In the rain-soaked orchards of Pulwama, within India-controlled Jammu and Kashmir, Mohammed Ashraf walked with a heavy heart. The ground, still saturated from relentless seasonal downpours, squelched beneath his feet. He wasn’t there to harvest his precious apples, but rather to assess the damage, counting the countless fruit that had prematurely fallen and lay rotting.
August brought extreme rainfall, unleashing widespread flooding and a catastrophic landslide. A significant section – approximately 300 meters, or about a fifth of a mile – of the vital highway connecting the region to the rest of India was completely blocked by debris. This sudden isolation severed Mr. Ashraf and his fellow farmers from their markets, resulting in an unbearable loss: he estimates 80 percent of his crop is already gone.
For nearly two weeks in late August, authorities closed the highway entirely for repairs, then restricted heavy trucks until September 17. This critical closure meant that thousands of harvested apples, carefully packed and loaded onto vehicles, were left stranded. The inevitable quickly followed: the fruit began to rot, and the remaining apples still clinging to trees in orchards across the region were left unpicked, destined for the same fate.
Kashmir, a region caught in a territorial dispute between Pakistan and India, is the heartland of India’s apple production, supplying over 70% of the nation’s annual two million tons. These apples, predominantly the popular Kullu Delicious and Red Delicious varieties, are typically harvested in September and transported by road to markets across the country. The apple trade is a pillar of Kashmir’s economy, accounting for roughly 10% of its total output and providing livelihoods for an estimated seven million people.
However, apples are highly perishable. Without the luxury of refrigerated transport, growers emphasize that the fruit must reach its destination within two to three days to avoid spoilage. According to Bashir Ahmad Bashir, chairman of the Kashmir Valley Fruit Growers and Dealers Union, the financial toll this season is staggering, already exceeding $226 million and tragically, still rising.
Only two months prior, Mr. Ashraf had been filled with optimism. His single-acre orchard promised a bountiful yield, and he anticipated a healthy profit of $4,600. But August delivered unprecedented, early, and heavy rains. While some of his crop was initially lost to the deluge, he still believed a substantial portion could be saved. The news of the highway closure, however, extinguished that hope. He ceased picking his apples, knowing they had nowhere to go.
“What’s the point of harvesting them now?” he lamented.
Every passing day the highway remained shut, the financial losses mounted for him and others, as more apples succumbed to gravity and decay.
The highway itself is a treacherous lifeline, a narrow, winding path carved into the mountainside. For long stretches, it clings precariously between a steep cliff and a daunting precipice, with warning signs like ‘Blind curve ahead. Drive carefully.’ serving as constant reminders of its hazards.
Following passionate protests from frustrated farmers and traders regarding the prolonged closure, authorities finally accelerated repair efforts. Last week, heavy vehicles were once again permitted on the road. Yet, the relief was short-lived; within a day, hundreds of trucks stretched for miles, caught in an agonizing backlog.
Shabir Ahmed Mir found himself trapped on a particular stretch in Qazigund, often called the gateway to Kashmir, close to Pulwama. His massive 10-tire truck groaned under the weight of 1,500 boxes, each holding 18 kilograms (about 40 pounds) of apples. The heavy, sweet-and-sour scent of fermenting fruit hung palpably in the air around his vehicle.
A trip that typically took 36 hours to Rajasthan had barely begun a day after his truck was loaded. Along the roadside, tragic mounds of discarded, rotting apples bore witness to other drivers’ despair. Police reported that traffic was continually halted at checkpoints, sometimes for hours, in an effort to prevent further congestion and damage to the fragile highway.
This wasn’t Mr. Mir’s first setback; he had abandoned a previous journey after being stuck for a grueling six days. With no delivery, there was no payment. “I’ve lost two weeks of income,” he stated, the exhaustion evident in his voice.
Shubham Yadav, an engineer with the National Highways Authority of India, explained that a temporary surface of boulders was quickly laid over the landslide debris to allow some passage. A full restoration, clearing all earth and rocks, would have demanded 30 to 40 days.
“Yet, the persistent rains have softened the soil, causing the boulders to sink,” he added, “forcing us to repeatedly reconstruct the temporary surface.”
A much-publicized rail service for apple transport commenced on September 11, but its impact is minimal. Mr. Bashir of the fruit growers union pointed out that the two allocated cargo coaches can transport the equivalent of only about 50 trucks daily, a stark contrast to the 1,500 trucks the region usually sends nationwide each day.
For Mr. Ashraf, any relief will arrive too late. He had taken a $600 loan to cover the costs of fertilizer, pesticide, and labor for his orchard. Now, not only is he unable to repay it, but he faces the grim necessity of securing yet another loan just to invest in next year’s crop.
Despite the constant uncertainty of yearly yields, apple cultivation remains his family’s legacy. His father and grandfather tilled these same lands, and his son follows in their footsteps.
“I am a farmer; what other choice do I have?” Mr. Ashraf asked, his voice tinged with resignation. “This year was a total loss. We can only hope for better next year. It’s God’s will.”