Srinagar, Feb 12: Kashmir’s skyline is changing. Where once stood mud-plastered homes with wooden beams and open windows, there now rise concrete buildings of cement, iron, and glass. While this transformation reflects modern progress, it has quietly driven away some of the Valley’s most cherished seasonal guests—birds that once shared homes with people.
Among them is the Katij (swallow), once a familiar and beloved presence in Kashmiri households. Along with Kukil (quail), Sat-tut (woodpecker), Kastoor, Hazaar-Dastaan, Jal, and Tyok, the Katij formed part of Kashmir’s rich natural tapestry. Their arrival each spring marked the renewal of life after winter.
Kashmir experiences four distinct seasons—spring, summer, autumn, and winter. Spring, especially, was known for welcoming migratory birds from warmer regions. The cheerful flutter of the Katij and its soft “cheeru-cheeru” once filled homes and courtyards with life.
Unlike many birds, the Katij did not remain distant from human settlements. It built its nest carefully using grass and wet mud, shaping it under wooden ceilings and along mud walls inside traditional homes. Earlier, Kashmiri houses were constructed with mud bricks, timber frames, and clay walls—structures that naturally accommodated nesting birds.
Historian Zareef Ahmad Zareef explains that “older homes were built in harmony with nature. Birds like the Katij were treated almost like family members, free to enter and leave through open windows. The relationship between people and birds was effortless and deeply rooted in everyday life.”
During the day, Katij birds could be seen flying over markets, lakes such as Dal, and open fields, yet they always returned to human dwellings. Over time, however, this coexistence began to fade.
With the rise of modern construction, traditional architectural features disappeared. Smooth concrete walls and sealed glass windows offer no ledges, no cavities, and no mud surfaces for birds to build nests. As a result, many have been forced to retreat to forests, remote areas, and houseboats.
Four to five decades ago, Katij birds were common across Srinagar. Today, sightings have become rare. Without suitable nesting spaces, they cannot raise their young within city environments.
The decline is not limited to the Katij. Other spring visitors, including the cuckoo and hoopoe, are also vanishing from urban areas. Their melodious calls once defined Kashmiri mornings, becoming woven into the Valley’s cultural identity. Like the bulbul’s connection to flowers, the Katij symbolised harmony between people and nature.
Environmental degradation, pollution, shrinking green spaces, and unplanned urban development have further disrupted this fragile balance. While winter migratory birds still visit parts of the Valley, spring birds are steadily disappearing—especially from cities.
“The real tragedy,” Zareef observes, “is that we failed to protect our environment. Because of this injustice, many birds may never return.”
The empty spaces beneath modern roofs now stand as silent reminders of what has been lost. The absence of the Katij is not merely ecological—it is cultural. These birds once enriched daily life, strengthened human connection to nature, and embodied Kashmir’s gentle spirit.
As concrete replaces clay and glass replaces wood, the Valley risks losing more than its architectural heritage. It risks losing the living symbols of its natural harmony.
Protecting the environment is no longer optional. If steps are not taken to restore ecological balance and preserve traditional wisdom, many more nests may remain empty—and many more vanishing guests may never return.
By: Neha Nazir
