Ladakh  opened  itself  to  the  outside  world  in  1974  when  the Government  of  India  first  allowed  foreign  tourists  into  this  high- altitude  region  of  the  Himalayas,  flanked  by  China  and  Pakistan.

Since then a lot has changed, and not necessarily for the better. For one, there has been a tremendous surge in the volume of tourists, both Indian and foreign. Until the 1990s, the region did not see a major footfall in Indian tourists, and that demography was primarily limited to families and relatives of Indian armed forces personnel stationed there.

That  changed  when  Bollywood  began  to  shoot  their  motion pictures with greater regularity in the region, notably Dil Se, and more recently 3 Idiots. However, the first Indian motion film to be shot in Ladakh was ‘Haqeeqat’, starring Balraj Sahni and Dharmendra. The 1964 motion picture was based on the Sino-Indian War of 1962.

In addition to those who visit the place to fulfill their ‘bucket list’ and click ceremonial selfies, the region also attracts tourists for its religious monuments, adventure sports, rough biking routes and unique fauna. The tourism season begins in May. The influx, however, sees a sudden rush in June and peaks in July and August. By the end of September/first week of October, the tourist season comes to an end.

Beyond October, fewer tourists visit the region in the winter months with attractions limited to the Chadar Trek over the frozen Zanskar river.In addition to tourists, town like Leh have grown exceedingly congested with people from far flung areas migrating to it for better employment opportunities. In addition to migrants from other parts of Ladakh, in the summer months, the town also witnesses a massive inflow of migrant labourers too.

To  service  this  influx  of  tourists  and  other  migrants,  the  town and surrounding areas have come to witness an unhealthy surge in construction  of  concrete  buildings,  especially  hotels,  guesthouses, cafes  and  restaurants. This  mushrooming  of  concrete  structures  is having a debilitating effect on water levels in the region.

There was a time when the water needs of the local population were serviced by water melting from glaciers perched in the upper reaches that would collect in streams traditionally called ‘tokpos’ or rivulets called ‘yuras’.

From 527 tourists in 1974, the number of tourists has surged to 2,35,482  in  2016.  This  is  an  exponential  surge  in  tourist  inflow anyway  which  one  looks  at  it.  And  the  resulting  change  in infrastructure,  especially  in  and  around  Leh  town,  is  having  a devastating impact on the region’s delicate ecosystem. Scroll down the  list  of  hotels  and  guest  houses  released  by  Ladakh’s  tourism department  for  2016,  and  one  can  gauge  the  sheer  number  of establishments in just Leh town.

Each room is attached with modern toilets and bathrooms, where water  is  expected  to  flow  24×7.  To  service  them,  owners  have constructed deep bore wells to extract groundwater. With minimal precipitation (50-100 mm annually), recharging groundwater is a real concern.

This infrastructure explosion has further established a need for a full-fledged sewage system and treatment plants that will require more water. “Making matters worse is the absence of a Master Plan for major towns like Leh, which has witnessed a massive expansion in the past two decades,” says Nawang Tsering Shakspo, a leading academic  on  the  region  and  concerned  citizen.  “This  is  indeed  a serious lapse on the part of authorities.”

Evidently,  there  are  serious  concerns  over  the  lack  of  urban planning.  However,  in  response  to  this  looming  water  crisis,  one potential  solution  is  a  return  to  tradition.  Harking  back  to  a  time before the explosion of tourists, all households had a traditional dry toilet  that  requires  little  or  no  water.  Many  households  still  have them, but this is usually limited to family members.

“Each house has composting latrines consisting of a small room with a hole in the floor built above a vertical chute, usually one floor high. Earth and ash from the kitchen stove are added, thus aiding chemical decomposition, producing better fertiliser, and eliminating smells. Once a year the latrine is emptied at ground level and the contents  used  on  the  fields,”  writes  Helena-Norberg  Hodge,  a Swedish linguist, who has researched extensively about Ladakh, in her book Ancient Futures: Learning from Ladakh.

The process of emptying out these latrines is a communal affair. Households and their neighbours are involved in the process, and the waste that has decomposed is usually dry. A traditional Ladakhi dry toilet (Source: Kunzum) The waste is then transported to the fields, where it is used as fertiliser for the upcoming sowing season, which is usually around March-April. These dry toilets are especially useful in winter months when  temperatures  drop  to  minus  30  degrees  Celsius,  and  water freezes.

Standing  in  front  of  the  Maha  Bodhi  International  Meditation Centre, Leh, and one can see a poster that reads: “Traditional Ladakhi toilets do not waste or pollute water like water toilets, and they also produce useful manure for fields and trees. Please throw a shovelful of  earth  down  the  hole  after  each  use.”  These  dry  toilets  are essentially both water-saving and useful in the winters.

Water-flush  toilets,  meanwhile,  go  against  the  very  ecological fabric of the region, which anyway has very little water. Residents have begun pushing for dry toilets. In fact, changing travel patterns could also further this change, with tourists preferring to reside in home stays outside Leh town, seeking a more authentic local Ladakhi experience. A lot of these establishments have traditional dry toilets.

As per a recent study by Ladakh Ecological Development Group, the average tourist consumes about 75 liters a day, compared to 21 liters  for  locals. As  a  result  of  global  warming,  Ladakh’s  glaciers are melting fast, posing a serious threat to the availability of water.

The region has limited reservoirs of groundwater, and there is only so much people can extract from its rivers and streams. A return to tradition not just seems like a sensible idea but also a necessity in these times.

This article first appeared in The Better India (www.thebetterindia.com)—Asia’s largest impact media platform that uses solution-based journalism for change.