Skurbuchan Village : Sacred Geography and its people

Dorjey Sonam

Dorjey Sonam, 85, of the Kunga Stampelpa family in Skurbuchan village, Ladakh, India, recalls making numerous trips to the salt markets in Chemrey and Sakti villages during his youth. He carried nas (barley) and chuli (dried apricots) from Sham to trade for salt brought by Tibetan traders, whom he remembers coming from the Gerge region of Tibet. This was before the 1962 war with China. The journey was long and arduous, taking seven days on donkeys to reach Sakti from Skurbuchan—five days to Leh and an additional two days from Leh to Sakti. Dorjey vividly recalls the bustling salt markets filled with Tibetan traders and the fields of Sakti and Chemrey alive with thousands of raluk (goats and sheep) grazing across the landscape.

The market was held twice a year: once during spring, known as Spid Tsongs, and again in autumn-Ston Tsongs. The exchange rate at the market fluctuated, with the Tibetans often demanding two to three times the amount of nas in exchange for a given quantity of salt. The Tibetans measured salt using a container called a batti (equivalent to two kilograms), but Dorjey and other traders from Skurbuchan brought their own nyaga (a single-pan traditional balance) along with weights measuring one pao (250 grams), two pao, one kilogram, and eight pao. They typically spent two days at the market, purchasing salt from the Tibetans. While Dorjey only bought salt for personal use, some elders from his village ventured on longer journeys to Baltistan after returning to Skurbuchan. In Baltistan, they traded salt for apricots and butter. The Baltis, in turn, visited Skurbuchan and set up camp at a site in the village called Miyaskor. They brought stone utensils, known as doltoks, which they sold in Skurbuchan and neighbouring villages. These doltoks were transported on wooden frames called Kis-Kis. 

Besides the Sakti-Chemrey salt market, Dorjey Sonam also traveled on foot as far as Lamayuru village and Sonamarg. While his visits to Sonamarg in Kashmir were to buy his annual supply of goods, he visited Lamayuru to pay the heavy government tax in the form of nas. In Sonamarg, he would buy das (rice), toe (wheat), and peas. He recalls that, in those days, Rs 1 could buy 12 kg of peas, 7 kg of wheat, and Rs 2 would buy 1 kg of rice. Dorjey vividly remembers the extremely high government tax and describes those times as very difficult for the people of Ladakh. He would carry up to 35 kg of nas all the way to Lamayuru to pay his dues. A government official collected the barley at a government kutti, and often these interactions were bitter, as local officials frequently rejected the quality of the barley on trivial pretexts. Dorjey Sonam remembers the past life in Ladakh as both challenging and simple. Sadly, all of Dorjey’s companions who once traveled with him to the Sakti-Chemrey salt markets have since passed away.

Tsering Nurbu

Tsering Nurbu, 84, of the Tangkarpa family in Skurbuchan, endured many hardships during his early years. As a young man he took up any work he could find. He remembers that he would receive three Khal (one Khal is approximately 50-kilogram) of nas, for a whole year's work at a family’s household. He once accompanied traders from Skurbuchan on a journey to the Sakti salt market, where he helped care for their donkeys. On the return trip from Sakti, the traders stopped near Skampari, close to Leh, for rest and recreation. While the traders enjoyed well-deserved sessions of chang (local wine), Tsering was left in charge of the salt-laden donkeys. To make matters worse, the intoxicated traders began quarrelling with him, falsely accusing him of having swapped their donkeys.

In his mid 20s, after working as a helper for several years, Tsering received advice from his father to leave his job and start a business to improve his circumstances. With Rs. 60 that Tsering had saved and an additional Rs. 30 contributed by his father, they decided to travel to Srinagar to purchase goods for trade. One of their main concerns during the journey was their inability to count numbers in Hindi and Urdu, which they feared would create difficulties in transactions. In those days, the journey to Srinagar was made entirely on foot. Without donkeys to assist them, the father and son opted to carry the return load on their backs. To prepare for the demanding task, Tsering’s father decided to train the young and inexperienced Tsering in the use of a Kis-Kis—a traditional load-carrying wooden frame commonly used by long-distance travelers in Ladakh. 

The Kis-Kis, worn on the back, was specifically designed to transport heavy loads over long distances. It was used alongside a long stick, which served as both a walking aid and a load-supporting tool. When the carrier grew tired, the stick was skillfully positioned under the load, allowing the person to rest while standing upright, with the stick bearing the weight. After a few days of training, they started their journey to Kashmir. On the way, there was always the fear of being waylaid by robbers known as Chakpas. To stay safe, Tsering and his father would take precautions by finishing all cooking activities, especially the mandatory Ladakhi chai, before sunset. Immediately after, they would find a good place to hide—either above or below the road, but never on the roadside. There, they would sleep in silence until sunrise, when they would resume their journey.

During their first visit to Srinagar, Tsering and his father came across a shop offering teacups at an incredible discount: Rs. 1 for a set of 70 cups. Seizing the opportunity, Tsering purchased two sets for Rs. 2. Along with the teacups, they also bought daily-use items such as utensils, chai, matchboxes, and dye colors. The arduous journey to and from Srinagar on foot took 27 days. On the 28th day, Tsering went around Skurbuchan bartering his stock of items from Kashmir. He exchanged each teacup for one Aaloo pari (an empty tin can of potatoes) filled with barley, earning a handsome profit.

With the few cups remaining, he traveled to Khalste and sold them all. For the first time in his life, Tsering felt happy and confident, realizing the potential of his entrepreneurial skills. His success earned him increased attention and respect from the community. Tsering’s father, seeing the rewards of this venture, remarked that had Tsering continued as a helper—a Kharpon or Rarzee—their circumstances would never have improved. He encouraged Tsering to keep visiting Kashmir. Over the years, Tsering undertook seven more trips to Kashmir, steadily growing his fortunes with each journey.

Tsering continued his business ventures and once carried two sacks of rice, each weighing 23 kilograms, on his back across the Zojila Pass in his Kis-Kis. He hoped the rice would help his mother overcome a long-standing challenge she had faced throughout her life. At the time, Tsering’s mother sourced the family’s wool by cleaning raw wool that women from the village would leave at their home. For each batch of wool she cleaned, she kept half and returned the other half to the owner. Although this work was physically exhausting, it was essential for meeting the family's need for wool. That year, Tsering made a trip to the Sakti-Chemrey salt market, bringing with him the two sacks of rice he had bought in Kashmir. According to Tsering, this was few years before the 1962 war. At the market, the Tibetans also sold wool alongside salt, and Tsering managed to exchange nearly equal amounts of wool for the rice. This successful trade marked a significant turning point: Tsering’s mother was able to stop working for others and began processing her own wool.

Once, while in Kashmir, Tsering and a few other Ladakhis were fortunate to meet Ven. 19th Bakula Rinpoche, who generously gifted each of them 26 kilos of rice, a piece of cloth for a goncha (traditional Ladakhi dress), a patloon (pair of pants), a kameez (shirt), and a tipi (a type of hat). To this day, Tsering cherishes the event and believes that it was because of Bakula Rinpoche’s blessings that he was able to prosper in business.

