A Veteran’s Wife Visits Ladakh
Veena Suman
Ladakh....a region that till a few decades ago was like the mythical "Shangri-La" in the minds of a lot of people, is now on the bucket list of many. For the armed forces, however, Ladakh is viewed very differently. It is a frontier that has to be defended from external aggression, an area where the mind, body and spirit are tested to their limit.
My husband, an army veteran, had commanded his unit in the Kargil-Nimu-Siachen sector almost thirty-five years ago. Now well into his golden years and a comfortable retirement, he developed a sudden urge to revisit the area where he had once spent a highly satisfying period of his professional life with his regiment. His enthusiasm was infectious, and I immediately decided to accompany him, much to the agitated concern of our children and well-wishers. "Ladakh!! at your age? Have you forgotten the altitude? "Why don't you go to Goa, Udaipur, etc etc.....”. However, turning a deaf ear to the well-meaning concern and choosing to ignore the long list of "Places to be Visited by Senior Citizens", we decided to go ahead with our plan.
My decision to accompany my husband to Ladakh had nothing to do with the tourist circuit. Having visited Ladakh four times during my husband's tenure, I had visited all the historic gompas, tasted the gur-gur chai, seen the picturesque masked dances, picnicked at the banks of the Indus and the Shyok rivers, purchased a couple of thangkas, et. all. However, during that period, families were not allowed to cross the Khardungla Pass for reasons of security. As the scenario was different now, it became a huge motivating factor for me to venture into the beyond.
The flight from Delhi to Leh took off in favourable weather, for which we were grateful, as any turbulence could have resulted in cancellations. Looking down from the window as we flew over the Himalayas, I felt a strong twinge of disappointment. The majestic peaks, once covered with a thick blanket of snow, appeared so barren! Global warming had taken
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its toll, and the snow had reduced drastically. Sadly, those lofty peaks looked more brown than white.
We began our sojourn after a day of mandatory acclimatisation with a visit to Nimu. This was a trip down memory lane for us. Thirty-five years earlier, my husband had commanded his unit there. Never, for one moment, had we imagined that we would revisit the area. Looking around at the landmarks that still looked so familiar, I felt myself going back in time to the days that we had spent here.
Tea at the Confluence of the Indus and the Zanskar Rivers
A lot had changed, and yet it looked as if nothing had changed. At the request of the troops, the unit had been tasked to build a temple there, and we were very keen to see it now. Entering the temple to offer our obeisance was a surreal experience.
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It was also very gratifying to see that the small apricot sapling that had been planted long ago, was now a fully grown tree, ready to bear fruit.
Nimu: The Location of Our Regiment in 1988-89
Hot lunch had been organised with great thought by the local Brigade Headquarters, in a glass house constructed by my husband's regiment on the banks of the Indus River. The officer who dined with us was totally fascinated by the incidents that my husband related to him while he was serving in this area. Escorting us back to our vehicle, he told us, much to our mild amusement, that he hadn't even been born at that time.... a fact check that became common during a large part of our trip!
We also got an opportunity to see the place visited by Prime Minister Modi to view the expanse of the River Indus. The view-point provides a breathtaking panorama of the majestic Zanskar Ranges and the serene waters of the mighty river that spawned the ancient Indus Valley Civilisation, lasting from 3300 BCE to 1300 BCE.
I also made friends with a local dog who kept following me for quite a distance.
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The afternoon was spent making a short trip to Leh market. Thirty-five years is a long period of time, almost a generational change. Yet nothing prepares one for the change till you actually face it. Leh, the capital, once a sleepy ‘one yak town’, was unrecognisable...gone were the locals in their traditional dress, the goncha or sulma, prayer wheels in hand, smilingly greeting the few people they met with a "Juley"! The city was bustling with tourists from every part of India, many totally ill-equipped in their clothing for that kind of weather and terrain. The one solitary shop that had once sold pearls that it claimed were from China, was nowhere to be seen. In its place was a thriving market, full of local and Kashmiri goods. Cars could be seen everywhere, and the erstwhile polo ground was now a "Pay and Park". The local economy was obviously going northwards!
