Nomad's land

Each year, as the snow melts, streams brim over and meadows return to life, Bakarwal pastoralists begin a long march from the lower reaches of Jammu to the alpine pastures of Kashmir.

These keepers of sheep—which is what their name translates to—remain on the move from May till autumn, when the wilderness is ablaze in hues of red, yellow and rust. Their “territory", if we could call it that, covers a host of different terrain—from the Kashmir Valley to the Kishtwar region, Zanskar and even Spiti. But the tribe that is divided by mountain passes during migrations is united by its lifestyle: living in makeshift shelters, fattening its flock for a winter many months away, while also protecting the animals from rustling and predation.

While their time in the high Himalayan valleys may seem like the perfect idea of a vacation, it’s far from it. Protecting the flock against wild animals, timing the move from one valley to another to perfection, treks over several days to restock rations, weathering everything the elements throw at them—the list of challenges is long. And yet, by compulsion or choice, it’s an affair undertaken annually, and completed successfully, thanks to the Bakarwals’ survival skills, honed over time and passed on from one generation to the next.

Today, though, new and more fearsome odds face this community. Roads run through many sections of the migratory routes and speeding vehicles often exact a heavy toll on flocks. Meadows that were once the sole reserve of Bakarwals have turned into hot spots where the only herds welcomed are those of tourists. The weather too, they say, and we know, is turning stranger by the year.

As the younger generation is weaned away, some through education, and others by the glitter and prospects promised by towns and cities, it will be only a matter of time before the meadows and valleys lose their zero-carbon footprint visitors, and we lose the indigenous knowledge they possess.

This truth isn’t lost on the Bakarwals but they refuse to mope about the future just because it looks grim. Their attitude stems partly from the hazards they face daily, and partly from a resignation to fate. And between these two truths, they are left with the option of adapting and hoping for the best.As Pervez, a Bakarwal elder, puts it: “We might as well enjoy the peace as long as we are able to."

Sankar Sridhar is a Delhi-based photographer and travel writer.

Walking on roads is easier but in touristy places, like the Zoji La route, vehicles often exact a heavy price in livestock casualties. (Photo: Sankar Sridhar)

The first signs of spring appear as tufts of grass on mountainsides, but snow on the valley floor means the sheep have slender pickings while on the move. The Bakarwals begin their day early to take advantage of lower temperatures that allow them to walk longer distances without tiring. (Photo: Sankar Sridhar)

A Bakarwal family in its stone hut. Rather than living in makeshift shelters, some pastoralists construct stone shelters in the valleys where they stay longer, and to which they return every year. (Photo: Sankar Sridhar)

Mushtaq (centre) and his son Mateen (beside him) keep an eye on their animals as they warm themselves up for dinner. Mateen, who studies at a school in Jammu, took a bus and then walked for three days to meet his father during his summer vacation. (Photo: Sankar Sridhar)

A young Bakarwal rounds up his horses, preparing to load them with the family’s possessions and set out for the next pasture. (Photo: Sankar Sridhar)

Shearing is an early summer activity, usually carried out in the mid-reaches of the mountains. While most Bakarwals can shear sheep, they usually employ community members who specialize in this activity. Getting the coat out in one piece is the gold standard. And an expert shearer can lighten the load off as many as 40 sheep in a day, with a zero nick-or-cut track record. (Photo: Sankar Sridhar)