A day in the life of the Bakarwals

https://www.nationalheraldindia.com/india/a-day-in-the-life-of-the-bakarwals-kathua-pastoral-nomads

Members of at least four Bakarwal families have set up their tents near a hill in village Sayara, which is 240 kilometres from the winter capital of the state of Jammu and Kashmir. Their caravan was supposed to leave this morning but due to rains last night, they had to stop for the weather to clear.As the summer has set in, their caravan is on its way to the panoramic Marwah Valley of Kishtwar district. 

They will return to Kathua before the first snowflake begins to fall in the Valley in the winters.A group of Bakarwal women is having their morning namkeen sabz chai (green tea with milk and salt). Ropes made out of goat’s wool and sickles are lying nearby. Smoke billows from a dug-up earthen chulha (stove).Haji Saab, 70 years old and head of the caravan, has a flowing white beard, neatly trimmed moustaches and kohl-laced eyes. He is puffing on his hookah, gazing at the Sewa river that meanders through the hills, separating Jammu and Kashmir from Himachal Pradesh. 

All of them are dressed in stained and patchy winter clothes, even though summer has set in. Mostly, their clothes get torn while running after their livestock through thorny bushes. While men have their shaved heads wrapped with chequered scarfs, women have their heads covered with their shawls. As I speak to Rashid, 40, the women start leaving to cut grass for the livestock. Haji Saab and his son Irshad have left with a flock of some 300 sheep. They have paid local villagers for grazing the sheep on their farmland.

While shepherding the livestock, Haji saab darts across the undulating terrain to stop the sheep from venturing into the farms. In just half an hour, the septuagenarian has ascended and descended the sun-kissed hillsides over a dozen times, waving a stick in the air and whistling all the while.On another hillock, women are busy cutting standing green wheat crop for the ponies. Asked about the division of work between men and women, one of them tells me: “We have to take care of the horses, collect fodder, firewood, look after the children, cook food and wash clothes in between. The men graze sheep and goat besides doing other jobs that need more physical strength.”

As we start going towards their encampment, one of the women loses balance and throws the bundle of grass off her head. As I extend a helping hand, I get to know the weight of the same the hard way. Someone from her family now helps to perch the bundle back on her head again. I feel embarrassed.

As we reach the base of the hill, some men bring ponies to ferry the bales of green wheat to the camp. Handing over the bales to them, women again return to the hill top to get the remaining bales. These bales will feed their 50-plus ponies when they resume their journey.

A little away from this hillock, traversing twisted paths and treacherous footholds in the rocky hill side takes us to another camp of nomads. An old man welcomes me and Rashid. As soon as we settle down, he brings out steel utensils from inside the tent. A goat tied under a small tree is milked. Within no time, tea is prepared and offered in steel bowls which are used for eating meals as well. The old man tells me in an assuring tone: “This is Vaishno tea.” The milk in the tea doesn’t taste much different from the milk of a cow or a buffalo.Curiously, I come across several Bakarwals who don’t have their own livestock. They tend to the livestock of other community members for a livelihood. Haji Saab too has engaged two young men. 

Those nomads who look after the livestock of other nomads are called Aajdis in their dialect. It’s afternoon now. I return to the camp of Haji Saab. We have been served aaloo ki sabzi and plain rice cooked by his niece Shakilam, 17. She wrote her class 10th examination last month. Water is again served in small steel glasses in which they take their tea. They travel light and carry only those goods which serve multiple uses.

Challenges of migration

Haji Saab tells me about the challenges which he faces while migrating through Nagrota, Sayara, Bani, Sarthal, Bhaderwah, Thathri, Kishtwar and then Marwah. “Forests have been fenced out by the department. It has made our journey difficult. Over the years, vehicular traffic has increased on the national highway. It has become very difficult to move with the caravan during day,” he tells me with a sombre face.After a little pause, I ask him how he differentiates his livestock from that of others. He has a terse reply: “…exactly the way you differentiate one word from the other when you read? I am an illiterate person, to me all the black words look the same on white pages.” I am speechless.As the evening sun begins to fade, we are joined by other men. All of them are herding sheep and goats back towards the encampment. 

