Saffron is the world's most expensive spice. Now this 'red gold' is in crisis in Kashmir

Kashmir's ancient saffron tradition is being threatened by climate change, development and food fraud. Could this coveted spice be disappearing?

The shopkeeper in Srinagar hesitated before showing me the saffron.

Tourists drifted through the old Kashmiri city's open-air market while he watched from behind shelves overflowing with walnuts, spices and dried fruit. When I asked for Kashmiri saffron, he glanced towards the entrance before reaching beneath the counter for a small steel container wrapped in cloth.

Inside were a few dark crimson strands.

"Pampore saffron," he said softly, meaning it was grown in the nearby Pampore uplands, India's main saffron-producing region. "Very little came this year."

Then he pointed towards another glass jar, packed with brighter red threads.

"Iranian saffron," he said. "Many shops sell this now as Kashmiri. Most customers cannot tell the difference."

It was October 2025 and I had become interested in saffron partly because of its reputation. The crop is woven deeply into Kashmir's culture and memory. It flavours wedding dishes and noon chai, appears in traditional medicines and perfumes, and has long been sold as one of the valley's most prized exports.

But in recent years, stories about falling harvests, dry weather and imported saffron flooding local markets are increasingly common.

My interest in understanding what was happening to what is likely the world most expensive spice led me to Pampore, the town for centuries most closely associated with saffron cultivation in Kashmir.

What I found out doesn't bode well for this most cherished of spices – or the Kashmiri families whose lives still revolve around it.

As the road leaves Srinagar, apartment blocks and roadside shops gradually give way to the Karewa plateau, the elevated stretch of dry soil where saffron flowers bloom every autumn. 

During harvest season – mid-October to mid-November – this landscape is usually covered with purple crocus flowers. Each morning, families arrive before sunrise to meticulously collect saffron flowers in wicker baskets, while traders wait beside village roads for the morning harvest. 

But when I arrived in October 2025, many fields looked dry.

The earth cracked beneath my shoes in Dussu village as saffron farmer Mohammad Asif walked slowly through land cultivated by his family for generations. Thin clusters of purple flowers appeared unevenly across the plateau. Several portions of the field remained bare.

"We harvested nearly 250g (9oz) this year," Asif told me. "Last year [2024], we got close to 1.5kg (3.3oz)."

He bent down and picked up a flower carefully between his fingers. "Saffron depends on timing," he said. "If rain does not arrive when the crop needs moisture, flowering suffers very quickly."

Saffron comes from Crocus sativus, a purple-flowered plant that produces three crimson stigmas inside every bloom. Those tiny threads are harvested by hand before sunrise to preserve their quality, then separated carefully and dried over several hours. Roughly 4,000 flowers are needed to produce just one ounce (28g) of saffron, while the plant blooms for just two to four weeks a year, helping explain why it is consistently among the world's costliest spices, often referred to as "red gold".

Now unknown in the wild, saffron's early cultivation can be traced back thousands of years to parts of present-day Iran, Greece and Central Asia. It reached Kashmir centuries ago through Persian influence and trade networks.

Kashmiri saffron has developed a reputation for its particularly dark crimson colour, thick stigmas and strong aroma. Scientists studying saffron chemistry have found that it contains particularly high levels of crocin, the carotenoid compound responsible for the spice's deep hue. Its price, typically well above that of Iranian saffron, can reach $4 (£3) or more for a single gram ($110/£82 per oz).

Generations of growers in Pampore have built their lives around saffron cultivation. Families planned household expenses and marriages around harvest seasons. Entire neighbourhoods worked together separating crimson stigmas from flowers late into the evening while kettles of salted tea simmered nearby. Older residents described autumn mornings when the plateau appeared almost entirely purple.

Production of Kashmiri saffron has fallen sharply over the past decade. Across Kashmir and nearby Jammu it plummeted from eight tonnes in 2010-11 to 2.6 tonnes in 2023-24, Indian government data shows. 

Researchers say several factors are driving the decline, including changing weather patterns. Studies have found that rainfall during August and September plays a critical role in saffron flowering and the development of the corm, saffron's underground stem base. Dry conditions during these months can sharply reduce yields.

Rabia Khan, an independent climate researcher and advocate based in Kashmir, says saffron cultivation depends upon a delicate seasonal balance that has become increasingly unstable.

"Autumn dry spells have become longer and more frequent," she says. "Snowfall patterns have also changed during recent years, which affects groundwater recharge and soil moisture." 

Less snow in the western Himalayas and rising average temperatures linked to climate change are affecting downstream water systems across the region.

For farmers in Pampore, those changes are visible without scientific charts.

