Amid A Violent Fight For Statehood, One Community Finds Interfaith Solidarity
LEH, India — When violence broke out in Leh this past Sept. 24, a place usually known for its thin air and patient rhythms, the immediate human cost was stark: several young people critically wounded, and four confirmed dead.
Leh is the capital city of Ladakh, which borders Pakistan and China. Nearly seven years ago, the Indian government revoked the state’s special autonomous status. In recent years, people in Ladakh have protested to demand jobs, statehood and political representation, according to Human Rights Watch.
As news of the deaths spread through the town and into surrounding villages, residents turned almost instinctively to religious practice and interfaith solidarity as their primary means of coping. Rather than answering blood with blood, many Ladakhis turned to prayer, ritual, and mutual care. This response has become as much a political statement as a spiritual one.
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In the days after the clashes, monks from major monasteries — Thiksey, Hemis, Diskit and others — were visible not only in prayer halls but in the streets. They organized food for families stranded by an imposed curfew, led quiet gatherings, and urged people to avoid retaliation.
One senior monk explained to reporters that the community had been taught from childhood to see anger as corrosive and to prefer patience and compassion; in practice, that counsel translated into daily acts of care, from handing out warm food to sitting with the bereaved.
Those gestures spread beyond Buddhist institutions. Mosques and Muslim community leaders joined in public prayers and interfaith vigils; civic groups that normally spar over policy worked together to help families carry out last rites and to provide legal and logistical support to those detained.
Members of the region’s Leh Apex Body — the joint representative forum of Ladakhi civic groups — framed this cooperation as both cultural and tactical: a demonstration that the community could reconcile religious difference while insisting on accountability from political authorities.
Behind the ritual is a political grievance that had been simmering for years. After Ladakh was made a Union Territory in 2019, many residents, especially young people, felt their political voices and their control over land and resources had also weakened. For several years, local leaders had sought protections under the Sixth Schedule of India’s constitution, which grants special autonomy and safeguards over land and governance to tribal regions. The hunger strikes, marches, and sit-ins that preceded the September riots were all aimed at that demand.
Sonam Wangchuk, the engineer-turned-activist famed for his climate work and educational experiments in Ladakh, became the focal point of the recent agitation. Wangchuk began a hunger strike in early September to press for Sixth Schedule status and statehood for Ladakh; his fast and public profile helped mobilize many young people.
After the violence began near the site of his protest, he publicly urged demonstrators to stop the fighting and called off his fast, telling youth to end the immediate violence because it threatened the movement’s aims. “I request the youth of Ladakh to stop the violence forthwith,” he said in a plea reported widely across outlets.
The confrontation escalated quickly: protesters set fire to local political offices and vehicles, security forces responded with batons, tear gas, and live fire, according to local sources. Authorities imposed curfews, suspended mobile internet, and detained scores of people. Within days, police arrested Wangchuk — the government citing his alleged provocative statements — and took action against organizations linked to him. Wangchuk and his supporters deny any intent to incite violence and have described the crackdown as disproportionate.
Despite the crackdown and the political uncertainty, the everyday recovery in Ladakh has been spiritual. In market lanes and by the site of the clashes, locals light butter lamps, chant mantras and hold joint vigils. Young people who had previously been ambivalent about ritual now report that prayer helps them feel less consumed by anger and more capable of long-term organizing. A local student recalled that prayer offered clarity in a moment of chaos, helping her translate grief into continued demands rather than into personal vengeance.
Political leaders in Ladakh are trying to balance two calls to action: for a judicial investigation into the deaths and pressing the Indian government for constitutional guarantees, while urging calm on the streets.
One coordinator of the Apex Body described the day of unrest as the “bloodiest” in recent memory and framed the immediate reaction as pent-up anger after years of what he called empty promises from New Delhi. The same leaders, however, have repeatedly stressed that any durable political solution will require unity across faiths and communities — not cycles of retribution.
Voices close to Wangchuk have argued that official action against him is part of a pattern of targeting civil society actors. His wife, Gitanjali J. Angmo, has publicly pushed back against the charges and described the legal steps against her husband as politically motivated and exaggerated; she has characterised some of the allegations as misreadings of context and has called for fair process. Her statements, made in media interviews and filings, reflect a broader plea from supporters for transparency and judicial oversight.
Human rights and civil-liberties organizations have also weighed in, warning that internet shutdowns, curfews and broad arrests risk deepening distrust and making reconstruction of social trust harder.
A number of national outlets reported that talks between Ladakhi representatives and the central government, already ongoing, would have to address employment, land protections, and local governance if peace is to be sustainable. For many residents, the spiritual practices that followed the violence are not a retreat from politics but a disciplined way to sustain attention on the political demands without succumbing to cycles of revenge.
What happens next will depend on two linked dynamics: whether a credible judicial inquiry into the deaths is held, and whether New Delhi is willing to translate interim concessions into durable protections that reassure both Buddhists and Muslims in Ladakh.
Meanwhile, for ordinary people in Leh and beyond, the sequence is painfully practical: hold a vigil, share a meal, light a butter lamp, then go back to drafting petitions, filing legal appeals, and planning peaceful demonstrations. In that rhythm, faith and politics are braided into a single strategy for survival.
“We want a solution, but we also want to keep our community strong,” one local resident said, summarizing the mood in simple terms.
Rishabh Jain is an independent journalist based in Delhi. Follow him at @ThisIsRjain.