The neighbours have come to an understanding, a unique partnership. True, it is faster, but it also allows rampa (weed in Ladakhi) to grow unchecked, eating into the space of the cultivated crop. “Earlier tilling the land was a way of life for people; it sustained them. Now see what modern agriculture has done to our social bonding!”, she sighs.Ms Dolker’s lament is reflective of something larger playing itself out in the region. The animal strikes a lonely but imposing figure in a village where mechanisation has been edging it out. Says Ms Dolkar, 50, “The most important thing is that our bonds have become stronger.Communities living in the highland plateau have combatted the elements by evolving a unique way of life based on mutuality. There is a sharing of labour, tools and animals to a remarkable degree.

They strike a powerful image.  “Its very difficult for us; struggling to keep a dying tradition alive. Although the yak is a bigger, studier animal, locals prefer the dzo. The dzo is central to this. But now they don’t till at all and this is sad. Coming under fire today, this is also leading to traditional agricultural practices being abandoned. “Earlier we used to be all together. For centuries, communities here have stuck to traditional agricultural practices that conserve and replenish scarce natural resources to maintain this delicate balance.Ms Dolker has been witness to this, “It became each one for themselves. In Phyang, fields after fields are emptying out with farmers increasingly migrating to Leh for work. The lives they have chosen are a compelling narrative of contemporary Ladakh — the change sweeping over the “Land of the High Passes” and the small voice resisting this change.” Dressed in loose woollen garments, she moves about with a spring in her step “We are happy being together, doing this together. He quickly adds, “But this is what makes us different.”  In the churning that is taking place in Ladakh, Sonam Rigzin and Ishay Dorjay signify a drop in the ocean. Mr Wangail a farmer in his mid-eighties in Ullay village says: “The conditions of roads leading to our village at a height of 15,700 feet, is poor. Why would I rent a tractor and bring it up? It produces noise and fumes — bad for our environment.

There are other glaring disadvantages.”The families of Mr Rigzin and Mr Dorjay fully support this partnership and participate vigorously in the common tasks. Ploughing with the dzo on the other hand allows ample time for uprooting these. Much better to use a dzo. “Mr Wangail’s logic eludes many others but he is quick to dismiss it as herd mentality.People are losing their social and cultural traditions, their connect with the land, he believes.With mechanisation creeping in, more and more families have been replacing their trusted dzo with the mechanised version — the tractor. After paying them they’d hardly save anything and began losing interest in the land”, she says.”Interestingly Mr Dorjay’s farm lies adjacent to Sonam Rigzin’s — another old farmer.The two families and their dzo in Phyang village stand out in contrast to the emerging trends in the region.Charkha FeaturesThe writer is an awardee of the Sanjoy Ghose Rural Reporting Award 2016-17.Mr Wangail is pragmatic, belonging to a generation that has faced the elements, toiling on the fields with their hands, their animals and some tools. Farmers began to hire Nepali and Bihari labourers from Leh to work on their fields. It is more nimble and suited to plough the fields. Nor are we using chemical fertilisers”, says a beaming Phungchok Dolma from Gangles village. There wire forming machine are some who are taking their cue. Collectivisation not only makes work easier; it makes for cohesion within society.”Being closely bonded lies at the heart of Ladakhi society. “Now with fields lying fallow, what are people going to eat after some years? When will they realise how important it is to till the land, grow food and rear livestock.”, says Mr Dorjay. This defines the age-old “Bes System” where community members harvest the crop on each one’s field in turn.”This is the second year in a row when we are using the dzo for ploughing.The earlier system of grinding grains preserved nutrients.

They share all the tasks on both farms, sticking to traditional farming ways. Sonam Rigzin is worried. With mechanised grinding at high temperatures, this is being destroyed. But for Ishay Dorjay, 70, also a farmer living in Phyang village, the concerns go beyond the pragmatic.This vast ice desert lying in the lap of the Himalayas is an ecologically sensitive zone. Those who are rethinking have taken a step further to revert to traditional practices. Its like going against the tide.They are holding out in the face of relentless change; upholding a throw-back to the simpler and sustainable way of life of the yore. If villagers of Hemis Shukpachan see their neighbouring village using tractors, they will simply follow, without questioning why”, he remarks, clearly exasperated. “People just imitate other people.  The combined fall-out of these changes is now visible.Organic farming that was the norm, is giving way to increased use of chemical fertilisers and pesticides.Slowly this old culture has been fading out, replaced by a mechanised, individualised approach to work and social relations.A male hybrid of yak and cow, the dzo has always been crucial for agriculture in Ladakh that at 9,800 feet is easily one of the coldest, most daunting regions for farming.