Pic: Scenes enroute Pangong to Leh

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 14 Min Read

It was a mixed bag of emotions that Monday morning as we made our way back to Leh. For five days in Ladakh, everything had gone exactly as planned—until the unprecedented rain of the previous day. Yet, even with the sudden turn in weather, we had managed to cross two of the highest mountain passes in the world. It often felt as if the ghosts of everything that could go wrong were right at our heels, and we were just an hour ahead—avoiding getting stranded, staying healthy, and escaping the dozen other mishaps that could so easily unfold in a place like this.

Our driver told us that many tourists who reached those passes after us either got stranded or were forced to turn back. We knew then—we were lucky, without question. Still, a faint ache lingered in our hearts at having to give up on visiting Hanle. But as the realization set in, it was clear: being adventurous is not the same as being reckless, especially when traveling with children and a senior citizen.

From the very beginning, we had kept our trip to Hanle flexible. There were two reasons for that—unpredictable weather and our own health. So, we had only booked hotels up to Pangong. But once we reached Pangong safely, in good health, the urge to push further to Hanle was strong. Still, with the skies cloaked in clouds, the decision not to go was a no-brainer.

Pic credit: India Today – Indian Astronomical Observatory at Hanle

Hanle, about 160 km from Pangong, is renowned for its crystal-clear, dark skies. It is home to one of the world’s highest astronomical observatories—the Indian Astronomical Observatory—and is the site of India’s first Dark Sky Reserve, created to protect the night sky from light pollution. The result is an unparalleled stargazing experience. Accommodation here is simple: modest cottages with basic amenities, but for astrophiles, that is more than enough. Hanle also serves as a base for those attempting Umling La (5,798 m), the highest motorable road in the world, just 75 km away.

But this was not meant to be. We consoled ourselves with the thought that something should always remain unfinished—reason enough to return one day.

Pangong Lake stayed with us for a good half an hour into our journey back. It only grew more beautiful and more expansive with every bend, until a sudden diversion cut it from sight. I bid a silent farewell—it was, without doubt, the most breathtaking lake I had ever seen.

We were now headed toward Rezang La—a place etched in my checklist, waiting to be crossed off.

It was freezing that morning, just a notch above zero. We were driving along a single-lane road, the arid landscape stretching endlessly before us like an ocean of brown. The blazing sun that had been a constant companion through our first four days in Ladakh had now given way to a persistent drizzle. From Pangong, Rezang La lies about 60 kilometers away—depending on which part of Pangong you stay in—and the drive takes roughly an hour and a half.

About an hour into the journey, we spotted movement in the distance—wild asses grazing on shrubs. Known locally as Kiang or Khyang, these are the largest species of wild ass in the world. Even from afar, their sheer size was unmistakable. Their rich chestnut coats and upright manes stood out strikingly against the arid landscape.

As we continued towards Rezang La, herds of Kiangs appeared at regular intervals. But since they always kept their distance, I couldn’t capture a good photograph of them.

Pic: At Chushul Village

Soon, we reached the police checkpoint at Chushul village. The Line of Actual Control with China lies just 5 km east of here, making Chushul a strategic location during the Battle of Rezang La. Today, it serves as a logistics hub and a designated meeting point for border personnel. The village also has a war memorial that honours the soldiers who fought valiantly in this region. Chushul is equally known for its ancient petroglyphs—rock carvings that speak of the area’s deep historical roots.

As we drove ahead, two stark black mountains rose to our left, standing apart from the surrounding ranges that were coated in dust and scattered patches of green. “The one behind is China, the one in front is No Man’s Land,” our driver explained. We were quite literally at the doorstep of the border.

A minute later, the gates of the Rezang La War Memorial came into view.

Like the other war memorials we had visited across Ladakh, this one too carried a somber energy. A cold, unrelenting wind swept across the barren landscape that morning.

The memorial stood in isolation, far from any settlement—a stark reminder of the remote, unforgiving terrain where some of the fiercest battles of our army were fought. At Rezang La, the structure faces the mountain where one such unbelievable battle unfolded.

