Once the pride of Kashmir’s orchards and the apple of every Kashmiri’s eye, the Ambri apple now survives only on isolated trees and in fading memories. Its story is one of heritage, loss and hope.
There was a time when Kashmiri households waited eagerly for the Ambri harvest. Its gentle sweetness lingered on the tongue long after the fruit was eaten, and its fragrance filled the air around storehouses. It was in all probability the abundant aroma (Musk Ambar) that gave this variety of apple its name. I vividly remember how our ancestral house would be full of aroma for several weeks from the natural air freshener that emanated from the couple of Ambri apple boxes among the winter stock of scores of fruit boxes (comprising mainly American Trel, Maharaji apples, Golden Delicious apples, Kitchhami Trel, and pears of the Nakh variety).
My father, who was a fruit merchant and forwarding agent by profession, would store a lot of fruit boxes for the family. His advice to his children was to take fruits in abundance, adding the saying, “Tang hari zaelny, tschonth mohri zaelith,” meaning that a pear, even if of low quality, should be taken unpeeled, and an apple, even if of high quality, should always be peeled. “Mewa khena wizi gatchi lagun gopun,” (take fruits the way cattle do) he would jokingly say.
The Ambri apple, green with a golden blush and the faint tint of pink, is more than a fruit. It is a symbol of Kashmir’s identity. It is part of our cultural memory, representing the patience, skill, and sustainability of our traditional growers.
To my knowledge, there is no direct palaeobotanical, palynological, or archaeobotanical evidence of apples in the Pliocene, Pleistocene, or post-glacial deposits of the Kashmir Valley so far, though evidence of related genera (Prunus spp.) and the parent family (Rosaceae) exists. Apples are mentioned in the Rajtarangni, written by Kalhana in 1148–50 AD, as having been used to determine the successor to Queen Didda’s throne, who ruled Kashmir from 980 to 1003 AD. No written record tells us when Ambri first appeared, but oral traditions trace it back several centuries to the foothills of Shopian and adjoining areas. It likely arose as a seedling selection, refined and passed down through generations.
It has admiringly been called a “fruit of delicate sweetness and remarkable keeping quality.” Traders once carried crates of Ambri across the Banihal Pass to markets in Jammu, Lahore, Delhi, and beyond. Its firm texture, distinct aroma, and ability to last months without refrigeration made it the perfect “travel apple” of the pre-refrigeration era.
By the 1960s, Kashmir’s horticultural landscape began to change. New, high-yielding varieties like Red Delicious and Golden Delicious were introduced. These trees bore fruit quickly, were uniform in shape and colour, and fetched higher market prices. Ambri, with its slow growth and biennial bearing habit, could not compete with the newly introduced varieties. It became a victim of its own virtues of being patient and enduring—qualities the new economy had no time for.
As modern cultivars spread, Ambri orchards were uprooted. Nurseries stopped grafting it. Growers, chasing quicker profits, abandoned the slow-ripening heritage fruit. By the 1990s, Ambri was almost lost.
The decline of Ambri carries deeper consequences than the loss of a flavour. Each old tree is a reservoir of genetic diversity and a library of resilience shaped by centuries of adaptation. As these trees disappear, so does a part of our plant ecological memory.
Despite the odds, a revival movement has taken root. Scientists at Sher-e-Kashmir University of Agricultural Sciences and Technology (SKUAST-K) and the Department of Horticulture, J&K, are leading conservation efforts. An Ambri Apple Research Station has been established by SKUAST-K at Pahnoo, Shopian. Dr. Zahoor Ahmad Bhat is leading the team of scientists in conservation and revival efforts. His work has earned him the name of the “Ambri Man of Kashmir” among the horticulture scientific community.
Research teams have identified surviving Ambri trees in Shopian and other parts of the valley, collecting scion cuttings and preserving genetic material. The variety is being re-established on semi-dwarf rootstocks, reducing its height and shortening the juvenile phase. Every old Ambri tree that survives is like a piece of lost history. Scientists are documenting its genetic fingerprint to ensure it never vanishes again.
Some young farmers in Shopian, too, are reviving the variety with pride.
Ambri’s value extends beyond economics. The variety embodies traditional ecological knowledge of resilience, adaptation, and balance. Ambri’s story is more than a horticultural tale; it is a parable of patience in a world of haste. It reminds Kashmir that progress need not erase the past — it can grow from it.
If the history of Kashmir’s apple culture were written as a book, Ambri would be its first chapter — a fruit that originated here and carried the fragrance of the Valley to distant lands and hearts.
Its revival may never restore its old dominance, but its survival will restore something far more precious: the connection between plants, people, place, and patience. Because in every bite of an Ambri apple, one can still taste the Valley’s unbroken spirit — crisp, fragrant, and enduring.
Every Ambri tree that survives is a piece of Kashmir’s heritage and phyto-history.
The author is a former Indian Administrative Service (IAS) officer, who has served in multiple top administrarive roles in J&K.
