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Feature - In search of peace in Kashmir

As tensions between India and Pakistan increase a Whistler writer seeks solace in a land where Buddhism and Islam came together

On June 7 of this year the Canadian High Commission in New Delhi sent a letter to Canadians living in India.

"The Government of Canada has upgraded its travel report for India. It now strongly urges Canadians to leave the country. I would recommend that you leave as soon as possible." The letter was signed by Peter Sutherland, High Commissioner.

It’s one of the linguistic nuances of the diplomatic corps that they could issue an "upgraded travel report" that urged Canadians to run like hell.

In fact, there are four phases of alert to The Consular Emergency Contingency Plan:

1) Apprehensive — Canadians are advised to follow developments closely and prepare documents and belongings should they be advised to leave the country.

2) Warning — Canadians are advised to leave the country while commercial transportation is still available.

3) Protective — Evacuation of all Canadians, except essential staff, is necessary.

4) Withdrawal — Evacuation of all remaining Canadian staff, including Consular staff, is necessary.

Canadians were placed on a phase 2 alert.

I received my evacuation order in MacLeod Ganj, 350 km north of New Delhi. I wasn’t convinced. I felt that I needed a local’s understanding of the situation. I called an Indian friend asking for his advice.

"Proceed with caution," was his reply. Sadly, like Ireland, these people are used to battles on their soil.

Westerners were leaving India at an alarming rate as tensions between India and Pakistan rose over the disputed Kashmir region, but I was determined to get to Ladakh in South Eastern Kashmir. I had made my plans long before the threat of war and I wasn’t about to let a bunch of politicians change them. Besides, the travellers’ grapevine said Leh, the capital of Ladakh, was safe. Bombs were heard in the hills around Kargil and in Srinagar Muslim militants were firing artillery shots, but neither city was on my immediate agenda.

Just making it to Leh was an achievement. I spent two days bouncing around in the back of a Jeep travelling over the Taglang La Pass (5,328 metres), the second highest motorable pass in the world. Most of the inhabitants were Khampa nomads, soldiers and tar-covered highway workers.

I survived Taglang and some of the other mountain passes and arrived in Leh with dust between my teeth and a sore backside.

Ladakh, 97,000 square kilometres in the Kashmir region, was opened to foreigners in 1974. It is known as the land of passes and of mystic lamas. Ladakh means "land of mountain passes," in Tibetan.

It is also an extremely strategic area. Ladakh borders China and Pakistan, and as a result there is a huge Indian Army presence: army barracks, aircraft hangers, oil storage sites, and several other military installations surround the city of Leh. Politically Ladakh is in the state of Jammu and Kashmir, but the Ladakhi people guard their identity and say they are from Ladakh.

Leh, 1,043 km north of Delhi, is a small city of approximately 15,000. At 3,500 metres, it is a labyrinth of alleyways and traditional flat roof clay houses. To the southeast of Leh is the Himalaya Range, further north (running parallel to the Himalaya) is the Zanskar Range, and even further north is the Ladhak Range and finally the Karakoram Range, which is home to K2, second tallest peak in the world at 8,611 metres. For the past 1,000 years these mountainous frontier lands have been enclaves of Tibetan Buddhism.

Ladakh’s first habitants were the Khampas, nomads from Tibet. The first settlements were set up by Buddhist pilgrims on their way north to Mount Kailash, the holiest mountain in Tibetan Buddhism. For centuries an annual trade mission was sent from Leh to Lhasa. It took three months and carried gold, saffron and textiles as offerings to His Holiness the Dalai Lama. The route was through remorseless, high desert country, across the Tibetan plateau. Amazingly, the trade mission continued right up until 1945.

Ladakh is where Buddhism met Islam. The Muslim rulers of Kashmir introduced Islam to the area in the 14 th century. The fusion of these ancient faiths is visible throughout Leh. The Jama Masjid Mosque, commissioned by the Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb, is at the head of the Main Bazaar Road and Buddhist Gompas (monasteries) lie at the base of the surrounding mountains. In Ladakh both Buddhists and Muslims share a common culture and speak a similar dialect.

