The Land Revolution In Kashmir You Haven't Heard Of

(MENAFN- Kashmir Observer)
Representational Photo

By Mohammad Amin Mir

In Chanderhama, a sleepy village in Baramulla district, a group of farmers huddled under a walnut tree while a patwari stood before them with a smartphone. He zoomed in on a plot of land using Google Maps and asked an elderly man,“Is this yours?”

The man nodded and pointed toward a line of trees.“My father planted those in the seventies,” he said.

The patwari clicked a photo, scanned an old deed using Google Lens, and marked the spot with GPS.

It was a simple exchange, yet one that marked a significant change in how Kashmiri villages are beginning to define ownership, possession, and memory-digitally.

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For generations, land in rural Kashmir has lived in fragile forms: paper records, oral agreements, and government maps drawn decades ago.

The system, rooted in obsolete frameworks, often left villagers confused and courts overwhelmed.

With records like jamabandis barely updated and many partitions or family transfers undocumented, even the simplest land transaction could turn into a long-drawn conflict.

In this setting, the idea of a digital settlement might seem like a leap. But here, in villages like Chanderhama, it is starting to feel possible.

The approach is neither expensive nor tech-heavy. There are no drones flying overhead or GIS vans parked in fields. Instead, the process leans on free and familiar tools: Google Maps, smartphone cameras, GPS, and mobile apps.

Patwaris, long associated with bureaucratic delay, are now walking across fields, tapping coordinates, photographing landowners and their crops, and using apps to trace boundaries.

In many cases, they rely on the memory of elders who recall who planted what and when, who built a fence, or when a plot was divided among brothers.

In Watlab, a schoolteacher brought out an old file with neatly preserved land documents. His grandmother, now in her nineties, sat beside him and identified each plot from memory.

The patwari scanned the papers, took a photo of the woman, and recorded the coordinates of the field she still visited every spring.

It was an emotional moment for the family, but also a radical one. For the first time, that field was not just remembered-it was digitally recognized.

The government's idea is to start small. In every district, 10 to 15 villages are identified as trial sites. The focus is on areas with smaller populations and fewer land disputes. Panchayat leaders are involved in organizing public meetings, while teachers, students, and volunteers assist with data collection.

After visiting each plot and recording the details, open darbars are held where villagers can raise objections or confirm entries. These are often noisy, spirited gatherings, but they serve a clear purpose: making the process participatory.

One patwari described it as“courtroom and camp, all in one.” When people contest claims, they're asked to bring evidence: an old photo, a receipt, a witness.

Some disputes are resolved on the spot. Others are flagged for later scrutiny. Once this stage is done, the data is consolidated into a draft digital record, which is shared for another round of feedback. Nothing is final until all voices are heard.

Legal safeguards are also being built into the process. These digital records are proposed to be treated as provisional-valid for up to five years and open to correction.

If a claim is disputed or incomplete, it's marked accordingly. This makes the system both flexible and fair. It also prevents hasty conclusions that could later be challenged in court.

Across the border, other countries have tried similar models. Rwanda digitized over ten million land parcels using public meetings and handheld GPS. In Bangladesh, Android apps helped cut land disputes significantly in rural areas.

The key to their success, and perhaps to the Valley's, was community involvement. In Kashmir's case, the strength of the village panchayat and the tech awareness among rural youth may be the biggest assets.

Of course, the model isn't without challenges. In some places, local elites have resisted, worried that digital records might expose encroachments. Others worry about digital literacy. Not every farmer can read a satellite map.

To bridge this, printouts of updated maps are pinned to walls in panchayat offices, making the information accessible to all.

Legal resistance is another hurdle. Courts may question the standing of these records unless they are clearly labeled as interim and participatory.

Still, in village after village, the early signs are promising. In Hariparigam, a retired army man smiled as his land was recorded digitally.“Now my son won't have to fight in court after I'm gone,” he said. His neighbor added,“It's not about technology. It's about trust.”

This shift is slow, field by field, name by name. But it holds the potential to change how land is seen, owned, and passed on in rural Kashmir.

What once lived in dusty files or in the words of village elders is now being transferred to phones and cloud servers. More importantly, it is being done with the villagers, not for them or against them.

The hope is that this trial can become a template. That Kashmir, often associated with frozen disputes, can lead the way in resolving them.

And that the work of mapping, marking, and settling land can begin in a mustard field with a patwari, a phone, and an old farmer who remembers where his father once built a fence.

• The author is a legal analyst and columnist writing on land reform, revenue law, and rural governance. He can be reached at [email protected] .

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