Turtuk: Lost, found, and absolutely stunning
Young Balti girls blush at the sight of outsiders, quickly rushing to play in the fields. They are shy in front of the camera, yet make sure to sport a warm smile to visitors.
© Ayash Basu 2018
Winter 1971 wrote an unforgettable chapter in South Asian history. Bangladesh’s liberation from Pakistan unfolded with near-military ballet precision under Field Marshal Sam Maneckshaw (a Zoroastrian), General Jagjit Singh Aurora (a Sikh), and Eastern Command Chief Jacob-Farj-Rafael-Jacob (a Jew)—all orchestrated politically by Prime Minister Indira Gandhi (a Hindu). Meanwhile, a thousand miles away in Ladakh, Major Chewang Rinchen (a Buddhist) of the Ladakh Scouts spotted an opportunity, and with a flourish, annexed four villages from Pakistan. Residents of Tyakshi, Thang, Chalunka, and Turtuk went to bed in Pakistan and woke up in India the next morning. Overnight citizenship swap—beats any airline upgrade. Rinchen, the youngest-ever Mahavir Chakra recipient at seventeen for defending Ladakh in 1947, cemented his legend here, and locals still whisper his name with awe (and maybe just a hint of envy).
Borders in this part of Ladakh have a rather whimsical resume: a small autonomous kingdom, then a subject of Lhasa, annexed into Kashmir in 1834, sold for seventy thousand rupees to the British East India Company, and shuffled again in India’s 1947 partition. Since 1971, Turtuk lies just six miles from one of the world’s tensest borders—but somehow, danger here cozies up next to lush greenery, sweet apricots, and the warm, welcoming Balti people. “During the war, locals fled nearby villages, but the people of Turtuk stayed put,” says Ibrahim Ashoor, our host and local guesthouse owner. The border may divide countries, but invisible walls separate families too, mothers from sons, husbands from wives—a quiet, lasting ache, with zero Wi-Fi to soften the blow.
Turtuk opened to visitors only in 2010, and it’s still under vigilant military watch. Despite being just 130 miles from Leh, it’s a nine-hour back-breaking drive over the Khardung La Pass at 18,400 feet, often requiring a night halt. Few make it here, which adds to its charm—it’s the kind of secret you feel guilty spilling. Once you arrive, though, the oasis of greenery, apricot trees, and Balti smiles makes the effort unforgettable.
A green oasis full of buckwheat fields in the 10,000 feet upper Ladakh mountains is a true paradise in every sense.
© Ayash Basu 2018
Historically, this region has been a crossroads of culture. Before Buddhism arrived in the 8th century, Bon rituals dominated. The Silk Route linked these mountains to China, Persia, and northern India. Shah Ali Hamdaani’s Persian Sufi teachings later made it a Nurbakshi Muslim stronghold. Zoravar Singh and the Dogras annexed it in 1834, but the people’s resilient spirit remains undimmed.
Turtuk itself comprises three small hamlets. Farol (upper Turtuk) perches atop a hill, boasting lush buckwheat and barley fields—mostly farmed by women. Apricot and walnut trees punctuate the landscape, practically daring you to pluck them. A stroll through Farol invigorates the lungs, even at thin altitudes, as rosy-cheeked children greet visitors with shy, mischievous smiles. Women dry apricots and nuts, smile politely, and vanish before your camera can betray them. Men tend livestock or assist the Border Roads Organization, ensuring army supplies flow smoothly. The Indian army is a major buyer of produce, reinforcing a symbiotic bond—war’s uneasy legacy meets daily practicality.
Youl (lower Turtuk) sprawls across a gushing stream, crossed by a humble suspension bridge built with local ingenuity and army help. Stone houses, some centuries old, stand resilient among green fields. Ingenious canal systems channel glacial meltwater for irrigation, refrigeration, and sustenance, monitored by Chunpa (water referees) to ensure fair distribution—a bureaucracy of fairness in rugged mountains. Climate change has made farming trickier: glaciers retreat, rain patterns shift, landslides threaten crops, and traditional trades slowly vanish, nudging the younger generation toward guest houses and tourism.
Chutang, the village’s educational heart, is lively despite sparse resources. Children, mostly girls in hijabs, start their day with the national anthem and local songs, chasing knowledge in a region historically cut off from the outside world. Nearby, the 400-year-old mosque and the Buddhist monastery atop Farol testify to centuries of spiritual harmony—coexistence mastered while the rest of the world argued over parking spots.
Turtuk is a sanctuary of greenery, tradition, and generosity. Despite past hardships, its people are optimistic, resilient, and delightfully hospitable. The valley’s name literally means “a desire to stay,” and visiting it instills the same: a desire to linger, savor, and return. For photographers, travelers, and history lovers alike, Turtuk is a secret worth discovering—and remembering.
Young kids reluctant to do their school homework focus on freshly roasted corn kernels instead.
© Ayash Basu 2018