeline," he recalls, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "We would cast our nets and return with abundant catches of fish and chestnuts, enough to fill our boats and our homes."
With a heavy heart, he gestures toward the remnants of his old boat, now worn and weathered. "Now, look at it. The water has receded so much that the lake seems smaller each year, and the fish are nowhere to be found."
The reasons for the lake's decline are clear yet disheartening. Encroachment along the shoreline has reduced the area, while untreated sewage from nearby towns has polluted the water, choking the life out of this once-thriving ecosystem.
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"We used to drink from these waters, and now we wouldn’t dare," Shaban laments.
He remembers when officials would visit to check on the health of the lake and even stock it with fish seeds.
"They promised to safeguard our livelihoods, but those promises have faded like the lake itself," he said, bitterness creeping into his tone.
"Now, we barely catch enough fish to feed our families. Many of us have taken out loans to invest in boats and gear, yet we struggle to make ends meet."
Another fisherman, Ghulam Muhammad Dar, adds to the tale of despair. "I once worked shoulder to shoulder with my father. Together, we would spend hours by the water, bringing in nets filled with healthy fish,’’ he said. “But now, it feels like we are draining what little remains."
He said the fishermen are abandoning their tools for labour in construction or sand extraction, fearing the loss of tradition.
Fishing is not just a job,’’ he said. “It’s part of who we are.” He said they have watched generations thrive here, but what will happen when there are no fishermen left?
Despite their struggles, the community remains resilient. Shaban and Ghulam often gather with fellow fishermen and have often raised their concerns with the government.
"The government must work to restore the water levels and clean the lake," they said. "We are not asking for much—just the chance to keep our livelihoods and provide for our families."
The lake, a symbol of their heritage, fades before their eyes, but their hope for revival remains. For Shaban, the fight is not just for fish or chestnuts but for the very essence of their existence that the lake represents. "We have lived in harmony with this water for generations. It deserves a chance to heal, just as we do,” he said.
