“Earlier the Indus river was very difficult to navigate, its waters would be soaring. But now the river is like a drain”, said one of the villagers in Mood, a small village located about 191 km south-east of Leh town, capital of the union territory of Ladakh. Surrounded by mountains and swathes of pasture lands, Mood and its surrounding regions are fed by the Indus. In the mountain springs, northeast of Mount Kailash in Western Tibet, China, rises a river, Sengge Khababs (lion-mouthed) serving as source stream for the magnificent river Indus that has been nourishing civilizations since 2nd millennium BC.
Over the last few years, the Snow Leopard Conservancy India Trust based in Ladakh along with Kalpavriksh, an environment action group has been organising Indus River walks with students and others to understand its ecological significance, beauty and various contemporary challenges.
Last September from 18th-23rd, along with 15 students from Ladakh University, we walked for a week from Mood to Kesar village (covering Nyoma, Mahe, Chumathang villages on the way), along the banks of the Indus, covering a distance of about 64 kms. We were on the edge of the Changthang Plateau where Changpa pastoral communities make sense of the bitter cold winds, dust storms, and freezing temperatures at an altitude ranging from 4500 to 6500 meters. Communities here rely on pastoralism, local crafts like woollen textiles as well as some small scale farming of barley and peas. We chose this stretch of the river to experience being closer to the river, explore the grassland ecology and interconnectedness of the river and its people.
As we walked along the grasslands of Mood village, I tried imagining Indus in its beginnings, when humans would have looked at the magnificent river, its ferocity, its deep blue waters, and its incredibly long journey . Indus basin covers 430,000 sq mi traversing four countries: Afghanistan, China, India, and Pakistan, with most of the area lying predominantly in the latter two countries, and eventually flowing into the Arabian sea.Through many legends Indus is considered powerful. Medicinal. Furious. A being in itself. The ancient river flows like time through many landscapes constructing new stories and re-telling stories of lost empires. Alice Albinia in her book ‘Empires of Indus’ notes “that the river has had more names than its people have had dictators”. For instance, the river is known as Purali for being capricious, or Samundar meaning ocean, evoking apt metaphor for its vastness, or Sher Darya, the lion river or Sengge Khababs, the one originating from the mouth of a lion or Abbasin, the one who is father of all rivers. As with its many names, the river has many meanings, a story in itself. While walking along its banks, I couldn’t help but look at the river with awe. Awe of its magnificence, its wisdom, its journey and its beauty. And also fear about what we as humans are doing to the river.
“Indus is not the same anymore. It doesn’t even seem like a river. The water is so low and we can’t understand why”, added another villager. Curiously I asked, “what is a river for you?” and he responded, “a river should have lots of water, so much that it causes waves, so much that it is difficult to navigate. The river should meander. The river should sing.” Rivers have been considered sacred in many faiths and traditions. They have been considered as beings with consciousness or having their own spirits. However, our rivers run polluted, diverted, and heavily dammed. This conflict between our cosmologies and our actual practices reflects the crises of our modern existence.
The Indus in Ladakh region is going through massive changes primarily as a result of human interventions with communities living along the river facing the brunt of it. Ladakh, meaning the “land of high passes” in Ladakhi, is one of the highest plateaus (3000 meters and higher) of India, with part of its north-western and north-eastern territory bordering Tibet and Pakistan.It is a very sparsely populated region including parts of the Karakoram and Himalayan mountain ranges and the upper Indus River valley formed over a period of 50 million years. This diverse landscape is also home to a diversity of mammals, such as the Asiatic ibex, blue sheep, Tibetan gazelle, Tibetan wild ass, Tibetan wolf, red fox, snow leopard, Pallas’s cat and over 318 species of birds including the highly threatened Black-necked Crane.