Rezang La War Memorial

The story of Rezang La is the stuff of legend—so extraordinary, so improbable, that it almost feels like fiction. On 18th November 1962, during the Indo-Sino war, Major Shaitan Singh and 120 soldiers of the 13 Kumaon Regiment’s Charlie Company faced a massive Chinese assault. The enemy advanced in human waves, launching up to eight attacks on the Indian positions. Singh was given the option to retreat. He refused—and so did his men. Armed with just Lee Enfield rifles, light machine guns and grenades, against a technologically more advanced Chinese force, they fought until the ammunition ran out, and then engaged in hand-to-hand combat. By the end, 114 of them had fallen, but not before inflicting staggering losses: over 1,300 Chinese soldiers were killed. Though the Chinese eventually overran the post, they were unable to advance further into Ladakh. It was this resistance that helped force a ceasefire. For his leadership and sacrifice, Major Shaitan Singh was awarded the Param Vir Chakra, India’s highest military honour.

It was only three months later that the bodies of the fallen were found, still frozen in their trenches, some clutching their weapons. The Indian search party was stunned—not only by the sight of their comrades who had fought till their last breath, but also by the number of Chinese bodies scattered across the battlefield. In a rare gesture of respect, the Chinese had reportedly covered the Indian soldiers with blankets.

The Rezang La War Memorial is the resting place of 113 of the 114 martyrs, earning it the name Ahir Dham. Major Shaitan Singh’s body was sent home for burial.

Standing there, listening to soldiers recount this tale, was deeply humbling. My eyes welled up. Moments like these strip away the illusions of daily life—our ambitions, our complaints, our problems—making them feel so small, almost trivial.

Pic: At the Rezang La War Memorial

I stared at that mountain for a long time. It felt like staring into an abyss. As someone who believes peace is every human’s birthright, a question rose in me: what is the true price of peace? All living beings fight over territory, but only humans mobilise thousands, armed with guns and bombs, in the name of stories—money, religion, ideology, nations. These constructs exist only in our world; the rest of nature doesn’t need them. If stories can create war, can’t stories also end it? Perhaps I’m an idealist, even a fool, for thinking this way. The realist in me knows that we are as territorial and as savage as wolves or tigers—but unlike them, we struggle to see ourselves clearly.

With these thoughts weighing on my mind, I stepped back into the car. We began our long drive back to Leh, with no real stops in between. It was quarter past noon.

Pic: The mountain on which the Battle of Rezang La was fought

An hour later, we reached an intersection where the road split. To the left, a bridge led towards Hanle; to the right, the highway curved back to Leh. Hanle was less than 90 minutes away, and for a moment the option tempted us. But the weather was worsening, and the risk too great. We turned right. Leh was four hours ahead.

An hour into the drive, we stopped briefly at a roadside cafe for a light lunch. Without lingering, we pressed on, deciding against any more breaks. The rain was intensifying, and with it came the threat of slippery roads, landslides, and shooting stones.

Not long after, we witnessed the first reminder of how unforgiving this terrain could be. An army vehicle had toppled onto its side, crashing against an electric pole and now hanging dangerously close to the river. We arrived just minutes after the accident. Thankfully, the three soldiers inside had escaped unhurt, with locals rushing to pull them out. We stood nearby, ready to help, but they were rescued quickly. It had been a narrow escape.

A few minutes later, our own nerves were tested. At a bend in the highway, the Indus River thundered on our left, while the mountains loomed on our right. Our driver tensed up. “Shooting stones, sir. This stretch is infamous,” he muttered. Almost on cue, something struck the car with a deafening thud. We froze. The impact was on the driver’s door—a falling stone. Luckily, the damage was minimal. He exhaled heavily and pressed on. This was no place to linger.

