Journey to the Land of Lamas
- Sep 17, 2023
- 11 min read
Updated: Apr 19, 2025
“Defying the fervent sunlight
And the spine-chilling cold wind,
I cruised through the highland mountains.
Liberating from the sour memories
And the sweet desires and delusions,
I cruised through the winding roads.
Under the beauty of the glorious past
And the adventure of the challenging future!
This ride of lifetime!”
Excerpt From
Himalayan Melodies - A poetic expression of love, faith and spirituality, Stanzin Lhaskyabs
5th May,2023
4 :00 PM
A long panoramic stretch of Trans-Himalayan ranges stood in front of my eyes. It felt like my journey to the 'Land of Lamas' to search for an old Ladakhi folk song had ended there and the whole purpose of this trip was to gaze at the canvas before me as I couldn't get the song I was searching for a week. I had already finished all my chances and the vacation days with only 2 days left in Ladakh. I never imagined I would find myself sitting in the shadows of the snow-capped Himalayas near a forgotten Buddhist Stupa, in the middle of the day, gazing at the bleak sky. I shivered in the cold air, alone and uncertain of a few things - my used vacation days of the year, my next destination and my phone network; A Pleasantly comforting Helpless void.
At 24 years, I was introduced to Ladakh through a thrilling episode from the movie DilSe, Directed by Maniratnam and the background score by AR Rahman.
The background score of Dilse had magic, sending me to the distant Himalayas in an instant. I could almost feel the gusts of wind against my face, hear snow crunching as I walked, and hear the rare bird call echo through the mountains. It was a haunting folk song from the soundtrack that connected me to the people I had never met, making me feel as if I belonged within their tribe and wanted something unseen and unknown. It was the time, It felt like the Himalayas were calling out to me as if only I could hear it.
I started searching for the song, although I had no idea what it was called or even what language it was in. I figured it was a Ladakhi song and I kept looking for it. With no luck over eight years, I decided to try one last place - Ladakh. After 7 years, I set off on my mission to find what I was looking for.
April 30, 2023
10:00 PM
Walking down the long corridor of Terminal 3 of Delhi Airport, I eventually reached Boarding Gate 332. Sleep eluded me as all sleeping chairs were taken. When one finally freed up, a bearded man in a head towel claimed it before I could. I returned to my regular chair and opened up my book, ‘Into The Wild’ by Jon Krakauer, waiting until morning for my flight to Leh.
I boarded the flight at 7 AM. My eyelids felt heavy as I fought to stay awake but lost to sleep in a minute. Then, the cold voice of a flight attendant woke me back. Blurry-eyed, I looked out the window at the snow-capped mountain peaks that seemed to be floating in midair.
How could I find something with no name amid this beautiful and mysterious land?
May 1, 2023
8:00 AM
I readied myself for what lay ahead—the Land of Lamas and my destiny. I set foot in Kushok Bakula Rimpochhe Airport, which was the size of a rice mill guarded by the Indian Army and one of the highest airports in the world at an elevation of 3,256 m (10,682 ft) above mean sea level.
The cab driver who took me to Happy Drifters hostel listened to my song, recognizing it as Ladakhi but unable to identify it fully. He promised to help, though I knew with a puff of breath that he couldn't.
At the hostel, Arpan welcomed me with a traditional katak scarf. Later, he, Bhavya (an aspiring writer), and Bhagya (a solo traveller interning at the hostel) gathered in the common dining area. Arpan, a photographer whose frames adorned the walls, considered Ladakh his Mecca. When I played my song, they couldn't recognize it but offered to help—Bhavya by contacting a Ladakhi musician and Arpan by suggesting local places to visit.
He recommended that I rest for the day to become accustomed to the higher altitude.
May 2,2023
7:30 AM
Dressed in my new maroon jacket against Leh's cold, I grabbed my camera and scooter keys. Arpan outlined a route: Hemis first, then Thiksey and Shey, with a detour to Stock Monastery by evening.
Driving in Leh without phone service was both thrilling and terrifying. At Choglamsar Chowk, I asked a fruit seller for directions and played her my song. She smiled but couldn't help beyond pointing the way to Hemis.
I skipped the Monasteries of Shey and Thikshey on the way and reached a cross-junction, Karu. The road divides into two, one to the Tso Moriri via Upshi and another to the Hemis Gompa. I took the right, toward Hemis, crossing the river and ascending to Naropa Stupa.
Shanthi Stupa, Leh ( Naropa Stupa was exactly similar to Shanthi Stupa)
From this vantage point, the world took on a different dimension. Prayers and whispers of devotion lingered in the thin mountain air, and time felt fluid—past, present, and future coexisting.
Hemis Monastery, hidden between towering hills, revealed itself only at the final moment. Its brilliant white walls adorned with colorful murals and high red flags stood in stark contrast to the barren landscape. A magnificent prayer wheel with polished brass and copper surfaces greeted visitors, worn smooth by countless hands.
Inside the main prayer hall, incense mingled with the aroma of yak butter lamps. Rich tapestries called thangkas hung from walls, depicting Buddhist wisdom. A young monk explained "The Wheel of Life" painting— a rooster, snake, and pig at its center biting each other's tails —a visual metaphor for the cyclic nature of life, death, and rebirth.