Tsering Dolma

The concept of Phaspun is an important part of the social structure among Buddhists in Ladakh. A loose definition of Phaspun could be a group of people connected through a shared protective deity called "phas-lha." In Skurbuchan, there is a group of families that identify with a Phaspun known as the Gyashingpas, with their protective deity referred to as Tashi Nyenbo 

According to Tsering Dolma, a member of the Gyashingpa Phaspun, centuries ago, a princess named Onjor from across the Karakoram range was married to a king in the region. Tsering Dolma’s ancestors came as Nyopas (assistants) to the princess, and since then, they have settled in Skurbuchan. Within the Gyashingpas, there is another unique group of 5 to 6 families known as the Jingba Ringmos (Long Neck), who have a traditional role during social ceremonies, such as weddings, when they sit in a separate row next to the row of the Kagas, symbolically acting as protectors of the event. This old tradition is still practiced in Skurbuchan. In addition to the Gyashingpas, there was another Phaspun known as the Rablonpas, which in the beginning included many monks. While the Gyashingpas acted as guardians of the bride princess on her way to Ladakh, the Rablonpas accompanied the queen, offering prayers and taking care of religious rituals.

The Gyashingpas observe a unique and peculiar cultural practice. According to their tradition, if the spoon used to prepare the native dish Paba breaks during cooking, the entire dish must be discarded. Although this custom may appear insignificant, it holds profound cultural importance within the Gyashingpa Phaspun. Initially, there were only 18 families from the Gyashingpa Phaspun and 11 families from the Rablonpa Phaspun in Skurbuchan. Over time, their numbers have grown significantly. However, the Gyashingpas are not limited to Skurbuchan, as the author has also observed a few Gyashingpa families in the villages of Skyu and Stok.

Thinley Nurbu  in front  of Gyalpo Phong, Skurbuchan

Skurbuchan is home to some of the most important historical Chortens, Manis, and stone inscriptions in all of Ladakh. Near Tsering Dolma’s ancestral house stands a group of Chortens, which she believes contains the pearl necklace of Queen Onjor. Just before reaching the house, on the right side of the pathway, lies a group of Mani walls that feature two significant historical stone inscriptions. The first inscription, now broken into two pieces, mentions King Deleks Namgyal and Skurbuchan village. The second stone, which remains intact, references King Deldan Namgyal.

One of the most significant sites in Skurbuchan is associated with King Sengge Namgyal (Sen-ge-rnam-rgyal), the powerful 17th-century ruler of the Namgyal dynasty in Ladakh, who reigned from around 1616 until his death in approximately 1642. Known as the "Lion King," Sengge Namgyal was a devout Buddhist celebrated for his extensive contributions to the construction of monasteries, palaces, and shrines throughout Ladakh. While his reign and achievements are well-documented, including his death at Hanle, the circumstances of his birth remain steeped in legend. 

Local lore from Skurbuchan recounts that Sengge Namgyal's mother, Gyalmo Gyal Khatun, went into labor while traveling back to Timosgang and paused to rest in Skurbuchan. It is said that Sengge Namgyal was born beneath a boulder at a location now called Gyalpo Phong. Today, this site holds great spiritual significance within Skurbuchan’s sacred geography.

Stone inscription mentioning Gyalpo Sengge Namgyal

A short distance to the left of Gyalpo Phong from the main road, less than a hundred meters away, lies an extensive Mani wall. This wall is adorned with a rare stone inscription that references significant historical figures and landmarks, including Gyalpo Sengge Namgyal, Gyalmo Skalzang Dolma, Minister Aku Garmo, Deldan Namgyal, Indra Bodhi, Nurzin Gyalmo, the Indus River, and the Chosgyal Photang—the Palace of the Dharma King in Tingmosgang village. While these inscriptions from Skurbuchan have been documented in the past, they appear to have been largely forgotten and are now absent from contemporary discussions on Ladakhi history.

-The author extends sincere gratitude to the Honorable Councillor of Skurbuchan, Lundup Dorjey le, for his invaluable support in facilitating this visit.

-Tashi Namgyal le, Lecturer and prominent scholar from Ladakh, and the son of the late legendary historian Sonam Phunstog Achinathangpa, introduced the author to the Gyashingpa families and the historical stone inscriptions of Skurbuchan.

-Thinley Nurbu le, former Sarpanch of Achinathang Village, assisted the author in facilitating local contacts and travel.

Discovering Kaksar: A Border Village in Kargil, Ladakh

Haji Najaf

Situated 23 kilometres from Kargil on the way to Dras, Kaksar is one of the region's most beautiful yet unexplored gems. The village is home to Shina-speaking Dards, an indigenous ethnic group native to northern India. The name "Kak-Sar" is believed to be derived from the word "Sar" in the local Shina language, meaning a water body or river, symbolizing a place surrounded by water bodies. According to Haji Najaf Ali, a 73-year-old retired police officer and one of the most well-versed individuals regarding the history and culture of Kaksar, the village was originally known as Sukui, named after Suko, an ancestor believed to have been the first settler in the area.

As a young boy, Haji Najaf lived in Kargil while attending the Kargil Middle School, where the renowned Ladakhi educationist Eliezer Joldan served as headmaster. Joldan's remarkable contributions to advancing education in Ladakh during the early years after India’s independence earned him lasting recognition, with the present-day Leh College named in his honor. While still a teenager, Haji Najaf embarked on his journey into public service with the guidance of Akbar Ladakhi, a prominent figure from Leh and the then-SDM of Kargil, who helped him secure a position in the Home Guards. Shortly afterward, the 1965 Indo-Pakistan War erupted, and young Najaf was entrusted with the vital responsibility of guarding the bridge connecting Kaksar to the main highway. Vigilantly monitoring movements across the bridge, he also provided essential support to the army by arranging horses and manpower.

Following the war, Najaf was stationed at a government storehouse in Kargil. While serving there, his meticulous record-keeping skills caught the attention of Konchok Chospel, the Superintendent of Police (SP) of undivided Ladakh, which then included both Leh and Kargil. SP Chospel, impressed by Najaf’s abilities, encouraged him and two others from the region to join the police department. This marked the beginning of Haji Najaf’s long career in law enforcement.

Despite spending much of his life away from Kaksar due to postings in Leh and Kashmir, Najaf fondly reflects on his early days in the village. He remembers the visits of traders, locally known as Nyirings, from Wakah and Mulbek villages, who brought salt to Kaksar. Following local customs, these traders carried their own tea cups to avoid sharing utensils. As money was rarely used at the time, Najaf believes the Nyirings likely bartered salt for wool, as villagers maintained large herds of sheep and goats. The villagers sourced Pul (Ladakhi soda) and Chapak (tea bricks) from the Kargil bazaar. The Pul came from Nubra, while the tea, known locally as Kargili Chai, was brought from Leh. However, this tea was considered inferior to the more favored Punjabi Chai, supplied by a well-known army contractor Sardar Khem Singh, a Punjabi whose family had settled in Kargil.