I entered a small shop and noticed Canadian flags on the cover of Melong‚ the local newsmagazine. I asked myself, "What on earth would Canadian flags be doing on the cover of a Ladakhi newsmagazine?"

I turned to page 19 and read about an annual ice hockey tournament held in Leh. Last January the Canadian Embassy in New Delhi sent a team to participate. The article stated that the Czech Republic was also expected to send a team, but "due to some problems could not participate."

The Indian Army sent a couple of teams and there were also some "civilian" teams. The reporter didn’t state who won, but it gave an interesting review of the teams.

One of my Grade 10 students from Kodaikanal International School, Deldon, is from Leh. I didn’t call him as I thought the last person he would want to hear from on his summer vacation was a teacher from school. However, one day while I was wandering the streets, he passed by on his motor scooter. He insisted on taking me to the restricted Numbra Valley (Valley of Flowers) over the Khardong La Pass, at 5,602 metres the highest motorable highway in the world. The pass is open for approximately three months every year and I was more than happy to accept his hospitality.

Deldon doesn’t have a driver’s license. In fact, he’s under the legal driving age, but I didn’t feel at all uncomfortable. These local guys are raised on these mountain roads and some of them start driving at the age of 10.

Permits are required for all foreigners going into the restricted areas of Ladakh and the military decides who is allowed over the pass. We made it through the first checkpoint without too much trouble. The second checkpoint was at the summit. It was cold, clear and sunny. The summit area looked like a grubby army camp. It was home to dozens of old oil drums, a couple of frozen toilets, several green army tents, and one yellow first aid dome ready to treat altitude sickness.

Flying above, with a Himalayan back drop, faded Tibetan prayer flags fluttered in the wind. Next to the passport registration table a sign read, "Free Tea Service Counter." I thought that was very cool.

I indulged in a hot, sweet cup of tea and engaged in a shivering conversation with the commander. He was from Assam, and as so few foreigners were travelling in the area, he made the time to answer some of my questions. The pass opened in 1994, and no doubt it was, and still is, an engineer’s nightmare. Melting snowfields, unstable loose rock, and convoys of loaded down trucks have de-stabilized and made the road extremely precarious.

Back in the Jeep, as we descended down the other side of the pass, I suddenly saw a light brown marmot. My mind was immediately taken back to Whistler. These fuzzballs were their Himalayan cousins. They escaped into their burrows at the sound of our engine.

I wondered if an elusive snow leopard was watching us drive through his domain. There are approximately 5,000 snow leopards left in the world. It’s mystical history has generated myths throughout the Himalayas; some locals believe they can appear and disappear at their own will. We never did see a snow leopard, but there were plenty of yaks to entertain us.

After a couple of hours the road opened up into a wide valley. We chose to spend the night in Diskit, a hamlet along a lush riverbed. Only 80 km away was the Saichen Glacier, where Pakistan and India fought the Kargil War in 1999. The Indian Army presence on the pass indicated that they still weren’t taking chances.

More than 100 trucks, loaded with supplies, were headed north to the border area – better known as the Line of Control. During the Kargil War the Indian Army accepted recruits as young as 15-years-old. Their salary: $180 a month.

With this history of violence all around them, and the threat of nuclear war overhead, the people of Ladakh are in the middle of a power struggle they care little about. For centuries Ladakh, like Tibet, lived a quiet, undisturbed existence. Their Buddhist culture is based on the interdependence of all life. The people have met their fundamental needs by accepting the limitations of their environment.

Today, our world has grown smaller, and wars fuelled by greed have had a massive impact on the Ladakhi way of life. At one of the checkpoints I asked an officer if there was a war happening. He answered, "If young people are dying it’s a war, whether it’s declared or not."

A few days later when I was departing from the airport in Leh, a sign read, "Leave your weapons here."

I thought of John Lennon: "Imagine there’s no countries, nothing to kill or die for…"

Whistler writer Janet Love Morrison is on a three-year teaching assignment at Kodaikanal International School in India. She has sent reports of her experiences, including trips to surrounding countries, to Pique Newsmagazine throughout this year. She remains in India.



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