Ladhak: The Next Door Warmness (In trace of a long dream homeward)

I

The serpent road leads me up along by the turns blind here and there till the height, the point from where I cast down the weary looks toward the directions infinitely stretched afar blurred, the suspending nebula-canopies ride high up there giving yet another coloration to the permeating sun-rays through the cotton-white cloud-blankets hovering in the unpolluted biting air. The frowning bald dunes seem to overlap like in the bowing gesture to the appearing halo glow of the sun; their coats of frowning dark moistures tarnished in an instant to the dazzling pale grey. And I am drawn from here.

II

Following the dust coated narrow road with thinning asphalt, my cast stops there at the turn blind. But the blaring dusting heavy lorry lets my heart leap alert, alarming for its rescue, to navigate inverse. I can almost save it, the blind hooter; the moonscape ravine is filled with its blaring reverberating. Then the thin veil of nebula leads me on…

III

Like from the stern to the prow of a jolting light boat in a gusting current I have to cross over there on the other side to carry on my journey ahead. The sight of the means sends a lightning shudder along my spine, letting me hold back once before setting the first step on it. Yes, to clamber lying, the instant idea that helps me on the other side but like in a wildly swinging cradle-adventure. The surface of the glistening transparent water below ruffled with the ramming untouched. The grimy knotted ropes squeak with the screeches, the overburden taken from the stranger here. “Now you are done!” A fluffy refreshing breeze lets me feel my sweat drenched body still flexing. I am drawn from here again.

IV

The enigmatic natural formations against the backdrop of bleached grit-coated rising dunes grip me with the whim to identify them. I fall back. The latent but surfacing memory hits me hard to take them as the heavenly artworks our great ancestors had pursued. I can manage to make a conjuring animation out of this another world, back turned to us. A shooting spark of comet ray reckons me back again to carry on…

V

The normal but rickety foot-bridge leads across above the smoothly flowing clear-blue water. The frowning boulders smirk at the paces taken by this lonely wanderer. I am to find my way home any way. A splashing white froth bids me farewell. 

VI

There my home, secluded for the purpose not to be ignorantly vibrant. It’s said as my home in my struggle for claiming as not bearing the right façade of the one where I was born and brought up till 12. Despite the menacing baldness of the ridges around the reserved dais, on which it is situated, corresponds to my memo image. And I take it so. No sign of single trail of smokes rising up from any household. I think everyone has left for work out in the fields. With my sense of belongingness I am drawn again along…

VII

Passing by this single household quietly deserted, not a single movement of life found. But the distant sun lit snow-clad ridges aglow, prompting me to cast a long look from them to here, seemingly my home. Are those dried stuffs on the flat mud-roof stored for me, for the ongoing or upcoming winter fuel? I feel a blind love. Hark, I have to leave instantly…

VIII

The familiar sign but taken aback pondering where I’m to enter through, the alpine Himalayas, the lair of Yak—the entwining sign of closeness. This traffic sign of peeling Yak horns leads me up following the source of the clear cool brook gurgling like chuckling endlessly to the bastion. I hurry along my way up…

IX

There thou art rising abreast the snowy castles, thy domain. Thy dignified composure and casual cast mould up a vibe nonchalantly free, relaxed and open like the speckles azure sky—the interplay of natural bond found. I find it here to relate to what I have learned back there in the text: The secret of seclusion. “Aye, you don’t seem to stand it,” the single strike of the hoof on the rocky ground chases me away…

X

The steady stare of yours, though not welcoming, signals me for the marvels ahead. “Well, the furry angel lamb……..I’m leaving!”

I hasten to pass by…

XI

The beautifully engraved six-syllable-mantra, known as the essence of Buddha Dharma, with the dedicated designs on the reddish block of standing stone exudes the lavishness of time rendered by a lonely passerby for spiritual aspiration—for the self and others. With this shaky ground of devotion I pass by but with a sensing appreciation…

Phugthar monastery, Ladhak Zanskar, in the distance

XII

The same point here, from where I’m destined to have a glance of the real hermit-monastery on the waist of the soft-rock hill: the main shrine enclosed within the cave whose entrance opening can be viewed following the hermitages (mud quarters) sprawling up to it like devoted practitioners lining up through probation steps to obtain the entry ticket for the main determined courses for eternal salvation. The dangerously perching ramshackle hermitages on the crisp rock ledges are only for a wanderer’s fear being unaware of the past centuries long existence thus fossilized. I have the same feeling too, “How one can guarantee one’s safety in such one….” Better turn away, the precipice head-reeling, the bottom stream glistening blind. “Only to be here is my luck,” I seek the condolence desperately. And to move on forward…

Thigsay monastery, Ladhak Leh

XIII

The familiar picture in many past sub-conscious reflections, the one bearing the same disclosure of Potala Palace, Lhasa. It isn’t Potala of Lhasa; it’s Potala of next door warmness, the neighboring Thibet. I’m to learn later Thigsay monastery in Lahdak Leh bears the same physical patterns. With a heightened spirit I stare at it till dusk, when a buzzing wasp interrupts my musing stare, signaling me the approaching darkness but now the sun set glory tingeing the entire historic edifice with sepia grandeur. “Oh, is it real? Can it be what’s called Golden Realm in the heavenly state?” But that can’t be more magnificent than it. Riding on a horse of golden nebula, I am casted aback…

XIV

As to find my way back I can’t stop thinking about passing through the spirit lifting alpine marvels ahead once again as heralded by this chilling snow-clad towering monolith. Dancing to the melodies of the crackling glaciers, I don’t feel my numbed feet at all. Behold, this is where I belong! I continue dancing along…

XV

The only so rigidly etched image of the dark monolith, the hard-rock one, must be it, the one bearing the profound significance of Gonpo Rangjon (the natural impression of Maha Kala) on a certain part of it, of heavenly touch. To pass by it on foot is like passing in or out of heavenly gate. Its towering solidity melts the hardened ego soft here. “Oh, thy greatness!” I’m found praying once again along…

XVI

The reverberating distant ripple of horse-bells melodies proves my luck of catching up a caravan again. There they are in their routinely relaxed march; there they are in their threading dependence, giving me a niche to fill up from behind. I follow them till Manali, their last destination, from where to catch a bus to Delhi to catch my train Nizam-Goa Exp to South. “Aha, I am gifted again this time,” I pride for being able to take the same journey again.

A disturbing cawing by that lingering old crow on the mango tree next to my window jolts me out of this pleasant dream. So I waste no time in searching for those above responsive pictures that relate so closely to my dreamscapes.

*

I would like to thank Achu Gelek, my Ladhaki friend, for gifting me those pictures, mostly of Ladhak Zanskar, his native home. And also for his Western friends who have gifted him the load of pictures, from which I select the above speaking ones.