Najaf shares a captivating story about Khem Singh, in the 1960s. During a visit to the Kargil treasury to withdraw money, Khem Singh inadvertently left a bag containing Rs. 60,000 hanging on a tree near the building. Unaware of his mistake, he carried on with his journey, traveling to Leh and eventually boarding an army plane to Chandigarh. Upon realizing his oversight, Khem Singh returned to Kargil with little hope of recovering the money. To his amazement, the bag was still there, untouched, hanging on the same tree where he had left it. A meeting was convened at the Islamia School to investigate the matter. After verifying the details of Khem Singh’s claim, the elders in Kargil returned the bag to him.

Najaf also recalls the prominent leaders of his time, including Munshi Habibullah of the National Conference, Ibrahim Shah Agha of the Congress Party, who served as MLC from Chuskhor, and Kacho Mohammad Khan, a retired Naib Tehsildar who entered politics with the support of the revered Ven 19th Kushok Bakula Rinpoche.

Despite the changes over the years, some traditions endure in Kaksar. A few continue to practice the idea of a Sabdak, the family protector, serving as a reminder of the ancient practices of their ancestors. Until recently, Kaksar preserved the practice of Daal or Behan, in which a community member entered a trance to predict future events and provide guidance. However, with the passing of its last practitioner, this unique tradition has come to an end, marking the close of an age-old cultural practice in the region.

Haji Mohammad

Haji Mohammad, 75, the only son of his parents and a respected landowner from Kaksar, assumed the responsibility of supporting his household at an early age, leaving school to manage the family’s fields. Reflecting on the past, he recalls the immense challenges his ancestors faced in irrigating their fields during the summer months. To address these difficulties, they displayed remarkable ingenuity by constructing a narrow canal system from stones, channeling water from a stream nearly 15 kilometres away in the mountains. This system remains vital for irrigating the village to this day. Although this water source is reliable, the farmers of Kaksar exercise caution in selecting crops, favoring those with low water requirements. Wheat, which Haji Mohammad primarily cultivates, demands less water than barley. In addition, he grows cha and peas in certain fields. Buckwheat (bro), planted in June, is harvested alongside wheat in September, enabling a sustainable agricultural cycle and efficient use of resources.

In his younger years, Haji Mohammad transported wood, known locally as thangshing, to sell in the Kargil market. He typically loaded 12 logs of wood onto a dzho for each trip, earning Rs. 19 per full load. Alongside his wood trade, he also sold sheep in Kargil, fetching prices between Rs. 200 and Rs. 300 per sheep. Usually, Haji Mohammad returned home on the same day after selling the wood. However, on occasions when the wood didn’t sell, he stayed overnight at the Musafirkhana in Kargil. Once his transactions were complete, he and his friends would purchase essentials such as tea, salt, and pul (soda). During those times, tea cost Rs. 13 per kilogram, salt Rs. 1 per kilogram, and pul 25 paise per kilogram in the Kargil bazaar. Most of these trips occurred before the 1960s, as regular vehicular traffic on the main highway began after that, making travel to Kargil more convenient.

Gulam Hussain and Haji Mohammad next to a trunk traditionally used for storing water during the winter months.

Haji Mohammad vividly recalls the harsh winters of the past, particularly during January and February, when sourcing drinking water posed a significant challenge. To address this, villagers devised an innovative method using winter ice. They hollowed out long wooden trunks to create tubs and placed nets made of wooden branches, known as Changmey Shat, on top. Large chunks of ice were collected and laid on these nets. The tubs were kept in the kitchen, where the heat from the stove melted the ice, allowing water to collect in the hollow trunk for drinking and cooking purposes. With the advent of development, a drinking water pipeline was installed in the village, a transformative milestone that Haji Mohammad credits to the renowned Ladakhi engineer Sonam Norbo. This pipeline, which has been operating continuously since its installation, ensures a reliable and steady supply of water for the villagers.

According to Gulam Hussain, a retired district court employee and a living repository of Kaksar's rich cultural heritage, Sta-Polo was once a highly popular sport in the village. Matches were held at the local polo ground known as the Shagaran. Unfortunately, this historic site is now undergoing construction, marking a significant change in the village's landscape. Another notable cultural tradition centered around a site called Ratho Bao, where horse races were held by men wishing for a son. It was widely believed that the wife of the race winner would give birth to a boy within nine months of the victory, adding a unique element of belief to the event. Kaksar also observed the tradition of animal sacrifice, which played an integral role in the community’s rituals. As part of this practice, a black sheep was sacrificed the day before the harvest to ensure prosperity and abundance. This tradition continued until 1980, when the last recorded sacrifice marked the end of this long-standing custom. Another unique tradition in the village revolves around a day of celebration marked on the 3rd of March. This practice is tied to a local legend in which an ancestor, while returning from Dras, had a brawl with a three eyed  demon. The ancestor defeated the demon, who then promised to ensure prosperity for the village, provided he was remembered with a ritual once a year. 

Burial-like structures at  Zil Do

Ruins on the hill at Zil Do

Kaksar is home to three sites of notable archaeological potential. The first two are associated with a mysterious queen, lending an air of intrigue to the local history. The site called Rohni Aeshey (with Rohni meaning queen and Aeshey meaning upper room) is believed to have been her summer fort, while the second site, Koto-Taal, likely served as her winter residence. Both locations, now reduced to ruins, bear little trace of their former grandeur, with much of their structure lost to time. Due to their remote location far from the main village, the author was unable to explore these sites firsthand.

The third site, Zil Do, which was visited, is located to the northeast on the outskirts of the village, and is believed by locals to contain ancient graves alongside the remnants of an old settlement. Portions of the site’s boundary remain visible, providing valuable clues about its original extent. At the foot of the hill lies a long wall resembling a small dam-like structure, which might have been used for water storage in the past. Further along, a cluster of nearly 30 grave-like structures stands out. These burial structures are particularly striking—square in shape and constructed with large surface stones, setting them apart from conventional burial sites. Higher up the hill, remnants of stone structures resembling man-made walls are visible, further evidence of human activity in the area.The hill’s strategic position offers a wide view of the Shingo region, making it an ideal location for an ancient watchtower, similar to those found throughout Ladakh. The unique features and apparent antiquity of Zil Do make it a highly promising candidate for archaeological research, with the potential to uncover significant historical insights into the region’s past.

Phonetic spellings are used for local words to ensure they are transcribed as they were pronounced to the author.

Ladakhi Labourers in Nyungti

Tsewang Samphel

Tsewang Samphel, 83, from Shagar village, Zanskar, Ladakh, India, was born into a Ladakh marked by abject poverty and severe shortages of basic essentials. To sustain their livelihoods, many people from Zanskar and other parts of Leh and Kargil undertook seasonal migrations to a place generically referred to by the Zanskari people as Nyungti. Despite extensive inquiries, the exact meaning of the word remains unclear. For the people of Zanskar, Nyungti seemed to encompass areas around Manali and Mandi, and occasionally extended to Shimla and Punjab.

