Towheed Sheikh
Wular (also spelt as Wullar) Lake, nestled in the heart of the Kashmir Valley, is one of Asia’s largest freshwater lakes, a breathtaking expanse where nature unfurls in vibrant hues of blue and green. Fed by the Jhelum River, framed by lush wetlands and cradled by the snow-capped Harmukh peaks of the Himalayas, its shimmering waters stretch across about 130 square kilometers, though its size fluctuates with the seasons.
This ecological and cultural treasure has long captivated the imagination—poets find in its serene ripples a muse, storytellers weave tales of its timeless mystique, and artists capture its ever-changing palette of light and color. Beyond its aesthetic allure, Wular Lake is a vital lifeline for the region. Its abundant fish stocks sustain local livelihoods, its fertile shores support agriculture, and its vast basin acts as a natural buffer, absorbing floodwaters to protect the Valley’s communities. Even researchers or those seeking a ghostwriter bachelorarbeit—which in German means a “thesis ghostwriter”—may draw inspiration from its layered ecological and cultural significance.
However, this natural wonder is caught in a slow-motion crisis. Encroachment gnaws at its boundaries as settlements and farmland creep closer, shrinking its expanse. Pollution—stemming from untreated sewage, agricultural runoff and human negligence—clouds its once-pristine waters, threatening its rich biodiversity. Climate change exacerbates these woes, altering rainfall patterns and glacial flows that feed the lake, while siltation from deforestation in the surrounding hills chokes its depths.
Despite its ecological and economic significance, efforts to preserve Wular have stumbled. Conservation plans, such as the Wular Conservation and Management Project initiated under the country’s National Lake Conservation Plan, have been mired in bureaucratic delays, inadequate funding and inconsistent enforcement. Local communities, dependent on the lake, often lack the resources or awareness to combat these threats effectively. As the lake’s vibrant ecosystem fades, its silent cry grows urgent, raising a question for all who care: will we rise as stewards to restore Wular Lake’s splendour, or allow apathy to consign it to a diminished shadow of its former glory?
History, geology
Wular Lake was born from ancient tectonic shifts and glacial forces that sculpted it thousands of years ago. Known as Mahapadmasaras in Kalhana’s Rajatarangini, it has long been a thread in Kashmir’s historical tapestry, serving as a trade route, irrigation source and cultural emblem for centuries. Persian chronicles and Mughal records speak of royal expeditions across its waters while ancient caravans once ferried goods from Srinagar to Baramulla making Wular a thriving artery of commerce.
Its waters whisper tales of a vibrant past, of bustling houseboats, colourful markets and fishing traditions passed from father to son. The 15th-century Sultan Zain-ul-Abidin is said to have initiated conservation efforts in his reign, understanding the lake’s crucial role long before modern environmental concerns. It has been both a protector and provider, a witness to Kashmir’s changing seasons and shifting fortunes. Now, that legacy stands at risk of becoming a mere footnote in history.
Situated at 1580 meters in Bandipora district, with edges spilling into Baramulla district, Wular is fed by the Jhelum River and streams like Madmati, Arin and Pohru. Its size shifts with the seasons, stretching from 30 to 189 square kilometers, though its average depth of 14 meters is steadily shrinking—down perhaps 20 percent in recent decades, locals estimate. Yet, even in decline, it remains a landscape of raw beauty.
Ecological powerhouse
The lake thrives as an ecological powerhouse. It shelters 27 fish species including Schizothorax and trout and welcomes migratory birds like the Eurasian wigeon and golden eagle each winter. Its aquatic plants purify water and recycle nutrients, while the lake itself acts as a flood buffer, soaking up Jhelum overflows to protect downstream communities. The surrounding wetlands even store carbon, quietly bolstering the region’s climate stability. It’s a living engine, humming with life—yet sputtering under strain.
For over 32000 families, Wular is a source of survival. Fishing alone sustains countless households. A question raised by veteran journalist-politician Nizamuddin Bhat who represents Bandipora in the Jammu & Kashmir Legislative Assembly, revealed a striking fact: 60 percent of the Valley’s fish supply flows from this lake. Beyond fish, seasonal harvests of water chestnut (singhara) and lotus stem (nadru), provide vital income. The lake’s untapped potential for eco-tourism—bird-watching, boating and nature retreats—could also transform local fortunes if nurtured with vision and sustainability. Bashir Ahmad, a fisherman, recalls: “Ten years ago, my nets brimmed with fish. Now, I pull up plastic and despair.”
