Hemis, Norbu And The Wind Mountains

The next forty-eight hours took our breath away.
Literally.
But that comes a day later.

20150703_081059  Norbu, our local cab driver is car proud and tries his best to make us comfortable- rugs, small eats, medicines, water, music . . .20150704_114249

He talks about the changes in Leh post the Kargil war-
“More army means more livelihood. Since there’s no tourism in Leh for six months a year, many of us go do porter jobs at army camps at the glacier.
The army hospital provides free treatment and medicines to locals; Earlier, in my parents’ times  we relied completely  on village quacks, traditional medicines and even witch doctors for treatment. Life expectancy has gone up.
Tourism has gone down since the past two years. There’s no one reason for this, perhaps Ladakh is not in fashion, maybe it is the Nepal earthquake that has scared tourists off travel, perhaps people don’t want to be stressed out about high altitude sickness while on their holiday.
DSC06280Riding rented motorbikes is something most tourists under thirty-five want to try. Enfield Bullet is the most sought after bike to hire.
It’s easy to guess who the Delhi/ Punjab tourists are. “Where is the closest liquor shop?” is one of their first questions on getting off a flight.”

We drive through Shey, once known for the beautiful old palace reflected in a lake- ‘mirror’, from which it gets it’s name, now a village made famous for the school  Amir Khan used for  The Three Idiots.DSC06004
Shey like many other valleys in Ladakh lies  in the middle of a rocky range of  mountains.
DSC06226I take in the ravages of erosion by sun, wind, water and snow  all around and then Norbu softly says- ” The wind is a ferocious creature. It marks it’s territory. It howls when harnessed by it’s owners. It is vicious when they aren’t here, but angry when they roam these mountains on special nights. When the wind blows it’s best to stay indoors.
“The Wind.” He says those words again for emphasis.
“Who is it’s owner?” I ask.
Like the boys back in Leh, Norbu looks away.
What is the thought behind this fear of the wind, I wonder.DSC06096.JPG

Shey is sprinkled with white chortens, all of which tell a story. The king of Shey had a unique punishment for criminals and law-breakers. He would make them construct chortens as a punishment, thus absolving the criminal of the crime.

