“You must visit the pastures once in your life,” says Lal Sain, a Van Gujjar elder who spent his youth as a nomad. Perfectly attuned to the changing patterns of the weather, his family moved on foot with their buffalo herd: down to the forested foothill plains in the winter, up to the alpine pastures for the summer, and back again at the first fall of snow. Sometimes, Lal Sain would set off on the mountain trails alone, taking a few buffaloes along. He would spend his days surviving only on buffalo milk, drinking as a calf would. Out of regard for the animals, he carried his belongings himself instead of having them bear the weight. Like most Van Gujjars today, Lal Sain and his family have not undertaken the journey in years. The reasons are complex, unfolding slowly as state policies and societal change seep into daily life rather than arriving overnight, leaving behind lives of constant tussle and negotiation. Today, Lal Sain works as a watchman at a mango grove in the plains. Every so often, he gathers his things and slips into the nearby forest for a better night’s sleep.

I ended up following a Van Gujar family to the pastures in the Upper Himalayas, perhaps one of the few still taking the older, longer routes. Tucked amid deodar, fern, and mist were meticulously hand-built wood-husk cottages. Inside, every belonging, from ceramic teacups to clothing, hung in shawl hammocks from the roof, creating space on the floor. A lesson in efficiency, the hut. Their family doctor was a strenuous journey away, making it difficult for the sick and elderly to receive care. In the corner of the room lurked the uncertainty of whether they would reach the pastures again next year.

Before falling asleep on a cot under the moonlit sky, escaping the simmering heat trapped within the four walls of the shanty, my Van Gujjar pal Rani, whose name translates to "Queen," whispers a few lines she had penned as we giggle, sprawled like schoolgirls beneath our mosquito-net fort. She says, "Hazaaron manzilein hongi, hazaaron karwaein hongi. Zamaana humein dhoondega, hum na jane kahaan honge."