By Radhika Rajagopal
Ladakh, the glorious crown adorning the majestic form of Mother India, is very much in the news these days. It brought back vivid memories of a magical time spent in this mesmerising place where the landscape, climate and culture is markedly different from the rest of India. It was in March 2004 that my husband (an Army Officer, now retired) and I boarded the Air India flight from Delhi to Leh, the capital of Ladakh where we were to spend the next tenure. I would like to share some of the jottings from my diary of that time to bring out the flow of seasons and how the land is transformed each time, revealing a totally different face of its beauty.
Arriving in Leh
The journey itself was truly memorable. Looking out from my window seat, I could barely contain my excitement as a magnificent vista unfolded before us. Row upon row of peaks as far as one could see. The green gradually changed to chocolate brown with a sprinkling of icing sugar on top. It then gave way to egg-white peaks that seemed dusted down with cocoa powder. And then suddenly the Leh valley opened out underneath. A patchwork quilt in variegated shades of brown, with the blue sheen of the Indus at one end and a scattering of toy houses, cars and buses.
Once off the plane, the icy blast hits you in the face; but of course once inside a vehicle, it is all warm and cosy. We drove immediately to Karu, which was to be our main base for the duration of the tenure. Within a few hours I started feeling the effects of altitude and lesser oxygen. My husband seemed none the worse, though both of us were given the mandatory courses of medicines. They say it takes nearly a month or so for all systems to get to normal efficiency. In the summer, when greenery comes up, oxygen levels are higher and acclimatisation is faster.
My first glimpse of snow (Mid March 2004)
One morning, later that March, I looked out of the bedroom window into a world transformed. It had snowed during the night and now everything around was covered by a light powdering of snow. The normally clear blue sky was a mass of grey and white clouds. Beyond the glittering mountain range on the east, the sun was fighting its way out of this stifling grey and white mass. The bare brown mountain ranges, the pebbly banks of the river — everything wore a furry white cloak of snow.
The bare branches of the trees and bushes, which had been blushing a pretty pink in the unseasonal warmth of the past few days, once again presented a stark contrast to the white landscape – a tracery of harsh black lines, their bulging buds hidden in the light, powdery snow. The lawn, with its fuzz of yellow green stalks; the flower beds being readied for the spring thaw – all were blanketed in these soft white flakes. But all too soon the blazing rays of the sun melted the crystal flakes. The parched earth greedily drank up the melting snow; within an hour, all trace of the white mantle was gone except in the high reaches of the faraway mountain peaks. The land was back to its “brown study”….. quietly awaiting the greening of spring.
Spring thaw (April/May, 2004)
There is a sea change in the land with the coming of the spring thaw. This was very noticeable when we travelled right up to Zingral on a bright, sunny day. The weather has turned balmier on the whole. Many of the fields at Chemrey were actually showing a covering of green grass! And the willow trees at Chemrey and Shakti were looking colourful – yellow green till a little way beyond halfway up and then a rosy, russet red till the tip. As we climbed up above Shakti village, we saw the incongruous sight of fairly big patches of snow on the ground below poplars and willow plantations that were already showing the green and russet colours of spring. Everywhere we saw the land awakening to the spring thaw – people were working in their fields, getting them ready for the planting season. Herds of cattle could be seen, grazing on the freshly sprouting grass. There was hustle and bustle everywhere after the relative inactivity of winter.
Summer is here! (July/August, 2004)
There is a sea change in the land with the coming of Spring. Every where people are busy working in their fields. Leh town is overcrowded with tourists, both foreign and Indian. Suddenly, there is green everywhere; villages which had hitherto been unnoticed, seem to have sprung into existence overnight – the green of the trees and fields catching the eye from a distance because of the stark contrast to the barren mountain which remains unchanged. There is hectic activity everywhere as road works, building construction and maintenance are all undertaken at great speed as all these have to be completed before winter sets in.