Several growers told me winters no longer feel as cold or prolonged as they once did. Streams that previously carried snowmelt into villages weaken earlier in the year. "Rainfall patterns changed a lot during recent years," grower Abdul Rashid Wani says. "Today we depend heavily on pumps." 

In 2010, India launched the National Saffron Mission in response to concerns over declining saffron cultivation, with the aims of improving irrigation infrastructure, rejuvenating saffron corms and increasing productivity. The programme introduced borewells, sprinkler systems and scientific support for growers across Pampore's saffron belt.

Some farmers say irrigation access improved in certain villages, though others describe damaged pipelines, irregular water supply and delays in repairs during crucial flowering periods. India's Department of Agriculture and Farmers Welfare did not respond to a request for comment on these concerns. 

At the same time, saffron fields themselves have steadily shrunk. Road expansion, residential development and commercial construction now occupy sections of land once used for cultivation. Farmers point towards neighbourhoods where saffron flowers bloomed until relatively recently. 

"Every household depended on saffron," Habib Khan, an elderly resident in Konibal village told me. "Now many young people no longer see a future in it." 

The farmers also told me about another problem: porcupines. In Dussu, Asif showed me parts of his field where the animals had dug into the soil and damaged the saffron corms. "They come at night and dig up the corms," he told me, pointing to patches of burrowed earth. "Sometimes we see the flowers are gone, but the real damage is underneath."

He said porcupine attacks had become more common in recent years, especially around fields close to settlements and scrubland. Other growers told me they had put up makeshift barriers and kept watch at night to protect their crops.

Rats attracted by nearby landfill have similarly been devastating saffron corms in recent years, New Delhi-based magazine Down To Earth has reported.

Farmers in Iran, which produces some 90% of the world's saffron, are also facing growing climate and water pressures, including prolonged drought conditions. The US-Israel war with Iran has recently playing havoc with the global supply and price of both Kashmiri and Iranian saffron. 

But Iranian saffron is also troubling growers in Kashmir for a different reason. A trader I spoke to in Delhi's spice markets in January 2026 described how imported saffron sometimes enters Indian markets in bulk before being repackaged and sold under Kashmiri labels.

Inside a cramped storage room lined with cartons and weighing machines, he opened packets containing Iranian saffron threads and compared them with smaller quantities of Kashmiri produce.

"Customers ask for Kashmiri saffron because the name sells," he told me. "Most cannot identify the difference once it is packed."

Other fraudulent practices include substitution with safflower or turmeric, and addition of hazardous dyes. 

Shazia Malik, a food scientist studying spice authentication at J&K Food and Drugs Department, a regulatory body in the Jammu and Kashmir region, says such adulteration damages both consumers and farmers.

"When imported saffron is blended or falsely labelled as Kashmiri, it weakens consumer confidence and affects farmer incomes."

Several growers in Pampore believe the problem also obscures the true scale of declining local production, with so-called "Kashmiri saffron" remaining visible in markets even as real harvests shrink.

Efforts are afoot to improve oversight through certification and developing electronic traceability systems. A government official told the BBC these have improved oversight in recent years, though growers say enforcement remains inconsistent.

Near Srinagar, governmental horticulture scientist Neyaz Ahmad Dar studies saffron flowering inside controlled cultivation rooms where humidity, temperature and light exposure are carefully regulated.

"Controlled cultivation reduces climate-related risks," he told me when I visited in November 2025. "Our goal is to protect healthy corms and improve flowering consistency."

Early research on indoor saffron cultivation has shown promising flowering stability and crocin retention under controlled environmental conditions.

Scientists working on saffron resilience are also focusing on groundwater management, improved corm preservation and better monitoring of soil moisture. Some argue that protecting remaining saffron land may become equally important.

Several farmers in Pampore told me they worry less about temporary crop failures than about the gradual disappearance of saffron fields altogether beneath expanding construction. Once the land is built over, they say, cultivation rarely returns.

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When I returned to Dussu village last November, Asif invited me to join his family before sunrise during harvest week. As daylight slowly arrived, the modest scale of harvest became clear, his family's baskets far less full than Asif remembered from earlier years. 

Later, inside the family's home, Asif's wife Zeba separated each crimson stigma delicately by hand, while steam rose from our cups of salted tea. Asif spread the threads carefully onto a tray for drying. The room had the faint earthy scent of fresh saffron.

"Saffron farming gave families identity here for centuries," Asif told me. "People worry about income, but they also worry about losing a way of life tied closely to this land."

* Mir Seeneen is an independent Kashmiri-based journalist covering stories from South Asia and beyond.

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