PANZATH (Anantnag): As the sun began to rise on May 18, hundreds of men, women, and children descended into the cold waters of Panzath Nag, armed with with wicker baskets and plastic containers.
Their twin mission on that fine Sunday morning was to catch fish and clean the sacred springs in a centuries-old annual event, rooted in culture and ecological harmony, known locally as 'Gaade Maar'.
This unique annual tradition, whose name literally means "catch the fish," is far more than a community gathering. It serves as an act of environmental stewardship disguised as a festive ritual, drawing people from more than a dozen neighbouring villages.
For one day, villagers pause their daily routines to desilt, weed, and clean the freshwater springs that have long sustained life in this part of the Kashmir Valley.
A Ritual Rooted in Water and Memory
The name Panzath is believed to have originated from two Persian words, Panj (five) and Hath (hundred), symbolising the 500 natural springs that dot this village located just two kilometers from Qazigund, the gateway town to the Kashmir Valley.
These springs feed into streams and irrigation channels that are crucial for agriculture and drinking water. Their importance is as much spiritual as it is practical.
Ghulam Mohammad Mir, 65, a farmer, says, "We’ve been doing this since I was a child. My father and grandfather also took part. They always said, this spring is our life if we don’t clean it, we lose everything. We don’t wait for the government to do it. This is our duty, and we do it together.”
Excitedly, he reveals, “Everyone shows up - old, young, rich, poor. We pull out weeds, mud, and garbage. Sometimes we get fish, sometimes not, but the goal is to keep the water flowing. That’s why we come here every year.”
“It’s tradition, but it’s also about survival and respect for nature," he adds.
The exact origin of 'Gaade Maar' is unclear. With no written documentation, the tradition relies on oral history passed down through families. Many residents believe it dates back several centuries, possibly even before Islam was introduced in the region. Over time, it has evolved into a community-led ecological practice, fused with the joy of fishing, shared meals, and collective effort.
A Scene of Celebration and Conservation
The event usually takes place at the end of May or early June, when the water flow is at its peak and the weather is ideal for an outdoor gathering. On the day of the festival, people begin to arrive early in the morning, some barefoot and others with rolled-up trousers.
Children wade through the shallow springs, mimicking their elders, while the women prepare traditional food on the banks, rice, vegetables, and tea brewed with salt and spices.
While the surface appears festive, there is hard work happening underneath. Villagers remove trash, uproot invasive weeds, and scoop out sediment that has accumulated over the past year. As the spring clears, small fish become visible, darting through the water. With skill and patience, people trap them in baskets, both a reward and a symbol of the water body's restored vitality.
Hafeeza Begum, 70, a homemaker, explains, "When I was a little girl, my mother used to bring me here every year. We had no fancy equipment, just baskets and our hands. Women would cook on the banks while the men cleaned the spring. It was like a festival but also hard work.”
“Even now, I come with my grandchildren so they can learn. I tell them this water is a gift we must protect it. We can’t just use it and forget it. Times have changed, but we try to keep the tradition alive because these springs are what keep our village alive too," she says.
A Message of Unity in a Fractured Land
In a region often known nationally for its political unrest, 'Gaade Maar' offers an image of togetherness.
Villagers from different castes, economic backgrounds, and communities come together for this shared cause. There are no loudspeakers, slogans, or flags only the sound of rushing water, laughter, and the rhythmic swish of baskets.
For many elders in Panzath, 'Gaade Maar' is not just about fishing or cleaning springs it’s a link to a more harmonious time when Kashmiri Pandits and Muslims celebrated side by side.
Before the 1990s, Pandit families were as much a part of this annual ritual. “Our Pandit neighbours used to come with their children and join us,” recalls Abdul Qayoom, 78. “They would bring food, share stories, and sit with us on the banks. It was more than a festival. It was a day of bonding.”
Gulzar Ahmad, aged 60, recalls with a smile, “I remember the music and laughter. Pandit boys were especially good at catching fish with their hands. There was always a friendly competition.”
“They would also play flutes, and the elders would sing old songs. Those memories are still fresh in our minds. We wish they could return to witness it again,” he says.
The nostalgia surrounding 'Gaade Maar' runs deep. Some villagers say they still reserve a space by the spring where a Pandit family once sat each year.
Though times have changed, the memory of shared tradition endures. Many here believe the festival still carries that spirit of unity and hope that one day, it might again bring back those who once celebrated with them.
For the younger generation, who have no memories of this shared ritual, 'Gaade Maar' is still significant.
