Silent revolution in Kashmir’s Revenue records administration  

By Mohammad Amin Mir

The accuracy of revenue records holds profound implications for Kashmir. Over the years, amid the layers of bureaucratic inertia and paper-laden files, a quiet transformation has taken place—largely unspoken, yet deeply consequential. At the heart of this change stands Syed Fayaz, a Revenue official whose career has quietly redefined public service in the valley.

Born on 15th May 1965 in Takiyai Bahramshah village of Anantnag district, Syed Fayaz grew up witnessing the daily struggles of farming families entangled in land disputes and administrative uncertainty. It was in these formative years that he developed a sense of purpose, one anchored in the belief that access to clear, accurate land records could change lives. His education in local schools, followed by training in Revenue administration, prepared him to join the department not just as another Patwari, but as a man determined to bring clarity to a system often mired in opacity.

His early postings were not in convenient town offices, but in some of the most difficult and neglected areas. It was here that Fayaz began building a reputation for sincerity and attention to detail—walking fields with landowners, listening to disputes under chinar trees, and ensuring that every entry in the jamabandi reflected reality on the ground. His work stood out because it was guided not just by the letter of the law, but by principles of fairness and accuracy. Even before digitisation became policy, he had begun maintaining digital records—often at his own initiative and using personal resources.

When the Jammu & Kashmir government adopted the Digital India Land Records Modernization Programme (DILRMP), many saw it as yet another administrative requirement. Fayaz, however, saw it as the natural progression of his life’s work. Promoted to the post of Girdawar, he took charge of several revenue circles, leading efforts to transition from handwritten registers to precise, geo-tagged digital records. His approach was field-first: every digital entry had to match the ground reality. He trained Patwaris in basic computer skills, verified subdivision maps using GPS, and devised simple but effective cross-checking methods to reduce errors.

The shift was not without its challenges. Resistance from within the system was real. Colleagues accustomed to the old ways were hesitant; some local elements feared transparency would expose illegal encroachments. Fayaz stood his ground, often relying on legal provisions and departmental circulars to push reforms forward. He invited Panchayat members, lumberdars, and chowkidars to participate in field verifications—turning a bureaucratic exercise into a participatory process rooted in public trust.

The results speak for themselves. The revenue circles he oversaw are now often cited in departmental reviews for the quality and completeness of their digital records. His jamabandis are used in training sessions as model documents. More importantly, he has inspired a quiet shift in institutional culture. Many young officials now maintain digital backups, use online platforms for dispute resolution, and proactively update mutation records—practices seeded by Fayaz’s consistent and grounded work.

Despite the scope of his contribution, Fayaz has never sought attention. He has politely declined awards, avoided media profiles, and even stepped away from formal recognition, choosing instead to focus on the work itself. Colleagues recall his quiet humility—crediting his team, invoking the role of seniors, and deflecting praise. Yet, within the department, his name has become shorthand for integrity. When district administrations request “Fayaz-type teams,” it is an informal but telling acknowledgment of his impact.

As he retires on the 31st of this month, Syed Fayaz leaves behind more than just accurate records, he leaves a legacy which will be remembered. In a region where land ownership defines not only economic stability but also social peace, his work has added a layer of fairness and clarity that will outlast his tenure. His story reminds us that institutional change does not always come from sweeping reforms or top-down mandates. Sometimes, it begins in the measured footsteps of a Patwari across village fields, in handwritten notes that evolve into digital records, and in the steady hands of a public servant who saw his job not as power, but as purpose.

Mohammad Amin Mir is a columnist and legal affairs writer who focuses on governance, land reforms and institutional accountability in Jammu & Kashmir. Opinions expressed in this article are of the author.