In the evening, we had the privilege of visiting the Hall of Fame, located near the Leh Airfield. It is a museum constructed and maintained by the Indian Army, in memory of the soldiers who lost their lives in the Indo-Pak wars. In addition, the museum imparts a lot of information about the rich culture, as also the flora and fauna of Ladakh.
While going around the museum, and listening to the powerfully delivered commentary by the uniformed personnel, one is reminded of the exemplary bravery displayed by the soldiers in defending the motherland.
A "Sound and Light "show depicts a documentary on Operation Vijay. A particularly moving sight is a framed letter, on a wall named "The Last Post." This was the last letter written by Capt. Vijayant Thapar to his parents, a few days before he laid down his life for the country.
We set off for Khardungla the next day on a cold, crisp and bright morning. In no time at all, the weather changed, as is common in the hills. It started raining, followed by heavy snowfall. The clouds seemed to be touching the road, making visibility difficult. Our very capable driver had to alight from the Fortuner to tie ice chains to the wheels of the vehicle to prevent it from skidding on the sharp bends. Amongst all of this, I felt a lot of admiration for the bikers driving up to Khardungla, the highest motorable road in the world at a height of 17,982 ft, undeterred by the weather.
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The drive to Khardungla is captivating. Every turn of the road gives one a different glimpse of the icy beauty of the mountains. On reaching the pass, one feels as if one is literally on top of the world...as is claimed very proudly by the Border Roads Organisation.
The organisation is doing a stupendous job by constructing roads in the most challenging terrain. Not only do the roads connect far-flung regions, the ride is smooth, there are no pot holes, no speed breakers, safety railings are in place.... a far cry from the jolts and bumps one gets on the city roads.
Khardungla Pass wore an air of cheer and merriment because of the number of tourists frolicking in the snow and enjoying the snowfall. One almost expected to find the proverbial Maggi or Momo stalls there. On the other hand, the area was also full of the men in olive green, most of them going up to man the various posts at the border.
Faujis stand out in a crowd, even the retired ones. On seeing us, many of the soldiers billeted there came over to meet us. Piping hot tea and biscuits were served in the bukhari -heated warmth of their shelter, which I felt privileged to share. Their care and concern in escorting me back to the vehicle, lest I lose my balance on the slippery road, was touching!
Our journey resumed with a short stop at North Pulu, and for lunch at a detachment that had its very own charming wishing well, all of two feet deep, making a pretty picture. After crossing the picturesque Nubra Valley, and undertaking a very bumpy ride on the riverbed, as the road was closed for maintenance, we reached Hundar in the late afternoon.
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After a short stop to view the sand dunes and the double humped Bactrian Camels, we reached Partapur. The two-day stopover at the comfortable guest room was a welcome one! The quaint gift shop, built around a tree, had some very interesting items, including a 'Modi Jacket ' made out of organic debris that had been collected at the glacier and recycled.
The next destination in our itinerary was one that I had been looking forward to most eagerly...a visit to the Siachen Base Camp, something I felt would never have been possible for me earlier.
Siachen Warriors are the real heroes, officers and men who serve selflessly and willingly at the most inhospitable battlefield in the world, at heights of 20000 ft and above. It was amazing to see their spirit and eagerness to serve at the
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glacier after their mandatory period of acclimatisation (or climate, as the troops called it), was over. There was no hesitation, no qualms, no fear to be seen, just 'josh', and a desire to be at their posts as soon as possible.
We were very fortunate to meet a group that at that very moment had descended from the glacier, still wearing their protective gear...the parkas, sun-goggles, ropes that tied them to each other to prevent an inadvertent fall in a crevasse, among other items. They were welcomed by the religious teacher under a tent, where big containers of water, tea and juice had been laid out. After a brief rest, all of them went to offer their thanks at the unit ‘Sarv-Dharm-Sthal’, a place of prayer unique to the armed forces – all religions are worshipped as one, and religious symbols of different faiths find a place together. The conflict between your god and my god finds no place here.