Wular’s promise still glimmers but hangs by a thread.
Relentless pressure
Wular’s existence is under relentless pressure. Over the years illegal willow plantations and encroachments have devoured its edges, shrinking both its area and depth. What were once sprawling waters are now choked shallows, with islands of invasive trees replacing thriving wetlands. Rampant deforestation in the surrounding hills sends silt cascading into its waters, choking its flow—some say 30% more sediment than a generation ago. The Jhelum’s muddy flow bears silent witness to this tragedy.
Pollution from untreated sewage, plastic waste and agricultural runoff is poisoning its fragile ecosystem, while climate change is upsetting its delicate hydrological balance. Menacing aquatic weeds have further suffocated large sections of the lakebed, making traditional fishing and navigation near impossible in places. Overfishing, combined with deteriorating water quality, is decimating aquatic life. Bashir Ahmad’s nets don’t lie.
This is a lake drowning in human neglect. If corrective measures are delayed further, experts fear that Wular could lose up to half its ecological functions within the next decade. And with it will wipe out not just livelihoods, but an irreplaceable part of Kashmir’s soul.
WUCMA’s best so far is not good enough
In 2012, the government formed the Wular Conservation and Management Authority (WUCMA) with the mission to protect and restore this precious lake. However, more than a decade later, results have been far from satisfactory. While WUCMA has carried out occasional willow removal drives, limited dredging and awareness campaigns, these efforts remain remain fragmented and fall far short of what the lake’s degradation demands – just 15 percent of dredging targets met last year, insiders suggest.
Illegal encroachments continue unchecked, pollution pours in without control and essential infrastructure like sewage treatment plants remains unfulfilled promises. Scientific monitoring is patchy, enforcement weak and local community involvement remains minimal. Conservation plans, although grand on paper, are poorly executed, weighed down by bureaucratic delays, lack of sustained political will and absence of accountability.
Only with real authority, transparent reporting, and consistent action can WUCMA become the environmental force it was envisioned to be.
A roadmap to revival
To save Wular, half-measures will not suffice. A bold, coordinated push is needed: (a) Complete removal of illegal willow plantations to restore natural water flow—rip them out root and stem; (b) Large-scale reforestation in catchment areas to stop siltation, planting now to choke the flood of sediment; (c) Immediate installation of sewage treatment plants and a total ban on waste dumping, with strict enforcement and penalties—build them fast, fine violators hard; (d) Real-time monitoring with hydrological stations, combined with biannual satellite mapping to track changes—watch it live, map it clear; (e) Strengthening WUCMA with legal powers, independent oversight and a clear accountability framework—give it teeth, not just a title; (f) Local communities, especially fishermen, women and youth, should become “Wular Guardians,” trained and incentivised to protect the lake—pay them to fight for their future; (g) Promotion of eco-tourism under strict environmental norms to generate income while preserving the ecosystem—open the gates, guard the soul; (h) An annual “Wular Festival” to celebrate conservation milestones and strengthen community participation—rally pride, mark wins; (i) Quarterly public reports from WUCMA and related authorities to ensure transparency and maintain pressure—no hiding, no excuses.
Wular Lake’s morphology is not just about water—it is the lifeblood of Kashmir’s ecology, economy and cultural soul. At the risk of repetition, it must be reiterated to underscore the lake’s significance: 60 percent of Kashmir’s fish economy depends on its waters.Yet, despite the formation of WUCMA in 2012 and multiple official plans, the current pace—slow and piecemeal—threatens to push this treasure toward irreversible decline. Bashir Ahmad’s shrinking catch tells the story: neglect is winning.
The path forward demands more than words; it requires bold action, accountability and collective commitment. Saving Wular is not merely a conservation effort—it is an obligation to future generations.
The question remains: will we act decisively, or stand by as this natural marvel vanishes from history—remembered only as a monument to human neglect? Will Wular rise again, or become a tombstone to our apathy?
The writer is a socio-political activist residing along the scenic banks of Wular Lake in Bandipora district. Wular is a designated Ramsar site—recognised as a wetland of international importance under the Ramsar Convention. This intergovernmental treaty, named after the Iranian city of Ramsar where it was adopted in 1971, provides the global framework for the conservation and sustainable use of wetlands and their resources. India is a signatory to the Convention and committed to its principles.
