After six hours of uphill driving, along Chang La, one of the highest roads in the world, Lina and I feel the air around Pangong Lake. A fortress of mountains hold us gently beside the lake. Here we can feel the chill of the water, see gem-like pebbles and gaze at a sky that showers cold winds mixed with a soothing sunshine.
We are far away from the town of Leh, Ladakh’s provincial capital in northern India. Our backs still ache from the unpaved road’s zigzag rhythm; our plans of finding the perfect camera angle and taking a different shot of the lake vanish for a moment. The changing hues of the lake – now blue, now grey, now turquoise – mesmerise us. Lina picks up a shiny pebble from the lakeside, tosses it once or twice in the air and looks at the Himalayan ranges in the distance before throwing the pebble towards them. After a few seconds, the pebble creates a hardly audible plop in the water. Then a tiny flock of brown-headed gulls alights just where Lina and I stand. No trees nor resting place; did the birds appear from nowhere or fly out of the mountain’s recesses? They hop from place to place, keeping a safe distance from us. We sit on the dyke, watching the gulls, the lake and the mountains. We feel as free as the gulls who call Pangong home.
The day slides into afternoon. The sun grows more powerful, lending the water more beauty and depth of colour. The blue on one side and turquoise on the other are equally captivating. Lina fixes her eyes on the eastern shore where the lake meets China.
A stone’s throw away from the banks of Pangong is the Indian army’s station, but here we don’t have any sense of animosity. In the waters of Pangong lie reflected eternal peace. It would be hard to think of political machinations here in this Pangong paradise.
Ammo and Prakash, our Ladakhi guides, are curious when they witness our joy. As we drove, Ammo did the talking and we listened, only asking for occasional clarification. At the lake’s edge, we forgot everything, and everyone. Is this how some travellers get lost and strange travelogues are penned?
Ammo tries to interrupt, telling us of a popular Bollywood film shot at Pangong. She is grateful to the filmmakers as they brought more tourists to Ladakh and to this 65km stretch of lake, more than half of which lies in China. “Whether it be in India or China, the lake knows no difference, nor the mountains change their imposing stature and magnitude”: Ammo’s words seem unexpected for a tourist guide. We realise the Ladakhis’ pride in their region, their land in the mountains and their close proximity to one another in the scattered villages, in the valleys and on the hills.
Prakash waved and stopped on our way here to greet people each time we came across Ladakhis. Do Prakash and Ammo know all of them? Do all Ladakhis know each other? What a contrast to our chained world of inhibition!
Lina and I turn towards the snow on the mountains. We see its white glare on the azure water. The sun seems to fade from view. The clouds from China accumulate. We watch and dine.
The Guardian Weekly regularly publishes a Letter from one of its readers from around the world. We welcome submissions – they should focus on giving a clear sense of a place and its people. Please send them to weekly.letters@theguardian.com
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