The Ladakh Chronicles – Rumbak II

Rumbak is not an easy place for anyone to live. And yet alongwith the Blue Sheep, Robin Accentor and the Snow Leopard; human beings peacefully co-exist, patiently tolerating the whims of Nature. Something we might not put up with. Perhaps there’s more than just a will to survive that drives this. I would like to think of it as wisdom.

The short nap in the afternoon was a bit of a cure though walking fast meant palpitation and dizziness yet again. The snow on the Stok Kangri gleamed in the evening sun and a chill began to develop. Ladakh is one of those few places where you could get sunburnt in the open and frostbitten in the shade. Such a drastic change in temperature.

A woman set out in earnest search for her “Dzoe” as the sun waned slowly making the Stok Kangri glow golden in the light. Life in Rumbak was all about the basic essentials, all else was background noise. You could set camp and live here (if you can brave the altitude and the cold) and the people would be just as warm and effusive with you as they’d be to a fellow Ladakhi. Every hand that was available was a blessing. In a place such as this, it wouldn’t be prudent to pick fights with your neighbor, especially when you depended upon them for melting the snow for drinking water…

A chance is an event where success MAY tilt in your favour depending upon probability. Probability’s dies were loaded against me (or so I thought) since my sightings hadn’t been all that great, and I wasn’t faring too well on the mountains.

A few Pika, Robin Accentor and a few more Pika. Guess I was above grumbling and complaining. “There have been instances sir when people didn’t get to see even a Pika…” Nawang was assuring me of my good luck. Well…

Back at Rigzin Dolma’s place, piping hot tea greeted us. Dinner was under preparation. The first solid meal after a bar of chocolate at 10:30 AM, I was hungry. The clock showed 07:00 PM and it was pitch dark outside.

Rigzin’s mother was making some goor goor. Now, most of us are associated with such sounds as kids, maybe to indicate something like a machine. Out here in Ladakh, goor goor meant butter tea.

“Ahhh! Butter tea! Was never quite my cup of tea!” Brad Pitt turns down an offer for butter tea as Heinrich Harrer in the film, Seven Years in Tibet. Having watched the movies n times and probably more, the dialogues I could recall with ease and at perfect moments. Butter tea however was perfectly okay with me. Goor goor is good!

Dinner was vegetable soup, rice and boiled vegetables. Butter tea was available aplenty, much to Rigzin and her mother’s surprise. Maybe I was the first one who liked it that much. Butter tea was made by churning yak/dzomo butter in a cylindrical pipe with salt and some other ingredients. The result is a fatty but pretty agreeable drink. And then there was chhang! Nawang pointed out the cooking vessels but remained quiet about a few large vats.

“What’s that for?”

“That’s used to make chhang sir!”

“What’s chhang?”

“Would you like to have some sir?”

“Why not?”

For the uninitiated, chhang is Ladakh’s answer to beer. Those of us who dislike the drink for its fizz, hops, industrial effluents et cetera may find this to be a suitable response. Rigzin’s mother carefully poured out a small glassful. 90 ml or a bit more perhaps…

Chhang is fermented barley juice. The recipe is pretty simple and can be made at home provided there’s a dark room and ample sunshine up on the terrace. Spread the grain out and let it dry. The sun dried grains are then with husk soaked in water and left to ferment. This mixture is then pounded (I think) to extract the juice. Reverse step 2 with 3 or something such but the overall recipe remains constant. The fermented juice is then ready to serve. A little bit of some root is added for the bitter aftertaste.

Nawang dramatized the effects of chhang on a healthy man. “If a man were to have a bottle of strong chhang, he’ll be like this” goes on to imitate someone dizzy but looks to me like a victim of altitude sickness. “And he’ll wake up to a terrible headache! This is mild chhang sir, you can drink all that you want” Never mind strong or soft, I certainly didn’t want a hang-over to add to an already threatening to pain head. This one glass would be good, but I wouldn’t mind some more goor goor. 

The evening continued with conversations. In Ladakhi. I took turns enjoying their expressions and mannerisms as the three Ladakhi discussed matters probably about Heaven, Hell and everything in between.

It was bedtime by 08:30 PM. Always the night owl back in the plains, there wasn’t much to do here. Electricity was a privilege and available only during select hours during the day and hopefully through most of the evening. This was a bit early so Salinger’s biography did keep me company. Oona O’neil briefly dated J D Salinger but eventually went on to marry Charlie Chaplin. A sixteen year old marrying a fifty four year old Chaplin. Not very funny. My heart went out to Salinger, God rest his troubled soul. Went on to read about the battle in the Hurtgen forests of Germany. This was an intriguing book, but I wasn’t carrying chocolates in case I woke up hungry in the night, as I often do. This was time to call it a day. Nightie night.

It was a crowded room and looked like a party. Jazz music was in the air and cigars and whiskey aplenty. There was a lot of talking, I mean a LOT of talking. Most of them were mobbing at me, talking about something or the other, but I couldn’t care less. I was moving away from the crowd to the bar. He stood there nursing his drink and entertaining a pretty young woman. He obviously had his charm for she was laughing. Tittering might be the right word, it looked a little too controlled to be true laughter, but nonetheless. Apparently his charms were so good she didn’t notice anything amiss. He had a wild boar’s head. Complete with a pair of long tusks but dressed in a three piece suit and with all appendages human like, he was just another guest. Just that his head was a bit funny looking. This can’t be real! Dammit this isn’t real!

A flashlight’s searing beam cut through the darkness only to bounce off on the walls. There weren’t any guests, there wasn’t a boar, and nobody was talking to me. This was a dream. A vivid nightmare. The oxygen levels in my blood were at an all-time low.

The thin line between a dream and reality had blurred into oblivion now and I was scared of falling asleep again. A peep through the window outside revealed a starry sky in an inky black night with the mountains appearing only a shade darker than the sky itself. Immortality.

“Damn you Oona! You cheated Salinger! You’ll never be happy with Chaplin!”

Morning couldn’t have come earlier. The first time ever that a nightmare frightened my sleep away.

“Where can we go Nawang?”

“We can go to Urutse for the Tibetan Argali, or visit the camps”

“Any chance of the Snow Leopard?”

“No chance sir”

“Okay…”

“How about we turn back Nawang?”

“Excellent notion. We can visit other places. We could visit Ulley if you’re up for it”

“What’ll we see at Ulley?”

“Himalayan Ibex and Snow Leopard. Ibex are guaranteed…”

“Okay…”

The long march back to Tzingchang was hardly an effort. Going down the mountain the altitude sickness gradually decreased, and at most places, I managed to match pace with Nawang. Steep, rocky mountains towered over us, allowing narrow gaps carved through the rock by the Markha river’s snow-fed tributaries. Yet again, the emptiness of the place created a sense of quietness inside me. We were at the same bandwidth, the mountains and i. One could be lost here for days on end and not see another human. And yet, the feeling was something spiritual more than fear.

A European couple with mountain bicycles planned to traverse the range upto a village called Chilling. Their route would be like this Tzingchang à Climb Rumbak à Climb upto Kanda La à Get down to Nimmu and cross a river à Cross another river for Chilling. Mountain bicycles? Not advisable.

“They’re foreigners sir! Totally crazy people!” Nawang dismissed them off. I was keen to see how well they fared since they had just hip flasks for their water supply.

It was noon by the time the vehicle reached Tzingchang and the Innova turned southward toward Leh while I listened to a mix of artistes ranging from Lady Gaga, Justin Bieber and some Ladakhi songs.