As twilight arrives, women immediately swing into action. They tie the ponies one after the other to the tent pegs outside two blue tarpaulin tents pitched near a culvert along the Basohli-Bani road.Inside the tents, bedding is being readied for us. A thick layer of dry grass has been spread out on the ground. Now it is being covered with blankets and bed sheets. I am feeling a little uncomfortable but their hospitality is heart-warming. A child, hardly two years old, is tied with a rope around the waist. 

A woman explains that this is to ensure he doesn’t slip out of the camp and stray on to the road when others are asleep.Soon the shrill bleats of sheep rent the air. Unlike ponies, they are not tied but taken to a passage between two hillocks. Sturdy Bakarwal dogs keep strict vigil.Lentils and plain rice is served for dinner.

Irshad and Zakir have been assigned the duty to work as night watchmen. They leave the tents with blankets to spend the night under the open sky at two different locations.A caravan of another Bakarwal family is approaching us. Zakir rushes out towards the road to ensure that their sheep and goats don’t get mixed up with this flock. The members of the arriving caravan inform Haji Saab that one of his sheep—that had strayed from the flock in the evening was stranded in the bushes and they had heard its noise.Haji Saab rushes towards hills without wasting any time. Zakir and Irshad follow him.

The sheep is rescued and brought down to the encampment. This sheep went unnoticed as the family member who was supposed to count the sheep and goats did not do his job well. I am told that he only counted the unruly sheep and goats. This one appartently was among the disciplined ones.The stars have almost disappeared. The sky is overcast. Thunder and lightning rumble through the hills. Rashid is visibly worried, he is anticipating rains. His mother-in-law, while pointing towards a distant mountain on their migration route, tells us that it’s already raining or snowing there. A horse tied to the tent peg is having problem in breathing. As Bakarwals are rightly called barefooted botanologists, the horse is given some shrub to eat. 

Rashid says the horse will be perfectly okay in a couple of days. All the livestock has been served fodder. Women have cleaned the utensils. Its 9:30 pm, it’s time to sleep. The tinkle of the bells in the neck of horses have slowly come to a stop.

When weather plays havoc

All of sudden, I wake up to a thunderstorm. Rain and hails are beating down upon tarpaulin tent sheets. There is panic everywhere. Everyone looks worried. There is chaos among the livestock. The hailstorm is becoming more and more intense. Horses are trying to break their ropes and escape the hails and stormy winds.

As I try to make sense of what is happening around, an old woman wails: “Oh Beda Garak Ho Gayo, Ek Bi Koda Ni Rayo. Rashid Uth Oye (We have been ruined. The ponies have ran away. Rashid get up and do something.)” The hailstones have by now destroyed the tarpaulin sheet. The tent poles have been removed so that tarpaulin sheets don’t get blown away by the stormy winds. I am completely drenched like others around me. My teeth are clattering due to the sudden drop in temperature.

Now, everyone is running helter-skelter to catch hold of the ponies. The family fears that the freaked out animals may jump off the cliff in darkness. As lightning flashes over the hills, I see the hails have covered the entire ground.Amid heavy rains and hailstorm, they struggle to get hold of the ponies on the run and bring them back to safe places. Half an hour later, there is a let up in the rains. The hailstorm is almost over. The wails and cries have subsided.While I take some family members to spend rest of night in my car parked near the road, a little away, other members of the caravan are again pitching the tents and struggling with tattered tarpaulin sheets.

As dawn breaks, we come out of the car. The earth seems to be enveloped in snow. In drenched clothes, everyone is shivering. Now we have to gather the scattered sheep and goats. Many of them had taken refuge in the bushes and under rock structures.Haji Saab is combing the area to know the wellbeing of his sheep and goats. He seems more concerned about their kids. As we move around to verify if the hailstorm has killed any animal, he tells me that he had never seen such a storm in the past 20 years. I candidly admit: “I have never been a witness to such a situation in my life.”

As soon as we come across parts of a goat’s carcass, Haji saab reacts: “As though hailstones were not enough, the leopard too had to attack my livestock.” Irshad also joins us and informs that over half a dozen sheep were killed in the rockfalls and landslide during the rain. He also tells me that they lost a sheep day before yesterday as well. It had died of an unknown disease.

The journey of the Bakarwals has got further delayed. The livestock is not in a position to move for a couple of days. All the belongings including the bedding have to be dried under the sun. Haji saab has to purchase some more standing wheat crop to feed the livestock. If the weather is kind, they will be off to Kishtwar in two days.