Zanskar

It’s with time, and also age, that I have slowly come to realize the irresistible draw, for me, of all things unknown, uncertain, and unattainable. Zanskar has, over last many years, epitomized all of these, a place hypnotically fixating my dream world, the one place - in the entire world - that I had to try and reach - at any cost. Lying between the Karakorum ranges of Ladakh and the Himalayan ranges to the south, rare travel writers to this region have hailed it with impossibly seductive superlatives such as "remote -est", "wild-est", "most-inaccessible" etc. fuelling my growing obsession to roam in its wilderness, get lost in its vast emptiness, to reach some of its luminescent gompas - on craggy cliffs, dark caverns, all always in impossibly difficult-to-reach places.

I took a train to Delhi and flew in to Leh, with a hope that I might be amongst the last lucky few to make it to Zanskar this year. Travel agents in Leh were cautious, expressing concern and warning, about the already extreme cold, unpredictability of weather, accessibility across passes-but yes, private buses were still plying across, occasionally, and people of the region were very busy stocking up for the 6-8 winter months ahead when Zanskar would be cut off from the rest of the world - so there still was hope.

I booked myself on the very first bus leaving Leh after my arrival, in two days time. My plans were fluid because the territory was unknown. Locals advised a return before end of October to avoid the high risk of getting stranded for an uncertain duration in Zanskar. I allowed myself about ten days for the trip. The entire journey between Leh and Padum (capital of Zanskar) would take about 36 hours with a brief night halt in Kargil.

What followed was an extraordinary journey into realms of the yet unknown - landscapes that pushed my boundaries of defined beauty, vastness, isolation, a feeling of being in a place not many had traversed before - and therefore little effected by outside intrusion. I traversed high passes, saw amazing glaciers, crossed high altitude pastures with herds of yaks, goats, and sheep. Little square houses of mud, timber and hay clustered to form villages. All villages were presided by gompas, with lamas who were revered deeply and with a faith that was unshakable. Butter lamps lit humblest home; incense and prayers mingled at the break of dawn - chanted at extremely low, guttural human scale. I met a people with few resources, little comfort, and no luxuries, and yet lacking for nothing vital - people with enormous hearts, open minds and a kind of hospitality only heard of in myths. I stayed with hosts who insisted and took me home, fed me, provided a comforting bed in intense, bitter cold and refused all payment - saying it was their duty towards guests to their region. I ate my best food in Zanskar, wild vegetables and herbs gathered from the hills in summer months and dried for winter use; crusty but soft breads with hints of cinnamon, dunked in yak butter, frothy gud-gud chai, mok-mok that literally disappeared in one's mouth, and pava with yak-yogurt mixed with a zesty chutney of wild fennel, garlic, dried coriander and red chilies.

I also attended a wedding at Sheela with all night festivities of dance, music, plenty of food and chang that kept on flowing. Food was a rich vegetable soup, Thuppa, and roti with Alu subji served in hand. People who had brought their cups got served chang in their cups, the others cupped their hands and drank...and this was feast to rejoice over, partake in - gratefully-nothing more was known, therefore nothing more was expected. All had cleaned up for the festivities, with turquoise, silver, and if nothing, bits of tinsel pinned to their attires, caps. Religious ceremonies consisted of deep, sonorous chanting with drums and cymbals, to the very many little dough figurines - that were destroyed at the end of it all-again emphasizing the impermanence of all things - people, ties.

Padum consisted of a one long dusty street with a scattering of shops and food places -most of which had already closed for the winter. Except for the hours around 9am and 3pm, when local buses plied to nearby villages, this street invariably appeared empty on both sides, unless there was a little donkey passing through. Kids rode these donkeys, often backwards to great amounts of laughter. In the week I stayed in Zanskar no bus arrived or left the valley for the outside world. My days passed in long walks, long rests, long sitting arounds - just looking.

I walked up the cave gompa at Zongkul, saw antiquated murals of Sani, was served tea on the terrace of Karsha gompa overlooking sweeping landscape of snowcapped peaks, and Zanskar river. I took a motorcycle ride to the incredible Stongde gompa and was introduced to the basic techniques of thangka paintings and visited the remote Bardan gompa perched precariously on a vertical cliff, presided over by a single young lama, all alone in that great wilderness.

I returned exactly ten days later, taking the first bus that arrived for Leh. There are many places I did not get to, sights I did not see - I wanted to savor life’s delights, slowly, deliberately, and I knew already I would return -one day.