One morning in North Kashmir’s Kupwara, I received information regarding the presence of unauthorised timber stored within a residential premises. On reaching the spot, a small quantity of dry deodar planks was found. The volume was modest, but the timber appeared to have been sourced without the necessary authorisation. Upon further inquiry, it emerged that the wood had been procured for a deeply personal purpose — to be kept in readiness for family burial needs.
The case was dealt with in accordance with departmental procedure. Yet, the incident underscored a deeper and largely unspoken reality — how everyday practices, even those rooted in grief and dignity, can carry unintended environmental consequences.
Life and death are among the most profound human experiences. Of the two, death evokes the deepest sensitivity — before it, even the most hardened individual bows. Across regions and religions, diverse cultural practices have evolved around these moments. In Islamic tradition, the dead are laid to rest in graves. The structure of a grave varies with soil and topography, and is typically sealed using stone slabs, wooden planks, or other locally available materials.
In Kashmir, graves are generally covered with stone slabs. However, in certain areas, wood continues to be used. In parts of Kupwara, for instance, planks of deodar (Cedrus deodara) are traditionally placed over graves. In many households, wooden planks are kept in readiness for all family members — an arrangement that appears both practical and culturally appropriate, given that death comes without warning. In most cases, such practices are driven not by commercial intent, but by inherited customs and local availability of materials.
But what appears as a single, respectful act does not remain isolated. Multiplied across households and generations, it creates a steady and often overlooked demand for timber. Each grave may require several planks; across villages and over time, this demand places a steady pressure on nearby forest resources.
From a field perspective, the implications are difficult to ignore. Deodar is a slow-growing species, and even small, informal removals over time can affect its local availability, especially in accessible forest areas.
A more concerning and ecologically significant dimension of this issue came to light in central Kashmir’s Ganderbal. Here, in certain remote areas, there has been a tradition of using the wood of Yew (Taxus wallichiana) for grave coverings. Locally valued for its durability, the species has long been preferred for this purpose.
While this practice appears to have received limited formal documentation in Kashmir, similar uses of Taxus wallichiana for grave construction have been recorded in other Himalayan regions, suggesting a broader and often overlooked pressure on the species.
The issue becomes particularly critical here. Taxus wallichiana is a slow-growing Himalayan tree of high medicinal importance. Its bark and leaves are the source of taxol, a widely used anti-cancer compound. Over the years, excessive extraction — both for medicinal use and local practices — has led to a severe decline in its natural populations across the Himalayan region.
Local enquiries suggest that its use in burial practices, though limited in scale, may also have contributed to pressure on the species in certain forest pockets. Today, older residents recall the tree as once being more common in nearby forests — an observation that aligns with its present scarcity.
For those tasked with protecting these forests, the issue is not straightforward. Such cases involve social sensitivities that require careful handling. The challenge lies in navigating a deeply sensitive social context, where enforcement intersects with grief, belief, and urgency. While felling and transport of timber are regulated, addressing such situations requires restraint, dialogue, sustained community engagement, and adherence to legal provisions.
However, acknowledging the sensitivity of the issue cannot mean overlooking its impact. At the same time, signs of change are visible. With increasing awareness and sustained efforts by the forest department, many communities have begun shifting back to stone slabs and other locally acceptable alternatives. In some areas, elders and local influencers have also played an important role in discouraging the use of timber, recognising its long-term ecological implications.
Continued vigilance and community cooperation remain essential for protecting the species. Yet, the issue serves as a reminder of how even culturally rooted, small-scale practices can exert lasting pressure on vulnerable forests.
This remains a relatively underexplored dimension of forest use in Kashmir, persisting quietly at the intersection of tradition and resource use.
The question, then, is not whether such traditions should be judged, but whether they can evolve alongside changing ecological realities. What is required is continued awareness, community dialogue, and a gradual shift towards practices that do not come at the cost of forests.
In the quiet act of laying the dead to rest lies an unintended cost — one borne not by the departed, but by trees that may take generations to return.
Mir Faizan Anwar is a Range Officer with the J&K Forest Department and writes on forests, wildlife and environmental issues.
Views expressed are the author’s own and don’t necessarily reflect those of Down To Earth