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Where silence speaks
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The beautiful road to Ladakh is not to be trudged on, but caressed
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SNOW-COVERED MOUNTAINS At Leh
Cramped in a corner of the vehicle, I cursed myself for the idea. The whole trip had germinated from an insane idea of taking an old 1986 model Maruti 800 to the high altitudes of the `Little Tibet' — Ladakh. This would be some adventure, I had thought.
Of the two routes available to any traveller aiming to reach the distant land of Ladakh, one through Srinagar-Kargil and the other through Manali, I choose the latter partially because it's raw and elemental and partially because of the beautiful high altitude scenery that distinguishes this route.
Day one ended with a stopover at Shimla and day two at Manali. Till here, the roads are good (NH22 for Shimla, NH21 for Manali), and on these familiar roads, the journey was a cakewalk.
All didn't go well...
The car broke down at Keylong, (150 km after Manali on the road to Ladakh; a pleasant staying option available to travellers headed further North) but the spirits didn't. Entrusting the car to the owner of a tourist rest house, I headed further in a shared taxi. My co-passengers included, in addition to our weather-beaten driver, a German with his Thai girlfriend, two hotel workers from Manali, a porter and an unknown two, whose Mongolian features hinted at their roots.
Soon, greens of the Himachal melted away and gave way to the rocks and snow as we entered Jammu and Kashmir. A few hours into the journey, I decided to tip further into insanity, and climbed the top of the Tata Sumo taxi in order to glimpse the maximum. Atop, steel grids ran parallel with cavities in between where I tried to adjust my hands and feet. Air, laden with frozen droplets, hit my face and it was hard to catch a fair share of oxygen. However, hardly did I regret this misadventure for, I was exposed to the magnificent rock desert of Ladakh. Snow-tipped mountains scintillated from a distance while the echo amplified the reverberations of the vehicle, rendering an effect similar to that of a rock avalanche.
In this part of the world, clarity of thought and vision, it seems, comes for short periods only. Faraway, till where the eyes can see, there is nothing but vacant immenseness. Often, the road takes a sharp turn and abruptly, least when you had expected, something appears — a snow peaked mountain. Standing alone in this vastness, such mountains never fail to surprise the spectator. And to lonesome, intrepid travellers, these mountains restate the forlornness. From far off distances, these mountains look like the missing connect to the sky, only a shade too dark.
Later, we stopped for a break at Sarchu, and I climbed to the top again and lay motionless to hear the sound of the vastness around me. Silence spoke from all around and even the wind, it seemed, bore mute respect for the omnipresent silence. Even the rock desert spoke in a muted tongue. As we continued on the road, we could see the remains of the trucks that had fallen off the road and had now become a twisted mass of metal. Poor men; they failed to comprehend that this beautiful road is not to be trudged on but caressed.
Night stay
We stopped at Pang (4,200 metres) for the night stay. By this time, my head had started aching because of High Altitude Sickness (HAS). Dining on noodle soup, I retired to bed, covering myself up in multiple blankets. Lack of oxygen, claustrophobia and HAS made sleep difficult. I lay awake for hours and caught only a few winks throughout the night.
They say that sometimes the journey is more important than the destination. Truth dawns when you wake up among the heights here and find yourself with no fixed itinerary and realise that you are happy. Silence here marks the death of time. Life in the mountains, enveloped in this eerie silence gives one a glimpse into the world of insanity and that is when you miss the vitality of the bustling cities.
From the sleepy dabha where we had spent our night, we gathered ourselves for the journey ahead. Strangers till yesterday, we were now bound by the same HAS and exchanged medicine. In these parts, the sun appears early and shines bright and bare for, unlike the cities, there is hardly any smoke or fog to veil it.
After three-and-a-half days, with 14 hours of ride from Keylong, I eventually touched Leh — a town whose bustles hardly bestow any hint of the emptiness of the road that one takes to reach here. I was tired but the sense of accomplishment of travelling the entire length of the road to Ladakh, respected by travellers with religious fervidity, kept me excited.
From far off, I could see the Leh Palace over a small rock. Its loneliness reminded me of the road I had left behind. The road to Ladakh is perhaps more important than Ladakh itself, for it teaches those forgotten lessons of patience. From sea level to an altitude of 3,500 metres, it was a journey worth undertaking.
NITIN CHAUDHARY
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