In Ladakh, where nearly every family has a member serving in uniform, the recent anti-government protests have created an unprecedented crisis: soldiers’ families are being shot by their own government forces.
Four civilians lie dead, dozens have been wounded, and a region renowned for its military service now seethes with barely concealed rage beneath an outward calm enforced by a heavy security presence.
The statistics tell a remarkable story. According to Ladakh Buddhist Association leaders, approximately 5,000 men from the region currently serve in the Ladakh Scouts, with another 5,000 veterans. Thousands more serve in the ITBP, Ladakh Police and other security forces. In a region of just 50,000 families spread across 59,146 square kilometres — comprising only 240 villages and two towns, Leh and Kargil — this means one in five households has direct military ties.
The Ladakh Scouts earned legendary status during the Kargil War, with soldiers winning numerous gallantry awards, including the Maha Vir Chakra. Among them was Major Sonam Wangchuk — namesake of the activist and celebrated innovator leading the current agitation.
The Telegraph’s investigation reveals the profound irony at the heart of this crisis. Of the seven families randomly interviewed — relatives of two killed and five injured protesters — five had direct military connections.
Both deceased men came from army families. Tsewang Tharchin, 46, was himself a Kargil War veteran whose father retired as an honorary captain. Rinchen Dadul, 20, had a brother currently serving in the army.
“Dadul was just 21, and his mother, Phunsok Dolma, is paralytic. He took care of her. This is cold-blooded murder — my cousin wasn’t even involved in the protests,” said Dadul’s cousin, himself from a military family. The newspaper is withholding his name for safety reasons.
His words carried an ominous warning. “Nobody is born a terrorist, but it is the situation that makes one a terrorist. If these things continue here, the peace of this place will vanish, and it will burn along with everything,” he said.
At Leh’s main Sonam Norboo Memorial Hospital, now guarded by a dozen police officers, the injured tell similar stories.
In one ward, both patients — Jigmet, 23, and Stanzin Chospel, 16, one of the youngest victims — belong to military families. Jigmet’s father serves with the Sashastra Seema Bal in Uttarakhand. Stanzin’s father is a Ladakh Scouts veteran.
“Some explosive hit my hand. My father couldn’t even visit me as he is on active duty,” said Jigmet. “We are doing nothing wrong and want safeguards for the region. Instead, we are being labelled anti-national. These are all baseless allegations.”
Stanzin’s father said his son wasn’t even protesting and lamented the use of live ammunition against civilians. “It will take him months to recover,” he said.
In an adjoining ward lies Stanzin Otsal, an ex-serviceman and Kargil War veteran, injured in the leg.
“The tragedy is I served on multiple fronts where I took no bullets. But our own people shot us mercilessly. This is a people’s agitation,” he said.
Shey village, 15km from Leh, epitomises Ladakh’s military tradition. Among its 300 families, some 50 men currently serve in the army, with more than 50 veterans.
“Safeguards for the region strike a chord with every family here, soldier or otherwise. The ex-servicemen have been participating in the agitation massively,” said Tsering Angchuk, 65, a former Ladakh Scouts soldier.
Angchuk was among 100 volunteers who joined activist Sonam Wangchuk’s “Delhi Chalo Padyatra” from Leh last month, pressing for regional rights. Approximately 35 ex-servicemen participated in the march.
“One of our associates is a key leader of the agitation and fasted with Sonam Wangchuk for 15 days,” he said.
Shey is culturally significant — home to a famous palace and monastery, as well as a mosque associated with Shah Hamdan, an Islamic preacher who established Islam in Ladakh and Kashmir. The palace, built in the 17th century by King Deldan Namgyal as his summer capital, reminds residents of their independent rule before Dogra forces from Jammu captured the region in the 19th century.
Senior retired officers have warned that the vilification campaign against Ladakh — launched by Right-wing groups — risks catastrophic consequences in India’s only frontier facing both China and Pakistan.
Former Lt. General G.S. Panag recently cautioned that “the nation will pay a heavy price for alienating the most loyal and patriotic people amongst us all”.
While the Ladakhi leadership has vowed to keep their struggle peaceful, there are whispers among sections of restive youth —including some from soldiers’ families — about adopting more violent methods.
The region, which has remained outwardly calm under strict security measures, now faces its biggest internal crisis in decades. What happens when the families who have defended India’s borders feel betrayed by their own government remains the critical question hanging over this strategic Himalayan region.