What a joy to behold the landscape now… Wild flowers are everywhere – from the wild rose bush in full bloom all over the country side to the clumps of wild lilies growing in profusion on rocky ledges. Even the lawns in the garden appear magical – because all over the velvety green carpets are myriads of tiny flowers – yellow and purple; though actually growing on the ground, they look as if they have shaken loose from some invisible tree. (The grass tufts have originally been brought from the mountain sides, so these small wild plants which have also been mixed up with the grass roots are blooming now – thus this unexpected bonus of a “magic carpet” in the garden, worthy of the Master craftsman). Everything is in full bloom! The flowers, for that matter even the vegetables and fruits, are all a larger size than in the plains. The colours too are more intense and vivid. The scientific explanation is that the increased quantum of sunshine and direct ultraviolet radiation (there are on an average 345 sunny days in a year here!) vis-a- vis the plains results in rapid cell division. Anyhow, the end result is the astounding size of all vegetables and fruits and their more intense colours. The leafy ones in particular, like spinach or radish or coriander, are a shade of green never seen in the plains. An interesting aside here – once, we were admiring the huge size of some turnips in the vegetable market when the old lady who owned the stall apologized for the “small size” saying that the larger ones were still in the green-house at home!
When we returned to Karu in the first week of August, after three weeks holidaying in the plains, the garden was in its full glory….one had to burst into poetry.
The Garden in Spring
The garden is a riot of colour
With flowers in full bloom
The trees are cloaked in leaves
And lush green are the lawns.
The flower beds are a riot of blooms
Their colours glinting in the strong sunlight.
Flowers, flowers everywhere… swaying in the balmy breeze
Sprouting wildly, even on the velvety lawns!
The gurgling river waters below
The wheeling birds in the sky
And the butterflies flitting by
Add a breath of life to the scene
In stark contrast is the frame all around-
The barren brown peaks peering down.
Are they turning mottled green with envy
At this picture of Mother Nature’s bounty?
What bliss to stroll in the garden
Enjoying the rich tapestry of spring.
How long before the icy winds of winter
Reclaims this land for its own?
But till then – make merry while the sun shines…
Let the cheery spring colors lift up your spirit.
What though the flowers wither away tomorrow
Today they are blushing in full bloom and glory!
Autumn colours (October 2004)
The short span of summer is fast drawing to a close and Ladakh is treating us to another facet of its beauty. The country side, especially in Pratappur and Sasoma areas (which have more trees and greenery) is very colorful now in the final stages of autumn. Most of the foliage is golden yellow to russet brown. Most appealing are the apple trees, whose leaves turn a bright red. These colourful medleys are all the more eye catching since the mountains continue to be barren, many ice- capped with the weather turning cold.
At Karu, Nature seems to be fast-forwarding into winter mode – all colour is quickly draining from the scene. Sakti village is a patchwork quilt of only brown shades – quite a change from the lush green fields of the past three months.
In the end of October, we went to Thangtse and Sachikul in Eastern Ladakh. During the drive one had time to observe the scenery – and how much it had changed in the short span of less than a month. Now, almost all trees have shed their foliage and the landscape is predominantly brown. The streams are mostly frozen at the sides, with a narrow channel of running water in the middle; but the small irrigation ditches are completely frozen. One can still see the domestic animals grazing outside – and still a lot of wild birds. The migrating ones will be leaving within weeks and the yaks, cows, horses and other domestic creatures too will be moved indoors to their stables soon, I think.
The drying garden (October 2004)
The garden is a dismal picture nowadays! Gone is the multicolored glory of the spring days – when the lush green lawns provided a bright background for the brilliant hues of the flowers ….variegated gems carelessly strewn on the Great Jeweller’s green velvet table. Now the petals have all fallen off or withered; leaves have shriveled into dry black appendages. The plants themselves are drying up and dying in the fierce rays of the autumn/winter sun. But great flocks of sparrows descend on the garden to feast on the ripe seeds of all the plants.
