Inaccessible mountain landscapes tend to preserve ancient traditions and cultures. The Indian state of Himachal Pradesh, famous as the sanctuary of the Dalai Lama, is a state tangled with jagged mountain ridges, gorge-like valleys, thunderous rivers and icy lakes. It is the home of many ancient tribal groups, and moving just a few kilometres over a mountain pass can reveal a complete change in language, dress and culture. One of the most fascinating of these groups is the colourful, transhumant Gaddis.
Gaddi shepherd coming down the south side of the Dhuladar mountains in October
The Gaddis are a semi-nomadic tribe who inhabit the inhospitable Dhuladar and Pir-Panjal mountain ranges of the Indian Himalayas. The Gaddi men, and occasionally women, traditionally leave the family home for most of the year, herding their flocks of beloved sheep and goats across the mountain passes. Each year, in February or March, they leave their winter pastures at the foothills of the Himalayas and in arid Punjab, and arrive at the nutritious, ‘blue’ grass of the Lahul and Spiti plains by the long mid-summer nights. The seasonal weather drives this migration: Punjab is deathly hot in summer and Lahul is under feet of snow in the winter. After scaling these mountains myself, I realised that the Gaddi’s migration should be considered in terms of metres ascended, rather than distance covered. The average altitude of Punjab is around 300 metres, while Lahul’s is over 3000 metres. With passes reaching 5000 metres, there is also a lot of up and down in between.
Gaddi life is centred around the breathtaking valley of Chamba, which runs east-west between the Dhaladhar and Pir-Panjal ranges. Chamba, an isolated region of mountains and rivers, had been an independent state for over 1000 years when it eventually agreed to British sovereignty in 1845. It was ruled by a dynasty of rajas who were never conquered, at least for any significant period of time, by Muslim, Mongol or Aryan invaders; the natural geographical fortifications aided this continued autonomy. The Gaddi capital of Bharmour lies in the upper reaches of this valley, in Gadheran, at the end of the one of the most heart-stopping drives in northern India.
The Ravi river flowing down the valley of Chamba; the Dhaladhar range in the distance
The Gaddi’s distinctive features, in the form of dialect, physical appearance, dress and customs, indicate a differing ethnicity from others in this area of India. It is not clear from where they originated; Rajasthan, Punjab, Delhi and the Hindu Kush have all been discussed. However, the Gaddis appear to agree that their ancestors migrated over centuries from lower plains to the mountains in order to protect themselves during periods of instability, invasions and persecutions. Local records place them in the area as early as the 10th century, with further migrations occurring until at least the 17th century. They are predominantly Hindus, with Shiva being their most important deity.
The Gaddis consider themselves not simply Shiva worshippers; but Shiva’s people. This connection between the Gaddis and Shiva is woven into their folklore and traditions, and is embodied through their work and life in this region. One legend tells that when they arrived in Gadheran seeking refuge, they prayed to Shiva to help them as they could see no way of making money in this inhospitable environment. Shiva heard them and gifted them a dora, a long rope made of sheep wool, and from this the Gaddis realised shepherding sheep and goats was their dharma (duty).
Gaddi shepherd at his camp on the south side of Dhuladhars in early November
Sheep are hugely important to Shivaites: the story goes that prior to Shiva’s marriage to goddess Gauri (an incarnation of the Mother Goddess, Parvati), Gauri was oblivious to his godly status and not keen on the marriage. In an attempt to stop him from attending the wedding she requested snow from Himaraj, the Ruler of Snow. Not to be put off, Shiva created a flock of sheep and they cleared a path through the snow, allowing him to cross the mountains. Therefore, to Shivaites, the role of herding sheep is a more than simply a vocation.
Bridegroom during the Jognoo ceremony
Gadheran is surmounted by Manimahesh Kailash, an imposing 5,600 metre peak which the Gaddis believe is the winter abode of Shiva and Gauri. This mountain, along with Manimahesh Lake at its base, is held by them in great veneration. It was to here that Shiva ran, mid wedding ceremony, to punish Gauri for her initial reluctance towards marrying him. By this time Gauri had realised his true identity and had to chase him up this mountain slope to make amends. This legend is re-enacted in the Gaddi wedding ceremony when the bride and groom have to walk around a pan of water, signifying Manimahesh Lake, seven times: four times at the bride’s home and then three in the groom’s.
Gaddis weddings fuse tradition with modernism; ancient religious ceremonies sit alongside disco lights and DJs. To me, they appear to last forever with over forty separate ceremonies spanning four days, and I have never been close to seeing out the whole program. They are important social events, but for both bride and groom, they appear to be both physically and emotionally exhausting.
When my friend Sunita married, I arrived on the first day to find her wailing distraught. I was assured it was tradition for the bride to show her upset at leaving her mother and sisters who she has lived with her whole life. The more weddings I go to however, the less sure I am that this is just tradition. The role of the woman in Gaddi society is still rather traditional with many spending most of their time in the home and I can imagine leaving to live with a strange family would be a rather terrifying thought.
Meanwhile the groom has a gruelling schedule of pujas (religious ceremonies). The Jognoo ceremony, for me is the most striking: after being washed in water representing Manimahesh Lake, the groom, dressed only in loincloth, dora and gold earrings, is sent out to beg. At this point they say, he is not in his own mind, nor I have to say does he look it. He is now Shiva, and could easily run away and never be seen again. Again, as part of tradition, he makes a run for it but his sisters and cousins grab him and pull him back to the ceremony room.
