The High-altitude Prison

    In 1834, Zorawar Singh, a brilliant military leader, launched a fierce assault on the isolated kingdom of Ladakh and kick-started a chain of events that would go on to change the politics of the region forever. Zorawar managed to annex Ladakh to the Dogra Empire and later went on to capture Baltistan, further north. Twelve years later, in 1846, the British rewarded the Dogras for their contribution to the British war effort against the Sikhs with a sizable portion of former Sikh-ruled territory- the Kashmir Valley. Thus the Dogras of Jammu became rulers of what we presently call Jammu and Kashmir. In 1947-48, the boundaries were drawn again, as the two newly born nations fought to control the state of Jammu and Kashmir, which had initially, chosen to stay independent. Fences were built, guns (and men to operate them) brought in and regions with indistinguishable cultures were split into two. What once was a continuous entity, where people and goods could freely move, suddenly had an impermeable barrier right in the middle. Further developments in the early 1960s meant that another impermeable barrier was set up in the region. This had dramatic implications to Ladakh, especially considering its geography.

    The first time Ladakhis saw an airplane was during the first Indo-Pak war. Isolated as they were, nobody in their wildest dreams had imagined anything like an airplane.  The arrival of a large flying monster into Leh caused varied reactions. Some were panic-stricken and hid into their basements. Some were overcome by a deep sense of devotion to this ‘savior’, who would protect them from the invaders and tried offering hay to the aircraft! After all, Ladakhis had not even set their eyes upon a bicycle by then, not to be surprised by the appearance of a giant military transport plane.

    Air-connectivity did miracles to Ladakh- especially to its previously non-existent tourism industry. It ushered in an era in which people could, as my mother quite aptly describes, jump through a rabbit’s hole to enter a completely new world.  It also did wonders too our administrators’ memories, which seem to have eliminated from themselves the bits concerning Ladakh’s geographic isolation. 

Boundaries of a variety of kinds, some natural, some artificial, some ancient, while some quite new have ensured that Ladakhis remain virtually, as one hotel-owner in Kargil describes,   in ‘prison’ for a large part of the year. Their contacts to the east have been severed due to sour relations of their political master in Delhi with Beijing. Their relations with the north-west have been blocked as the same political masters are constantly at logger-heads with Islamabad. The ranges of Karakoram, Zanskar and the Himalayas do the rest- and you have the four walls of a prison cell.   

    There are only two land routes into Ladakh from the plains of India- and both remain open only during  the spring and the summer. The Manali-Leh highway is a very treacherous road, at several points climbing above the 5000 metre mark. It opens in May or June and (if weather permits) remains open till October. The Srinagar-Leh highway is only slightly better. It opens, usually, before its counterpart from Manali and altitude-wise is not as formidable. It runs quite close (within striking distance) to the LOC and its strategic importance came under the spotlight when it was bombed in 1999. Although most portions of the road are at benign altitudes (in relative terms, of course), Zoji La, a mountain pass at 3528 metres above sea-level remains an obstacle. In winter, without fail, it gets buried under several tens of feet of snow and an immense effort with heavy machinery is required for the pass to be cleared for traffic. 

    Early in spring, Ladakhis have their eyes and ears trained towards Zoji La, as its opening means an end to their arduous four-month long prison sentence. As winters melt into springs, the essentials – food, fuel, etc. – start diminishing from Ladakhi markets. Very little, if anything at all, is brought in by air. Therefore, it is Zoji La that brings in much-needed supplies, in absence of any trade with Baltistan or with Tibet. Despite featuring in elections manifestos (probably several times), plans to build an all-weather tunnel at Zoji La, which will ensure year-long connectivity with Ladakh have failed  to materialize. The pass usually opens in the first week of April, marking the beginning of the tourist season.

    Any delay in clearing the pass for traffic can have disastrous consequences for Ladakh and therefore the local populace is completely at the mercy of the administration (both military and civillian) which decides how much money and effort should be spent in digging snow on the pass. This is precisely what happened in the spring of this year, which coincided with the general elections. Unusually late snowfall and an unusual lack of enthusiasm (even by Indian standards) on the part of the administration to open the road meant that Zoji La did not open till the second week of May- bringing Ladakh on the brink of starvation. Vegetables disappeared from the markets, prices of essential goods skyrocketed and the arrival of hundreds of tourists through the ‘rabbit’s hole’ made matters only worse. Some felt it was a conspiracy by the administration to prevent people from running off to Jammu and Srinagar and thereby ensuring a high voter turn-out in the Ladakh Lok Sabha constituency. Others felt it was just lethargy on the part of the administration, which (not too unexpectedly) seems to have forgotten the lessons of 1999 about keeping strategic roads firmly under control. Whatever the reasons were, the closure of the pass for longer than usual was enough to cause trouble to thousands of people.

    Couldn’t Ladakhis themselves produce essentials like food? Perhaps, with innovative agricultural techniques, it might be possible. But it must be remembered that Ladakh’s population does not comprise of just the natives. There are as many, if not more, mouths to feed among the huge floating population of labourers, tourists, merchants and government servants (not counting the hundred thousand army personnel, who must be taken care of by the army itself). It would be harsh to expect Ladakhis to feed everybody in Ladakh, with limited amount of fertile land and a small window of warm weather.

    In my opinion, it is time to break down the walls of the prison cell or at least build a few windows. Trade routes with Baltistan, if opened, could prove invaluable to the region. Relations with Central Asia through the Karakoram Pass (a route which was a part of the celebrated Silk Road) in the north could be reestablished.  But the prospects look dim. The newly elected government in Delhi plans to reinforce the existing walls rather than making an effort to break them down. Mr. Chewang Thupstan, BJP’s candidate from Ladakh who managed to win the seat by a record margin of 36 votes had campaigned with  ‘UT for Ladakh’ as one of his principal election promises. It remains to be seen whether the new government plans to take measures that will bring people closer or wield the tried and trusted weapon of divide and rule. 

References

1.       Partha S Banerjee Ladakh, Kashmir, Manali- the Essential Guide

2.       http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zorawar_Singh_Kahluria

3.       http://eciresults.nic.in/ConstituencywiseS094.htm?ac=4

4.       http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zoji_La

Acknowledgements:

I must thank Dr. Tsering Norboo of Spituk, Leh for sharing his experiences with me.