This article was published in Trino Magazine, Dhaka. At the end of this story is a slideshow of images, presented at the Open Show, Bangalore.
A sense of excitement overtook me as soon as our pre-dawn flight took off from Indira Gandhi International Airport in Delhi. I could see the first hills of the giant Himalayan Mountains once we were up in the sky, even before we left behind the crowded concrete boxes of Delhi. The sky above the jagged mountain ridges had already taken a gentle shade of orange, announcing the beginning of a beautiful day.
It was the third week of January and the air was nippy as we departed from Delhi. We were a small bunch of mountain-enthusiasts heading to Ladakh that day, ready to brave the super-freezing temperatures in Leh with a wish to walk side-by-side along the mountain people of Zanskar Region on a river that freezes during in the winter months.
Other than our tour leader Manish Lakhani who was a veteran of Zanskar, none of us had an exposure to cold and arid winters in Ladakh. But warned well in advance and armed with sufficient information, we had boarded the flight with down jackets, multiple layers of clothing and thick boots that could help us land in -20C weather.
As I looked out from my plane’s window nearly half-an-hour a later, first rays of sun were striking the mountain peaks while the valleys and glaciers were still in shade. Flying at a height of 10,000 meters over the mountains that stood higher than 6,000 meters, it appeared as if we were flying dangerously close to ground level. It almost felt as if we could open the windows, let a hand down and touch some of the snowy peaks right below.
It was a quick and sharp landing in Leh with a jolt of breaking in the runway that is tucked away between the mountains. Indus River, seen from the top, was all frozen but for a few cracks where its deep blue colours disturbed a white blanket. It was -13C in Leh, but with our layers of clothes and insulation, it did not seem harsh.
The first day’s camp after descending into the river and walking the first mile.
Two days later, we were struggling down a scree-slope nearly 60km from Leh as we descended into the Valley of Zanskar River. The river surface was frozen, but a strong current flowed underneath and kept us weary of encountering thin ice that could break and take us down. In places where the ice-shelf was broken, the deep-blue waters of Zanskar flowed invitingly, looking so beautiful that I would jump into it without much thinking, but for its forbiddingly frigid temperatures. The waters were so clear that every pebble was clearly visible even at a depth of ten feet.
The first ten minutes on the ice-shelf, it was as much falling on ice as it was walking. But in some time, we were getting used to our brittle chilkat shoes, got better at gauging the ice surface and managed to stay on two feet for longer periods. I myself prided in remaining literally infallible for a larger part of the trip until I came crashing in a relatively dangerous terrain on a steep slope.
Walking on the tiny strip of frozen Zanskar River, next to the blue flow.
For the next five days, we treaded over the frozen waters everyday, waking up to a miserably cold morning everyday and packing all our stuff with great pain using our numbing hands. Our spirits would lift the moment we were on the ice-shelf, or Chadar, as it is popularly called. Our bodies would warm up as we walked and our spirits dulled by the night’s dipping temperature would get uplifted by the brilliant mountainous landscapes and the gurgle of Zanskar’s flow.
All along the way, our tour leader Manish would chant one mantra that the ‘chadar is unpredictable and changes every hour’. We would see powdery snow along the path one moment which would morph into rock solid slippery ice a little later. Sometimes we would be walking on perfectly good ice covering the river, only to encounter after some time just a thin patch of good ice on which we had to tread dangerously. The hardest hour of the trek was when we were trapped for a day at the bottom of a gorge with a completely broken Chadar, leaving no choice but to spend the night close to the river and hope for things to get better next morning.
Where the ice was thin, we had to go over the slopes. It was more difficult at some places, and at one point in time we had to spend a night wherever we were, hoping for the ice to form next morning.
Just like the condition of ice varied, the scenery kept changing by the hour and by the day. Sometimes we would walk along a narrow valley that would suddenly open up widely at the confluence of streams. Waterfalls would appear occasionally along the way, which dumped their waters straight into the river in summer months but were completely frozen and stuck to the wall in these cold winters.
The bright sheet of snow and the blue waters were the only things that stayed constant with us all along. Sometimes emerging from a thick blanket of snow, the current carried tiny crystals of ice that floated on the river. My ‘aha’ moment of the trek came when I saw these crystal forming a bunch of crystal-lilies at a place where the water swirled at a corner, forming a small gathering of gently rotating discs of ice-crystals.
We encountered difficult times along the way when there was no ice in stretches and we had to find way through the slopes. These were the times when our infinitely agile and unbelievably strong Zanskari Porters came to our help. They would simply lift us on the shoulders and take us across shallow waters, so that we escaped the cold bite of the river. On precipitous slopes, they would climb up first, setup ropes and then belay us up carefully.