Samphel was around 15 years old, when he first embarked on the journey to Nyungti. This seasonal migration took place before the harsh winters, a time when the extreme cold and heavy snowfall in Zanskar and other parts of Ladakh rendered farming impossible. The milder weather in the plains provided a more hospitable environment and employment opportunities for Ladakhi workers. After completing the harvest and threshing of barley, Samphel, along with fellow villagers, began the arduous trek toward Nyungti via the Shinkula Pass. Unlike labourers from the Suru Valley where such migrations were typically undertaken by men, the Zanskari groups included both men and women. Samphel’s wife Padma Lamo, now 92 years old, was among the many women who worked as labourers in Nyungti. Traveling in groups of 15-20, they often encountered other Zanskari groups making the same journey. The trek to Nyungti, often referring to Manali in this context, typically took 5-6 days. 

Once in Nyungti, the Zanskari men and women worked under various contractors, primarily on road construction projects. Samphel recalls meeting labourers from Leh, both men and women, who likely traveled via the Changthang route to Manali. Among them was Mipham Ringmo, a man from Choglamsar village in Leh, who served as a supervisor in Manali. Mipham played a vital role in helping Ladakhis secure jobs and ensuring they were paid on time. At that time, the daily wage rate was 12 annas (16 annas equaled one rupee). During their 3-4 month stay in Manali, the Ladakhi labourers endured challenging conditions, constructing makeshift shelters known as Sai Tapur or Chini, built from stones and shrubs, which served as their temporary homes.

Padma Lamo

Before returning home in the 1st or 2nd month of the Ladakhi calendar, the labourers from Zanskar followed a unique ritual of stitching new shoes to prepare for the snowy trek across the Shinkula Pass, which partially reopened during this time. The process of shoemaking was a significant event in the lives of Zanskari labourers, requiring both time and effort. Layers of tsalee-bora (nylon sacks) were cut, layered, and stitched together with threads made from the stems of a  local plant called zaa-tchot, resulting in durable, weather-resistant footwear essential for the journey. Once the shoes were ready, the men usually set off first, navigating the snow-laden and treacherous trails, while the women waited for safer travel conditions till the snow cleared fully before beginning their trek. Some Zanskari labourers opted for an alternate route via Paddar in Jammu before making their way back to Zanskar.

Back in Zanskar, once winter passed, two distinct groups of Changpa nomads became integral to the region’s trade network, supplying essential salt. The first group, the Kharnak Changpas, traveled from the northeast along the Junglam trek route, starting from Dat in Kharnak region of Changthang and crossing the Charcharla Pass to enter Zanskar near Zangla. These nomads typically conducted their trade in areas around Zangla and Padum. Occasionally, some of the Kharnak Changpas would travel westward to the Stod region, towards the Pensila Pass, often bypassing Samphel’s village of Shagar and favoring locations such as Akshow. The second group, the Rupshu Changpas, approached Zanskar from the southeast, traveling along the Leh-Himachal highway and turning off before Serchu to enter Zanskar through the Lingti River and Chumik Marpo. They engaged directly with villages along the way and would travel as far as Shagar. Samphel’s family sourced their salt from this group, following the traditional Dzagos (Friend) system of trade partners. Under this arrangement, each Changpa trader was paired with a designated Dzago family in  Zanskar. This family received priority when bartering salt for barley, fostering a reliable and mutually beneficial relationship. Samphel fondly recalls his family’s Dzago, Tsewang Toetoe, who played a pivotal role in maintaining this vital trade connection.

Upon arriving in the village, the Rupshu Changpas would set up camp in a communal field. As part of their custom, they would slaughter a khalpa (male sheep) and share the meat with their Dzago family, reinforcing bonds of trust and mutual respect. This exchange of hospitality was then followed by the bartering of salt for barley. The Changpas typically stayed in the village for 3-4 days, during which they filled their lugal (saddle bags) with barley before embarking on their return journey to Changthang. In addition to salt, the Rupshu Changpas also brought kerosene, a rare and valuable commodity for the Zanskari villagers. They transported small quantities of kerosene in cans strapped to the backs of their sheep. Samphel vividly recalls these exchanges, though he never discovered where the Changpas sourced the kerosene.

Like many of his generation, Samphel traveled for trade to Paddar more than 20 times. Upon reaching Sumcham in Paddar, the Zanskaris would encounter the locals, whom they called Mons. Samphel recalls that the Mons did not understand the Ladakhi language and often greeted them with the phrase Kuru gir dangbhai, which he believes means, “Where are you going?” Samphel often returned with logs of wood, khem (wooden shovels), or chi stey (a local grain) used for making thukpa. While trade generally flowed more from Zanskar to Paddar, traders from Paddar also visited Zanskar, bringing saldang (a bark of a tree used as a tea supplement) , Bal (wool), La-shee ( An oily stick that burned like an incense but used for illumination in the absence of kerosene and electricity),  and butter, which were transported on sheep. Once in Zanskar, these items were exchanged for barley.

Samphel is perhaps one of the last traders to have traversed the legendary frozen Chadar route on the Zanskar River, carrying Zanskari butter to sell in Leh. In his youth, he undertook the arduous journey with 20 battis (1 batti is approximately 2 kg each) of butter strapped to his back, navigating the treacherous ice-covered river. Depending on the ice conditions and water levels, the trek typically took 3 to 4 days. Despite the dangers and challenges of the route, Samphel persisted for many years, sustaining his livelihood through this demanding trade. At the time, he earned a modest Rs. 2 per kilogram of butter, a reflection of the economic realities of the period.

Remarkably, Samphel completed the Chadar trek for the last time at the age of 70. By then, his sons had settled in Leh, and his journey had shifted from being a commercial venture to a personal one. Although he still carried a small quantity of butter, his primary purpose was to spend the winter with his son at his home in Pela in Thiksey village. This last trek, much like his final journey to Nyungti, symbolized the closing of a chapter in Samphel’s life and the gradual disappearance of the historic trade practices of the Zanskari people along the frozen Zanskar River. It was not merely the end of his personal endeavours but also a sad farewell to a way of life that had sustained generations in the harsh landscapes of Zanskar. 

Nurbu Tashi

Nurbu Tashi, 85, from Sani village in Zanskar, vividly recalled his first journey to Paddar at the age of 25. The route through the Omasila Pass was notorious for heavy snowfall, making the journey perilous. Nurbu and his companions carried ropes to navigate the crevasses and cliffs that dotted the path. Safety was a collective effort; after crossing a difficult section, one person would signal the others to follow. Yet accidents were not uncommon. Nurbu recounted a harrowing moment when his friend, Urgain Tsering, fell into a crevasse. With quick thinking and teamwork, they managed to pull him out using a rope. 

In Zanskar, wood was a scarce resource, with Shila being one of the few places where it grew locally. To meet the community's needs, Nurbu and others frequently made the arduous journey to Paddar. On each trip, Nurbu typically brought back five logs of wood, carrying them on his back along with Khem ( wooden shovels) and  chib-tsay (a local grain) through treacherous terrain. In Paddar they were often treated to takur, a buckwheat bread popular in the region, a gesture of hospitality that Nurbu remembered fondly. In Zanskar Nurbu sold khem, which he purchased for five rupees, for ten rupees, doubling his investment and supporting his livelihood. Beyond wood and tools, Nurbu also traded for other scarce items. Due to severe winters and heavy snowfall, Zanskar historically had limited grazing grounds, which resulted in fewer livestock and, consequently, less wool production. This scarcity made Nurbu and friends buy wool from Gujjars in Paddar, a vital resource in Zanskar’s harsh winters. Additionally, he brought back butter, another item in short supply in Zanskar, further diversifying the goods he transported. These journeys were not just trade expeditions but a lifeline for Zanskaris, bridging the gap between their isolated valley and the resources they needed to survive.

