Changpa herders describe what it's like to watch pastures that fed their families for generations turn to dust
"My grandfather could read the grass. He knew which slopes would be green first in spring, where to find Stipa grass after the monsoon, which valleys held moisture longest. I watched those same pastures turn brown. The grass my goats needed—it just stopped growing. Where there was green, now there is dust and stones."
Tashi Namgyal, 58 years old, Kharnak region
Fourth-generation herder who migrated to Leh in 2019 after watching his herd decline from 350 goats to 180 over ten years. "The goats were always hungry. Their coats became thin. The fiber we sold was no longer the fine pashm buyers wanted. We knew we couldn't continue."
"In my mother's time, the grass grew thick to your knees in summer pastures. Now I see patches—grass here, bare ground there. My goats walk further every day to find enough to eat. They come back tired. Tired goats don't grow good fiber. This is what people don't understand when they ask why Pashmina is getting scarce."
Padma Dolkar, 42 years old, Hanle Valley
Moved to Nyoma township in 2021 after her family's 200 goats could no longer find adequate grazing. "We tried moving to higher pastures, but the grass hadn't arrived there yet—or maybe it never would. The climate is changing faster than the plants can move upward."
"The permafrost is melting beneath the grass. The roots that held the soil for thousands of years are dying. I've seen whole hillsides where the ground just collapses, leaving scars where nothing grows. This isn't slow change—this is the land dying in front of our eyes. And when the land dies, we die too."
Sonam Dorje, 35 years old, Rupshu Valley
Former cooperative leader whose extended family of 18 left in 2020. "Government officials visited and measured the fiber from our goats—it was 17 microns, sometimes 18. They said it wasn't real Pashmina anymore. But this is what happens when goats eat poor grass. The fiber follows the food."