The men sitting around gossiping at the wedding
Gaddi bridegroom the day after the main ceremony
Only some dates and times are considered auspicious for marriage and these are set by local Brahmins. Winter appears to be the favoured time, and around midnight the preferred start time of the main ceremony. This takes place at the bride’s house and the groom, now dressed in his multi-coloured suit and headdress, arrives a few hours before, in time for the preceding disco and fireworks. The next day the sleep-deprived bride is carried out of her house, again wailing and the wedding party sets off to her new home. Here there is another set of ceremonies, and of course another disco: the Gaddis love to dance. All this time, the women bustle about dressed in their traditional luanchiris and doras, bringing endless chai, while the menfolk gossip, interspersing this with bouts of flailing dancing.
Ceremonies, such as weddings, connect Gaddi life to this spiritual land and the presiding deities. However, Gaddi life is not only intertwined with the landscape through religious ceremonies. The place Shiva and Gauri ran to is not some fictitious place, but the mountains where the Gaddis live, worship, move through, graze animals, grow crops and collect plants and firewood. These steep, scarred valleys, snow-capped mountain peaks and tangled flow of icy rivers circumventing mountain massifs, they believe, are watched over by Shiva. This Himalayan landscape makes human existence feel rather insignificant in comparison to the forces of nature. Shepherds believe Shiva is protecting them from the numerous dangers, such as bears, falling rocks, blizzards and avalanches, that they face on their perilous journey. Natural hazards, Gaddis proclaim, are unleashed as warnings by a displeased Shiva.
Shivaism appears to be entangled with belief in a whole host of other deities. Recently, I met Kaka, a 30 something shepherd who traverses the mountains with his flock, and his father. I was explaining to him my planned trekking route for the next dry season: a common shepherding route from Dharamsala to Chamba valley, then over the mighty Kugti Pass to Lahul. At the mention of Kugti, he looked slightly worried. This, he explained, is no ordinary pass and the only option to cross it is to accompany some shepherds on their journey. The shepherds would arrange for a goat to be sacrificed and a Brahmin priest to request permission to cross from the Kugti deity, Kelang Nag. Only if this goat shivers before the sacrifice had the god accepted the request and it was safe to proceed. Otherwise the intention of the offering had been rebuked, and Kaka asserted it was simply not possible.
Kugti, the last village of in Chamba valley before remote Lahul
Rather fortuitously, as well as being their divine undertaking, this dangerous vocation brings high financial reward in the form of meat and wool sales. Goats produce a high yield as the price of goat mutton remains high, and sheep wool feeds the Punjabi mills. A Gaddi’s flock is called their dhan, meaning wealth, and the Gaddis’ income is one of the highest to be made from the land in this area of India. Even today, with economic change bringing many ‘softer’ alternatives, some Gaddis are choosing to follow the traditional life.
Until the very recent past, many elements of a Gaddi’s lifestyle were provided for by his animals. The male traditional dress is a chola: a single outer-garment made of sheep wool that reached to the knees. The dora, was wrapped around their middle, creating space inside the chola for valuable possessions or a baby goat who couldn’t keep up with the flock, and the woollen, pointed topi hat had flaps that could be pulled down over the ears. The Gaddi shepherd had to be self-sufficient for much of the year, meaning he ate a diet based around milk, goat meat and plants that could be found in the forest; clothes were washed with animal urine and ash; and handwoven sheep-wool blankets kept him warm at night.
The village of Gusanna in Gadheran
My interactions with the shepherds quickly dashed this romantic notion of the Gaddi in chola and topi. Most now wear a simple Himachali style woollen jacket and cap; Kaka, wears jeans, hoodie and trainers. Undoubtedly, the Gaddi lifestyle is changing. Road connections have improved (I can’t imagine what they must have been like before) and shops are more fully stocked so today shepherds can cook dal and wash their clothes with washing powder. The majority have however, maintained the friendly demeanour and hospitable nature for which they have been noted throughout the centuries. On the mountains, shepherds have given me sugar and milk, and fed me thick corn chapattis. In villages in Gaheran, I always leave with a full stomach, pockets of walnuts and apples, being told phir ana (come again).
It is likely the Gaddi’s traditional way of life will continue to be challenged. Their winter and summer grazing pastures are allocated by the government, but an expanding population in lowland areas has increased demand for land, reducing the area and quality available for winter grazings. Grazing on some migratory routes is becoming more difficult as forestry and apple farming increases. In Gadheran, many of the villages have remained relatively unaffected by recent economic development. Perched on inaccessible mountainsides, they maintain a very high-degree of self-sufficiency and organic living. I can only assume the future will bring more roads carved out of this complex landscape. However, when I tried to contact Kaka again and only got a switch off message, I realised technology may not reach everywhere: there are no charge points on the Lahuli plains his cousin reminded me.
Despite the changes that have taken place in the last few decades, the Gaddis are maintaining their tribal identity, not only with their worship of Shiva and other mountain deities, but through their work and life on the land. Today, only a small proportion are still shepherding, but all appear to be romantically connected with, and take pride in, their traditional way of life. There is a lot to celebrate, and to learn from this gentle tribe who, for centuries, have co-existed harmoniously with nature and these majestic mountain ranges.
Girl in Gaddi dress in Naddi village
Gaddi woman collecting firewood in Kugti village