In a fragile landscape of a cold desert there is much less rain. The region’s unique topography includes snow-capped and rocky mountains, high-altitude lakes, alpine steppe/meadows, grasslands, sand dunes, hot springs and mighty rivers like the Indus and Zanskar, fed mostly by winter snowfall and glacial melt. Over the last decade or so, Ladakh has been facing rapid climatic changes, with villagers reporting-massive changes in the weather patterns resulting in adverse impacts on pasturelands and water availability. The glaciers have been receding, water springs are drying up, the marshes are not dense enough and the quality of pastures is not as good. The groundwater which is a significant source of water for rivers and for agriculture purposes has reduced due to faster glacier melting. A recent study published in the Journal of Water and Climate Change in April 2024, shows that “glaciers have shrunk by 40% in area and 25% in volume since around 1650 AD, reducing the glacier melt that replenishes groundwater”. A 2015 study by ICIMOD concludes that “the highest quantity of ice will be lost from the Indus because of its large glaciated area. Warmer temperatures will also cause more precipitation to fall as rain than snow, resulting in melting ice not being replenished”. This in turn is impacting the ecology around the Indus river. Amongst the many challenges the river faces includes plastic pollution , sewage dump, construction along the river banks, encroachments and privatisation of river catchment area, proposals for constructing eight new dams on the river. These are significantly impacting rivers health and its flow.
Over the last few decades, the glaciers feeding the river and water springs have been melting at a significant rate. As per a 2022 study, reported in Scroll online magazine, it has been primarily accelerated because of climate change, greenhouse gas emissions and heavy deposit of the region’s black carbon (or soot, a component of particulates). This in the long term has disastrous impacts on the downstream communities. Drying up of mountain springs is creating water scarcity for communities that are living in the mountains. The source of water catering to the Kulum village, located 50 km southeast of Leh in Ladakh near the banks of river Indus has already dried up forcing people to migrate to nearby villages or the city of Leh as ‘ climate refugees ’. In a newly settled village, Mahe, a small group of community women gathered and shared with us about how their spring water sources have become polluted over the last few years. “Especially after the Border Roads Organisation construction activities, a lot of outside labour is coming in the region and they don’t respect the spring sources like the locals” said one of the women. Pollution of spring water has both ecological and health ramifications as well as cultural since its considered spiritually inauspicious by the community. Villagers further added, “the blame should be on BRO as an institution that must create adequate sanitary set up for the labourers who are also poor just like us”.
Certain ecologically unique regions within Ladakh are more at risk than others. One of Ladakh’s bio-culturally unique region, Changthang, a high-altitude plateau (ranging from 4000 to 7000 meters) extending up to and being essentially the same bioregion as Tibet, comprising vast grasslands and high-altitude lakes, is inhabited by a predominantly nomadic pastoral community, Changapas. Chang meaning north and thang meaning land; the region experiences short summer time and long winters with temperatures going down to -35°C accompanied by strong winds. The nomadic residents known as the Changpas are moving out of the Changthang region due to various ‘developmental’ projects and climate change, which is impacting the health of pastures . Earlier nomads would change their pasture lands based on the availability of water and quality of the grass but unfortunately since many of these lands are now being acquired for ‘green extractive’ projects, other destructive projects, mindless tourism expansion ; their possibility of movement has significantly reduced .
Listening to many of these stories of destruction, on our walk, we wanted to spend a day connecting to the river and embodying Indus. Reflect upon the river’s journey. Pay attention to its beautiful azure colour which kept changing as sunlight fell on it. Surrounded by the mountains, as the river gently moved, the sharp sun falling on its shimmering surface, while the same gentle breeze that caressed its surface, caressed our tired bodies, filled us with calm and a sense of belonging. Sitting close to its embrace and listening to its ruffle- soaking in the early morning light just like many of its creatures, like one its own, we could feel its plight.
After our river meditation, one of our students shared “being along the river and walking made me really see the river and its predicament. For the first time, I heard its song, the river indeed sings and maybe weeps too.”