The ‘Sarva-Dharma-Sthal’ at the Siachen Base Camp is unique in another manner. It is called OP BABA MANDIR, and has a photo of OP BABA...a highly revered martyr, who, it is believed even now guides the
soldiers posted there. It is a regular custom for the soldiers to visit the temple before ascending the glacier and descending from it, to seek blessings while fighting the enemy, the weather and the terrain, and to give thanks on their safe return.
The army is anything but superstitious...this gesture of paying obeisance can best be understood by those who have served in that inhospitable terrain, where not even a blade of grass grows, breathing is an exercise by itself, and constant vigil is required against the enemy.
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Chance Meeting with Border Roads Personnel on Road Partapur-Pangang Tso
Our next stop was at Pangang Tso, with its beautiful waters in changing hues of blue and green. The lake is situated at a height of 13,860 ft, and is the highest saltwater lake in the world. Waters of the lake are considered holy by the locals. I was mystified to see that a feature called Garnet Hill that I had seen looming large and prominent during earlier trips, was no longer existing. Raw, unpolished garnets were found there, and we, ecologically insensitive, would get a thrill in picking up a piece as a keepsake. No small wonder that the hill had got denuded to a small mound.
The Bombay Sappers IWT detachment posted there took great pride in escorting my husband, himself a Bombay Sapper, around. I was fascinated to see the boats and the way they were equipped with armaments to keep the enemy at bay. Not so fascinating, to my mind at least, were the scooters lined up on the river bank for tourists to drive "Three Idiots" style. The garish plastic chairs placed there looked totally out of sync with the serene environment. But then, tourism does come at a price!
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A major highlight of our trip was to the heritage abode of Col. Chhewang Rinchen, MVC and BAR, SM, of the Ladakh Scouts. During the 1947-1948 Indo-Pak War, Col. Chhewang Rinchen, along with twenty-eight volunteers had successfully blocked the advance of Pakistani raiders to Leh for over a month. He was just seventeen years old at that time, and became the youngest recipient of the Mahavir Chakra. In 1962, he was awarded the Sena Medal for his brave deeds in the Indo-China War. He was awarded the Mahavir Chakra for a second time for his unorthodox technique based on guerilla warfare during the Indo-Pak war of 1971. Our escort, also from Ladakh Scouts, Hav. Mohd Salim, was justifiably full of pride when he showed us around the house, now converted into a well-maintained museum.
Tangtse, at a height of 14,145 ft, was our next stop. The guest rooms, situated over the river, made a pretty sight. Breathing became slightly laboured now, the wind icily cold, no running water as it had frozen in the pipes, electric supply by the generator....and a warm welcome with the hot chai that one had got so used to having, wherever we stopped.
The guest rooms overlook a small lake, full of healthy trout. The local Buddhist population believe that the souls of their departed rest in these fish. As a mark of respect towards the local tradition, no fishing is done in the lake. Pashmina goats, which I saw for the very first time, foraged peacefully for the few blades of grass nearby.
After an early dinner and the daily mandatory check of BP and O2 level, we decided to retire for the night. The helper, after lighting the huge kerosene fired bukhari bid us goodnight, telling me to press the bell in case of an emergency. I was slightly mystified, but didn't give it too much thought, as my medical parameters were just fine. However, feeling uncomfortable, I woke up in the middle of the night. Fortunately, being a veteran of two high altitude tenures, my husband quickly shut the offending kero-bukhari and opened a window partially, to let the icy cold fresh air in. After a little while, I started
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feeling better and slept peacefully, while my husband, not wanting to take any chances by closing the window, had to suffer the cold through the rest of the night. Our helper, prescient as he was, was puzzled to see a half-opened window the next morning. We preferred not to enlighten him.
