It was just another day as I awoke to the crisp thin air caressing my hair like a silken scarf. With this new day dawned a new energy as I looked forward to explore the barren browns of Ladakh. Today was special, for this was an escape from the shackles of mundane existence that the human race had etched upon himself. As the first rays of the sun cleansed the already sparkling realms of the Land of High Passes, I felt a certain but concurrent cleansing of my inner being. Everything and everyone seemed to be washed in a glow of piety as I treaded this land of love, forgiveness and simplicity – the very tenets of Buddhism that percolated the soul of these hidden hillocks and its people.
The day screamed of offbeat as I, along with our group, set out to explore a lesser known destination in the high passes – Turtuk. I had heard of this land only a few days back – a land originally a part of Baltistan, its people exuding a raw beauty being endowed with pretty Afghan-like features. Such was the aura of this unvisited place, which a strange anticipation shook the innermost depths of my existence, for this was a visit to a land forgotten in the folds of time. The very thought of it enthralled me – a tiny Muslim hamlet, the closest village to the Line of Control aka PoK, a mere 35 kilometres from the foreign frontiers. And some foreign frontier it was! It was a land that few years back lay in the hands of Pakistan and was acquired by India in the 1971 war. And so I set out to experience in skin and blood, the timeless tales that this hamlet had to tell…
A rugged ride past the dusty dunes of Nubra made my heart and body jump at each treacherous turn. And yet I hung on, for the sheer desire of going back in time to these rustic times far outweighed the terror of these jeopardous jolts. As the sunlight warmed, the jagged mountains gave way to softer sights, the altitude lessened, pretty pastures and yellow flowers dotted the otherwise barren landscape. With it drifted along, a whiff of sweet fragrance in the air, adding on to the pleasing feeling of a exploring a new place! An infectious sense of exhilaration seemed to drench my soul into a muddle of emotions. And I could see it in the faces of my fellow travellers too!
As the lush greens seemed to grow closer and denser, the gurgling of streams announced my arrival to this fairy land. I gasped at the sight that greeted me! It was a sight to behold! A hanging wooden footbridge led the way to a flight of stone steps, along a hillside dotted with white blooms against the lush greens. The sweet scent of fresh apricots hung in the air, truly a sense of sweet satisfaction. The gentle breeze seemed to carry the songs of many a bird, lost in their own world, a messenger of the primordial, forever in flight! A story from a different time unfolded before my eyes as the soreness of my muscles evaporated in an instant.
I soaked in the sights and smells as my every sense tuned in to the freshness around..
Surely, these steps led to paradise…
And so we ascended, one step at a time, revelling in the heavenly clime..
Barley cobs and stone homes
The next day unfurled bright and sunny as I and my group decided to meet the village folk and explore the hillocks behind the main village. Winding trails through the village flanked with gushing streams on either end posed a picture-perfect rural existence. These were the people of the earth, having imbibed a way of life with innovative means to tackle the harsh environs. I could see this through the huge boulder-built recesses used to “refrigerate” food for storage. The people of Turtuk have adapted to the unforgiving difficult terrains, making the most of what they have.
Trails lost in time
A unique clan, these Baltics are devote Muslims, leading lives that seem an antithesis to the charming beauty of the place. Forlorn and far removed from reality, theirs is a hard existence, I learnt. And why would it not be? Accustomed to rude jolts of shock such as waking up one fine day on the soils of a neighbouring country, owing to the takeover in the 71 war, surely would have it’s own travails. As we delved deeper into their lives, I observed a tolerant folk, hardened by the years of hardship. Their tolerance was so much so that I found that they devoutly maintain a Buddhist shrine atop a hillock. I thought to myself, wasn’t this a case of being truly driven by beliefs, more humanistic than the shackles of religion, caste and creed. Why not celebrate the very spirit of being alive that these simple folk seem to have imbibed? And so it poured out – tales of customs fiercely preserved by this Muslim community, somewhat shy, somewhat curious. Each of them going about their daily chores, tending to the apricot trees or reaping the limited crop of barley and beans. Happy childhoods were on display as smiling red-faced children cavorted about in the warm sunrays, peeping curiously at us from the safe shelters of their stone homes. Their pretty Baltic brown eyes danced with curiosity resembling the pretty dancing rays that they hugged. The cackle of laughter and contentment reverberated through the cool air, happiness seemed to overflow despite their difficult times and terrains.
Classic Baltic people
I wondered. Isn’t happiness and fulfilment the ultimate aim for any human existence? Each person strives from dawn to dusk in search of the perfect life – a life laced with joy, happiness and a lasting peace. And yet as we blindly seek to achieve this simple goal, have the shackles of self-indulgence cast a cruel spell upon our deceitful selves? Have we become slaves to our own wants and needs ? As I witnessed these beautiful people of this forgotten land, I could not help but dwell over this paradox of human kind.
Cryptic Gullies leading to Stone homes
Reluctantly I cast aside my thoughts as we ascended through the tall deodars to the hilly viewpoint.
This was the moment of anticipation, for here was the panoramic view of the hills of the Land frontiers – a distinct range not too far away. Our guide ensured the experience was gripping by lending a word of caution as we learnt from him that that very hill was riddled with Pakistani snipers, who were, at that very moment peering at us through binoculars. As my grey cells processed this this newly acquired knowledge, my hair stood on end. An unflinching dread engulfed me, I know not why, for the very mention of cross border conflict seems to cast a shroud of terror over mere mortals. A sweeping tumult of emotions engulfed me – fear, exhilaration, respect for the armed forces and strangely a lingering patriotism that accompanied me on my way back to the winding trails of Turtuk.
Brushing the frontiers, Turtuk
It was a day well lived, more so a day well learnt.
An acquaintance with a people unknown, those denizens of a different soil and toil…
An immersion into a culture forsaken by all but few, lost in time yet well- preserved…
A brush with nature at its blossoming best, untouched by the disruption of human wants…
Most importantly…
A window to my train of thoughts, to an ideal way of life that I had envisioned, yet knew not existed.
This entry has been shortlisted for Holidify’s Travelogue Writing Contest in association with Linger. The content and pictures may not be used without prior permission of the author.
Submitted by: Rhucha Kulkarni