It is not just on the ice that our porters worked hard. They would march ahead and set our tents ready at the campsite before we arrived. On reaching a camp, we could always look forward to settling down in our comfortable tents with a hot cup of tea. Everything worked like a clock and we had things ready in our hands even before we needed it – be it something as important as a delicious dinner or a mug of hot water for freshening up in the morning. The porters and kitchen staff would pack the equipment and leave a campsite much after us in the morning, but would march ahead in no time to set things up for us at the next camp. Chadar Expedition would be much difficult without their heroics.
As we got closer to Padum, the valley widened and allowed us to walk over the slopes, leaving the river bed.
After six days of walking on the river, we reached the wide open valleys where civilization flourished once again and small villages dotted the mountain landscape. In here, for the first time during the trek, we left the river and walked along the slopes; we kept the tents folded and enjoyed the warm rooms in Zanskari Houses; we spread out from being huddled at the edge of the river and played soccer with the children in the villages. In two days that we spent in the open terrains of Padum, we forgot the ruggedness of the terrain and mingled with the smiling faces around us. But soon, it was time to go back. It was time to retrace the tough path on the ice within the confines of Zanskar’s steep mountains on either side of us.
Just like it used to be during the trek from Leh to the depths of Zanskar, Chadar kept changing and continued to throw challenges at us everyday on the way back. But time and again, our porters were there to lead from the front in the hour of difficulty. Weather gods too did their best and ensured that we had a smooth journey for a large part of our way back. It is thanks to the porters and good weather that we made it to Leh safely and in time to catch our flights home. As we took another quick flight over the mountain peaks enjoying the views below, we carried many fond memories – of smiling faces, enduring porters and breathtaking views that kept our company all through the expedition.
Below is a slideshow of images, presented at the Open Show, Bangalore on Chadar Trek.
Every traveller becomes a photographer-at-ease on his/her journeys through Ladakh. As a friend who recently returned from Ladakh remarked, every photograph looks like it is post-card worthy. Sometimes, this incredible landscape comes with its challenges. It becomes difficult to make images that are distinct from the millions of frames that flood the internet and to capture something that stands out from the rest. But an effort goes on, nonetheless.
Ladakh is a high altitude desert with barren slopes, stark landscapes and treeless terrains. Yet, it has no shortage of water which flows abundantly from snow melting through the summer months and feeding its streams and rivers. In the rare occasions where you see some table lands fed by such streams, you also see an eruption of greenery that is a contrast from the brown landscapes surrounding it. Here is one such place near Tso Moriri Lake.
While Ladakh is easily accessible in the summers and rewards the visitors with its beautiful landscapes, jaw-dropping spectacles unfold in the winter months. Temperatures dipping twenty below zero changes the way the world appears, like in the case of this waterfall that stays frozen during the winter months next to a blue Zanskar River.
Snowfall is rare in the summer months. But when it happens, a day of snowy surprise can bring in magical changes in the landscapes. This mountain, near Tso Moriri Lake, was largely brown on the day I arrived here. It snowed one night and remained cloudy for the large part of next day. The slopes were transformed by the fresh, powdery snow.
One of the prized possessions of Ladakh are its vast, blue lakes that are trapped in the depressions of changthang plateau. Tso Moriri is one such lake whose blue colours stand out against the chocolate-brown slopes surrounding it. Next to the lake is a small pasture that feeds the animals. and fields that feed the people of Korzok Village overlooking the lake.
Tso Moriri takes different hues in different weathers, varying from deep blue on a sunny day to a dull grey when it is cloudy. Perhaps it simply reflects the colour of the sky, calling nothing its own. The lake is fed by streams like the one in the picture above. The lake’s waters have no outlet, because of which it is turning salty over ages. The waters of this brackish lake tastes mildly salty, if at all, and has only a fraction of saltiness that the seawater possesses.
Pangong Lake is another brackish water lake in Changthang Plateau. But one doesn’t have to take Ladakh destination by destination. Stop anywhere for a break and you will find something beautiful, like this unnamed lake on the way to Pangong Tso.
Pangong Lake itself, is the grandest of all water bodies in Ladakh, perhaps in the whole country. It stretches for more than a hundred kilometers across two countries. A man from Indian Army who helped me park my bike here said, ‘do you see the mountains far away? They are in China’.
Another large lake in Ladakh is Tso Kar, which is more of a marshland than lake. The huge plain of Tso Kar allows plenty of grass to grow in the plateau and in turn supports a variety of wildlife that feed on this grass.
