FEROZPORA (Rafiabad): Tucked away on the edges of Sopore, Baramulla and Handwara towns in North Kashmir, the Rafiabad region is a landscape defined not only by its verdant slopes and crisp mountain air but by its orchards.
The carefully tended groves of apple trees stretch in ordered rows along the Pohru River - a tributary of the Jhelum River - that flows through the Kupwara district crisscrossing the Rafiabad.
These orchards passed down through generations, produce some of the finest apples in the region, and for the people here, they are not merely a means of livelihood but an intrinsic part of their heritage and identity.
Yet, beneath the calm of blossoming trees and the hum of orchardists tending to new buds, anxiety now hangs in the air. The government has issued an order for land acquisition to make way for an extension of the railway line through this orchard-rich area.
Officials describe the project as a harbinger of modernisation, promising better connectivity and infrastructure. But for the people of Rafiabad, this project threatens to sever them from the very land that has sustained them for decades.
They view the railway expansion not as a gift of progress, but as a looming disruption — a forced acquisition camouflaged in the language of development.
It is a story being played out across rural landscapes in India, but here in Kashmir, where land and identity are tightly interwoven, the pain cuts deeper.
For the orchardists of Ferozpora, the land represents more than just real estate or agricultural property. It is an inheritance — something their fathers and grandfathers have toiled over, a quiet bond with nature cultivated with patience and care.
In a region often troubled by political and economic uncertainty, the apple trade has been a steady lifeline.
"This land is like my child," said Abul Rashid Mir, a soft-spoken middle-aged orchardist whose words trembled with emotion.
“I have eight kanals here — my house, my cowshed, everything. If they take it away, I don't know how I will survive. This is not just land, it is my life’s work, my dignity.”
The government’s proposal has not only raised fears of displacement but also of the irreversible destruction of an entire ecosystem of livelihoods that revolve around apple farming. From orchard owners to seasonal pickers, from traders to transporters, the ripple effect of the loss would spread far and wide.
Ab Aziz, another elderly orchardist, leaned on his walking stick as he surveyed his fields, his brow furrowed.
"If this land goes for the project, people will have to leave their homes. It's not easy to start over somewhere else. And here in this village, all the land belongs to the people. There’s no government land here. We won't let this happen."
Promises of Progress, Price of Pain
Officials promoting the railway expansion project argue that it will boost economic activity in the region, ease transport, and bring long-term benefits. However, residents feel these promises ring hollow when they are made at the cost of uprooting people from their homes and lands.
Many point to the recent acquisition of land for a four-lane bypass in the same region, which was also projected as development. Now, with a parallel road under construction and a railway project lined up, locals are beginning to question the logic — and fairness — of repeated demands for their land.
"First they took our land for the bypass, and now they want more for the railway," said Abul Majeed, a retired district officer.
"How much more do we have to give up? This is not development for us — it is loss. They haven’t even announced any compensation yet. Even if they do, how can money replace what we are losing?"
The absence of transparency and communication has only added to the frustration and suspicion. Residents say no consultations were held, no public hearings were organised, and no assessments were made of the socio-economic impact this project might have on the local community.
For many in the region, the potential loss of their orchards is nothing short of a personal catastrophe.
Mohammad Yousuf Dar, whose four-kanal orchard lies in the path of the proposed railway line, speaks of it with deep sorrow.
“This land feeds my family and pays for my children's education. Even if they offer me a large sum, I can’t give it up. I have cared for these trees like a father for years. If they take this land, everything I have worked for will be gone.”
Others echo similar fears. In Rafiabad, the orchards provide more than economic support — they also offer social stability. With limited employment opportunities in the region, many families have turned to horticulture not just as a tradition but as a necessity.
Farooq Ahmad Bhat pointed to the generational impact the acquisition could have.
“In a place where jobs are hard to find, these orchards give us a way to survive. Now they are taking that away. If our children can’t inherit this land, what will they inherit? Migration? Dependency?”
The community here takes pride in self-reliance, a value that has grown stronger in recent years amid increasing economic uncertainty. Horticulture, especially apple cultivation, has allowed them to preserve that independence. The looming threat to their land, therefore, is also a threat to their ability to determine their own future.
Environmental Cost
Beyond the human cost lies an equally important environmental concern. The region’s unique microclimate and rich soil have made Rafiabad ideal for apple cultivation. Experts argue that large-scale construction and land use changes could upset this delicate balance.
“This is not barren land that can be paved over,” said a local agronomist, who preferred to remain anonymous. “It’s a fragile ecosystem. The trees have adapted to this specific terrain and climate. Uprooting them could cause long-term ecological damage.”
Indeed, in countries across the world, orchard land is treated with special care during infrastructure development. Projects are often designed to skirt around such ecologically and economically valuable zones. But in Ferozpora, locals feel that their voices and the value of their land have both been ignored in favour of hasty construction.
“In other parts of the world, orchards are protected and infrastructure is planned creatively to coexist with nature and livelihoods,” said a local schoolteacher. “Here, it’s the opposite. They want to bulldoze through everything — as if the people don’t matter.”
Faced with what they see as an existential threat, the community has begun to push back. In a symbolic gesture of defiance, some villagers have removed cement markers that had been placed in their fields by government surveyors.
“We just want to be left in peace,” said one young orchardist. “We don’t need railways or highways if it means losing our homes and our way of life. What’s the point of modernisation if it leaves us with nothing?”
The resistance is not aggressive, but it is determined. Meetings are being held in village squares, elders and youth are coming together, and appeals are being drafted to send to higher authorities. But so far, there has been no response.
One elderly man, walking with a stoop through the blossoms, summed up the general mood with a Kashmiri proverb: “Aab gachakh wuchhaan, tsur gachakh wathaan” — Power often finds a way to take what it wants, even if it’s unfair.
His words capture a truth that many in Kashmir have known for too long: development, when it fails to include the people it claims to serve, becomes indistinguishable from displacement.
Question that Remains Unanswered
As the orchards of Ferozpora prepare for another spring, the air is filled with more than just the scent of blossoms. It carries a question that remains unanswered: when people are robbed of their livelihoods, what use is infrastructure to them?
In the eyes of the government, steel rails and concrete roads may symbolise progress. But for the people of Rafiabad, progress must also mean preservation — of land, of heritage, and of the right to remain rooted.
If development is to be truly inclusive, it must begin by listening to those who stand to lose the most. And here, in the apple orchards of Rafiabad, people are still waiting to be heard.
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