In the farthest folds of the Eastern Himalayas, where mountain passes curl like ancient serpents and clouds drift so low you can almost brush them with your fingertips, lives a community whose world is shaped by altitude, migration, and memory. The Brokpas of Arunachal Pradesh—herders of high pastures, keepers of yak lore, and custodians of centuries-old mountain knowledge—offer a rare glimpse into a pastoral life that continues to pulse quietly across the ridges of Tawang and West Kameng.
The very word Brokpa comes from the Tibetan ’brog pa, meaning “people of the high pastures,” and the name fits the landscape they inhabit. Here, steep forests melt into rolling meadows, and the horizon is a sweep of jagged peaks softened by grazing yaks. Villages like Lubrang, Brogteng, Sangti, and scattered hamlets across the valley slopes are not just settlements—they are footholds in an environment where people, animals, seasons, and spirits coexist in delicate balance.
A traveller arriving in these villages may first notice the scent of pine-smoke curling from rooftops, the low calls of yak-calf herders drifting across fields, or the flutter of prayer flags marking household shrines. But look closer, and you begin to witness something deeper: a pastoral system that has evolved through migration, myth, and a relationship with the mountains so enduring it feels almost ancestral.
The Brokpa story is not bound to books or archives; it survives in legends told beside hearths or sung during long treks. Many of these narratives trace their origins to Tibet and Bhutan, where their ancestors are said to have been nomadic herders crossing snowy passes in search of better pastures. Over centuries, they followed trade routes that once pulsed with caravans carrying wool, salt, butter, and grains—routes far older than the borders drawn on modern maps.
These stories preserve histories of movement and exchange, of marriages forged across valleys, and of a time when herders traversed landscapes without passports but with a shared understanding of survival in extreme terrain. When you walk with a Brokpa elder along a pasture trail, you walk not just beside a person, but beside a living archive of Himalayan migration.
The heart of Brokpa culture is pastoralism, especially yak herding. Yaks provide milk, butter, wool, meat, and fuel, anchoring both livelihood and identity. Seasonal migration, or dronglen, remains a shared effort: families move together, manage herds collectively, and rely on cooperation networks that have long ensured survival in these remote terrains.
Family life mirrors this interdependence. Multi-generational households are common, with men often accompanying herds to distant pastures while women manage homes, process dairy, weave garments, and maintain social ties. Kinship binds labour, ritual, and responsibility into a tightly woven social fabric essential to mountain life.
Brokpa architecture reflects their altitude-bound existence. Winter houses built of stone and timber guard against icy winds, while summer shelters are temporary structures of bamboo, pine, or tarpaulin, easily moved as the herds roam. Daily sustenance comes from the mountains themselves: butter tea warming cold mornings; chhurpi cheese drying on racks; yak meat simmered with barley; and foraged herbs enriching soups and stews. Their cuisine blends Tibetan and Monpa influences into a practical yet comforting high-altitude fare, shaped more by climate and migration than by recipes.
Faith here is layered. Mahayana Buddhism—centred on Tawang Monastery—guides most rituals, yet older beliefs in mountain spirits and protective deities still shape daily decisions. Before herds depart for summer pastures, monks bless animals; when storms threaten, families offer prayers to local spirits. Spirituality is inseparable from ecology.
Festivals and oral traditions keep culture alive: villagers circle fields during Choe-kor, welcome the New Year with Losar and Torgya dances, and sing ballads that recount migrations or mountain legends. Their language, a Tibeto-Burman tongue distinct from Monpa, survives mostly through speech—stories, songs, and everyday conversations acting as its living script.
Brokpa garments are crafted for the mountains: thick yak-wool cloaks, felt caps, and woven layers that shield against wind and snow. Jewellery of silver, coral, and turquoise is often inherited, carrying histories across generations. Weaving is both an art and a necessity, with motifs echoing mountains, rivers, and protective symbols.
In the last few years (2023–2025), artisan cooperatives in Arunachal, including groups from Brokpa villages, have begun receiving support from state handicraft boards to market yak-wool shawls, hand-spun blankets, and traditional cloaks beyond the region.
These textiles are prized for being naturally water-repellent, incredibly warm, and eco-friendly, making them attractive in sustainable fashion circles.
In recent years, even as the snow-clad ridges remain, Brokpa life has begun to shift under the weight of rising skies and shifting seasons. Pastures once carpeted with grasses are thinning; snowfall has become erratic; and yaks — cold-adapted creatures that are the backbone of Brokpa livelihood — suffer under warming summers. In response, many families now raise more resilient yak-cattle hybrids, adjust migration calendars by a few months, and rework pasture-use to protect fragile grasslands. At the same time, younger generations draw on ancestral knowledge to produce yak-milk butter, cheese and woollen crafts for sale — a blend of tradition and market economy. Institutional support is emerging too: a recently announced Himalayan-wide yak herder collective promises improved livelihood coordination and cultural protection, offering new hope for this high-altitude pastoral world.
Visitors can support this fragile pastoral world by travelling with care: asking permission before photographing people or rituals, staying in community-run homestays, observing daily herding rhythms without disruption, and purchasing local woven goods or dairy products fairly.
