As the shepherds struggle against nature, another silent challenge is the rise of synthetic and adulterated wool. Imported low-cost fibres such as acrylic and polyester now flood local markets and are sold under the label of “Kashmiri wool.” This industrial imitation has eroded demand for locally produced wool. These synthetic alternatives, being cheaper and easier to dye, have displaced natural fibres in regional markets, reducing wool prices by nearly 40% over the past decade.
As the first light of dawn spills gently across the valley, mist drifts low over the meadows, wrapping the land in a white hush. In the distance, bells begin to chime softly — the sound of sheep stirring awake. For centuries, this music of wool and wind has been the heartbeat of Kashmir’s highlands.
Among those who rise with it is Umais Sultan, a young farmer from the central valley. Wrapped in a thick pheran, he stands at the edge of a field, his flock scattered like patches of cloud against the green earth. As he whistles, the sheep lift their heads in unison — a language spoken without words.
“They know me better than people do,” he says with a quiet smile. “If I’m sad, they stay close. If I call, they turn. They’ve been with me through every season.”
For Umais and thousands like him, sheep farming is not a profession — it is a rhythm of life. Yet, that rhythm is changing, slowly but surely, under the weight of the warming climate, shrinking pastures, and a marketplace that now measures wool not by its warmth but by its fineness.
A Heritage of Wool and Wind
Kashmir’s connection with sheep stretches back centuries. The region’s geography — rolling pastures, crisp air, and long winters — has always nurtured a pastoral way of life. The wool from its flocks feeds the cottage industry that weaves pashmina shawls, blankets, and pherans.
The older breeds of sheep, such as Bakerwal, Poonchi, Gurez, and Kashmiri Longwool, are deeply tied to this land. They are tough, sure-footed, and adapted to harsh terrain. Their fleece, though coarse, is warm and durable — perfect for the climate and for local weavers.
“Our fathers had sheep that could survive snow and stone,” recalls an elderly herder, sitting beside a fire near Ganderbal. “They walked for miles without tiring. Their wool wasn’t soft like Merino, but it kept us alive.”
In recent decades, crossbreeding programs introduced Rambouillet and Australian Merino strains into the valley. The result was the Kashmir Merino — a hybrid known for its fine wool, lustrous texture, and higher yield. According to the Department of Sheep Husbandry, J&K (2023), the breed produces wool comparable to international fine-fibre standards, with a fineness of 18–20 microns.
The Kashmir Merino is now the valley’s pride — the result of careful breeding and adaptation. But shepherds know that finer wool comes with fragility. “These new sheep are beautiful,” says Umais, brushing his hand along the fleece of one ewe. “But they catch a cold easily. You need to watch them always.”
The Lost Grazing Trails
Every spring, as the snows retreat, Kashmir’s shepherds begin their ancient migration. Flocks move upward toward the high alpine meadows — the bahaks — where the grass grows soft and fragrant under the melting snow. By late autumn, they descend again to the valley floor, following the changing light and the whispers of the wind.
But the old routes are disappearing. In the high valleys of Sonamarg and Gulmarg, pastures once open to flocks are now scarred by roads, construction, and tourist lodges. Some grazing lands have turned to scrub; others have simply vanished beneath the slow crawl of urban expansion.
“We used to walk for two days to reach the summer pastures,” says a herder from Ganderbal. “Now, there are fences, hotels, machines. The sheep have less space, and we move less.”
The ancient rhythm of movement — one that allowed the land to heal and the animals to thrive — has been disrupted. Shepherds now graze their animals closer to villages, where the grass is shorter and less nutritious. The sheep feed more, walk less, and their wool, they say, has grown thinner.
A study by Sher-e-Kashmir University of Agricultural Sciences and Technology (SKUAST-K, 2022) found that the reduction in grazing range has altered the diet of sheep across central Kashmir, leading to measurable changes in the wool density and stamina of these animals.
“When the sheep eat wild grass and herbs, the wool shines differently,” says Umais. “The mountain grass has medicine in it — no feed can replace that.”
Community-Driven Hope: Cooperatives and Collectives
Despite these challenges, there are sparks of resilience flickering across the valley. Inspired by initiatives like “Looms of Ladakh,” some small groups in central and southern Kashmir have begun forming wool cooperatives — community-driven units that connect shepherds, spinners, and weavers directly.
In districts like Budgam, Ganderbal, and Pulwama, women’s self-help groups are experimenting with value addition — washing, carding, and spinning wool locally, instead of selling it raw to middlemen. The Jammu and Kashmir Handicrafts Department and NGOs such as Kashmir Rural Livelihoods Mission (UMEED) have started offering limited training and small grants for wool-based entrepreneurship.
“If we could process the wool ourselves and sell it as yarn or blankets, we’d earn double,” says Umais. “Right now, traders take most of the profit.”
While not yet as organized as Looms of Ladakh, these emerging cooperatives reflect a growing awareness among shepherd communities and their efforts to move from mere subsistence to sustainability, turning their heritage into a viable rural economy.
Seasons of Uncertainty
The seasons in Kashmir are changing their temper. Winters are colder, longer, and less predictable. Snow falls heavily and stays late into spring. Summers bring sudden bursts of rain followed by days of dry heat.
