Every morning, 56-year-old Mohammad Sultan Kallo cycles from his home in Bemina to the banks of Jhelum in Srinagar, his oars strapped to his bicycle. That has been his routine for over four decades.
The Jhelum River and his rugged boat on it have been his lifeline during this span. He now feels it is only hope that drives him to continue the daily drill. But there are days when he returns empty-handed.
“This boat is not just a boat for me, it is my livelihood,” he says, revealing how he has ferried scores of people, doing multiple trips to and from the two banks of the river on a daily basis in all these years.
Sultan’s connection to the river runs deep. His father was a boatman, and he followed his footsteps: " Since childhood, I have been doing this as my father used to. I was not interested in other jobs, this is what I know and this is what I love doing.”
But now there are not many takers, he says with a sigh.
Jhelum, once a hub of trade and transport, has changed. The river that winds through the city was known for its nine main Ghats—Rajbagh, Amira Kadal, Fateh Kadal, Zaina Kadal, Nawa Kadal, Safa Kadal, Chattabal, Habba Kadal, and Suthra Shahi—where shikaras transported people, goods, and tourists.
Its shikaras once carried people and goods. Now, only two boatmen remain—Sultan on one side and Bilal Ahmad Pakhtoo, 50, on the other.
“There was a time when we would ask tourists, ‘Where do you want to go?’ And they would say they wanted to be taken on a city round tour through the Jhelum. “I would row them around for over an hour long trip, showing them all the ghats and all the landmarks,” Sultan recalls with a sense of nostalgia.
There are many tourists coming to Kashmir now. But no one is interested in a Jhelum cruise on these traditional boats. “They are only interested in Boulevard, Mughal Gardens and Dal Lake,” he says with a tinge of disappointment.
Bilal Ahmad Pakhtoo has been rowing his boat for decades. But now, his work is limited to ferrying people from one bank to another—a service locally known as "Taar" in Kashmiri. He charges just ₹10 or ₹30 per ride, barely enough to keep his family alive.
For both these boatmen, days go by without earning a single Rupee. In harsh rain or cold winters, things become worse. They sit by their boats in vain hope, waiting for someone to call them for a ride.
"We are stuck here," Bilal says. "We cannot go anywhere, if it rains, we still choose to come here and stay, just to hear that call from some interested customer”.
As things become harder, Bilal feels something inside him is gradually dying. Remorse heavily weighs in his words as he says, “We gave our life to this river and profession. Today there is nothing in return,” he says, his eyes vacantly looking at the Jhelum waters.
Sultan echoes a similar sentiment. “I am too old to start a new job, this is all I have left,” he adds.
As their livelihoods dwindle and survival becomes difficult, their boats are reduced to pale shadows of what they used to be. Sultan and Bilal lament that they cannot afford to decorate their shikaras anymore, keep up the repairs or invest in a new one.
It costs Rs 2 lakh to make a new shikara. The boatmen have become psychologically exhausted while seeing their profession fading into darkness.
Jhelum’s decline is not just economic, it is environmental. Once known for its crystal-clear waters and breathtaking views, the river is now choked with garbage and industrial waste – a victim of neglect and the city’s poor sewage system.
"If you sit here for even five minutes, you will be appalled to see the amount of garbage that floats,” Bilal says.
It’s increasing pollution has made the Jhelum less attractive for tourists. It sometimes smell and it is unbearable, he reveals.
“Earlier, the tourists would take boat rides along the river, admiring the seven bridges of Srinagar - Amira Kadal, Habba Kadal, Fateh Kadal, Zaina Kadal, Aali Kadaal, Nawa Kadal, and Safa Kadal, but that has become a thing of the past. The pollution has robbed Jhelum of its earlier appeal,” he adds.
Raja Muzaffar, a climate activist, attests to the downfall of the river. “What was once a lifeline for the valley has now turned into a massive drain, choked with filth and garbage. From Anantnag, Bijbehara, Pampore, and nearby villages, liquid waste continues to flow into the river, worsening its condition as it reaches Srinagar," he says.
Bhat says that the sewage treatment plants were supposed to be installed along the riverbanks, but instead, drains filled with untreated waste have been added, worsening the pollution.
The construction of footbridges over the years has played a major role in the decline of traditional boat transport. In the 1990s, when the situation in Kashmir deteriorated, boats were still essential for movement, as unrest often blocked roads. Back then, people relied on shikaras to cross the river safely.
A resident of Srinagar, Ghulam Qadir recalls, “When I was young my father had a shikara and we used to travel to the old city. I still remember my father used to charge just five rupees from tourists. But when government shut those ghats, my father dismantled the shikara as we could no longer earn enough from that”.
But as footbridges increased, the need for boats diminished. People who once depended on the river to commute began walking across bridges instead. One by one, the shikaras disappeared—some were sold, others fell apart due to neglect.
"In the past, we had 21 shikaras operating near the footbridge, working in shifts, earning enough to survive. But now, with footbridges replacing us, there’s no work left. We were reduced to just 13 boats, and even those are struggling,” said Sultan.
Despite their struggles, the government has not taken any steps for their upliftment. The boatmen have remained a neglected community from the very beginning.
"Our problems are visible to everyone but nobody is paying a heed,” says Bilal.
These people are left alone to fight this battle. Their earnings are so low that they are not able to educate their children. Sultans’ son has discontinued his education because of poverty and started working for the family’s sustenance. Meanwhile, Sultan still sits by the bank of Jhelum waiting for an occasional customer.
Sometimes, he waits for hours and returns home in dismay.
On his best days, he goes back home with a hundred rupees or a little more. “My work is reduced to a hobby,” he says. "I sit here, bide my time listening to my transistor."
When he thinks about the transformation of the river from a space once full of vibrant noises and shikara rides to its polluted silence, Bilal shakes his head in disbelief. “Even the silence of the waters is washing away our dreams,” he says.
Now he rows the boat out of habit, he reveals.
Sultan agrees and adds, “But, the boats no longer feel light, gliding smoothly; every stroke of our oars fills our hearts with heaviness.”
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