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DSC05945 The valley right until  Karu has monasteries hanging on to steep mountain sides, stupas constructed for peace in the land, sudden appearance of pretty green watered canals pulled out of the Indus, unnaturally blue skies that seem painted by a painter in love with the color blue, bare sandy mountains like a child’s drawing- slanting line up, down, repeat . . .  icy peaks in between.DSC06124
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11707526_10154298222344368_7375331015224586448_nWe stop at Karu for lunch.2015-07-03 18.33.28
It is primarily a tiny army town, come up from a village of a hundred people to a much higher number, something that happens wherever the army makes it’s base- immediate livelihood is available to cater for the troops, and Karu seems to have tried it’s best in its own limited small way.
We are looking for chicken momos, and yet again, they are not meant to be.
Ladakh has many days designated as dry days- when no liquor or meat is served in the village. Full moon, dark nights, days of respect to various Rimpoche’s of those  particular  villages, if there is a religious head visiting somewhere in the vicinity, endless list.
Yet again we make do with veg momos with thukpa, a noodle soup to dunk the momos in. It is hot, slightly gooey and goes well with the cheese and cabbage momos.
This is our second time bad luck with the chicken momos. The first time was in Leh, where the restaurant owner told us very simply, ‘ We’re religious people. Our lives are governed by living it.’
Karu has tiny eateries, each one having given in to the obvious pervasiveness of Punjabi- ness:
All the Tibetan eateries serve Punjabi fare: Alu Paratha, Gobhi Paratha, Dal Makhani . . . In restaurants with names like Dorje Meals and Pangong.11707561_10154298222229368_7806022876504660409_n
There is no way our driver could have understood a word of the lyrics, but he, as did almost anyone local with a car, played Chittiyan Kalliyan and other Punjabi pop music, interspersed with the soothing chants of Om Mani Padme Hume, almost in atonement for the transgression.
It slowly becomes clear that you can escape the mundane world, but you cannot escape many things Punjabi, including the salwar kameez.
The women wearing this tell me that Goncha, the local dress, is hard to wash and even harder to work in because it is often heavy and involves layers.
Tashi, a thirty year old says with a smile: “Salwar kameez is alien, but  practical. Also cheaper since many Ladakhi’s have family working in the plains, and bring them as gifts.”2015-07-03 18.35.43.jpg
DSC06040Hemis, (dating back to 1630)  is perhaps the best known monasteries in Ladakh, made famous by the annual Hemis festival held here in early June. This year they have colorful billboards for festival aficionados talking about the Kumbh Mela of Hemis in June 2016.2015-07-03 18.38.52
The village itself is charming, literally clinging on to steep rocky mountainsides.
The monastery lives up to it’s reputation.
Within the monastery there are to be seen a copper-gilt statue of the Lord Buddha, various stupas made of gold and silver, sacred thankas and many precious relics from the past.2015-07-03 18.43.21
20150703_101923The elaborately painted pictures depict the various Rimpoches in their various incarnations, one including that of Sasha the cat, who is the reincarnation of a previous cat owned by one of the Rimpoches.
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 Tibetean Buddhist  gods-  Padmasambha, Maitriya, Shakyamuni adorn all corners of the temples, amidst pictorial stories of the evolution of the consciousness of human beings. Hell is depicted as the lowest place and we have the option of moving upwards to Nirvana purely by fighting against greed ignorance and desire, basically Nirvana being the state to aspire for.
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With so many of the younger monks playing games on  their mobiles, it seems the way to Nirvana is paved with technology.
Twenty eight years ago monks playing field games was a common sight. Now they play  games on mobile phones- ironically, of  zombies and blood and gore.
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The topography starts getting even more awe inspiring as we move up to level two and three- fifteen to seventeen thousand feet above sea level.
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 The roads get bumpier too.
Infinitely bumpy in long stretches. Someone with a sense of humor has planted a sign that says: Bone Shaker Marg. So appropriate.20150704_084616.jpg
We go through places that are names like Zingral, Dagtze, Tirbuk, Shartze, Kumming, Chillin . . . with nothing more than two or three families living in a terrain so harsh and lonely that we wonder why they haven’t moved out.
Norbu explains it simply-
“They were born there, so their karma is there. We cannot escape Karma. That’s it.”DSC06103
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Snow capped peaks come at touching distance and the bare stony dusty mountain ranges look humongous.DSC06237.JPG
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Thoughts thrown around within our car, and exchanged with other tourists  while waiting collectively  for flash streams to go down:
These mountains are unmatched in their stark beauty in comparison to every other mountain range in the world.DSC06207.JPG
The sheer magnitude of the starkness disorients the mind. Perhaps it is the dwindling oxygen that does that.DSC06233.JPG
 They are giant mountains. You have to stand against them  to be able to capture their magnitude in a photograph.DSC06193.JPG
This landscape is a ready-made set for a sci fi movie- indescribable magnitude, vastness that overpowers, thirty feet and more in size rocks strewn around, most balancing on almost nothing, as if planning whom to catch unaware on the precariously narrow bumpy roads carved through mountainsides.DSC06148.JPG
Colors. Shadows. DSC06202.JPG
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Rivers of rock ground over hundreds of centuries into multicolored grain, gnarled mountain surface formation that  stand like ferocious sentinels guarding a territory that seems to dwarf everything in contrast, avalanches of sand flowing down bare mountainsides, contorted writhing figures carved naturally into heights that make humans but a tiny dot in comparison, vast empty bereft  spaces and scapes staring back at you from a distance that seems to go back as you inch towards them, mountains that seem laden with metals undiscovered- giving out an indescribable pungent odors, eerie boulders placed one on the other as if some other-worldly Morse code is being exchanged by beings out of this planet. . .
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I mention this to Norbu and he looks startled and after what seems an anguished internal fight, he has this to say-
Let me share it with you, even though we are forbidden to, because talking to outsiders brings on their wrath, resulting in rain and landslides.
Norbu is almost whispering now. He looks pale and anxious. “Our legends and many generations of Ladakhis who spend their entire life in these desolate empty spaces believe that beings from other spaces (read extra-terrestrials) have been visiting here since time immemorial. Wherever they have stepped has changed the way the mountains look. Wherever they have landed has given the mountain a new color. They leave signs for each other in rock and stone pilings too huge for any crane or men to construct, often adding smaller stone pilings like we Ladakhi’s do for a person’s longevity, just to throw us humans off their comings and goings.
Yes, this here is a region shared by us from the Earth and beings from other spaces.DSC06139.JPG
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Looking at this alien landscape, what he says  is not hard to believe.
I decide to sit it out the next night and watch out for non-Earthlings.
That night the wind blows a neighboring hut down and flings a dog and a huge clay tandoor across the fence. I see them flying from my window.
There’s no connection here with the outer world- no phones, television, nothing.
Except the Wind.
Unknowingly, I have begun to look at it as as person. In this black night in the middle of lonely mountain passes cut away from humanity, it shrieks like a banshee gone bat-crazy.
I imagine Norbu in my mind’s eye- sitting in his room in abject fear of the OtherWorldlies coming for him for sharing the sacred secret.
When the howling goes down I sink into a restless slumber only to wake up to a dream of a white spaceships with two huge eyes staring down at me.
My brain feels fuzzy. Perhaps the Mountain Wind is getting to me.
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