The impacts on wildlife along the river and generally in the region over the last few years has considerably increased. Climate change, loss of habitat, destruction of migration routes, among others have been major reasons for wildlife impacts but one that is especially daunting is the attack by feral dogs . Over the years these canines have multiplied in numbers at most outposts of Indian Army because of free rations being offered. Feral dogs have been chasing wild animals like the snow leopards, foxes etc., but in some recent incidents they have also killed newborns of red fox, pallas’s cat, black necked cranes that nest in the grasslands. “Birds and other small animals are being attacked by feral dogs along the river banks and the government says that they can’t do anything” said villagers of Nyoma village, one principal village of southern Ladakh in India.
As we walked slowly across the river bank, reflecting upon many insights, the glassy surface of the river reflected the sky above and the majestic mountains surrounding it. It felt like being a pilgrim. Pilgrim comes from the Latin word peregrinus ‘foreign’ or “wanderer.” Sitting by the river bank, I imagined myself as a migratory traveller, just like the peregrine falcon which is a ‘passage visitor’ to Ladakh and gets its name from the same root as the word pilgrim. Foreign to its banks, currents, ripples, mountains and grasslands but slowly encountering a sense of interconnectedness, kinship and reciprocity that were always tied with it. The Sanskrit word usually translated as pilgrimage, tirthayatra, is a compound word meaning a “journey (yatra) to a crossing place (tirtha).” A tirtha is literally a “ford” or a“crossing-place,” and tirthas are places where one can “cross over” to establish contact with sacred forces less easily encountered in everyday places. I am not a religious person, per say, but for me, walking along the Indus is a pilgrimage. A way of opening a portal within and many worlds that help me see these sacred landscapes and life forces in a humble, slow, and everyday magical way. Through my binoculars, I saw five black necked cranes foraging, a common kestrel perched on a mud mound and larks pecking in the same area that is proposed for an army airport, as some of the community members in Mood village reported. I wondered, almost in bewilderment, how the river quietly flows through the landscapes, expanding itself in the abundant land, preparing to move rapidly through narrow gorges and deep valleys further down.
“Indus gives us water as well as strength. When I was young, the water was up till my neck but now it has reduced considerably. It is not drinkable” said one of the villagers in Mood village. A bar-headed geese, black-necked cranes, grey herons and ruddy shelducks foraged their last meal of the day before night fell upon near Indus’ banks. In the wisps of evening sunlight, gulls flew like white ashes in the sky as we sat around talking about the miraculous topic of bird migration. As the light drained away, a common kestrel glided in looking for its prey and remained hovering for a few seconds while its head remained perfectly still, possibly focused on the voles that burrowed around the banks. Quietly, as we watched,we celebrated the display in awe and wonder. Wonder of moments of beauty and memory of being a bird. Wonder about being connected through the beginning of time as well as being in the moment. I was reminded of words shared by one of the villagers in Mood village, “earlier we didn’t have much to eat. Life was hard but there was happiness. We were satisfied with our barley and nettle leaf soup. Now we have so much to eat. We buy things in the market but we have lost happiness. We don’t have the time to sit around the fire, sing, eat and dance”.
In our last village stop, Kesar, one of the villagers told us “Indus’ water was considered medicinal. It was like a ‘prasad’ (holy gift) of the glaciers but now that has changed. The water is so polluted, we are scared of drinking its water.” It is no wonder that our collective wellbeing is tied in finding kinship with the rest of nature. Slowing down. Paying attention in our attention deficit lives to the rest of nature. Amidst the noise, listening to the songs of the rivers, piercing call of seagulls and whispers of the winds. To become responsible pilgrims, we are reminded of the 13th century Sufi poet and mystic Rumi, who had asked – “would you become a pilgrim on the road of love? The first condition is that you make yourself humble as dust and ashes.” Are we ready to humble our ways and find our place in nature rather than above it? Are we ready to be true pilgrims on this earth?
First Published by Mershon Center for International Security Studies on 17 March 2025.