The Changpa traders who visited Zanskar not only supplied salt but also brought soda and wool. While the soda was a crucial ingredient for making Ladakhi butter tea, the additional wool brought by the Changpas, supplementing supplies from Paddar, was indispensable for enduring Zanskar's long and harsh winters. Nurbu observed that the Kharnak Changpas typically arrived during autumn, while the Rupshu Changpas visited in the summer. When asked about the availability of surplus barley for trade during the summer, Nurbu confirmed that the Zanskaris had sufficient barley to  exchange with the nomads.

Like Samphel, Nurbu Tashi also traveled to Nyungti during winters to find work. After the autumn harvest and threshing were completed, Nurbu and his friends prepared for the journey. Groups of 30 to 40 men and women from each village would set out on foot, crossing the Shinkula Pass after which vehicles were available to carry them further. The wage rate at the time was about 2 to 4 annas a day. Every year, Nurbu and friends began their journey in the ninth month of the Ladakhi calendar before the Shinkula closed due to heavy snowfall and returned by the second month of the following year when the Shinkula Pass became partially accessible again. Nurbu, like other male members, recounted his experience of preparing special shoes for the return journey. Using pieces of nylon sacks readily available in Nyungti, they stitched together durable footwear that, according to Nurbu, was “better than leather.” These shoes made a distinctive “chorob-chorob” sound when walking on snow. The journey back was often tougher, as snow had yet to clear near Shinkula, making movement difficult. Men traveled ahead of the women and often faced the challenge of sleeping in the open, sometimes on snow. However, the experienced Zanskaris were well-prepared with warm clothing, their sturdy shoes, and kholak (barley-based food) to sustain them.

Tundup Gyaltsan

Tundup Gyaltsan, 86, is the oldest resident of Pipcha, a remote village near the renowned Bardan Monastery in Zanskar. A man of many talents, Tundup mastered carpentry, masonry, and tailoring, all of which he learned from his father. However, his greatest passion has always been playing the surna, a traditional  Ladakhi wind instrument that looks like a Shehnai. As a young man, Tundup often accompanied his father to various villages in Zanskar, where his father was invited to play the surna. Inspired, Tundup began playing the instrument at the age of 18 and has continued ever since. At the time of the interview, he was eagerly preparing for three upcoming weddings in the area, where he had been invited to perform. To preserve this tradition, Tundup has trained two surna players—one in Pipcha and another in Mune village—ensuring that this rich cultural heritage lives on.

In Tundup’s youth, the field called Teeyul in Pipcha was a popular campsite for Changpa nomads who traveled with sheep carrying salt in saddle bags known as lugals. For many years, Tundup worked on this land, which he had leased from the Bardan Monastery. Later in life, when he could afford to buy land elsewhere, he returned the field to the monastery. Today, the monastery uses it to run a school for the village children. Tundup recalls the sharp negotiation skills of the Changpa traders. Although their lugals were only half-filled with salt, they ensured the lugals they received in exchange were packed tightly with barley. Using a special needle called the gyabda, they stitched the bags to maximize the barley load. Tundup’s designated dzago (trade partner) was Jorgey, a distant relative by marriage. Jorgey followed what is now the Leh-Himachal highway, entering Zanskar through Chunkaro and Lingti to reach Pipcha. Tundup confirmed that the Changpas visited twice a year—once in the 4th or 5th month and again in the 9th month. Their visits ceased when the government began supplying salt through the public distribution system. 

Besides his multitasking professions, Tundup also traveled to Paddar with his friends to bring back cattle, which he sold in Zanskar. Each person typically brought back two to three cattle, purchased for Rs. 100 each. While Tundup would keep the younger cattle for his own use, the older ones, which were no longer useful in the fields, were sold for Rs. 600. Tundup fondly remembers the Khawaja's of Padum, who were his regular and trusted customers.

Like Samphel and Nurbu Tashi, Tundup also traveled to Nyungti for labor during the winters. This practice was common in Pipcha, with young men and women leaving for work while elders stayed behind to care for children and livestock. Tundup began this migration at 16 and continued until he was 40. The return journey from Nyungti was marked by the tradition of making new shoes. According to Tundup, Zanskaris used a plant called zaatchot to create threads for the shoes. They peeled the stems of the plant, which became strong and durable when twisted, and used it to stitch together layers of tsalee-bora (nylon sacks). The sole was made by layering the sack material to the desired size and thickness, while the upper part of the shoe was crafted from namboo cloth. These handmade boots were designed to protect the wearer’s feet from snow, making the trek back through the Shinkula Pass during the 1st and 2nd months of the Ladakhi calendar more bearable.

While the tradition of seasonal migration among Ladakhi labourers had existed for generations, it gained unprecedented momentum after India's independence in 1947. The launch of large-scale development projects, particularly in the construction of roads, bridges, and other critical infrastructure, created a significant demand for labour in North India. Ladakhi labourers, especially from Zanskar,  and the Suru Valley, became an indispensable part of this workforce.

The story of Tsewang Samphel, Padma Lamo, Nurbu Tashi, and Tundup Gyaltsen represents the untold narrative of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of silent Ladakhi men and women who played a crucial role in building infrastructure across northern India in the years following India's independence. During the harsh winters of the mid-20th century, these labourers embarked on mass migrations to regions such as Manali, Shimla, Punjab, Dehradun, and Chakrata. Yet the story of their struggle and  their invaluable role in these infrastructure projects, a vital chapter of modern Ladakhi history  remains largely undocumented.

-The author extends sincere gratitude to the Honorable Councillor of Karsha, Stanzin Jigmath le for making this visit possible.

Last Papermaker of Zanskar

Tashi Angdu

Tashi Angdu, 63, hails from a small hamlet called Markim in the village of Sani, located in Zanskar, Ladakh, India. Tashi is perhaps among the last remaining practitioners of the traditional art of making handmade paper in Zanskar, an ancient craft that has become a forgotten legacy. The artisans who practiced this craft were generically referred to as Spon. 

It had been many years since Tashi stopped making handmade paper. In the past, he sourced a shrub known as Skichu which he also called Shoogoo rtsa (paper grass) from valleys across Zanskar. This plant, which had a small stem visible on the surface but a remarkably long root underground, was carefully harvested and transported back to the village on donkeys. Once in the village, Tashi separated the roots and peeled away the black outer layer to reveal a white interior with a yellow core. The yellow part was discarded as it had no use. The remaining white portion was cut into thin slices, tied into small bundles, and placed into a zem—traditional decanters used for brewing the local wine, Chang. Inside the zem, the roots were combined with fermented barley, known as bangma, in quantities that usually filled half of the zem. This mixture was left to ferment for four to five days until the roots had sufficiently decomposed. Once ready, the roots were removed and thrashed on a stone using a wooden tool. Tashi would then transfer the resulting pulp to a churner called dongbey or gurgur—traditionally used to churn butter tea in Ladakh. Here, the pulp was mixed with water and churned to achieve a uniform consistency. A wooden frame covered with cloth was then prepared, sized according to the desired dimensions of the paper. 

