Nomads
One photographer's journey through the Himalayas with the Van Gujjar tribe
HIMALAYAS — Every spring, as the snow begins to melt in the Himalayan mountains, the Van Gujjar start walking.
The nomadic tribe, originally from the Indian state of Jammu and Kashmir, have spread out across the range in search of rich forests and meadows for their cattle.
Each family gets a permit from the forest department to live inside a particular forest for a maximum of six months — and then they move again, typically moving three times a year.
This past May, I followed a family from this community of nomads as they traveled to the upper Himalayas with their cattle.
They were welcoming to the idea of me following them, but doubtful that a city girl would survive the journey.
As we began the trek, I could see the excitement in everyone’s eyes – especially the children and women.
“Once we reach the meadows, it’s like heaven. We leave our cattle to graze," said Salma, 15. "Then we rest, we sing, play and relax for the season.”
For the next 18 days, we walked through different landscapes, crossing towns, villages and dense Himalayan forests. Every morning, I would wake to the sound of churning butter, and it became my alarm for the rest of my trip.
I was traveling with minimum weight: three pairs of clothing, a sleeping bag and my camera.
We all slept in the open. I could feel the Earth below me, and the sky above.
Only once, when we entered a forest where it rains often, did they take out their tents.
Work was divided on the basis of age, not gender. Each family member has a role to play: Adults walk with the big buffaloes and horses, children would walk — more slowly — with the calves. Each child had their set of animals, and had names for each of them.
The Gujjar have been accused of destroying the ecology of the region. Safi Mohammad, the eldest in the family I traveled with, told me if that were true, these forests would not have survived, since his people they have been living there for centuries.
During the 200 kilometer journey from my home in Rishikesh — where the nomads come to camp in the forest hills — to the Matya Vhugyal meadows in Uttarakhand, I saw the tribe take almost nothing from nature, even though they lived so close to it.
Their gait, pace and posture, their daily habits, and their sensitivity to the land they walked through was caring — concerned for the resources that nature provided them.
Twenty years ago, almost all Gujjar made the arduous and dangerous walk from the plains to the hills, a trip that takes about a month.
When they left the forests in April, the guards of the Forest Department would tear down their huts and sell the building material. When they returned in September, they would have to reconstruct their homes from scratch.
In addition to having to bribe forest guards, the tribes must come to terms with settled communities along the migratory path.
In recent years, many forest passes have become paved roads. Heavy traffic at high altitudes makes walking with buffaloes and bulls hazardous. This has forced the Gujjar to cover certain stretches at night to avoid accidents. There is also less grass and water in the forest itself.
And yet, staying in one place is a more of a threat than a promise of safety. Saying goodbye to a life centered around movement means bidding farewell to the buffaloes, companions in their walk and their way of existence.
The intrusion of urban realities has also affected the aspirations of the youth among the Gujjar. Many of them have difficulty in taking pride over their nomadic traditions and want jobs in the cities.
The children are in tune with their surroundings: They know all the names of the trees, and the nature of the leaves.
But some adults in the family said they want their children to study and go to school. Since they don’t stay in one place, though, this presents complications.
Other family members said what they really want to learn is reading and writing, so they can use those skills in doing business. (The Gujjar earn their living by selling milk and dairy products.) Once they are settled in their summer home, they will make ‘Mawa’, which is used in Indian sweets and every week walk down near by towns and villages to sell that product.
In the Gujjar, I found kindred spirits. Far away from the fast pace and technology of my modern life, this summer home up in the mountains was a sight for sore eyes. With light monsoon mists veiling the settlement, raindrops dripping through the trees, and the smell of burnt wood, the place looked like a pastoral painting.
Even as I started to settle into the place and the tempo, restlessness creeped into my subconscious.
When will my phone get signals? What about the internet? My camera battery needs to be charged! and myriad other problems that the Gujjar live far away from.
And, in that, I was envious of their simpler lives.
Photographer and Author
Mansi Thapliyal
Photo Editor
Elizabeth Pierson
Photo Director
Dustin Drankoski
Travel Editor
Jessica Plautz
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