For the shepherds, these small shifts mean everything. Early or late snow decides when lambs are born, how long the grass lasts, and when the flock must move.
“The old people could read the sky,” says a shepherd from Lar village, Ganderbal. “They knew which wind meant rain, which cloud meant snow. Now, the sky plays tricks. You can’t trust it anymore.”
According to the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC, 2022), the Himalayan region, including Kashmir, is warming at nearly twice the global average. This rise in temperature affects not just pastures but also the natural water sources that sustain them. Springs dry earlier, grass grows later, and high-altitude plants that once covered the slopes are vanishing.
These changes ripple through the lives of the flocks. Without fresh grass, ewes produce less milk. Lambs grow weaker. Wool, which once grew dense and rich under steady conditions, becomes patchy and less lustrous.
“In my childhood,” recalls an old herder, “our sheep looked fuller, healthier. Now they shed early, and their wool grows slowly. The earth feels different underfoot.”
The Synthetic Shadow: Impact of Artificial and Adulterated Wool
As the shepherds struggle against nature, another silent challenge has crept into their lives — the rise of synthetic and adulterated wool. Imported low-cost fibres such as acrylic and polyester now flood local markets, often blended deceptively with natural wool and sold under the label of “Kashmiri wool.”
This industrial imitation has eroded demand for locally produced wool. The National Institute of Disaster Management (NIDM, 2023) notes that synthetic alternatives, being cheaper and easier to dye, have displaced natural fibres in regional markets, reducing wool prices by nearly 40% over the past decade.
“Traders now prefer machine wool,” laments Umais. “It shines more and costs less. But it has no soul — it doesn’t breathe like ours.”
The environmental cost is also huge. Synthetic fibres shed microplastics into rivers during washing, polluting fragile Himalayan waterways. Natural wool, in contrast, is biodegradable, renewable, and part of a sustainable pastoral system.
“When people stop wearing real wool,” says a weaver in Anantnag, “they also stop remembering who we are.” For shepherds, this shift isn’t just economic — it’s emotional. Their craft, built on patience and care, is being undercut by plastic threads that neither tell stories nor carry the scent of mountain wind.
The Language of Care
Sheep care in Kashmir is an art — a dance of attention learned not from books but from generations of observation. The herder’s eyes read the smallest signs: a drooping ear, a sluggish walk, a sound in the throat.
“You must feel them like your own pulse,” says Umais. “If one sheep is sick, you know before it stops eating. You just know.”
In the old days, shepherds treated their animals with natural remedies — crushed herbs, salt, ash, and snowmelt. Today, many still rely on these methods, mixing them with more modern knowledge passed by word of mouth. Yet, even care has grown harder as the weather turns erratic.
Diseases like foot rot, pneumonia, and parasitic infections have become more frequent, according to a 2022 report in Advances in Animal and Veterinary Sciences. Prolonged moisture, irregular rainfall, and sudden temperature drops weaken the animals’ resistance.
“When it rains for days and doesn’t stop, we know trouble is coming,” says a herder from Kupwara. “The sheep start limping, coughing. You keep watch all night, praying they survive
Faith in the Flock
In Kashmir’s hills, solitude is the shepherd’s closest companion. Days stretch long and silent, marked only by the rhythm of the flock and the hum of wind across the grass. In that silence, the shepherd finds peace.
“When I am with them, I forget the world,” says Umais, watching his sheep rest in the meadow. “It is hard work, yes — but it’s a kind of prayer.”
The shepherds know that their craft carries not just economic value, but memory — the memory of a land where people still lived by the rhythm of the earth.
Echoes of Tomorrow
As evening descends, the flock gathers near a stream, their white coats glowing in the last light. The air smells of pine and smoke. In the distance, a muezzin’s call blends with the faint bleating of lambs.
“When they run toward me,” says Umais, his voice almost lost in the wind, “I feel peace. Even if the world changes, I will stay here. Someone must keep this life alive.”
The future of sheep farming in Kashmir remains uncertain — shaped by changing climates, shrinking markets, and the synthetic lure of modern textiles. Yet, in the high valleys, as long as the bells of the flock ring out against the mountains, hope endures.
The wool may grow thinner, the seasons more unpredictable, but the bond between shepherd and sheep remains unbroken — a testament to endurance and grace in the face of change
References
- Department of Sheep Husbandry, Jammu & Kashmir. (2023). Annual Report on Livestock and Wool Production in Central Kashmir. Government of J&K.
- Hamadani, A., Rather, M. A., & Shah, R. (2022). An Overview of Kashmir Merino Sheep: A Synthetic Strain Developed in Jammu and Kashmir. Advances in Animal and Veterinary Sciences, 10(4), 888–897.
- Sher-e-Kashmir University of Agricultural Sciences and Technology (SKUAST-K). (2022). Status of Sheep Grazing and Fodder Resources in Central Kashmir.
- Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC). (2022). Climate Change 2022: Impacts, Adaptation and Vulnerability.
- National Institute of Disaster Management (NIDM). (2023). Livestock and Climate Risk Assessment in the Western Himalayas.
Farhan Nazir is an intern with TheRise
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