Harud: When Autumn turns Kashmir’s fields to gold

As the first light of morning falls on the Kashmir Valley, 57-year-old farmer Mahiudin Magray and his son Maznoor Ahmad spread a white sheet across an open field to mark the beginning of another harvest season. The sheets will soon hold paddy stalks that will be dried and later threshed. Each year, as the chill of autumn settles over the valley, the vast paddy fields turn golden, signalling Harud, the rice harvest season.

The word Harud, meaning “autumn” in Kashmiri, marks more than a change in season; it reflects a way of life. From September to mid-October, farming families, neighbours, and local labourers come together to cut, carry, and thresh the year’s crop, a rhythm of work and community that has sustained Kashmir’s agrarian traditions for generations.

Rice is more than food in Kashmir. It is the valley’s staple and the backbone of agriculture, grown on over 44 percent of the land. Meals are incomplete without it. The work is tough, but the harvest is also a celebration. Neighbours help each other, meals are shared, and songs echo across the fields. 

Hands keep the harvest alive

The work follows an old rhythm. Fields fill with the sound of sickles striking paddy and the rustle of stalks bundled to dry under the sun. The smell of straw drifts across villages, and golden heaps mark the season. Amidst it all, children bring food and water to elders, their laughter mingling with the work.

Later, the dried stalks are threshed by hand, some using drums, others letting cattle trample the crop. What seems simple is slow, repetitive, and physically demanding, yet every movement helps preserve the grains that sustain families through winter. Climate change has also altered this rhythm. In Kashmir Valley, rice farming depends on zampas or khuls, traditional canals that divert glacier and snowmelt water from Himalayan rivers.

In the glowing fields, rice is winnowed with a woven bamboo basket, and grains scatter onto sheets below. Freshly threshed rice grains are spread carefully across white sheets. They represent weeks of patient labour in the fields. For families like that of Mahiudin Magray, every grain matters.

This simple method is slow but trusted, unchanged for centuries in Kashmir, where tradition carries as much weight as the crop itself.  “It is tiring. But working together makes it easier,” says Maznoor Ahmad Magray, working alongside his father.

Harvest brings generations together

Across the Kashmir valley, families gather each autumn to harvest rice. In Central Kashmir, particularly Ganderbal, Srinagar and Budgam, the harvest season transforms the countryside. Terraced fields shimmer with gold, and paths are filled with farmers carrying bundles on their shoulders.

In villages, older farmers pass down lessons to younger ones. Every stage of the harvest strengthens social bonds and keeps alive traditions that have endured for centuries. Harud is remembered as much for its togetherness as for its grain.

As snowmelt and rainfall patterns shift, farmers say the water flow has grown uncertain. The rhythm of Harud, once steady, now depends on the whims of rain. Harud is not only labour but also the memory of a season that engages all senses and reflects deep respect for continuity and ancestral knowledge that is passed down through generations.

“Harvesting takes time, and it needs everyone’s hands. Alone, no one can finish this. Together, we make it possible,” says Muhammad Shaban Mir, a farmer in Cherwan village. Harud is remembered in village stories, folk songs, and oral traditions, showing how the season is as cultural as it is agricultural.

In recent years, farmers have found the harvest less predictable. Regional studies show a clear warming trend since the 1980s. Rainfall has grown erratic, with unusual autumn showers and dry spells delaying harvests and harming drying paddy. These shifts reduce grain quality and increase post-harvest loss. Many farmers now try short-duration varieties or shift sowing dates to avoid late rains, treating Harud as both a time of harvest and climate risk.

The process is not only about food. For families like that of Mahiudin Magray and his son Maznoor Ahmad Magray, harvest time is about working side by side. “We learned this from our elders,” says Mahiudin, 57 years old. “Even today, families depend on each other. That is how this work is possible.” The season binds generations, ensuring continuity of knowledge and practice.

Change reaches the harvest fields in Kashmir

But change is visible. Urban expansion has eaten into farmland, and many young people prefer city jobs over fieldwork. Rising costs and the need for outside labour weigh heavily on older farmers. According to estimates, thousands of migrant workers from Bihar and Uttar Pradesh now come each year to help with harvesting.

Their presence is essential but has altered the social rhythm of Harud, once defined by collective village labour. Stacks of paddy rise like small monuments in the field. They are more than just storage; they are symbols of abundance and resilience. Farmers arrange them carefully to dry in the sun.

In Kashmir, the story of rice is inseparable from the story of water. From glacier-fed streams to the paddy fields, this flow has shaped livelihoods and faith for generations. As the climate shifts and traditions evolve, Harud endures as a symbol of resilience and the deep bond between people, land, and water.

This story is produced as part of the India Water Portal Regional Story Fellowship 2025.