On a harsh winter morning in the Rajouri district of Jammu and Kashmir, Ghulam Choudhary, a Bakarwal herder in his late fifties, watches the forest near his ‘kotha (mud and wood house)’ and sighs over the shrinking vegetation and increasing concretisation of the forest land that was once sufficient for his herd of 350. He remembers his father apprising him of the endless routes where shepherds once moved unrestricted across the Pir Panjal, guided by the seasonal rhythms and the green‑blue rivers that carved their migration routes from Rajouri to Kangan in Kashmir. To Bakarwals, transhumance is not only the defining feature of their community but also an ecological necessity considering the seasonal changes of the Himalaya. As snow blankets the high-altitude pastures of Kashmir and Ladakh in winter, the herders go downhill to the warmer plains of Jammu, where fodder remains accessible. With the onset of summer, when Jammu’s heat scorches the winter pastures and dries fodder and water resources, they journey back to the cooler alpine pastures where fresh vegetation blooms. Transhumance ensures year-round access to adequate fodder and a suitable environment and stands as a symbol of the continuity and celebration of nomadic pastoralism, now marked by growing uncertainty. Expanding built environments, forest restrictions, waning inter-communal ties, and unpredictable weather patterns have fragmented their migration routes. Today, Ghulam and his son Nazir, with a herd of 120, are less certain about such rhythms. In response, rather than remaining solely a pastoralist, like his older generations, Nazir has taken up wage labour, a livelihood diversification trend that is attracting many young Bakarwals. They take their horses and mules to local construction sites or to tourist destinations in Pahalgam, Gulmarg, Sonamarg, Doodhpathri, and religious shrines such as the Amarnath Yatra and the Vaishno Devi. Nazir helps his family to undertake transhumance and then proceeds to wage labor during the off-season. Ghulam’s story is not his alone; innumerable stories echo across the Pir Panjal, a testament to the perseverance of the pastoralists. From shrinking resources and climate variability to changing meat markets and altered labour patterns, pastoralists like Ghulam and Nazir are negotiating new uncertainties that reshape not just the economic aspect of pastoralism but the very meaning of being a herder. From the Himalaya to central and western India, the estimated 50 pastoral communities, that accounts for about 10 million people, face distinct pressures and converge toward a relentless transition in their livelihoods. The slow pull of opting for non-pastoral livelihoods or sedentarisation diminishes indigenous livestock populations and disrupts the ecological and economic exchanges that once sustained pastoralism. In this inevitable shift, each community abandons fragments of pastoralism and this marks the poignant end to an established economic system. Comparable transitions, driven by local ecological and socio-economic dynamics, are evident in Eastern Maharashtra as a part of ongoing research on pastoralists’ transitions at the Centre for Pastoralism, New Delhi. Sheep and goat herding among the Kurmars of Chandrapur and Gadchiroli districts represents a culturally rooted and ecologically rational land use, woven into their monsoon-driven horizontal migrations through forests, common land, and agricultural fallow lands. Each year, before the beginning of the monsoon season, the Kurmars move towards forests and pass through common land, and return between December and January, to feed their herd on crop stubble (cotton and pulses) and the fallow paddy fields. However, since the establishment of the Tadoba Andhari Tiger Reserve (TATR) in 1955, Chandrapur district, now home to one of India’s highest tiger populations, recorded more than 300 human attacks and about 150 fatalities between 2013 and 2023. The rising number and expanding territory of the big cats have severed the pastoralists’ migration routes, cut off access to fodder resources, and intensified conflicts with the local communities and forest authorities. A Kurmar from Chandli Buj, Gadchiroli, recounted the horror with his injured shoulder and leg and said:“While herding the flock in the daylight, the tiger had dragged me some 100 meters until my brother helped free me from its jaws in 2024. Following this horrific incident, I can no longer muster the strength to undertake migration.”Such incidents often occur outside the core and buffer areas of TATR which disrupts the ease of herding and leaves the victims and their families traumatised. Livestock