The next step took place outdoors, near a watercourse in open meadows or grasslands. Tashi set up a small artificial pool by arranging stones to form a makeshift enclosure. The wooden frame with the cloth was submerged in this pool, and the root pulp was poured onto the frame from the gurgur, spreading it evenly with the help of the water below. Once the pulp was evenly distributed, the frame was carefully lifted, and the layer of pulp was left to dry. After a few hours, when the pulp had dried, it was peeled off the cloth, and the handmade paper was ready. 

The ideal time for paper-making is during the spring season when the shrubs are fresh and full of moisture and natural lubricants, making them easier to work with. In winter, when every thing freezes, it is challenging to ferment the roots, prepare the pulp, and spread it for drying, while in the hot summer months, the leaves become too dry and do not dissolve properly, affecting the quality of the pulp.

Tashi was around 25 years old when his Gergan (teacher) from Bardan Gompa, Lama Nawang Tashi from the Shagar family, first taught him the art of paper-making. Lama Nawang Tashi was an accomplished scholar who had assisted the previous venerable Stakna Rinpoche with academic projects and had spent many years at Gompa Soma in Leh. Meme Nawang Tashi had himself learned the craft of paper-making from the monks in Zanskar. In those days, people purchased paper primarily for religious scriptures. Monks in Zanskar, particularly those from Stongdey and Dzongkhul monasteries, were renowned for producing the finest paper in all of Ladakh. Tashi initially traveled with his Gergan for three years, learning and practicing the craft. However, he left the work after his marriage. Twenty years later, when his children had grown up, Meme Nawang Tashi urged him to resume the art, fearing it would vanish if not preserved. This prompted Tashi to travel again and continue practicing the craft. 

When Tashi was practicing paper-making, the popular exchnage rate was about four Nyaks (one Nyak being slightly more than half a kilogram) of butter for each sheet of paper. Each sheet was later divided by the buyer into four to five smaller sheets, which were used for writing religious scriptures. Tashi noted that, in the past, paper-making was a common practice in Zanskar, and both laymen and monks, especially when assigned to family rituals, would often prepare it themselves. 

Back in Tashi’s youth, life in Zanskar was extremely challenging. The extreme cold limited the availability of grazing grounds, which in turn restricted the number of livestock that could be raised. Farmers had to prepare their fields despite the cold and the underlying snow. To do so, they spread fresh soil over the snow to help it melt or, occasionally, sprinkled kokthal (ash), which produced quicker results but was less effective in the long term. These hardships compelled many to seek alternate livelihoods, making trade routes with Changthang and Paddar essential to supplement what was lacking in Zanskar. 

Tashi’s family, sourced salt from the Changpa traders who visited Markim from Changthang, traveling via the Lingti side in Himachal rather than the more popular Zunglam route through Charcharla. The traders camped in the open and, as tradition dictated, maintained dzago (friend) families in Zanskar, giving them preference when trading salt. On their first night, they would slaughter a sheep and share it with their dzago families. Tashi's family had two Changpa nomads as dzagos: Tonyot and Mutup, who visited them around the ninth month of the Ladakhi calendar. This timing coincided with the end of the Zanskaris’ harvest, when they had surplus barley to trade for salt. Tashi’s family bought salt from them every year. The Changpa nomads were tough businessmen. While their lugals (bags) of salt were only half full, they ensured that the barley they received in  exchange in the empty lugals were packed tightly to the brim, maximizing the amount of grain they obtained. 

Like many of his generation in Zanskar, Tashi traveled to Paddar in Himachal Pradesh for trade. He took the popular Omasila route, carrying salt, barley, and peas to Paddar and bringing back bal (wool), tse tse (a traditional grain), rangsee (honey), lashee, and raluk (sheep and goats). At times, the journey to Paddar took just one day, while the return journey took three days. The difference in travel time was because Tashi traveled to Paddar with only cash and no other baggage. Additionally, the path to Paddar from Omasila was sloped and easy to traverse compared to the steep ascent on the return. On his way back, Tashi carried items like khem (wooden shovels) and raluk. He bought a khem for Rs. 50 and sold it for Rs. 200 in Zanskar.

While most interviews in Zanskar focused on Zanskari traders traveling to Paddar, Tashi recalled traders from Paddar visiting Zanskar. These traders comprised two groups. The first group included the minority Buddhists from Paddar, some of whom had relatives in Zanskar. Tashi noted that during his youth, there were only about 80 Buddhist families in Paddar. While these traders brought items such as bal (wool), shing (wood), and khem (wooden shovels), the most popular item they carried was La-shee—a stick widely used as a source of light in Zanskar before the advent of electricity and kerosene. La-shee, which secretes a natural oil, was burned as a thick incense to provide illumination in darkness. The Paddar traders transported La-shee on sheep or goats, similar to how Changpa nomads carried salt to Zanskar. Even after kerosene became available, La-shee remained popular due to its affordability and accessibility. Paddar families often used these visits to seek matrimonial alliances for their children. 

The second group of traders comprised the majority population of Paddar, referred to as Mons by the Zanskaris. They carried similar items, such as La-shee, bal, shing, and khem. Relations between Zanskaris and both the Mons and Buddhist traders were friendly. According to Tashi, these traders continued visiting Zanskar until Ladakhi Losar. The trade between Zanskar and Paddar was once a lifeline for the people of Zanskar. However, with the construction of roads and easier access to essential goods, this tradition ceased 30 years ago. Today, no regular trade takes place between Zanskar and Paddar. 

Other traders included those from Sham, who brought chuli, phating and stharga. Balti traders, brought the much sought-after das-chak (broken rice). Rice was a prized commodity, often exchanged at high rates, requiring four to five times the quantity of barley for an equal amount of rice. This rice was used to prepare Das Thuk, a rare delicacy during those days.

The process of making handmade paper in Zanskar remains extremely labor-intensive. Over the years, all the elders who practiced this craft have passed away. Those like Tashi, who still possess the knowledge and skills, see little incentive to continue the tradition. The younger generation has shown no interest in preserving this art, as it is no longer considered lucrative.

Phonetic spellings are used  for local Ladakhi words to ensure they are written as they are pronounced in Zanskar.

The author would like to extend heartfelt gratitude to Lobzang Wangtak from Stongdey village, Zanskar and Saravana Kumar @ India in Motion for facilitating the visit to  Markim.

Cultivating the Past: An Agriculturalist’s Life in Leh, Ladakh

Samstan Tsering

Samstan Tsering, 90, is a distinguished traditional agriculturalist from the renowned Shunu family, one of the largest landowners in Leh, Ladakh, India. A landlord by legacy, Samstan dedicated his life to managing vast ancestral lands and preserving traditions passed down through generations.

