The Invisible Women of Kashmir Pastures

For the valley’s remote and roaming women, violence is only the first wound. Their grief, health and dignity remain unnoticed.

- Sadaf Masoodi

The news appeared like a spark, then dissolved like smoke across the forests where an unseen tribe has carried its troubles for generations.

In early May 2025, four Kashmiri men gang-raped and killed a 45-year-old Gujjar woman, a mother of five. Her youngest child witnessed the attack.

Beyond a brief outcry, there were no street protests, candlelight vigils or online campaigns for justice.

On TV and social media, the air buzzed with the noise of war. In the wake of the Baisaran Bloodbath, national newsrooms were mixing reporting with battle talk.

In that din and discourse, this shocking case slipped away.

That poor soul was a seasonal migrant from Reasi and a stranger to the city where she was killed. For her gypsy tribe in Kashmir, violence is only the beginning of the story after years of hidden grief, illness and mental strain.

In the high pastures where they spend much of their lives, there is no vocabulary for trauma or depression, there are only symptoms, endured without treatment, and often without recognition.

The Gujjars and Bakkarwals are Muslim nomadic and semi-nomadic tribes, recognized as Scheduled Tribes under Indian law.

Every year, they migrate with their cattle in search of pastures, moving in a circular route that takes them to high-altitude meadows in summer and down to the plains in winter.

Life on the move is tough. Poverty runs deep, schooling is scarce and discrimination is constant. Health care is barely there. People often go hungry and too many babies don't make it.

Their cultural traditions are distinct but their social standing is fragile.

“We are not taken seriously,” says tribal activist Guftar Choudhary. “We are treated as a vote bank, not as people with rights. Even the word ‘Gujjur’ is used as an insult.”