Lato, Rupsho.

 

Aba Sonam Angdu, 77, and his wife Tsering Langzey, 80, reside in Loma, a hamlet renowned for its bridge over the Indus, which tourists cross en route to Hanle. Sonam Angdu spent most of his youth working as a Lukzee- a person primarily responsible for tending to the sheep and goats. He recalls that around the age of 16, he would frequently travel to Leh with his father to trade sheep wool. They would load approximately 200 male sheep (Khalba) and male goats (Rabo) with empty saddlebags, known as lugals. These expeditions involved three to four men, with one Lukzee  Upon reaching villages like Sakti, Chemrey, and Martselang, his father would begin selling wool, sheared on-site, in exchange for barley and wheat, which would then fill the empty lugals.

He remembers his father undertaking long journeys towards the east of Demchok to source salt for resale in Ladakh. After access to these sources was lost due to geopolitical reasons, around 1959, his father and other people in the region began crossing the Polokongka La to source salt from Tsokar Lake in the Samad Rakchan region, towards Kharnak. He recalls that villagers from the Samad Rakchan settlements around the lake had stationed guards to prevent unauthorized salt collection.

Sonam Angdu visited Spiti in Himachal Pradesh three times. While other informants in nearby Rupshu villages stated that the journey from Chumur to Spiti took four or five days, Sonam Angdu's return journey took approximately two months, likely due to his role as a lukzee rather than a trader. After traveling for a few days towards Chumur, the last settlement before reaching Spiti, the shepherds would often rest there for several days to allow the sheep to recuperate, a practice known as Changma in the local language. 

He remembers traveling to Spiti during winters with the sheep. During these times, he often preferred to travel at night, especially when crossing glaciers, as these glaciers were prone to avalanches. The risk of avalanches was reduced at night when the ice held better due to the cold. He remembers how a member of the team would travel in front of the animals to find the route through the snow and the mountains, and the hundreds of sheep and goats would follow in a single line. After crossing the Parangla and reaching Spiti, he remembers witnessing a local market where wool, wheat, and rice were exchanged. This market was frequented by traders from Karja and nearby villages. 

He worked like this until the age of 25. Later, when he wanted to join the Indian Army, his father did not let him do so as he wanted him to stay close to them.Life was tough, and despite the trade, villagers faced problems. During these times, they would seek assistance from the Hemis Chakzot, who would loan them grains that were repaid the following year in the form of wool, Pashmina, or livestock.

At Chumur with Ama Tsetan Angmole, 82-year-old.

For centuries, the people of Rupsho, including those from Chumur, Hanle, Korzok, Loma, Rongo and other villages have embraced a nomadic pastoralist lifestyle. Interestingly, despite its geographical distance from Korzok, Chumur shares a unique administrative bond, falling under the purview of Korzok's single headman, known as the Goba in Ladakhi.

I met Ama Tsetan when she was camped with her goats and sheep in Tarla, a spot on the way to Chumur. She and other villagers from Chumur had been there for four months and were soon heading back home with their herds, timing their return to match that of Korzok residents who had been camped nearby.

Ama Tsetan vividly recalled that before 1959, her father and other men from Chumur would journey to regions beyond Demchok to source salt for trading. Life was undeniably tough, marked by severe food scarcity. This hardship necessitated two annual trips to the salt lakes, one in summer and another in autumn.

According to Ama Tsetan and other sources, once back the men quickly venture into either Zanskar or Spiti in Himachal Pradesh to trade this salt along with wool.

The men from Rupsho had established specific routes for their trading expeditions:

To Zanskar: They would cross the Polokonga Pass, connect with the present-day Leh-Manali route, and enter Zanskar near the Lingti River. From there, they'd disperse into the Lungnak and Stod regions of Zanskar to trade their salt and wool for barley.

To Spiti: This route took them through the Parangla Pass, a journey of four to five days from Chumur.

Their visits to Spiti served different purposes depending on the season:

Summer visits coincided with the sheep and goat shearing season. During these trips, they primarily sold wool and a limited amount of salt, with the animals often shorn right there in Spiti.

Autumn visits were dedicated to trading salt, and importantly, to selling sheep for meat.

Ama Tsetan shared that barley was the typical item received in barter for their goods. This was crucial for survival, as the extreme cold in Chumur made crop cultivation incredibly challenging.

At Khema Village with Ama Tashi Palmo.

Tashi Palmo, 80, from Khema village, fondly recalls the once-bustling market in the neighboring village of Tangyar, where the men of Khema regularly sourced salt and wool. While Tangyar remained the primary commercial hub, a handful of Changpa traders occasionally journeyed directly to Khema, providing a secondary supply of these vital goods. Among them was a prominent trader, Changpa Namlang, who would stay in the village for around fifteen days during his visits. Among the many goods they brought, the most eagerly awaited by Khema’s women was the rare charu, a luxurious fur garment traditionally worn with the perak, the iconic Ladakhi headdress. Charu was crafted from the soft hide of a young sheep, barely a year old, locally known as Lugu. 

These traders typically camped in two fields on the outskirts of Khema, named, Goma and Langya, particularly in the autumn months when the fields lay fallow. In contrast, summer visits were rare, as there were no open spaces available for encampment; during that season, the Changpas confined their trade to Tangyar. 

Palmo also recalls a time when nearly every household in the region depended on grain loans from wealthy families such as the Katong and Lababs. These loans, typically of barley, were taken for both household consumption and agricultural sowing. Repayment was expected after the autumn harvest. The traditional interest rate, known as del, required the borrower to return one khal (equivalent to 12 kilograms) for every four khals borrowed. Later, through the efforts of the late 19th Bakula Rinpoche, this rate was reduced to one khal per eight khals borrowed, before the practice of charging interest was abolished altogether.

One particularly vivid memory Palmo shares is of a practice involving the seasonal rearing of livestock for Nubra families. Wealthy pastoralists from Nubra, unable to graze their large herds during the summer months, would entrust goats and sheep to trusted families in Khema. From the fourth month of the Ladakhi calendar until autumn, these animals would graze on Khema’s more abundant pastures.

The arrangement was mutually beneficial. The host families in Khema retained the manure, a valuable agricultural resource, while the livestock owners benefited from summer grazing. If a goat produced sufficient milk, the Khema family owed the owner one khal of barley. For lesser yields, the payment was halved. No payment was due for non-milking animals. In cases where an animal died, the caretakers were obliged to prove that the death was genuine and not a case of illicit sale. This verification practice, known as Shindas Stongyas, involved preserving parts of the deceased animal, most often its ears, as evidence.

When Palmo was a child, only three families in Khema participated in this practice. Over time, the number grew to nine, forming a group locally referred to as the Ratcho. Her own family took on the responsibility of rearing as many as 300 goats and sheep from the Labak family of Sumur in Nubra.