Agriculture was Samstan’s calling in life. He cultivated wheat, karez, and naksran on his family’s extensive lands in Skara, Leh, adhering to an annual crop rotation system—alternating wheat one year and naksran the next. Both karez and naksran are essential ingredients for making paba, a popular Ladakhi food. Perhaps influenced by microclimatic variations within this small region, barley was cultivated only in the Tukcha and Shenam areas of Leh. Farmers in Skara, where the Shunu family held their largest landholdings, focused on cultivating wheat, karez, and naksran. When barley was required, Samstan’s family sourced it from family friends in Taru or Phyang village, bartering it for naksran and transporting it in khal (approximately 50-kilogram) loads on donkeys.

Livestock ownership was central to life in Samstan’s youth, and until recently, he maintained a herd of hundreds of goats. Local Ladakhis around Skara often employed Changpa shepherds to graze their livestock in the lush pastures of Gangles and Gyamtsa near Leh for a fee. Grazing land was abundant then; the land where the Leh airport now stands was once a semi-fertile grazing ground teeming with animals. Samstan relied heavily on his own resources to meet household needs, including grain, meat, milk, butter, and wool. While most necessities were produced on his lands, he procured —a superior, long wool from Changpa traders—and blended it as Gyu with locally available wool to create fabrics for his clothing.

Salt was one of the few necessities Samstan purchased. In his youth, he often traveled to the bustling salt markets of Sakti and Chemrey during the ninth month of the Ladakhi calendar. With no motorable roads, Samstan selected the best two donkeys from his family’s herd for the journey. This tradition was followed even by the wealthiest families. Accompanied by Sonam Tashi from the Nyachu family and Meme Ishey from the Palden family of Skara, they bartered one khal of barley for two khals of salt from Changpa traders. The Changpas brought salt from the famed lakes of Mingdum Tsaka and Kyelste in Tibet, a practice which ended in the 1960s. While some Ladakhis purchased salt to sell in distant regions like Sham and Baltistan, Samstan and his companions procured only enough to meet their families’ annual needs.

One significant event Samstan witnessed before India’s independence in 1947 was the annual arrival of the Wazir of Ladakh from Skardu, the winter capital, to Leh, the summer capital. With much of his ancestral land near the Zunglam, Samstan frequently observed this event, a highlight of Leh’s social calendar. The Wazir traveled on horseback, while his wife followed in a palki (palanquin) carried by Ladakhi porters. The palki was handed over from one team of porters to another at various points along the journey, with the final team taking over at Nimo village from a group that had carried it from Basgo village. All this labor was unpaid, enforced under the Begar or Res system. The Wazir and his wife stayed at their residence near the Karzoo pond.

Another pivotal aspect of Samstan’s life was the annual visit of the Hor-Yarkandi traders to Ladakh. These caravans, led by traders riding horses, were a hallmark of Leh’s trading traditions. Camels and donkeys were primarily used to transport trading goods, though the group leaders occasionally preferred Horbung donkeys over horses. The Horbungs, prized for their smooth and comfortable ride, were meticulously cared for and occasionally sold to locals. Although once common in Leh, Horbungs have since disappeared.

The Shunu family provided the Hor traders with camping space at Ol Chenmo, their large tract of land in Skara, which served as a popular site for Yarkandi merchants. The caravans, comprising 50 to 60 traders, typically stayed for about two weeks, relying on local supplies such as ol (green fodder) and phukma (dry grass) provided by the Shunu family for their horses, camels, and donkeys. These supplies were often supplemented by neighboring families, including Meme Bula and the Jurchung family. Additionally, local women contributed by selling fodder in the Leh market during these visits, further supporting the traders’ needs.

The Hors traded goods such as phingpa, charok, kaleen, kangpis, and Yarkandi boras. Butter was a particularly sought-after item, instantly purchased by locals. However, one year, a rumor spread that the Yarkandi butter sold in Leh was made from horse milk, deterring buyers. That year, according to Samstan, the Hors used the excess butter in their Yarkandi pulao, a favorite dish in their cuisine. Additionally, the Hors brought small Yarkandi biscuits, distinct from the larger Kashmiri varieties, which they consumed with black tea on special occasions.

Samstan admired the toughness and resilience of the Hors, who endured harsh conditions with remarkable fortitude to reach Ladakh. Often, they sat in the open on Ol Chenmo, even during rare rainfall, seemingly unaffected by the elements. Tragically, Samstan heard that many perished on their arduous journeys to and from Yarkand, leaving skeletal remains along the trails.

Looking back on life in Leh during the 1940s and 1950s, Samstan recalls that before India’s independence in 1947, thirty-two Dogra soldiers were stationed at the Zorawar Fort in Leh. Local Ladakhis would often sell Pakphey (wheat flour) to these soldiers. He also remembers the Jinsi taxation system, which remained in place even after 1947. Under this system, villagers were required to give a portion of their crop yield to the government twice a year. The tax was collected by a government official, referred to as Meme Kutidar by the locals, at the government Kuti, located in the present day  Nausehar in Leh. The government also imposed a firewood collection system, where wealthier Ladakhis had to supply firewood for government employees during the winter months without any compensation. 

In the summer, Kashmiri traders would visit Leh to purchase Pashmina wool. Local traders, who had bought and stockpiled this wool from the Changpa nomads, facilitated these transactions. Among them, an elderly gentleman from the Bijal family, popularly known as Bijal-e-Baba, stood out as the most popular local trader in the Pashmina trade

Samstan fondly recalls a cohesive community where cooperation, rather than competition, was the foundation of daily life. Villagers actively participated in bunglut, often taking offense if their assistance was not sought. They willingly volunteered their cattle for fieldwork during sowing and harvest seasons. Despite the simplicity of those times, no one went hungry, as the community thrived on staples like thukpa and paba. The wholesome diet, combined with an active lifestyle, contributed to the overall health and resilience of the people. Remarkably, Samstan himself has maintained robust health throughout his life and has never fallen ill.

The Darses, Skara's vibrant three-day village archery celebrations, were once the most eagerly anticipated event of the year, a stark contrast to present times. The festivities began with benzang, a practice session where men refined their aim, followed by the grand main event, Darses Chenmo, and concluded with nyerey, the final day of winding down. Men and women adorned themselves in their finest attire, creating a colorful and inclusive celebration that brought the entire community together.

A few years ago, Samstan climbed Tsemo peak in Leh and was struck by the town’s transformation. What was once a green expanse stretching from Gangles to Mangla Bagh, filled with fertile fields, has now become a dense cluster of rooftops. Only the villages of Stok and Matho retain their greenery, while Leh seems to have turned into a Thang.

Matayen, the first village of Ladakh and the legend of Kutthar peak.

Haji Abdul Lone

Haji Abdul Lone, 72, is a retired government employee from Matayen village in the Kargil district of Ladakh, India. Located just after crossing the Zojila Pass from Kashmir, Matayen is the first village in Ladakh and stands out for being the only one in the region where the majority of residents speak Kashmiri. The village is divided into two main neighborhoods, or Mohallas: Gongma, predominantly inhabited by Kashmiri-origin families, and Yokma, home to Balti families who likely migrated from the Chiktan region.

According to Haji Abdul, the Kashmiri-origin families in Matayen trace their ancestry to migrants from the Lolab Valley in the Kupwara district of Kashmir, though over generations, the connection to Lolab has diminished. As per Haji Abdul, almost 70% of the families in Matayen are of Kashmiri descent, highlighting the village’s strong cultural ties to Kashmir. When asked about the origin of the village’s name, Haji Abdul shares a local belief that “Matayen” comes from “Mat-Aana,” which translates to “Do not come.” This unconventional explanation is widely accepted by the villagers.

