NOMADS OF LADAKH A JOURNEY INTO THEIR HIDDEN WORLD

A peek behind the curtains of a way of life that has remained the same for thousands of years

- AMIT SADH

When I first set out looking for the Nomads of Kharnak, I thought it would be simple. Ride into the valley, meet a few people, swap stories over tea, and head back with some great memories. What unfolded instead was nothing short of a lesson — in patience, resilience and understanding a way of life that quietly defies the rush of modernity.

For two days, my crew and I roamed the expansive wilderness of Kharnak, asking BRO workers and the occasional shepherd where the nomads might be camped that season. The valley stretched endlessly before us — undulating mountains, jagged cliffs, and windswept plains — where even the wind seemed to forget to hurry. We wandered into parts of Kharnak that even the maps seemed to have overlooked. Finally, tucked away behind a rugged spine of mountains, we stumbled upon Spangchin — one of the nomads' many seasonal settlements.

The welcome wasn't warm — not at first. The elders eyed us with suspicion, their expressions carved with years of weather and wariness. Children peered out from behind wool-draped tents, curious but cautious. It was only when the Goba — the elected leader of the tribe — approached, that the ice began to thaw. His smile was calm and measured, but welcoming in a way that told us we were no longer intruders.

In his broken Ladakhi Hindi, he invited us into his tent. Wreathed in the earthy scent of yak wool and the crackle of a modest fire, we sat cross-legged on woven carpets. And that’s when I began to realise how layered their world was.