Srinagar, Oct. 3 -- Ruptured walnut husks lie scattered underfoot. The cicadas croak in long, musky waves. Their sound, sweet but insistent, tells me that Harud, our autumn, has arrived again.

It comes softly at first, wrapping the valley in amber light, gilding the chinar and willow leaves, but underneath, life begins to strain.

The green of Kashmir trembles. Leaves, once buoyant and alive, carry faint marks of yellow, hints of decay as if bitten by a silent serpent.

Every gust of wind spreads the pale touch further. Branches that once held up the sky now sag, their colours draining into the soil.

Autumn does not announce death like winter. It enters in disguise, beautiful and cruel, strangling the pulse of life under crimson and ...