Reflecting on his youth, Haji Abdul recalls how life in Matayen was challenging, with basic necessities like rice, salt, and cooking oil being sourced from Srinagar. At that time, corn was the staple food, while rice was considered a luxury. Due to limited road access, villagers had to transport supplies on foot or horseback across the Zojila Pass, a journey that took 5-6 days for each round trip. Poverty was widespread, and many villagers worked as laborers to make ends meet. Abdul’s father, Munnawar Lone, would make trips to Leh as a porter, carrying goods like tea, salt, and kerosene for a contractor.

Today, the only crop cultivated in the village is barley, which also depends on the erratic weather in Matayen. Livestock, which once included goats and sheep, has also declined in numbers over the past two decades, with most families now keeping only one cow for milk. Despite these changes, some aspects of the village’s heritage remain, such as the remnants of the shagarak (polo ground), a reminder of the once-popular sport. Traditional dance and music were once integral parts of wedding celebrations in Matayen, though these customs have largely faded over time.

Haji Abdul recalls a significant moment in Matayen’s history when Farooq Abdullah, the former Chief Minister of Jammu and Kashmir, visited the village. During his visit, Abdullah suggested relocating Matayen from Ladakh to Kashmir, citing its remoteness and the fact that most of its residents speak Kashmiri. Revenue officials were dispatched to survey the area, and the proposal seemed poised for consideration. However, the plan was eventually abandoned.

Looking back, Haji Abdul and the other residents of Matayen are thankful that the move never went through. They are relieved that their village remained part of Ladakh, preserving its unique identity, and are optimistic about the future, particularly with the upcoming Zojila tunnel. Once completed, the tunnel is expected to transform life in the region by providing year-round connectivity, improving access to essential goods, and opening up new opportunities for trade and tourism.

Haji Abdul shared an intriguing phenomenon in Matayen related to a lesser-known mountain peak called Kutthar, in the local dialect. The villagers believe that the mountains are home to fairies, and in his youth, Haji Abdul often observed two pigeons descending from the peak—a sight that has since stopped. Occasionally, he would also see mysterious lights moving along the nala (stream) that flows from the mountains behind the village. Once, he even heard a soothing melody emanating from the mountains. Stepping outside to investigate, he could hear the music clearly but saw no source for the sound.

Haji Gulam Mohd, at the site where once a building associated with Maharaja Hari Singh stood

Haji Gulam Mohd, 74, from Matayen, spent his life working in road construction, supplementing his modest income with small trading activities. Reflecting on his youth, he recalls how the people of Matayen would carry essential supplies like salt and other goods from Kashmir on foot, transporting them on their backs. In the mid-1980s, around the month of April, Haji Gulam himself made the journey, bringing 50 kg of onions across the Zojila on his back. He bought the onions for Rs. 4 per kg and sold them in Matayen for Rs. 6 per kg. He also bought apricots in Kargil for Rs. 15 per kg and sold them in Matayen for Rs. 20 per kg.

Like other villagers, he once kept livestock, owning around 30 goats and sheep, though he no longer has any. For animal fodder, the villagers relied on grass from the high hills around Matayen. In spring and summer, they grazed their animals on a type of grass called Parangos. Before winter, they spent 3-4 days cutting and drying Parangos on the hillsides. Once dried, the grass was brought down to the village, bundled, beaten, and stored on rooftops to sustain their animals through the six-month winter. Recalling the harsh winters of earlier times, he described snow reaching up to 12 feet. When someone passed away, villagers had to dig through 12 feet of snow, then an additional 4-5 feet to prepare the grave.

Although few historical structures remain in Matayen, Haji Gulam mentioned two sites connected to Maharaja Hari Singh of Kashmir. One was an old road built by the Maharaja, running through the village and linking to the Matayen-Pandaras route. The other, now barren, once housed a building where the Maharaja reportedly rested—likely the Matayen guesthouse, noted in early 20th-century travelogues as a stopover after crossing Zojila. When asked about Matayen’s mysterious Kutthar Peak, Haji Gulam shared an interesting story: He himself had once attempted the climb but had to turn back due to heavy rain. He then mentioned that years ago, a man named Nazeer from Pandaras village had successfully climbed Kutthar and still lives in Pandaras.

Abdul Wahab with Attaullah Lone. The Kutthar is the peak straight up between the two men

Abdul Wahab, from Pandaras village in Kargil and the brother of Nazeer—the only person to have ever climbed Kutthar—shares a deep belief in the mystical aura surrounding the peak. He, along with Attaullah Lone, a member of the aristocratic Dombapas family of Pandaras, took the author to a vantage point on the Leh-Srinagar highway. From there, one can see a distinct tower-like formation atop a mountain near Matayen, which the locals identify as the revered peak of Kutthar. Much like Haji Abdul from Matayen, Abdul Wahab has had his own experiences that suggest something otherworldly about Kutthar. He too claims to have heard music emanating from the mountains for which he has no explanation.

      

            Kutthar a closeup view

Finally, we met Nazeer Ahmed, 71, the first known person to have scaled Kutthar Peak. A retired government teacher, Nazeer is originally from Pandaras and currently resides in Bhimbat village. During his teaching career, he spent most of his time in the Sankoo area of Suru Valley. Back then, reaching Sankoo was no easy feat, as the motorable road ended at Chutak, midway between Kargil town and Suru Valley, requiring a six-hour trek on foot to reach Sankoo. During holidays, Nazeer often traveled the entire journey both ways—from Sankoo to Pandaras and back to Sankoo—on foot, a trip that took two days, with a night spent in Kachan. 

 

Nazeer Ahmed 

When Nazeer Ahmed was around 35 years old, he successfully climbed the Kutthar peak, an experience he recalls vividly. He was accompanied by a Bakarwal friend, and the two set out early in the morning, around 6 a.m., from Pandaras. After they reached Matayen they began their ascent from the Matayen nala, a stream that runs through the village. The climb was strenuous, but they pressed on, and by around 2 p.m., they finally reached the summit. At the top, they took a well-deserved break. Nazeer and his companion brewed tea and shared a meal that they had packed. Nazeer, an avid photographer, had brought a camera and captured several photographs of the breathtaking surroundings. Unfortunately, these photos were lost over the years.

Nazeer, who had a keen eye for detail, described the summit of Kutthar as a vast, open space with no human-made structures—quite contrary to the local myths that suggested otherwise. However, there were natural rock formations that, from certain angles, resembled the outline of a house, and a large, flat stone appeared to be placed deliberately, as though it were part of some ancient design. The only man-made object they found was a tall, narrow stick firmly planted in the ground. This odd feature convinced them that humans had visited the summit before them.

On their descent, Nazeer and friend discovered a more accessible route. Once back down, they stopped by a nearby Bakarwal camp to rest and enjoy a cup of chai, sharing the story of their successful climb. Word of their accomplishment spread quickly throughout the region, and their journey became a celebrated achievement in the quiet local community.