'I was stuck on a mountain for nine days’

The room next door was full of yaks that grunted through the night.

This was not part of the plan. The idea was a road trip to Zangskar, in Kargil, before heading to Himachal Pradesh via the Leh-Manali highway and back to Delhi, India.

The King of Zangla, in Zanskar, talks to the travellers. The castle of Zangla is one of the oldest in Ladakh

However, waist-high snowfall and no warm gear meant the group was stuck in a remote village – with only about six homes and 200 yaks for company.

Most people had 20-30 yaks each to look after in Tangse village

It had begun smoothly enough. A few days earlier, the five friends – four Indians and one French – hitchhiked their way to the Zangskar area, Kargil. Then they began to walk. “There’s a trek for about six hours, if you have a heavy bag or someone who is heavy [on the trek with you]. Otherwise you can do it in three,” says 33-year-old Varundeep Singh Sodhi. “[We took] six hours.” 

That night they stayed in a small guesthouse near Phugtal. It would have been perfect, says Sodhi, if it hadn’t been for the bed bugs that crawled all over the sheets and into the baggage and would have a painful role to play later.

Still, the next morning it was but a mild annoyance when faced with the Phugtal Monastery, or Gompa, which looks like it has been carved out of mountain rock and which is home to about 70 monks. The 12th-century Gompa (below) is so remote that food supplies are brought in during the warmer months on mule and horse back and over the frozen River Lungnak in the cooler months. In September, all this meant was a pleasant nip in the air.

The Phugtal Monastery dates back to the 12th century.

When it was time to leave they decided to hitch a ride on an army truck; they were in the area for road maintenance. En route however, things started to go awry. First, there was the insistent hammer of rain on the well-worn path. Compelled by the weather to take a detour, the deployment headed to a village, urging the travellers to wait out the shower. But what began as a gentle drizzle grew into a storm. Then came the snow. By the time they got out of the truck, the landscape had turned white.

“It snowed for four days,” says Sodhi, adding that it inched higher and higher until he was wadding in waist-deep white powder. 

The four bundled up and decided to stay in this village, which had to be identified by longitude and latitude; its name is not on any map. In the home they shared, “they had four rooms”, recalls Varun. A kitchen, a room for yaks and goats, a store packed with supplies and a ‘guest area’ that was now populated with bed bugs. [“I have 17 bites still,” says Sodhi.]

Meet the family who took in strangers only to make friends.

“The room was really cozy and they have this internal [system] where you can use kerosene [to heat the] entire house. So it’s ok at night, but during the morning it [the system] wouldn’t work. Only in the night for a few hours,” he says.

Such a rush of snowfall was unusual, said the village’s residents. For the trekkers, it was astonishing. “I checked [online] for the last ten years [before the trip]; it snowed last in [the] last week of November.”

The locals seemed “too used to this weather”, exclaims Sodhi. They kept advising patience. This group of visitors however was hit by a virulent case of cabin fever that had them discussing directions to walk off in – minus any snow gear.

There was a lack of connectivity – it would take a strong sun and the working of the solar panel on day four before they could communicate with the world. Before they would find out that Manali and its neighbouring areas were being washed in rivers of mud and steel.

For now, they bided their time and got acquainted to village life, which included taking the cattle out to graze over cold rubble and slippery snow and digging to expose grass.

They cooked and cleaned and made friends with their hosts and the army soldiers that were posted in the area. 

This boy is a lama-in-training at Phugtal Monastery; he was back in the village for a vacation and decided to take advantage of the snowfall.

A sea of white – that’s what awaited them every morning. It was “minus nine degrees, minus 3 degrees”. Too cold, says Sodhi, for baths. The group used wet wipes and snow and perfumes, but “you know we were stinking in the end”, says Sodhi.

In the meantime, came tales of horror. A group of Nepali porters who had trekked up the mountains turned back from its destination. Two children were dead. Toes and fingers had been amputated.

There were not enough choppers to get everyone out.

Each time they tried to speak to the authorities only dire news was exchanged; villages flooding that need help, buses washed away.

Finally, when they were told of a helicopter rescue operation nine days later, they had to create a helipad on the snow-padded terrain. They were going home. But before that came Padum, the only town near Zanskar. And with it time to pay up. At first they were told they would have to pay for the rescue, then they were asked not to by the authorities.

“When we reached Padum, the NCM of Padum said everyone has to pay; Indians have to pay Rs5,000 each and foreign nationals Rs15,000. But after we paid this, [the] ACP called and he said, ‘You don’t have to pay me anything, you can send me your bill and you’ll be reimbursed’.”

For now the money remains with the officers.

A long bus ride later the group returned home – richer by many photos and memories and with bed bugs as stowaways.