With the harvesting done in the fields and the grain all dried and stored away for the winter, the birds are making the most of the plant seeds. One great feast to boost up their energy levels before they migrate to warmer climes for the winter. Their fluttering and chirping may be the last vestiges of liveliness the garden will see before the winter cold forces a slowdown, almost a stoppage of all activities. Already, there is frost on the ground in the morning; it is just a matter of days before the ground and water freeze solid. But I like to think that deep within the bowels of the earth, the life-force remains dormant…..asleep till kissed awake by the warm rays of the spring sunshine…..to burst forth anew in all of its colourful splendor when thawed by the balmy winds of spring….To prove once again Shelley’s famous words “when winter comes can spring be far behind?”
Snow bound in Karu (February 2005)
Winter this year was one of the most severe in over a decade. Though delayed, there was much more snowfall than the previous year. While the national media, especially television, made much of the unprecedented snowfall and resultant hardships in the Kashmir Valley, nothing much was known about the far worse condition of Ladakh, may be because of its comparative inaccessibility. From the last week of January onwards, the frequency and duration of “snowy” days increased –culminating in mid-February when we were literally cut off from the rest of India and the world for over 10 days at a stretch! No flights (neither commercial airlines nor Air Force ones) landed during this period and the Transit Camps started getting overcrowded. Returning officers and families had to “double up” at Chandigarh Transit Camp. And ladies later on narrated horrific tales of the one or two flights – packed to capacity – which came all the way to the airports at Leh and Thoise but had to return without landing because of bad weather! (Not only were the skies cloudy when not actually snowing, but the runways too were dangerous with sleet.)
We had no newspaper or magazines during this period – were it not for TV, we would have been really “cut off” from all news of the outside world. Fresh vegetables and fruits became scarce (carrots could not be had for love or money). Luckily, there was no shortage of kerosene – the lifeline here – otherwise we would all have frozen to death. The authorities, of course, were constantly under tension because conditions in the Posts were turning critical with the prolonged spell of bad weather – maintenance, casualty evacuation, everything was a problem. But if one could somehow “switch off” these practical problems, the snow was truly magical! One watched enthralled as the landscape was transformed into a symphony in white; like Charity, the snow too hid a multitude of ‘’sins”… and all eyesores in the landscape were airbrushed by the pristine whiteness of freshly fallen snow.
Every day, one would excitedly look out of the window to see how much snow had fallen in the night, whether the sun was going to make an appearance or not, and to judge how windy the day would be. Most days the sun was a dim orb weakly shining through layers of grey clouds. The surrounding mountains were cloaked in a white mantle. The Indus river froze over completely (especially beneath our house, the ice looked thick enough to walk on, though of course I didn’t actually attempt to do so) and the ground around our house had at least six to eight inches of snow. The black and white magpies alone have not left the land even in this severe winter though most of the other birds seem to have migrated.
Each morning one could see teams of men busy shoveling snow off the roads to clear it; also clambering onto the roofs to clear away the snow there, to prevent the melting snow dripping into the rooms below. It was “snow, snow” everywhere, as far as the eye could see … and then more snowflakes would come drifting down to add another layer to the fleecy blanket on the ground. Nature was indeed a fussy painter, constantly ‘touching up’ its painting! The bare black branches of the willows, poplars and apple trees rose starkly from the sea of white, like twigs randomly stuck in the snow by a playful child. One afternoon, the winds also started blowing, causing the snow to lift up and whirl around like a blizzard – depositing a fine layer on the just cleared road, which soon hardened into a very slippery sleet. Just walking on that road became an adventure sport. One risked life and limb as it was well-nigh impossible to avoid a fall!
At long last, after almost a fortnight, the sun finally reasserted its strength… and slowly, steadily, the snow melted away, until it was reduced to gleaming icecaps on the distant mountain ranges. Winter had loosened its grip … and the land lay quiescent, patient. A Sleeping Beauty awaiting the rejuvenating breath of Spring!
Nature’s kaleidoscope shifts again…. And the seasonal cycle starts anew… moving inexorably, day after day, year after year, …. each season, a benediction unique to this special land!
Radhika Rajagopal is a proud Army wife. A post graduate in English Literature, she gave up her job as a bank officer to follow her husband across the length and breadth of India.