A monk explaining "THE WHEEL OF LIFE"
By late afternoon, I headed to Stock Monastery, climbing to a large Buddha statue decorated with vibrant silks. Below, I met an elderly monk circling and chanting mantras. He instructed me to do the same—picking up stones, circling, and placing them at the starting point.
When I played my song at a nearby tea stall, the woman recognized it and said the elderly monk might know more, having lived there for his entire life. Though he had disappeared, she led me to his prayer room where he resided during evenings, candlelight flickering eerily through its walls.
The monk fixed his eyes on me, questioning how I knew of a song that had played on the radio when he was a child, in Hemis Gompa which was very long ago. He said the song was of two hundred years. He suggested I look for it there—how had I missed asking this at Hemis itself?
Hemis Gompa, Ladakh
Naropa Photang, Thiksey
May 3, 2023:
5: 00 AM
Despite Arpan's warnings about the freezing mornings, something compelled me to call him at 5 AM to unlock the gates. I layered two sets of clothes, wooden bike gloves, North Face shoes, and my helmet to block the wind.
As my scooter rushed onto the Leh-Manali highway, the freezing wind felt like it was stripping me naked. With each twist and turn, the winds gained momentum and started hurting. With my helmet half-open at my mouth, I sang 'Safarnama' by AR Rahman through my cracked, bleeding lips even though I never knew the lyrics past the first few lines.
Thiksey Monastery
Thiksey Monastery—the largest in central Ladakh and resembling Lhasa's Potala Palace—clung to the mountainside like an extension of the rocks. Inside, monks in maroon robes chanted in unison as butter lamps cast a mystical glow. The fragrance of incense purified the air while child monks served po cha (Tibetan butter tea)—creamy, salty, and somewhat savory.
A young monk of about 20 explained how boys often enter monastic life as young as seven, studying sacred texts and Buddhist philosophy while following a strict daily routine of meditation, prayer, study, and chores
Before saying goodbye, I played him the song on my mobile, to which he said," No idea". I started my engine to Hemis.
Monks at Thiksey Monastery after their prayers, Thiksey
I continued to Hemis village, passing the Naropa Statue where a few construction workers directed me to a monk named Nawang Sherap, who's also a folk singer in the Hemis Village. Unable to reach him by phone, I searched the monastery quarters until a teacher monk offered to help. When we couldn't find Nawang, he sent an elderly monk with me on my byke to search the village for him.
At Hemis Community Health Centre, I met Tsetan Drukpa, a young medical officer who directed us to Tse Wang Namgyal, owner of a small Hemis Restaurant. Tall and sturdy, Tse Wang paused his work to help when I explained my quest. Though many villagers were away at a monk's funeral, he took me to an old woman who might know the song.
We trekked for two hours through the small village of thirty to forty houses, a stray dog following behind. When the old woman wasn't at her farm, we took a break on a rock and discussed Buddhism. Suddenly, Tse Wang leapt up and led me to the village's last house.
A woman in her late thirties carrying a child opened the door. After listening to my song, she sang parts of an old melody from Hemis Gompa that she'd learned from her grandmother but couldn't fully remember.
Though not exactly what I sought, I recorded her singing, thanked her, and expressed my gratitude to Tsewang for his incredible kindness. As I left the village, the stray dog stood watching, tired from following my bike.
May 4, 2023:
9:00 AM
After breakfast and black tea at Happy Drifters, I set off toward Alchi Monastery. I passed Gurudwara Pathar Sahib (where Guru Nanak once rested), the magnetic hill (where vehicles seem to defy gravity), and Nimmu's Sangam (the breathtaking confluence of the Indus and Zanskar rivers).
En route, I spotted "Deldan Musicals" and slammed on my brakes. Though the store was closed, I called the number on the sign. The owner's son, a student in Delhi, explained they mainly supplied speakers for village events rather than being connected to music.
As I approached Alchi, the landscape transformed from arid surroundings to lush greenery and fruit-laden orchards. Women in traditional Gonchas (long robes) with colorful sashes and Tibi hats greeted me warmly.
Inside the 11th-century monastery complex, I surrendered my phone and camera at the counter. Built between 958 and 1055 AD, Alchi's three main structures—Dukhang (assembly hall), Sum Tsek (three-storey temple with a four-armed Bodhisattva statue), and the temple of Manjushri—preserved ancient paintings and sculptures. Unlike most monasteries perched on hilltops, Alchi is nestled in the valley beside the Indus, its mud walls preserved by the dry climate.
Something about this place felt strangely familiar—like an old memory fighting to surface. The incense surrounded me with overwhelming familiarity as if echoes of spiritual seekers who came before still resonated through the walls.
After lunch at Alchi Kitchen (renowned for its apricot juice), I helped an aged monk spin prayer wheels along the path to the Indus River. Each rotation released blessings into the universe, creating a hypnotic sound when combined with the rushing wind.
Later, I visited Basgo Fort, whose 17th-century ruins seemed to spring from the earth itself. Every stone bore the weight of forgotten days.