The rest of the journey passed without incident, and by late evening we rolled into Leh. The city’s weather was a sharp contrast to what we had experienced on arrival—temperatures had dipped, the air heavy with rain. We returned to the same hotel we had stayed at before. With a spare day in hand before our flight on the 27th of August, we chose to rest and save our energy. We had a full day, to explore whatever corners of Leh still remained unseen.

Day 7: 26th August 2025: Wait and Watch

The next morning we woke to the sobering reality that the rain wasn’t going anywhere. If it persisted, our flights back to our respective cities could be in jeopardy.

There wasn’t much we could do except wait. The flight schedule still showed “on time,” though news had spread that several flights had been canceled the previous day. We had plenty of questions, but no real answers. It was too early to panic, but we didn’t have a plan B.

Pic: Rancho’s school in Leh from the film 3 Idiots

We decided to take the day as it came and make the most of what might be our last day in Leh. There were a few places we had missed earlier—the Leh market, Shanti Stupa, Thiksey Monastery, and Leh Palace. But with the rain showing no sign of relenting, we couldn’t step out until noon. The monasteries were off the table in that weather, so we began with a little detour: the school that had become famous as “Rancho’s school” after a scene from 3 Idiots was filmed there. Though no longer operational, it had turned into a tourist stop. We clicked a few photographs and moved on to Leh market for lunch.

Our first choice was a quiet restaurant that offered both vegetarian and non-vegetarian food. But the moment we tasted the veg manchow soup, we regretted walking in. It was terrible. We canceled the rest of the order and left in search of something better.

My wife had earlier suggested a café popular among foreign tourists called Bodhi Terrace. At the time, we had ruled it out since it was fully vegan, and everyone else in the group preferred non-vegetarian food. But with options running thin, we decided to give it a chance.

The place was buzzing with travelers. The indoor seating was packed, with a queue snaking by the entrance, but the outdoor section had a few empty tables. It was freezing, the temperature hovering close to zero, but we took our chances and sat outside.

We ordered generously, choosing from their best-rated dishes. What arrived was a feast—for the taste buds and the eyes. Despite the biting cold, it turned out to be the best decision of the day.

The experience felt like the perfect culmination to our journey. Everything we had hoped for from this holiday had been fulfilled—every box ticked, every wish answered. There was nothing to complain about. Here we were, sharing a vegan meal, blowing little clouds of breath into the cold Leh afternoon.

Pic: At Leh Market

A reunion of old friends after a long time. We ate together. We laughed together. We witnessed things we might never see again. What more could one ask for at this altitude? In this place as old as time itself, where the Himalayas were born. A land where history, nature, human endeavour, conflict, and the raw brutality of life all converge.

It’s hard to put such feelings into words—to find meaning in the madness of adventure, and in the quiet pursuit of something greater than ourselves.

Pic: Our table at Bodhi Terrace restaurant in Leh Market

We left Leh market that afternoon in good spirits, even though the rain meant we wouldn’t be able to see any more places that day. With our flights scheduled early the next morning, we returned to the hotel to pack and settled for a light dinner. A quiet prayer followed—that everything would go smoothly the next day.

At 4 a.m., we woke to an unpleasant surprise: the network was down. No internet, no phone calls, no way of checking our flight status. By 5 a.m., we left for the airport, hoping for the best. Our flight was scheduled for 7, but the scene that greeted us was anything but reassuring. A large crowd had already gathered, faces tense, the air heavy with anxiety. No one’s phones were working—the culprit, we heard, was a network tower that had collapsed in a landslide. Soon after came another blow: the airport servers were down, and no flights had landed the previous day. It was clear things were going from bad to worse.

In the next chapter:

We were stranded in Leh, with no way out. Flights had been canceled, and the next available one was four days later—an option we simply couldn’t take. With the rain showing no signs of letting up, there was every chance more flights would be canceled in the days ahead. Ladakh, which had welcomed us with open arms, was now beginning to test us. The only way out seemed to be the road to Srinagar, a grueling 12-hour journey through uncertain weather. But was it the right choice?

Find out in the next chapter.

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About the author:

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his articles, essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

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