UP ABOVE THE WORLD SO HIGH
The land of Lamas attracts intrepid travellers from far and wide with its barren peaks, clean skies and vivid landscape
Ladakh is not your quintessential definition of beauty. Its hills are not lush green, but a tad barren. Dotted with plain geometric monasteries and white stupas, its landscape, rivers and ravines do not provoke poetry but wonder. This land in Jammu & Kashmir is a very different idea of heaven than the one that made Persian poet Amir Khusrau pronounce, ‘Agar firdaus bar roy-e zamin ast, hamin ast-o hamin ast-o hamin ast (if there is a heaven on earth, it is here, it is here, it is here).’
From up above, it looks like a trail of huge chiselled rocks, some sharp and some rounded like river pebbles that bowed down to another force of nature. The absence of nature’s opulence is, however, well compensated by widespread simplicity in all forms.
The green spans of our camp, the view of the Thiksey monastery from my tent and the normal oxygen level of 85, up the excitement. So much so that the staff had to remind me every moment to take acclimatisation seriously. My guide, Tom, introduced me to the self-sufficient way of life and coral-coloured sea buckthorn berries, which teased my taste buds to the hilt. Yet their flavour, confounding me with hints of strawberry, hibiscus and gooseberry, cannot match the enthusiasm for the following day. The winds at night, making the tent flutter like a boat sail, seem to be readying me for the sudden turns the weather takes here.
THROUGH THE LANES OF LEH
A hearty breakfast gives way to a peep into the mysterious ways of the place — a séance session with the oracle of Choglamsar village. As she metamorphoses into a woman in trance, donning a multicoloured robe and headgear, she starts telling a local woman why her ailments persist. Believed to get forecasting powers when possessed, I wanted to ask her about the future, but Tom advised otherwise. I instead headed to the white-domed Shanti Stupa atop a hillock in Leh. The peace pillar, built to celebrate 2,500 years of Buddhism, is a beauty under the moving clouds, its giltcoloured panels depicting the life of Lord Buddha.
The 17th-century Leh Palace is, however, a complete contrast. Lacking any colour, it almost merges with the earthen tones of the hills behind. The ruined beauty of this nine-storey construction and the old mud-brick houses below make it seem a part of a forgotten civilisation, some parts looking like a page out of Machu Picchu. Its inwardleaning walls are said to have been made so because if the quake hit, the king wanted the palace to collapse on him rather than his subjects.
MONASTERY HOPPING
As the fickle weather suddenly casts a grey shadow, I finally find myself at Ladakh’s most recognisable entity — a gompa. Sitting pretty in the Indus valley, the five-century old Matho monastery is one of the only two in Ladakh that represent the Sakyapa sect of Tibetan Buddhism. Famous for its annual Oracle festival, it also houses a marvellous and rare collection of thangkas (a painting on cotton, silk appliqué, usually depicting a Buddhist deity or a scene) dating back 600 years. In a first-floor workshop, sixthgeneration museum maker, Nelly Rieuf, leads a team of foreign interns and local women to restore these ancient painting and artefacts.
The ones at Hemis Monastery, though, are in better condition. After making a round of its colourful premises, I headed to get a sneak peek into the riches of one of the wealthiest Tibetan monasteries. The local legend has it that though the trail of Hemis’ secret treasures might have been lost with time, they would have been enough to help the whole country survive an economic catastrophe. No wonder then that the displays inside its museum boast of precious metals and unmatched stones. Another envious possession is the 350-year-old three-storey tall thangka of Guru Padmasambhava, which is unfurled every year during the Hemis festival.
As the overcast skies once again keep me from moon meditation at the camp, the morning comes with a promise of starting the day with the monks of Thiksey. As two senior monks blow conch shells signalling the prayer session, sleepy little novice monks in their red robes hurry to the praying hall. After attending the prayers and being treated to a delightful cup of butter tea, Tom helps me get the prayer flags blessed by a monk.
TO NUBRA WITH SNOW
The overnight rain has translated into the season’s first snow. As we headed towards one of the world’s highest motorable passes at 18,379ft — Khardung La (La meaning pass in Tibetan), fresh snow and white peaks seem to complete my checklist of Ladakh’s weather. For I have basked in the sun, ran for shelter in the rain, braved strong winds, and made snowballs. Navigating through the snow and slippery parts, I tie my blessed prayer
lags among the million others and hant ‘ki ki so so argyalo’. “It is a rayer to gods to riumph over evil.” If winds at Leh ould shake my tent, at the amp they have even sent my laptop and camera crashing down from the table. I wonder how the tent is still standing yet enjoy the unfiltered sounds of nature. A cold night gives way to a pleasant morning and off I go to check out the wilderness of the valley. After an hour-and-half-long testing hike, we reach the remote Hunder Dok Yokma (yokma meaning lower part of a village), where three-year-old Stanzin Layoum’s family and others are getting ready for the winter.
The hike ups my oxygen level to 94, which the camp paramedic says is even better than the locals. Almost feeling superhuman, I go for a walk among the sand dunes and cap the day and memories by riding no less than Baahubali. The double-humped Bactrian camel, leading a line of his fellow stars with Devasena at the end, takes me on a lovely ride among the dunes as the sun sets over another unique and endearing face of Ladakh.