Rabiya, 24, a college student, said, "I’ve been coming here since I was a child, but now I see it differently. Earlier, it felt like just a fun event with lots of people, fish, and food. But now I understand the deeper meaning.”
“We do this because we know that if we don’t take care of the water, who will? The springs are not just for drinking or farming, they’re part of our identity,” she adds.
“It’s rare to see people united like this anymore," she says, explaining the multiple symbolism of the event. “For one day, everyone works together. I feel proud to see that our generation still cares."
The sense of collective ownership over natural resources contrasts with the usual narrative of dependency on the state for environmental management.
In Panzath, the villagers do not wait for municipal workers or government agencies to act. They do it themselves with no funding, no formal organisation, and no expectation of reward.
The Ecological Value Tradition Meets Science
The festival’s environmental impact, while symbolic, is also tangible. The desilting of springs helps maintain their flow, supports aquatic biodiversity, and prevents stagnation. However, experts believe that its potential could be greater if paired with scientific practices.
According to Dr Mohammad Irshad, an environmental expert, 'Gaade Maar' is “a meaningful example of grassroots environmental action.”
“Community-driven cleaning of water bodies is rare, and this festival helps sustain ecological health, especially by desilting, weeding, and preserving natural springs,” Dr Irshad explains. However, he notes that its impact can be enhanced with scientific intervention.
He recommends combining the practice with regular water quality testing to monitor pollution and biological health. “Providing villagers with eco-friendly tools and awareness training can help prevent any unintended damage to aquatic life,” he adds.
Dr Irshad also sees the festival as an opportunity. He says it could be an ideal platform to introduce climate adaptation strategies, especially as Kashmir’s water bodies face increasing threats from deforestation, urban waste, and erratic rainfall.
“While the cultural value is immense, its environmental impact could be more sustainable if integrated with state-led conservation policies and scientific training,” he concludes.
When the Springs Start to Struggle
Despite its charm, the springs of Panzath and many others in the Kashmir Valley are not immune to decline.
Unregulated construction, sewage discharge, and plastic waste have all crept into the region’s waterways. As climate change alters rainfall patterns and causes glaciers to retreat, natural springs are under increased stress.
Amir Bashir, 40, a social worker from Anantnag, said, "'Gaade Maar' is not just about fishing. It’s about coming together for a shared purpose. We live in a time when people are busy with their own problems, but on this day, the entire village unites. That’s the real beauty of it.”
“We clean the springs, remove waste, and restore the water’s flow. I also bring my sons here; it’s a lesson they won’t get at home. When they dip into the cold water and work with their hands, they understand what responsibility means. This is how we teach the next generation to care for the environment."
While 'Gaade Maar' offers a temporary solution, the challenges are systemic. Without long-term planning, infrastructure, and enforcement of environmental laws, the festival’s efforts may not be enough to sustain the health of the springs.
A Model for Other Regions
Despite its limited significance, what makes 'Gaade Maar' notable is not just its uniqueness but its potential for replicability. In many parts of rural India, small water bodies ponds, springs, and lakes are deteriorating due to a lack of community involvement.
The Panzath model could inspire similar traditions elsewhere: festivals that blend ecology, culture, and community spirit.
"People often think conservation is the job of the government," says Dr Irshad. "But what Panzath shows us is that when local people take ownership, change becomes real and sustainable."
Networks working in water conservation could learn from this approach by identifying traditional practices that can be modernised without erasing their cultural core.
While policymakers debate climate policy in boardrooms, the people of Panzath are already taking action with their feet in the water and their hands in the mud.
What they need now is not just recognition, but support. Training, scientific input, and some basic infrastructure could go a long way in amplifying the festival’s impact. By doing so, a village can continue protecting its springs while preserving a way of life rooted in harmony with nature.
“As an environmental expert, I truly believe traditions like 'Gaade Maar' have deep significance not just culturally, but also for the health of our ecosystems,” says Dr Ashraf Mir.
“These festivals unite communities and create a sense of belonging, reminding people that the springs, streams, and water bodies are vital for their survival,” he says.
But adds a note of caution. “We must also ask ourselves how we can build upon this heritage to make a more lasting environmental impact. How can we measure its benefits? How can we combine traditional knowledge with modern scientific tools like regular water quality testing, habitat monitoring, and training in sustainable methods to protect these precious resources?” he adds.
“In an era when climate change, deforestation, pollution, and shrinking water sources are serious threats, festivals like this can become vital platforms for environmental action. If supported by authorities, NGOs, and researchers, this annual ritual can evolve into a model for rural water conservation across Kashmir and beyond,” he concludes.
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