Remains of Bhasgo Fort, Ladakh
The fort witnessed the love story of Jamyang Namgyal and Princess Gyal Khatun, daughter of King Ali Mir. Jamyang loved her while he was a prisoner at Ali Mir in Kashmir. Cham Chung Temple was built at Basgo in Kashmiri architecture as a memoir of Princess Gyal Khatun. Their son Sengge Namgyal extended the kingdom but later shifted his capital to Leh, causing Basgo to lose power.
At the fort, I met a group of Ladakhi women, including six-year-old Skarna with her eternal smile. We talked about her village, temples, and education before saying goodbye. Halfway down the hill, something pulled me back to find her again, but she had vanished—as if I was missing someone I'd known for a lifetime.
A Group of women at Bhasgo Fort, Ladakh
As night fell, I rode back to Leh under a full moon that transformed the landscape into a surreal painting. At some moment, I stopped by the highway, switched off the engine, and sat in perfect stillness under the moon's gaze.
How did I end up here?
Skarna's farewell echoed in my head: "Bye Gautam". I missed her.
May 5, 2023:
9:00 AM
I woke to a message from Deldan, the Delhi student, with a contact for the Ladakh Society of Music. Through a chain of referrals, I reached Tsering Sonam, a local musician who asked me to send him the song.
Suburbs of Leh, Ladakh
Not expecting results, I rode again to Hemis, visiting the museum I'd missed earlier. A monk recognized my song and claimed to have a CD by Padma Dolkar, but we couldn't find it. He described the song in vivid detail—the location of Hemis Gompa, the Indus River, the rooftop, the Alpine trees, and snow blanketing the area.
As more people told me they knew the song but couldn't remember it, my desire to find it only strengthened. I feared it would be lost forever if I didn't recover it.
Back to square one. I reached Narupa Statue on my way back, sitting at my regular spot. A notification appeared—a message from Tsering with a file: "Maney Manthang ringmo." With trembling hands, I played it. The ancient instruments—Daman (drum), Piwang (fiddle), and Surna (wind instrument)—accompanied a chorus of women's voices. The clouds raced across the sky as a chill ran through my body. After eight years, my search had ended, yet I felt only tranquility—no thrills or excitement. All questions evaporated as if they no longer needed answers.
I called Tsering, who agreed to meet me. Initially suspicious of my foreign number, he couldn't believe someone would travel so far for a forgotten folk song. At his sister's house, he played the song on traditional instruments while sharing its remarkable origin:
Tsering with his Kopong
King Sengge Namgyal passed away, leaving his son Deldan Namgyal to the throne from 1620 to 1640 AD. During that period the prime minister Kalon Chosnit, had a wife named Shema Zilzom, a very beautiful and charming lady. Deldan Namgyal was attracted to her beauty and charm. Greedy with passion and lust, Deldan Namgyal conspired to murder Kalon Chosnit so that he could marry her. The officials did so in the dark corridor of the palace entrance, however, the Kalon (prime minister) escaped from the Palace but on his way to Ayu (about five kilometres from Leh), the men caught up with him and killed him.
Following the Prime Minister’s Death, the King sent his proposal for marriage to Zilzom; not wanting to offend the king, She wisely delayed the marriage by requesting a prayer wall be built in her husband's memory, then further stalled by asking it be shaped like her Perak (turquoise-studded headdress).The king complied and then sent his delegates to Zilzom again. When the king's men finally came for her, they found she had become a nun with her head shaved. The regretful king built two stupas at either end of the mane wall to commemorate his killings. Zilzom's son became prime minister while she retired to Hemis Monastery.
It is said that while there, Shema composed the popular folk song “Maney Manthang Ringmo”.
‘The mane wall in the outskirts of Leh. This area is now a residential suburb of Leh’
(Sourced from : The Lost World of Ladakh: Early Photographic Journeys in Indian Himalaya
by Claude Rupert Trench Wilmot, Nicky Harman, Roger Bates)
It was almost unbelievable that Deldan Namgyal had caused so much destruction in Zilzom's life, yet led to the creation of a beloved song. And then after all those years, a student from Bhasgo named Deldan was able to help me find this long-forgotten masterpiece.
Some mysterious force seemed to guide me through an elaborate route from place to place, person to person, point to point, connecting all the dots to this story.
In Lehvanda cafe, hot chocolate in hand, I reflected on the characters who'd colored my journey—Vinda- a woman entrepreneur who was travelling around Ladakh for more than a month, those remarkable mute twins from Aryan Valley, Shreya with her endless travel pics. and bargain skills, and Hans Dhariwal with his stunning portraits and heavenly vegan food, Arpan, Bhavya and Bhagya at Happy Drifters.
I came seeking a forgotten song but discovered something deeper. Perhaps I wasn't chasing it at all—maybe it had been waiting for me, calling me to its homeland. Or maybe I'm just romanticizing coincidences, but in Ladakh's thin air, magic feels possible. And isn't that the thing about magic? It shows itself only to those who believe in it.
Ever since I finished my trip to Ladakh, I've been working to get the full song ready to share with the world. Planning to add some ambience before releasing it. Hope to share that soon.
Thanks for reading.
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