Kashmir’s ‘Harud’ is more than just autumn—it’s a celebration of harvests, family traditions, and the natural world. With its rich colors and deep cultural ties, this season is a reminder of simpler, more fulfilling joys that the digital world cannot replace.
By Rayees Ahmad Kumar
Autumn, a time of year that John Keats so beautifully described as the “Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,” is known for its harvests, vibrant foliage, cooling temperatures, and lengthening nights. In Kashmir, this season, locally known as ‘Harud,’ transforms the landscape into a canvas of deep reds, vibrant oranges, and warm yellows. The valley becomes an enchanting spectacle, drawing tourists to its Mughal gardens, hill stations, and charming health resorts.
While spring in Kashmir has long been celebrated by poets, authors, and literary figures for its rejuvenating effect on the flora and the sense of hope it brings to the valley’s inhabitants, autumn holds its own unique glory. It is the season of harvest, when farmers gather the fruits of their hard work, having toiled through the months of planting and nurturing. Orchardists begin picking apples and other fruits, which are carefully packed and sent beyond the valley to be sold, providing a much-needed source of income. The region’s economy also benefits from the walnut harvest. In late summer, particularly in August and September, villagers begin the labor-intensive process of thrashing the walnuts, removing the green husks, and drying the nuts under the sun. Kashmiri walnuts, renowned worldwide for their quality, are exported globally, contributing to the region’s economic growth.
Autumn in Kashmir is not only a time for harvest but also a season full of celebration and memory. Reflecting on my own childhood, I recall the anticipation I felt for the arrival of autumn. I would wake up early in the morning, say my prayers, and then venture out into the fields in search of walnuts that had fallen during the night. By the end of the season, I would sell my collection to a local shopkeeper in exchange for a small sum—usually a hundred or two—which would keep me excited for months. Nowadays, these early morning forays have been replaced by mobile gaming, a trend that has robbed the younger generation of the natural joys that once defined our childhood.
Autumn was also the time when preparations for annual exams would begin. In those days, exams were held in October or November, and I remember eagerly waiting for the sun to rise, then studying in the cool, crisp air of the courtyard. The pleasant climate of autumn made it the ideal time for concentration, and I would often study late into the night, relying on the warm light of a kerosene lamp when the power went out. The day before exams, I would buy a new fountain pen from Bashir Ahmad Rangrez, a local grocer from Chowgam, to help me prepare. After exams, a month of relaxation awaited. My friends and I would play cricket in the fields by the Vyethvetur River, often spending hours outdoors, knowing that the results would take some time to be announced.
Autumn was also the time for families to prepare for the upcoming winter. Women would gather dry twigs and branches from the orchard to make charcoal, which would be used to heat the house during the cold winter months. In homes with thatched roofs, the old hay would be replaced with fresh straw to protect against the harsh winter. Parents would also stock up on essential supplies, purchase woolen clothing, and prepare their children for the coming chill. The conical bales of paddy in the fields were ideal for playing hide-and-seek, a simple joy that today’s children rarely experience in the digital age.
Kites made from simple materials by the children would soar in the autumn skies, providing a sense of freedom and play. Adults would often listen to cricket commentary on transistors, especially during major international events like the World Cup, which typically coincided with the autumn months. The sound of cicadas, which signaled the arrival of autumn, would fill the air, and children would catch them, placing them in matchboxes to listen to their songs before releasing them back into the wild. The music of the cicadas became synonymous with the season and is a sound that many of us, who grew up in Kashmir, still fondly remember.
In the vast saffron fields of Pampore, the Crocus flowers would bloom, turning the landscape a soft purple, signaling the start of the saffron harvest. Farmers would then gather the world’s most expensive spice, which has long been a staple of Kashmiri culture. As autumn drew to a close, the nomadic Gujjar and Bakarwal tribes, who had entered the valley in the summer with their cattle and flocks, would begin their return to the other side of the Pir Panjal mountain range, marking the end of another seasonal cycle.
The blazing amber colors of the Chinar trees during this time have even inspired the famous poet Dr. Allama Iqbal, who penned the evocative couplet:
“Jis Khak ke zamir main ho Aatishi Chinar,
Mumkin nahi kisi sard ho wo Khaki Arjimand.”
In today’s fast-paced, technology-driven world, the pleasures of the natural world—those simple moments of joy and tranquility—are difficult to replicate, despite all the comforts and luxuries we have at our disposal. The younger generation is increasingly drawn to their mobile phones and online games, often spending hours in front of screens, weakening their eyesight and robbing them of the physical and mental benefits of outdoor activities. The joys of autumn—walking through the fields, playing outside, and enjoying the serene beauty of nature—are being replaced by artificial distractions that do little to nourish the soul.
If we want to rediscover the true delight of the autumn season, we must encourage ourselves and our children to embrace the natural pleasures that have always defined it. Whether it’s enjoying the crisp air, taking in the vibrant colors, or simply spending time with loved ones, we must prioritize these timeless experiences over the transient joys of the digital world. In doing so, we can ensure that the autumn of our memories—rich in tradition, nature, and simple happiness—will continue to be celebrated for generations to come.
The views expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions or views of this Magazine. The author can be reached at [email protected]
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