Tso Kar Lake and rest of Changthang Plateua lie on one side of Manali-Leh highway, while on the other side is the still-remote and inaccessible Zanskar Valley. The lone road to Zanskar remains closed for nine months a year, buried in snow. In the winter months, the frozen Zanskar river then becomes the highway for people of Zanskar.
Snow filled Zanskar Valley in the winter months.
Zanskar River enters Indus Valley and merges with River Indus near a village called Nimmu. In the above photograph is the confluence, seen from the slopes nearby. The deep blue river emerging from the mountains is Zanskar, while the muddy flow from the left is Indus River.
Further, downstream Indus is the village of Lamayuru, which is approached by switch back roads climbing swiftly along the steep slopes. Some turns along the way are so tight that buses have to go back and forth to get past a curve. This road is part of the Srinagar-Leh highway.
Lamayuru Village is located in a place that was once inundated with waters of a high-altitude lake. The presence of the lake is apparent even today, thanks to curious formations left behind from the drained lake. The yellow slopes, often called moon-land-view, clearly indicate the level of the lake’s water.
Play of sun and clouds on the mountains of Lamayuru.
Further downstream, at the edge of Ladakh before Indus flows out of territory accessible from India, the river flows swiftly through a very narrow gorge near the village of Dha. In here, the river descends below ten thousand feet after flowing for a long distance in the highlands of Tibet and Ladakh. The mountains here are steep and the valleys are narrow, but the weather is more hospitable and permits growing a variety of fruits and vegetables. This is perhaps the only place in Ladakh where it is possible to grow wheat.
In another corner of Ladakh, towards north, is Nubra Valley, another green oasis in the barren lands of Ladakh. In the wide valley of Shayok River, tiny grass and seabuckthorn shrubs grow in plenty, supporting a small herd of wild bactrian camel. The lush valley with plenty of water from the river allows the people of Nubra Valley to grow many cereals and vegetables, besides juicy apricots.
Sun setting over the mountains of Nubra.
But one doesn’t necessarily have to travel far and wide to every corner of Ladakh to see its amazing landscapes. As soon as you arrive in Leh, you will see tall mountains, puffy white clouds and blue skies welcoming you to Ladakh. A small walk outside Leh is perhaps sufficient to get the glimpses of Ladakh’s landscapes. The explorer, however, has no limits to to what he can see in Ladakh.
Ladakh, the land of high passes, is also home to an ancient Buddhist culture that has remained unchanged for nearly a millennium. Every village in the region supports a monastery, usually located on a crag overlooking the village and serves the spiritual needs of the village’s population. The charm of these monasteries are many, like the ever-smiling monks, complex prayer rituals, young monks (or monklings, as a friend once called them) running around chasing each other in the monastery’s courtyards, the traditional materials of worship, the room of lamps, colourful prayer halls, exuberant festivals, the chortens (or stupas) in the premise and so on. Here is a collection of images of life and still-life of Ladakh’s Buddhist monastic institutions, captured over several visits to many monasteries over a period of three months.
The most striking aspect of the Buddhist monasteries of Ladakh is their location. Ladakh is a remote region in itself and is separated from rest of the world by high mountains. Within it, the monasteries seem to look for the remotest possible place that keeps them away from everything worldly. Once, anyone who would like to make a visit would have had to make a slow and long climb in the rarefied air of Ladakh. Today, most of the monasteries are connected by road, though many still exist that only a few able people can approach. The Lamayuru Monastery in the picture, as you can see, is obviously in someplace faraway and remote. Yet, one can reach even here in a four wheeler. The monastery is believed to be established nearly a thousand years ago.
The setting of the monastery at Lamayuru Village is best described as queer. At the first sight, it appears to be hanging delicately on a mound that can collapse any moment. But it has seen a millennium pass by. Sections of the monastery go right under the ground and emerge on vertical walls, like in the picture above.
Most monasteries, like the one in Thiksey seen above, are located on a crag overlooking the village. They are built in a place not too close to the village, perhaps to keep away from the everyday life of the villages but at the same time near enough to offer religious services to the pious villagers. Thiksey is one of the largest monasteries in Ladakh, if not the largest. Its cluster of buildings spread haphazardly along a hill and the prayer hall located right on the top are often compared to Lhasa’s Potala Palace.
Diskit Monastery in Nubra Valley too is located high up the hill and a short climb from the village at the base of the valley.
The Namgyal Tsemo Monastery high up the hill and visible like a beacon from anywhere in Leh Town is a great sight against the backdrop of tall hills that surround the town.
