As headlines trumpet Chinese naval expansion across the Indo-Pacific and India’s strategic countermoves in this regard, there is a quieter, higher-altitude contest already reshaping Asia’s future. The real geopolitical frontier between India and China lies not in the oceans but in the Himalayas. And at its heart is not oil, trade, or weapons but faith.
What looks like a spiritual tradition rooted in non-violence and mysticism has become, in the 21st century, a geopolitical chessboard. Monasteries that once served as centres of meditation and monastic education now sit at the frontlines of national power games. The reincarnation of lamas has become a matter not just of religion but also of sovereignty. And in regions such as Ladakh, Tawang, and even remote Bhutan, Buddhist culture is increasingly shaped not only by the sacred but also by strategy.
China’s campaign has escalated
Both India and China understand that influence over Himalayan Buddhism is influence over identity, and in borderlands where lines on a map are fuzzy, identity is everything. For China, this means turning Buddhism into a tool of statecraft. Since the 1950s, Beijing has worked to dominate Tibetan religious life: it exiled or marginalised independent lamas, co-opted institutions, and, most crucially, claimed the sole right to approve reincarnations. In 2007, the Chinese government formally asserted that any “Living Buddha” must be sanctioned by the state. The message was clear: spiritual legitimacy flows from political authority.
This campaign has escalated in recent years. China now maintains a database of officially recognised reincarnate lamas, monitors monastery activities across Tibet, and has launched an ambitious Buddhist diplomacy campaign across the Himalayas. Sacred sites are being repurposed as instruments of soft power. Roads lead to shrines built with Beijing’s help. Conference invitations are extended to Himalayan monks who return home with subtle shifts in loyalty.
Meanwhile, India has largely played catch-up. Hosting the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan exile government since 1959 gave India moral clout but little strategic advantage — until recently. Only in the last decade has New Delhi begun to engage seriously with Buddhism as a tool of influence, promoting its heritage as the Buddha’s birthplace and funding regional pilgrimage circuits. Yet, these efforts remain fragmented when compared to China’s centralised vision. As one scholar puts it, India practises Buddhist diplomacy: China practises Buddhist statecraft.
Nowhere is the tension more visible than in the looming succession of the 14th Dalai Lama. The spiritual leader who turned 90 in July, has signalled that he intends to reincarnate outside Chinese territory — most likely in India. Beijing, predictably, has vowed to appoint its own Dalai Lama, using the centuries-old “Golden Urn” method.
The result will almost certainly be two rival Dalai Lamas: one recognised by the Tibetan exile community and much of the global Buddhist diaspora, and one endorsed by Beijing and installed in Lhasa under heavy guard.
This schism would not just split Tibetan Buddhism. It would force Buddhist communities across the Himalayan rim — in Ladakh, Sikkim, Arunachal Pradesh, Nepal, and Bhutan — to pick sides. In doing so, it could reshape the geopolitical allegiances of entire regions. If the spiritual figure they revere sits in India, loyalty may deepen toward New Delhi. If he is seated in Lhasa, with Chinese backing and resources, the gravitational pull could shift east.
Already, signs of this tug-of-war are visible. In Arunachal Pradesh, China asserts its claim to Tawang, birthplace of the sixth Dalai Lama — not only through military posturing but also through spurious cultural logic. “It is Tibetan,” Beijing summarily argues, “and therefore ours”. In Nepal, Beijing has invested heavily in Buddhist infrastructure, especially around Lumbini, the Buddha’s birthplace. And in Bhutan, China subtly courts monastic communities even as the kingdom maintains a tight control over religious affairs.
Working on internal disagreements
What is striking is how even internal Buddhist disagreements are now strategic openings. The Karma Kagyu school — one of Tibetan Buddhism’s major lineages — has two rival Karmapas, each claiming rightful leadership. China and India have found ways to align with different sides of the split, transforming a spiritual dispute into a proxy conflict. Similarly, the contentious Dorje Shugden sect, ostracised by the Dalai Lama, has found unexpected empathy from Chinese authorities eager to weaken the exile hierarchy.
The battle for Buddhism is not about dogma — it is about who gets to define legitimacy, and in doing so, shape the loyalties of border populations. This is particularly relevant in places such as Ladakh, where the Buddhist identity coexists with a deep nationalist pride that is Indian. India’s challenge is to ensure that spiritual allegiance does not drift toward foreign-controlled lineages, especially when those lineages sit across the Line of Actual Control.
It is tempting to dismiss all this as secondary — religious pageantry in the face of realpolitik. But that would be a mistake. In the Himalayas, where territory is often inaccessible and infrastructure scarce, soft power is hard power. A monastery that shifts allegiance is a strategic loss. A high lama that pledges loyalty across the border can change the balance of influence in a valley, or even a district.
And the stakes are only rising. After the Dalai Lama’s time, the question of succession will become a global issue. Countries with significant Buddhist populations, from Mongolia to Sri Lanka, may be asked to take sides. The diplomatic fallout could be severe. For India, hosting the next Dalai Lama will be both an opportunity and a challenge: a chance to cement spiritual influence in the region, but also a trigger for intense Chinese pressure.
The stage
In this unfolding story, the Himalayas are not a backwater. They are the stage. The monasteries-in-the-clouds, the chanting monks, the adorned prayer wheels; they are not just relics of a bygone age, but instruments of power in a new one. This is where China and India are already competing — not with missiles, but with a spiritual succession crisis.
And that is why, even as the world watches for signs of confrontation in the oceanic waters of the Indo-Pacific, the real front may lie higher — among the clouds and the cliffs, in the realm where the spiritual becomes geopolitical. The next great struggle between Asia’s two giants could well be fought not with submarines and aircraft carriers, but with threngwas (prayer beads in Tibetan) and reincarnations.
Nirupama Rao is a former Foreign Secretary and the author of ‘The Fractured Himalaya; India, Tibet, China: 1949 to 1962’She posts on X as @NMenonRao
Published – July 23, 2025 12:16 am IST