Farmers say the push to go chemical-free has exposed fragile soils, high costs, and gaps in support systems.

Leh, Ladakh: In the early 1970s, after the Indian Army was stationed in Ladakh, farmers were encouraged to use fertilisers to grow bigger, shinier potatoes for cantonment supplies. “Aloo jitna bada hota tha, utna acha hota tha [The bigger the potato, the better],” recalled one farmer. The higher yields generated more income, and chemical inputs quickly became the standard.

Over time, though, the shift eroded the natural fertility of Ladakh’s soil. What had been organically farmed land became dependent on fertilisers and pesticides

Now, under the Mission Organic Development Initiative (MODI) launched in 2020, the Union Territory administration has set an ambitious target: convert all 666 villages in Ladakh into certified organic hubs by 2025. Backed by a Rs 500-crore budget, the scheme promises seed distribution, bio-fertiliser units, greenhouses, and marketing support. Of this, Rs 50 crore is earmarked for value-chain development and Rs 125.54 crore for protected cultivation, including subsidised greenhouses. The Ladakh Autonomous Hill Development Council (LAHDC) in Leh has also rolled out subsidies to promote sustainable practices.

Yet for many farmers, the journey back to “organic” is less a homecoming than a struggle with new dilemmas: between tradition and regulation, old crops and lucrative markets, mere survival and true sustainability.

Display of organic vegetables waiting for customers in Leh market (Photo - Nimisha Agarwal, 101Reporters)

Soil’s crisis

Farmers across Ladakh say their soil has “lost its strength.” Decades of chemical use have left fields less fertile, yields lower, and the future uncertain. “Zameen ka takat kam ho gaya hai [The land has lost its strength],” said a farmer from Spituk. “We grow potatoes, cauliflowers, turnips and cabbages but the government gives no guarantee to buy organic produce. Fertiliser-grown vegetables still flood the market.”

One of the biggest hurdles is manure. Traditional sources — livestock dung and compost from dry toilets — have dwindled as households abandoned those practices. The natural cycle that once sustained Ladakh’s fields has been broken.

To bridge the gap, the government imports organic manure from Haryana. Farmers say it is costly, insufficient, and unsustainable in the long run. “The government gives us imported manure from Haryana, which is not enough. And we don’t have enough dry toilets to follow our traditional method,” said Poro, a farmer in Leh.

Environmentalists agree. “Importing manure cannot be a permanent solution,” cautioned Tsewang Namgyal of the Snow Leopard Conservatory. But others see it as a necessary compromise. “Many farmers stopped keeping animals or maintaining dry toilets. Until local systems are rebuilt, outside manure is the only way to manage this transition,” said Dr Tsering Stobdan, senior scientist at the Defence Institute of High-Altitude Research (DIHAR).

Ladakhi's staple diet has shifted from barley and millets to a mix of outside grains like rice with local greens (Photo - Nimisha Agarwal, 101Reporters)

Lost crops

Though the organic mission urges farmers to revive traditional crops, the ground reality is harsher. Soil fertility has declined, yields are lower, and without cold storage or assured procurement, even staples like potatoes often sell at a loss. “Earlier, we supplied potatoes to the army. Now yields are low, size doesn’t meet market expectations, and soil health is poor,” said Skarma Gurmet Poro of Julley Ladakh.

Some crops, like buckwheat, disappeared not because of climate change but because people stopped eating them. Only recently, with rising consumer demand, has cultivation picked up again. Farmers still grow barley, wheat, mustard, peas, carrots, and cabbage for their kitchens, but market incentives point elsewhere. Barley, central to Ladakh’s food culture as the base for tsampa, competes with cash crops promoted under MODI, such as apricots and pomegranates, which are geared toward outside markets rather than local diets.

“Simply depending on traditional crops is not sufficient. If you ask people to grow only those, the day is not far when they’ll stop farming altogether,” said Dr Tsering Stobdan.

For farmers, this tension plays out daily. “We’re caught between two worlds,” said organic agriculturist Urgain Gya of Gya village. “The government wants us to be organic, but the market wants higher yields and perfect-looking vegetables. Chemicals still feel like the only way to meet those demands.”

Gya explained that even when farmers did grow organic produce, they could not sell it widely. “Because of the inputs, we price higher. This puts us at a disadvantage against mandi sellers who use chemicals. And there’s no cold storage or larger market access — produce like tomatoes spoil in a week,” he said.

While traditional crops are climate-resilient and nutrient-rich, farmers find them unprofitable without consumer demand, procurement support, or storage infrastructure. “If the land doesn’t give enough in return, people stop growing these crops, even if they are important to our culture and health,” Gya added.

The initiative’s push for productivity also raises ecological risks. “Pushing for higher yields in our water-scarce region could lead to overexploitation of our limited resources,” Gya warned. “We need an approach that prioritises sustainability over market-driven growth.”

Ladakhis still grow some varieties of barley for personal consumption (Photo - Nimisha Agarwal, 101Reporters)

The certification conundrum

“Ladakh was always organic,” said Skarma Gurmet Poro of Julley Ladakh. “Now we’re being told to become something we already were, but in a way that doesn’t fit our reality.”

Farmers argue that the push for certification overlooks Ladakh’s unique ecology and traditions, from crop rotation and natural pest control to using glacial silt as fertiliser. Instead, they must now comply with India’s National Programme for Organic Production (NPOP): three years of transition without chemicals, annual inspections, strict record-keeping, and verification of every input, from compost to seeds. For many smallholders, this is an overwhelming process.

Gya pointed out that the scheme focuses on certification and markets but ignores more pressing challenges: water scarcity, labour shortages, and the survival of indigenous crops. For example, drip irrigation is promoted, but it works best on larger holdings, not Ladakh’s small, fragmented plots.

Water, in particular, is a growing constraint. Most irrigation still relies on glacial and snowmelt-fed streams, diverted to fields through traditional canals. With glaciers retreating and snowmelt patterns shifting, farmers face acute shortages during critical sowing months.

“The pressure to be ‘officially’ organic is immense,” said Rinchen Dolma, a farmer from Saboo. “Support is delayed, water is uncertain, officers don’t always show up. Sometimes it feels easier to quietly use chemicals than to risk crop failure.”

The reality, according to Skarma Gurmet Poro, is more complex. “The government gave us chemical fertilisers and subsidies on outside commodities during the Green Revolution. People followed. Now we’re told to reverse it all, but with rules that don’t match Ladakh’s reality.”

Display of organic vegetables waiting for customers in Leh market (Photo - Nimisha Agarwal, 101Reporters)

Shrinking villages

This is happening while Ladakh's villages keep emptying out, warns historian Nawang Tsering Shakspo. With rural depopulation, farming is left to ever-fewer, often women, as men pursue jobs in urban Leh or tourism. 

Traditional composting, crop planning, and indigenous practices fade as the pool of experienced cultivators shrinks. “How can we implement organic farming when there are fewer farmers each year?” Shakspo said. 

With many fields left fallow and dry toilets gone, knowledge that once kept Ladakh’s agriculture resilient faces slow extinction. “This ‘one-size-fits-all’ organic model does not address these demographic shifts,” said critics. 

The risk: more pressure on a dwindling number of committed farmers, and a loss of the cultural systems that once allowed Ladakhi farming to thrive, organically, and on its own terms.

This story was produced as part of the NCNF Media Fellowship on Agroecology.

Cover photo - A woman selling organic produce in Leh market (Photo - Nimisha Agarwal, 101Reporters)