How Two Men On Foot Changed Kashmir's Land System

(MENAFN- Kashmir Observer)
KO file photo

By Mohammad Amin Mir

In the folds of South Kashmir, tucked between apple orchards and old boundaries that exist more in memory than on paper, two revenue officials decided they'd had enough of waiting.

The village they worked in hadn't seen a proper land settlement in years. Not unusual, really. Across India, especially in hilly or rural regions, land records are often a confusing mess - one that fuels family disputes, delays development, and sidelines the poor. But this patwari and girdawar, posted to a sleepy tehsil with no special funds, permissions, or staff, decided to do something rare: they rolled up their sleeves and fixed what they could.

They started small. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, they set aside their routine tasks to work exclusively on this trial settlement. They issued informal notices, called in villagers with old documents and older stories, and began matching what the records said with what the ground showed.

There was no vehicle. They used their own motorcycles, carried their own measuring chains and field books, and paid for photocopies out of their own pockets. They asked for help from the local lumberdar and chowkidar, who spread the word that the officials weren't here to penalize, just to correct.

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The process was patient and physical. They walked every parcel, often accompanied by sons, grandmothers, and neighbors who had their own versions of history. In most cases, the discrepancies weren't acts of fraud - they were the result of oral gifts, unwritten partitions, or the death of someone whose name remained on record long after they were gone.

One elderly widow, for example, had been farming her late husband's land for years, yet her name never appeared in the official register. After a quiet field check and verification from neighbors, her name was finally entered. It was a small change, but for her, it meant access to agricultural subsidies, bank credit, and dignity.

Some cases were more tense. Disputes between brothers or cousins over half a kanal of land turned heated, with raised voices and frayed tempers. The officers didn't act like judges. They listened, kept records, and leaned on the credibility they had built over the years. People trusted them because they had always shown up - not as superiors, but as part of the community.

They didn't get far each day - sometimes only 5 or 6 survey numbers. But over three months, they had covered more than half the village. By six months, the entire settlement was complete. The result? Dozens of corrections made. Unrecorded possessors brought onto the books. Fewer disputes. More clarity.

And something else happened, too. The villagers began to change how they looked at the revenue system. The patwari wasn't just a man who came around twice a year with a dusty ledger. He was someone who showed up on foot, listened, and brought the record closer to reality.

This wasn't a project with a big launch. There were no press releases or photo ops. It was quiet work - field diaries filled in pencil, oral statements noted in margins, and boundaries walked on foot.

But this unassuming work matters. Across India, accurate land records are the bedrock of development. They determine who gets compensation when a road is built, who can access government schemes, and who owns what. When they're wrong - and they often are - the most vulnerable suffer.

The story of this village shows that reform doesn't always need new laws or big technology. Sometimes it just needs a notebook, a chain, and someone willing to act. It also shows the value of local leadership. These officers didn't wait for orders. They acted because they saw a problem and believed they could fix it.

Of course, they shouldn't have to work this way. The system should support such initiatives. Field staff need basic things: fuel, maps, clerical help. A small budget could go a long way. So could recognition - not in the form of medals, but a letter from a senior officer that says, we saw what you did, and it mattered.

There's also space here for digital tools - apps that help map land, collect images, tag locations. But at the core, it's still about trust. And trust is built by people who show up and do the work, even when nobody's watching.

In Kashmir, land is not just property. It's memory, history, and sometimes the only source of security a family has. To fix land records is to protect that future. That's what these two men did.

Their story is not big. But it is important. And maybe, if we pay attention, it can be the start of something bigger.

• Author writes about the changing land and landscape realities of Kashmir. He can be reached at [email protected]

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