By Sadaket Ali Malik

On a crisp October morning, the saffron fields of Kishtwar glow purple under the first light. The flowers bloom for only a few days, and farmers rush to pick them before the sun gets strong.

Each blossom holds three thin red threads, the stigmas, that make up the world's most expensive spice.

For people here, saffron is history, identity, and a way of life. Locals call it Kung, a name that carries warmth and pride.

Grown on a small plateau surrounded by the Pir Panjal and Himalayan ranges, Kishtwar's saffron has a reputation for purity and strength. Old farmers say it outshines even the saffron of Pampore in Kashmir.

The story of Kung runs deep through the region. Some believe travellers brought the bulbs here centuries ago during the Mughal era. Others say saffron was born in this soil.

In villages like Matta, Hidyal, and Tund, every family has a connection to it. The skill of planting, plucking, and drying passes from one generation to the next, along with the faith that this delicate flower will bloom again each year.

The work begins in September when farmers plant the bulbs in neat rows. A month later, the fields burst into colour. The harvest is short and intense. Men, women, and children bend over the flowers, collecting them carefully.

Later, indoors, the women separate the red threads from the petals, a job that takes patience and precision. It takes nearly a thousand flowers to produce just ten grams of dried saffron.

Only a few of Kishtwar's 156 villages grow saffron, including Nageni, Begana, and Pochhal. Together, they cultivate around 120 hectares.

Every patch of land is precious, every harvest uncertain.“We wait the whole year for these two weeks,” says Abdul Rashid, a farmer from Hidyal.“If the weather turns bad, all our effort is gone.”

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