Tso it is

A sudden blizzard – a regular occurrence at high altitudes – caught us unawares as we approached Khardung La and we stopped to chain up our tyres. Flaky snow fell on our jackets which were blown away by strong winds. There was nothing much we could do about the meltwater, ice-cold and mucky, that threatened to penetrate our trekking boots through submerging eyelets. Our drive up from Leh had alternated between treelines and skylines; approaching Khardung La at over 5,000 metres we drove straight into the clouds. An old stray gaddi or mountain dog watched us wearily from the ledge of the escarpment that led into a billowy whiteness. Its fur stood out in knots like an ancient rug. What was adventure maybe a few times in a lifetime for some, like the passengers, was everyday for others like Muzaffar the driver. After tying up the metal chain like tiara around the treads, he fed the gaddi from a packet of glucose biscuits, ate a few himself and offered us the rest. We were on the way. 

The houri moves the niqab

Awe

Chasing angels or fleeing demons, go to the mountains. Jeffrey Rasley, adventure travel writer.

Hunder village in Nubra Valley was for a long time the last accessible frontier town for Indian travellers. Then about a decade ago the hard won Turtuk, about 80 km away in the Baltistan area bordering Pakistan, was opened which today is the northernmost village in India. However, Hunder still retains most of the exclusivity and exotica of a frontier town. You pass by Diskit village with its famous monastery, the largest in Nubra. The Enlightened One sits on a brightly coloured podium decked in warm ruddy robes. A beatific smile gives away the quiet enthrallment at the beauty unfurling before him.

The expansive stretches of white sand dunes of Nubra Valley and the double-humped camels – a leftover from the Silk Route which was closed down in 1950 – further adds to the ‘frontier feel.’ While these novel species were expected to become extinct, their numbers went up instead. Besides being highly disease-resistant, able to withstand temperatures as low as -40 degrees Celsius and cover long distances without food, they are also believed to be the ancestors of the single-humped camels of Rajasthan. Cutting corners seems to be the norm across board when it comes to upgrades. At Nubra though both the humps were put to good use – excited shrieks rent the air as the camels dangled up from the ground with the tourists safely ensconced between the leathery mounds.

Kohinoor between brown, brawny sentries

While there are options, the shortest route – no cabbie worth his salt will have it any other way – from Nubra Valley to Pangong Tso is via Agham and Shyok villages. This, like any other shortcut, is fraught with unpredictable eventualities, landslides being one. We stopped at Agham and Muzaffar quizzed at least a couple of motorists about road conditions. Even then the Shyok River could swell as the day advances and plans can go awry. The thumb rule is to keep going without too many breaks or delay.

Muzaffar stopped suddenly and gestured with his head ahead. Like the houri whose bewitching eyes enamoured you slowly reveals a bit more by adjusting her niqab, the Pangong Tso which till then teased us with prismic sparkles around bends and atop mountains bared itself – a Kohinoor tucked in between a lot of brawny, brown sentries.

A living fable beckoned us.

The sobriety at the start

A Roerich

Nobody comes to Pangong to see one of the highest saltwater lakes in the world, the Himalayas surrounding it or for the wildlife but to see where ‘3 Idiots’ was filmed. Angchuk Jora, local and campsite partner.

The props on rent along the Pangong Tso would have given any set builder a run for his money. There was the flaming yellow scooter with the protruding contraption which Kareena Kapoor rode in ‘3 Idiots,’ a runaway bride, to meet Aamir Khan where their fates and noses collide – again. There was the bulbous-buttock seat which was going at Rs 50 per session. Soon as we parked and checked into one of the scores of riparian resorts, shanties, actually – called ‘3 Idiots’ by the way – I ran to the lakeside lugging my aerial camera looking to hire the yellow scooter. Alas they were no longer mobile but resigned to serve the higher selfie purpose. I watched a while as the women worked on their pouts and men careened around to scrape their asses. Those who manned these, old locals and ex herders on the wallaby, looked on bemusedly while pointing out the correct postures on the referral movie stills pasted on standees.

Turquoise to lapis lazuli

Next morning before the sun – or anyone – got up, I went down to the Pangong Tso again. In the solemn light of the dawn, the water looked a cheerless grey. The sobriety only marked the start of the play of colours the lake was famous for. As the morning progressed, every passing minute threw a new palette over the water. The colour of large water bodies is predominantly blue due to some phenomenon involving the absorption and scattering of light; but here blue was just one. And even when it was blue it wasn’t the blue we knew as blue.  From turquoise to lapis lazuli, aquamarine to a shade of cadmium as the sun ventured higher – the lake was a surreal kaleidoscopic treat. The phantasmagoria continued as I traced the alluvial shore dotted with chortens. The lake is devoid of serious marine life due to the brackish water but I saw gulls sweeping down – fatally serenading the crustaceans. Once they have their catch safely in their beaks, they take off with their expanded wings painting a startling stroke across the chestnut of the mountain shoulders. As I was about to turn back, their snow-capped peaks began to glint a gold without actually giving way to the sun. Just like a Roerich.

‘Master of the mountains.’

A surreal kaleidoscope

The road to Tibet

With the full retreat of winter, this land becomes pleasant and welcoming, full of small game for the nomads, sweet fodder for animals and drink for all. Urmilla Deshpande, Kashmir Blues.

If you need creature comforts to enjoy the wild then Pangong is not for you. The accommodations are mostly plywood portakabins and flappy tents. Only the Army I spotted staying in sturdier circumstances but that too resembled a temporary polar station – designed by somebody who built igloos. Maharashtrian matriarchs chuckled when the bulky rolls handed out by camp hands opened to be sleeping bags. My cabin had a solar-powered light. The other comfort was the assurance that it would run for a ‘full eight hours.’ Speaking to Avny Lavasa, the well-regarded district collector of Leh a few days later, I was informed that the reasons for this were many. Besides the proximity to border with China and related disputes, Pangong Tso is also a protected area with visitors needing protected area permits. “As a wetland of international importance, it is the breeding ground for many migratory birds. Also spotted in the regions around the lake are marmots, kiangs, black-necked cranes and the occasional snow leopard,” Lavasa said. The paucity of facilities is though a small price to pay when you consider the rewards – a continuum of unfettered beauty.

The next day we followed a faint trail imprinted along the delta by motorcycle tyres. On one side was a lake that believed it was a different precious stone every minute, both sides were mountains, crystallised air all around – sublime that touched our cores. The road, Muzaffar said, went all the way to Tibet.

“Let’s go to Tibet,” I said.

On the way to Shambhala

Tibet is home to two-third of the 150 km long Pangong Tso – or twice the enchantment we were privy to. Tibet was the land of the mythical Shambhala which Roerich set out to discover and instead returned with hundreds of renditions of the Himalayas after a 25,000 km journey. It was his way of bringing alive, within his reach, what he realised by then was not a designated region but an unchartered territory – in the mind. The mountains symbolised the highest aspirations of beauty and knowledge.

And they were all around us. 

Sublime – in continuum