War in Iran, debt in Punjab

As the lush green wheat fields turn to gold, Dalbara Singh’s worries ripen. Soon, it’ll be harvest time. Soon, diesel may run out. That’s why this landless Dalit farmer from Barnala district’s Patti village unhesitatingly borrows money at an annual interest rate of 18 per cent to make sure his diesel drums remain full.

Dalbara Singh is 55. Along with his three brothers, he tills the 20 acres he has taken on lease from an NRI. During harvesting season, he also works on other people’s land as a ‘custom harvester’ reaping wheat for dairy farmers. He points to his tractor and reaper. “These are guzzlers. If run on full capacity, this drum of diesel will last just two days.”

But borrowing money at such a high rate? “What other option did I have? What if I don’t find diesel a week later? My entire crop will rot. I have raised it like a child,” he says. Calculating Dalbara’s income seems hard when he hasn’t had any for over a year. Meanwhile, his losses and debts keep mounting.

For farmers in Punjab, the US-Israel war on Iran means more debt. But it’s an even bigger crisis for Dalbara Singh and many others like him, whose children work in the Gulf countries as labourers and semi-skilled workers. The war threatens their future, too.

Only last month, he borrowed Rs 4 lakh to send his son to Cyprus. Geopolitically considered part of Europe, this West Asian country is dependent on tourism and shipping. The ongoing war has hit both these sectors. “My son is not happy as he couldn’t find work. So now he’s restless, wanting to return,” says Dalbara, who blames his own destiny and doesn’t mention the war even once in our entire conversation.

With the wheat harvesting season approaching, and the uncertainty created by the war mounting, many farmers began buying diesel in advance. You can see long lines of tractors with empty diesel drums placed on their rear jacks queuing up at filling stations. “They are all borrowing money at a hefty interest rate,” says Raghbir Singh Dakala, a leader of the Bharti Kisan Union (Dakaunda) in Patiala district.

The custom harvesters face a bigger challenge. Lakhwinder Singh, 31, who owns five acres of land in Patti village, found that his own farm is not able to sustain him. Last year, he bought a combine harvester — 100 per cent loan-financed — for Rs 12 lakh. A great risk for one who earned just Rs 1.5 lakh from both harvests the previous year.

Additionally, he owes Rs 3 lakh to the village cooperative bank. Every six months, he has to pay an instalment of Rs 1 lakh to the financer. Now, he has sought Rs 20,000 from his arhtiya (commission agent-cum-moneylender) to buy diesel. “The harvesting season lasts just about 20 days. I can’t afford to have the machine remain idle for a single day during those three weeks. If I fail to pay the instalment, I’ll end up losing the harvester,” he says.

Loan-burdened rural Punjab is getting sucked further into the debt trap. A December 2025 study by the Punjab State Farmers’ & Farm Workers’ Commission found that the state’s cultivators owe around Rs 1.04 lakh crore to banks and around Rs 20,000 crore to moneylenders. Rural debt has seen a fivefold increase in the past two decades. The war is set to push these already unimaginable figures even higher.

Even if his diesel drum is full (paid for by crushing debt), even if his son returns from Cyprus, Dalbara Singh knows there are more uncertainties ahead. If the harvest goes smoothly, it will be followed by sowing. “I’ve heard fertilisers also come through the same route, just like diesel?” he asks. What will happen to him, and many others? The government owes them an answer.

Courtesy: People’s Archive of Rural India