But few monasteries today are really as far away from every place as Phugtal Monastery in the picture above. Located inside a cave on the banks of Lungnak River, it takes two days of walking from the nearest road-head to reach the monastery. And the road head at Padum itself is a two-day of bus ride from Leh. But the distances are shrinking by the day. New roads under construction will link Phugtal in the next few years, and the distance from Leh to Phugtal will shrink to just a day in the next decade when new roads will be built along Zanskar River.
But the monastery at Alchi is an exemption to the trend of building monasteries in unapproachable places. One of the oldest monasteries in the region, Alchi is located on flat ground at the edge of the village, right next to fast-flowing Indus River. Alchi differs from all other monasteries in its design as well. Unlike other monastic institution built with the influence of Tibetan form of Buddhism, Alchi Monastery is said to be built at a time when Buddhism propagated here from Kashmir and the plains of India. The monastery is no longer an active institution, and is currently maintained by the neighbouring Likir Monastery. Rich, beautiful colour paintings have survived the onslaught of time in the inner walls of Alchi. Together with Tabo Monastery in Spiti Valley, Alchi is now in the list of tentative UNESCO World Heritage Site.
One of the most striking features of the monasteries is the richly decorated prayer hall. The halls are painted from wall to wall with deities and images of Buddhist iconography. The ceiling, the pillars, the seating and the tables, the altar are all decorated with colourful clothes and painting leaving not an inch of room empty, like the prayer hall or dukhnag at Thiksey Monastery in the above picture.
Several incarnations of Buddha, seen on the walls of Thiksey Monastery. Sometimes, the Buddhist iconography can be so detailed and complex that even the monks at the monastery may not be able to describe the details of every one of these murals.
This statue of Tson-ka-pa, the founder of yellow-hat sect (or gelugspa), a popular form of Buddhism in Ladakh and Tibet to which the current Dalai Lama also subscribes to, is frequently seen in the prayer halls of several monasteries across Ladakh.
This richly decorated two-storey high statue of Buddha is another beautiful work of art, seen at Thiksey Monastery.
The painted doors of the prayer hall at Diskit Monastery, Nubra Valley, Ladakh
The prayer halls in the monasteries tend to be empty but for a caretaker monk for most part of the day. They come alive and get filled with monks during the morning prayer rituals and on the days when there are special pujas. This monk at Thiksey monastery is preparing torma (?) for decorations for an upcoming puja.
Monks gathered for morning puja at Leh’s Soma Gompa.
The prayer hall at Likir Monastery comes alive for a special Yamantaka Puja on the event of installing a mandala at the monastery.
A monk looks on during a special puja at Spithuk Monastery, wearing the traditional yellow hat.
An apricot shares space with bell and a Vajra when the monks take a short break during a special puja ritual at Likir Monastery.
A room of lamp – a small area or a room dedicated for burning wick lamps is a feature of most monasteries in Ladakh. It is a beautiful place where several oil lamps of various sizes and shapes glow in the dull light coming from the windows.
Another room of lamps, this one at Keylong’s Shashur Monastery, all lit up on the day of monastery’s annual festival day.
Chortens or stupas (?) are another dominant feature of the monasteries in Ladakh, usually seen in long arrays on the approach to the monastery.
Shanti stupa is perhaps the most dominating and well-known chortens in Ladakh, located on the slopes overlooking Leh town. The views of, and views from Shanti Stupa give a grand preview of Zanskar and Ladakh Ranges and of the spread of Leh Town along Indus Valley.
A line of newly built and freshly painted chortens at Thiksey Monastery.
The flutter of prayer flags, a long line of chortens and the clear blue skies make a grand spectacle at Thiksey Monastery.
People of Ladakh tie prayer flags at all sacred and important locations. The prayer flags have sacred mantras written on them. Ladakhis believe that when the wind blows, the mantra from prayer flags is carried on and distributed in the air, bringing good karma.
Once in a year, these monasteries celebrate their annual festival, when the premises will be buzzing with activity. The monks prepare for two long days of festivities which involves pujas, traditional music and dances. It is usually attended by the whole village and a large number of outside visitors.
The most sought after event of the festival is the cham-dance, a performances by the monks wearing demonic looking masks.
A masked monk performing at Gustor Festival at Korzok Village near Tso Moriri Lake.
A monk looks through the doors of prayer hall at Korzok Monastery as they prepare for the festivities.
Young monks make an energetic participation at Korzok Gustor Festival.
Dung chen, a long wind instrument is used to announce the arrival of rinpoche (chief monk) or the cham dancers. It is best compared to vuvuzelas, both in terms of their length and the sound coming from them.
Young monks of different ages watch a cham-dance in progress during Korzok Gustor Festival.
