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The 15th-century Markula Devi temple

Rohtang is a natural barrier between the green coniferous woods on the Manali side and the stark, barren landscape of the Lahaul and Spiti region that begins with the Chandra Valley into which the road descends beyond Rohtang. It is almost a sneak preview of what we can expect in Ladakh. Nineteen kilometres from Rohtang, along the banks of the Chandra river, lies the next main settlement of Khoksar, at 3140 m, bounded on all sides by high, forbidding, brown mountains. After the strenuous drive from Rohtang, the hot tea and aloo paranthas that we get in one of the many dhabas, are more than welcome. At night it snows again and it is so cold that we need to put on multiple layers of clothing to keep out the chill. The next day we set off for Keylong, the biggest town on the stretch. The 40-km stretch to Keylong goes past an amazing variety of landscape, at places dry and dusty and at others green and verdant. We cross three villages — Sissu, Gondla and Tandi — before we reach Keylong.

Celestial sight: A tal near Patseo

Off the main highway to Keylong lies the settlement of Udeypur, known for the Trilokinath temple and the Markula Devi temple. The Trilokinath temple, 4 km short of Udeypur, is unique because it is sacred to both Buddhists and Hindus. The temple, originally a Shiv temple, is now looked after by a Buddhist monk and is famed for its six-armed white marble statue of Avalokitesvara. The monk tells that if we can pass through the narrow passage between the wall and the two pillars that stand at the entrance to the main shrine, it will mean that we have washed off all our sins of all our previous births. The slender devotees make it, while the stout ones give up after huffing and puffing for a few minutes. Sin, it seems, has a closer link with obesity that one would imagine!

The 15th-century Markula Devi temple, in Udeypur, is dedicated to the Markula Devi — the form that Goddess Durga took when she killed Mahisasur. The unimpressive exteriors overshadowed by offensive concrete structures, belie the unbelievable beauty within. Built entirely of wood, there is not one square inch of the temple that is not exquisitely carved. Indeed, the statue of the Devi herself seems dwarfed by the carvings. The priest tells us that the temple was built overnight from a single block of wood for the Pandavas to stay during their exile. I look sceptically at the carvings, the overnight theory seems hard to swallow, but I guess when you are in the Land of the Gods, it does not pay to doubt the efficiency of celestial beings!

As we leave Keylong, the landscape changes. There is snow everywhere now and what isn’t snow-covered is brown and barren. The larger-than-life landscape is a shutterbug’s delight. The immensity, the sweep and the sheer expanse of the unrelenting mountain-scape makes one feel minute and inconspicuous. We stop next at Patseo, to recharge ourselves before we tackle the formidable pass of Baralacha-La, at a breath-stopping height of 4,892m. It is important to keep hydrated, as dehydration aggravates the risk of high-altitude sickness. The three river valleys of the Chandra, the Bhaga and the Yunan meet at Baralacha-La (which roughly translates as ‘crossroads’). The pass is completely snow-bound and there is no word better than awe-inspiring to describe the feelings that standing on it evokes.

The 33-km stretch from Bralacha-La to Sarchu is rough and water from the snow melting on the higher reaches that flows right across the road, submerges the track completely at certain places. We hold our breaths as the Trax in which we are travelling negotiates the precarious road. The snowbound landscape contrasts wonderfully with the dazzling blue of the sky. The exquisite ice sculptures — it is easy to believe that these could have been chiselled by a skilled sculptor — that line the road intrigue us, and the sometimes feet-long stalactites and stalagmites fascinate us. After days on the bone-juggling route, my soul is definitely not that of a poet, but even I cannot miss the poetry in ice. Everytime we think that nothing can be more beautiful than what we are witnessing at one particular moment, the view around the next bend proves us wrong.

Sarchu, the next settlement is a popular stop for tourists heading to Leh, marks the boundary between Lahaul and Ladakh. It offers all that can possibly pass for five-star comfort on this unforgiving journey — food, tents, and even rudimentary washrooms. From Sarchu onwards to the next pass of Lachulung-La, at 5065m, we climb up circuitous, hairpin bends known as Gatta Loops, which are 21 in all. Negotiating our way up is exhilarating, terrifying and breath-stopping in more ways than one. Across the Lachulung-La, which again displays the brown, barren, forbidding snow-clad beauty we have begun to associate with Ladakh, we begin our descent to Pang, where we plan to stop for the night. Short of our target campsite at Pang is a river that has swollen more than is usual by the time we reach it in late afternoon because of the snow melting on the mountains. Our bruised and travel-weary Trax decides it has had enough and breaks down right in the middle of the river. Army personnel generously extricate it from the river but the damage has been done. Try as we might, it just won’t start, and the fact that even walking a short distance is difficult because of the lack of oxygen, doesn’t help matters. We realise we won’t be able to make it to Leh, after all. Disappointed alright, but we have no choice but to abandon the journey. The next day we head back for Manali.

The journey, they say, is more important than the destination. Even though we haven’t reached Leh, I would like to think that I am a different person because I undertook this journey. Just knowing that there is so much beauty somewhere in the world has made a difference to how I perceive it. The rugged beauty of Ladakh will abide long after I forget the dates, the kilometres and the heights.

— Photos by Gitanjali Sharma