keeping has increasingly been seen as an ‘open invite to the big cats’, says Ramji, an elder Kurmar. He further added:“The younger generation is less keen on herding, more eager for secure jobs, and far less willing to face the indignity of being shooed away from grazing lands.”Such narratives speak not just of physical bruises, livestock loss, and restrictions, but of deep sorrow, isolation, and the unarticulated costs of the shift from co-existence to conflict with big cats of TATR. This has pushed many Kurmar pastoralists, especially the Rakhandars and younger generations, to reduce herd sizes and substitute them with economic migration, small-scale farming, or sedentarisation.A Kurmar herd enclosed by electric fencing. Photo: Priya Rajput. The silent collapse of wool markets has also made the Kurmars alter their herd composition. While meat markets driven by urban demand offer quicker returns, the pastoralists have started to replace wool-based with meat-based breeds. The custom of having ‘Gongadi’ (woolen blanket), once tied to the value of wool, is now attuned to meat prices. One Kurmar elder in Chandrapur mentioned,“The younger generation is not interested in herding and does not value its cultural significance and economic aspects. They are more inclined towards city jobs.”Interviews in Gadisurla village revealed migratory households had dropped from about 60 to 27, livestock numbers fell from nearly 12,000 to 4,386, and Rakhandars halved from 18 to 9. Similar patterns reappear in other villages and express more than a demographic trend. It signals how reduced labour availability, the rise of meat-oriented markets, human-wildlife conflicts, and restrictions around protected areas have together reshaped pastoralists decision-making. This tug between tradition and transition reflects both resilience and erosion, a state of flux in which pastoralists choose what to hold and what to surrender.For many pastoralists, reducing herd sizes, combining pastoralism with agriculture, or seeking wage employment has become a necessity rather than a choice. Understanding these transitions requires more than nostalgia or policy critique; it demands listening to voices like Nazir and Ramji’s, who emphasize that pastoralism is not just about income but about dignity, and that even as flocks shrink, the identity of being a herder must endure. These narratives signify that pastoralism is as much about cultural identity, ecological stewardship, and social cohesion as it is about livelihoods. Policy neglect of these transitions is rooted in the cross-sectoral exclusions where welfare schemes, livestock development programs, transit shelters, and subsidized livestock transport offer partial and scattered relief to pastoralists. Structural challenges like secure grazing rights and equitable market access remain unaddressed and a contested policy area. Climate policy frameworks often treat settled agriculture and livestock as the backbone of rural economies and sideline mobile pastoralists and label them ‘irrational’ or ‘inefficient’, despite their proven ability to thrive under uncertainties that other sectors struggle to manage. This neglect undermines the economy, ecological services and cultural systems that pastoralism sustains. Transitions in pastoralism are neither linear trends nor limited to just herd sizes as they intersect with biodiversity conservation, food security, and climate resilience. If pastoral systems collapse, the costs are borne by ecosystems, local economies, and the intangible wisdom that has sustained pastoralism for centuries. These transitions are not merely adaptations; they are transformations shaped as much by push factors as by the pull of modern aspirations and necessitate recognition and support, which is vital not only for the pastoralists themselves but for the broader sustainability of landscapes and livelihoods.Notes: All names in this article have been changed to maintain the confidentiality of respondents’ perspectives on request. The livestock numbers given in the article are primarily based on respondents’ recall capacity.Dr. Priya Rajput is a postdoctoral fellow at the Centre for Pastoralism, New Delhi, where her research focuses on pastoral transitions and decision-making in the semi-arid landscapes of Maharashtra. Before this, her doctoral research examined climate change-induced livelihood adaptations among the Gujjars and Bakarwals of the Jammu and Kashmir Himalayas. She can be reached at priya@centreforpastoralism.org.This is the sixth article in a series exploring the challenges faced by Indian pastoralists. Read the first, second, third, fourth and fifth.