The Inherited Gaze: Pastoral Life and the Disappearing Bakarwali Dogs

An observation near IIT Jammu, April 2026 

The evening sky near IIT Jammu, the world just outside a campus built on control, softly dissolving into something older.

Just outside my IIT Jammu campus itself a representation of controlled aesthetics, planned structures, and the modern desire to organise nature into measurable forms - another world briefly appeared before me. A world not built upon control, but upon care. My observation is based on a Bakarwali tribal group during the month of April, when the weather had just started warming up and the sunlight began lingering a little longer in the evenings. The tribe, along with its large family, was travelling from Jammu city toward Nagrota, near the IIT Jammu campus, from where they were preparing to continue their journey to Srinagar in two large trucks. These communities usually move downward toward the nearby city areas of Jammu during winter and return to the high meadows during summer, carrying both their human and nonhuman families along with them. 

The Bakarwali family guiding their flock by the roadside at night near Nagrota - the migratory life unfolding in real time. 

As I watched the two large trucks standing by the roadside, the migratory life slowly unfolded before me. In one truck, a wooden slab had been placed like a temporary stage to divide its structure. On the upper side, small sheep and two tiny goat kids had been placed carefully, guarded by women carrying sticks so the animals would not accidentally fall or jump away. The men below were slowly guiding and lifting the animals into position. In the lower section, the larger sheep were kept together. In another truck, the human family members would sit for the journey. 

Many Bakarwal families still prefer walking long distances because transportation through vehicles can sometimes suffocate or weaken their nonhuman companions during travel. Yet this family no longer walked the route. Their two Bakarwali dogs rested nearby like tired old men after a long day, unusually relaxed and unworried. They no longer needed to remain hypervigilant against bears or predators here; their human sathi (companion) were nearby, carefully watching over the sheep. 

A Bakarwali dog rests with the quiet authority of one who has earned their stillness - massive, ancient, and deeply at home with its people. 

In my excitement, I suddenly pointed and said, "Bakarwali dog!" without realizing that I was casually calling out what was not merely an animal, but almost a family member standing among its people. Yet the elder man of the tribe responded with remarkable generosity and warmth. Smiling gently, he asked me, "Do you want a Bakarwali dog?" He was not offering a product; he was offering a relationship. My reply "I wish I could", became an acknowledgment of my own displacement, a realization that I, as an urban dweller, no longer possess the landscape required to hold such a life. 

The Bakarwali dogs belong to the pahari (mountain landscape) landscape and are deeply shaped by that terrain and lifestyle. Strong, massive, and strikingly intelligent, these dogs are found mainly in Jammu and Kashmir, and their very name comes from the Bakarwal tribe, who have relied on them for centuries as livestock guardians. Over generations, the dogs evolved alongside the tribe itself. Earlier, when Bakarwal families travelled long distances on foot toward high-altitude meadows with both their human and nonhuman families, these dogs played an essential role through their extraordinary sniffing ability, guarding instincts, and sense of direction. They were never merely pets or property; they occupied a moral and relational role within the travelling community. 

Unlike companion dogs raised primarily within domestic households, Bakarwali dogs historically evolved within migratory pastoral systems where survival depended upon seasonal collective movement across forests, mountain passes, high-altitude meadows, and lower-land routes during winter migration. Their role extended beyond protection alone; they functioned as nocturnal sentinels, navigational companions, and social members of travelling pastoral families. Beyond safeguarding livestock economically, these dogs also helped mediate interactions between humans and large predators such 

as bears by detecting potential threats early through their heightened sensory abilities, thereby reducing direct encounters between wildlife and pastoral communities. 

"We do not want them to see these sheep as prey; the dog should be a protector." 

One statement from the tribe remained deeply with me. They explained that the dogs are kept on a completely vegetarian diet because "we do not want them to see these sheep as prey; the dog should be a protector". While this was only a brief interaction, the statement appeared to reflect a relational ethic shaped through long-term coexistence between humans, dogs, and livestock within migratory life. Rather than control through fear, the relationship seemed to depend upon trust, proximity, and learned responsibility developed across generations. 

After speaking with the tribe members, I learned that even the small Bakarwali puppies travel upward with the families and gradually learn by observing their parents. The knowledge is not formally taught; it is inherited through movement, observation, and coexistence. This is social cognition in its rawest form. The dog does not simply learn to guard; it learns how to become Bakarwal. The dogs grow into their responsibilities while living inside the rhythm of migration itself. 

Yet one striking and painful reality remains. According to a survey by the Tribal Research and Cultural Foundation (TRCF), the Bakarwal dog population has declined drastically to only a few hundred because of regional conflict and a naturally slow breeding cycle (Bhat, R., 2008). At the same time, many pastoral Bakarwal communities have gradually started settling down, while others increasingly rely on vehicles instead of traditional foot migration. As walking routes disappear, the functional dependence on these dogs may also slowly fade away. And since the tribe itself has long been the caretaker of these brave and beautiful souls, the future approaching them now feels uncertain, almost hazy, as if both the dogs and the migratory culture that shaped them are standing together at the edge of disappearance. 

About the Author:

Shramana Singha Roy is a Research Scholar at the Department of Humanities and Social Sciences, Indian Institute of Technology Jammu. Her research interests include moral cognition, experimental psychology, human–animal relationships, migration, and multispecies coexistence.