I had read somewhere that certain events are linked together by the threads of time, even if they occur far apart. In the 1980's, waiting for our turn for army accommodation in Jodhpur, we had been allotted a house in a civil area that belonged to Maj. Shaitan Singh's family, aptly named 'Rezang La House'. This significant fact came to my mind as we proceeded in our journey to Chushul, to visit the Rezang La War Memorial. The Memorial was constructed in 1963 in Chushul, situated at an altitude of over 15, 000 ft, at the Indo-China border. It was constructed to honour the troops of Charlie Company of 13 Kumaon Regiment, who on 18 November 1962 had defended Rezang La and the surrounding areas of the Kailash Ranges in Eastern Ladakh from the Chinese aggression.
This attack was led by Maj. Shaitan Singh, who with the troops under his command, fought against all odds in the battle in sub-zero temperatures. Their valour in making the supreme sacrifice of laying down their lives for the country resulted in stopping the Chinese advance into Ladakh.
The memorial, renovated in 2021, stands as a magnificent and solemn testimony to Maj. Shaitan Singh and the brave soldiers who fought to the 'last man, last round '. Our own life and presence pales totally into insignificance, as one moves around seeing the various scenes of the battle depicted here. It is here that the fortuitous chance of having stayed in the house that belonged to such an illustrious war hero struck me with full force.
Chushul is also the place where the BPM hut is located...hut being quite a misnomer. The Border Personnel Meeting point is a beautifully ordained building where meetings are held between senior officials of both India and China. Standing outside the building, one could get a clear view of the Kailash Ranges and the Rezang La Pass and visualise how the enemy would have come down from the high mountains.
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We were privileged to be conducted inside. The tastefully appointed interiors come as a mild surprise in the midst of the snowy wilderness. Two anterooms, one for the Indian delegation and the other for the Chinese delegation, are furnished in accordance with the respective cultures. The main hall, and the conference hall, where the meetings are held, are meticulous in the attention to the smallest detail, while showcasing the rich culture of
India in a discreet manner. As we were requested not to click any photographs inside the building, we dutifully put our cell phones away, and decided to enjoy the hot tea and pakoras instead.
The pride that the soldiers on duty took in maintaining the Hut was evident from the manner in which we were shown around the building. Thanking the staff, who had so willingly taken us around, I was impressed to see the tarmac outside, which had got slightly smudged due to the snow on our shoes, being repainted. A meeting could take place any time, I was told, and everything had to be just perfect.... which it undoubtedly was!
Our last and final halt was at Chumathang, at an altitude of 13,000 ft. By this time, I had learnt how to coexist with a kero-heater, so the warmth in the guest rooms was welcome. Chumathang is fast becoming well known for its sulphur springs. The guest room too had a jacuzzi filled with sulphur water, which, however we decided to give a miss.
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An early dinner, a good night's rest, and the next day we were ready to take the long drive to Tso Morari, the beautiful lake at 14,836 ft. The waters at Tso Morari form a breathtaking sight.... blue, serene, unpolluted. At many places the lake was still covered with a thin layer of winter ice. While admiring the beauty of the lake and the surrounding mountains, I felt a renewed sense of admiration for the officers and men who lived and served the nation at these altitudes.
Returning to Chumathang for the night, we left the next day for the last leg of our journey, the drive back to Leh via Upshi. After a night's halt at Leh, we boarded the flight back to the hot, dusty, but oxygen infused plains ……. and home.
It a known fact that the armed forces never forget their own. The respect and deference shown to the veterans is legendary. We bore testimony to this fact and more during our entire trip. The amount of love, affection and warmth showered on us by the officers and the men whom we had never met and shall probably never meet again, was truly overwhelming. They were fascinated to know that my husband had commanded his unit in these areas long back .... nothing unusual in itself for a large part of the army, but to want to revisit the difficult terrain, wife in tow, to relive those memories, seemed to strike an emotional chord in them.
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The memories of this trip shall remain with me for a lifetime...something to be treasured and revisited in my mind over and over again, cherishing every moment of the time spent amongst the brave defenders of the nation.
