Sometimes, the most meaningful experiences of life do not happen in conference halls, official meetings or government offices. They happen in ordinary fields, among ordinary people, where a simple conversation reveals extraordinary feelings. One such experience recently unfolded in the picturesque village of Levdoora, Tehsil Qazigund, District Anantnag, during an official visit by the Revenue Department team.
The team had visited a patch of migrant land following the receipt of a grievance alleging encroachment. The exercise was being conducted under the supervision of the Tehsildar Qazigund, with the objective of verifying the facts and carrying out demarcation on the spot. As the revenue officials were engaged in their assigned work, a few villagers gathered nearby to observe the proceedings.
Being part of the team, I interacted with the villagers. What began as an ordinary conversation gradually turned into an unforgettable experience that left a lasting impression on my mind.
The villagers appreciated various steps being taken by the government, particularly the digitisation of revenue records, the availability of Jamabandies online and the introduction of grievance-redressal portals. They spoke about how technology was gradually changing the functioning of government departments and making public services more accessible to ordinary citizens.
Their appreciation was not limited to technology. It reflected a wider expectation that governance should be transparent, responsive and accountable, and that the grievances of common people should receive timely attention.
The most touching moment came when the migrant families who had travelled from Jammu arrived at the spot. They interacted with the local villagers right there in the fields. Their conversation, mutual respect and friendly exchanges created an atmosphere that transported my thoughts to the Kashmir of the pre-1990s.
For a moment, the fields of Levdoora seemed to tell a story of an earlier Kashmir—a Kashmir where neighbours shared happiness and sorrow, where people stood by one another and where human relationships were stronger than differences.
I watched the interaction with deep interest. There was no visible distance between the people. Instead, there was warmth, affection and a sense of belonging.
It was then that I realised that Kashmiriyat is not merely a word used in speeches, books or political discussions. It is a living tradition rooted in the hearts of ordinary Kashmiris. It survives in their hospitality, their relationships, their compassion and their willingness to welcome one another.
The sight of migrant families conversing freely with local villagers in the middle of agricultural fields was, in itself, a beautiful reminder that the bonds of brotherhood have not disappeared.
Kashmiriyat is still alive. It only needs opportunities, trust and an atmosphere of mutual respect to express itself.
As the conversation continued, the villagers began discussing the country’s political leadership, particularly Prime Minister Narendra Modi. Several people present expressed appreciation for his leadership and spoke positively about various government initiatives.
What attracted my attention was the enthusiasm with which people participated in the discussion. They shared their individual observations and opinions, particularly about the initiatives intended to benefit ordinary citizens.
Listening to them, my thoughts turned towards a simple but important principle: public appreciation is often shaped by people’s everyday experiences with governance. When citizens feel that a system is becoming more accessible, when their grievances are heard and when development reaches their surroundings, they naturally discuss the changes they observe.
It reminded me that the true value of public leadership is ultimately reflected in the lives of ordinary people.
A leader’s policies and programmes acquire meaning when their benefits reach the last person in society. Whether it is the digitisation of records, improved connectivity, better public services or grievance redressal, citizens judge governance through its impact on their daily lives.
While the villagers were expressing their views, a train passed along the railway track at Levdoora.
The sound of the moving train suddenly caught my attention and interrupted my chain of thoughts. I looked towards the railway line and reflected on how infrastructure, connectivity and development have become important subjects in the lives of people in this region.
The railway passing through the landscape added another dimension to the discussion taking place around us. It reminded me that development is not merely about announcements or official documents; it is also about infrastructure that connects people, places and opportunities.
By that time, the remaining members of our Revenue Department team had completed the demarcation exercise. Everyone gathered together, and the conversation continued with renewed warmth.
The experience had become much more than an official assignment.
As a member of the Revenue Department, I could not ignore another important lesson from the day.
The department is often associated with land records, mutations, Jamabandies, demarcations and certificates. But its responsibilities extend far beyond maintaining registers and conducting field inspections. Revenue officials frequently deal with matters involving people’s property, livelihood, security and emotions.
This is particularly important in cases concerning migrant property, where the protection of lawful ownership requires sensitivity, impartiality and professional responsibility.
Every grievance deserves proper verification. Every allegation of encroachment must be examined on its merits. Every demarcation must be conducted according to the relevant records and established procedure.
The presence of the Tehsildar and the field team at Levdoora demonstrated the importance of taking administration to the doorstep of the people rather than expecting citizens to remain confined to government offices.
The digitisation of revenue records and the creation of grievance portals can further strengthen this process, provided that errors are corrected, complaints are addressed promptly and officials remain accessible.
Technology must become an instrument of justice and transparency, not merely a replacement for physical registers.
As I reflected on the entire episode, one thought continued to occupy my mind: the strength of a society lies in the trust its people have in one another.
A piece of migrant land was the reason for our official visit, but the real achievement of that day was the atmosphere of understanding and friendship that developed around it.
The migrant families and local villagers were standing together in the same fields, exchanging words and sharing their thoughts. For someone who remembers the social atmosphere of Kashmir before the 1990s, such a scene carries a special emotional significance.
It tells us that relationships can survive difficult periods and that the desire for peace and brotherhood remains deeply rooted in society.
We must protect these relationships. We must encourage more interaction between migrant families and local communities. We must ensure that property-related grievances are resolved through lawful procedures so that no dispute becomes a source of bitterness.
Government institutions can facilitate this process, but ultimately it is the people who keep the spirit of Kashmiriyat alive.
As our team concluded its assignment and prepared to leave, I carried home memories that no official report could fully describe.
I had gone to Levdoora to participate in the demarcation of a piece of land. I returned with a much larger realisation: the land may have been the subject of an official grievance, but the people present there offered a beautiful reminder of Kashmir’s social fabric.
The fields of Levdoora witnessed an ordinary administrative exercise that day, but they also reflected something extraordinary—the continuing strength of human relationships.
Kashmiriyat is not dead. Brotherhood is not lost. And the desire to live together in peace remains alive in the hearts of our people.
That is perhaps the most precious message I brought back from Levdoora.
Jai Hind!
