THE LAST CHECK POINT

Turtuk holds a pivotal position in India's defence strategy

- PHOTOGRAPHS: ISHAQ BHATT AND MARIE-ÈVE AUBERTIN

“CAN YOU SEE THE YELLOW PAINTED marking? That's the No Man's Land,” said 50-year-old Rukiya Bano, a local from Thang, the northernmost hamlet at the Leh-Baltistan border.

I squinted my eyes in the direction she pointed.

After handing me her binoculars, Bano continued, only pausing at the right places for impact: “Across the Shyok River, the green fields you see belong to Pakistan. Now, look carefully— there's a zigzag path on that mountain slope. Even the smaller peaks have Pakistan army bunkers, where their soldiers are stationed. Look behind; that mountain is part of India, where we have our own bunkers.”

I tried to keep up, focusing harder on each crevice of the mountains that loomed over us. It all resembled a giant painting; in it, the LoC seemed like only a faint graphite imprint bleeding into the canvas. For Bano and others of the region, these few kilometres of separation have ruled their lives since the Indo-Pakistani war of 1971.

DEGREES OF SEPARATION

Turtuk, located about 8 km from the border, is the largest village among those that were made a part of India in 1971, with about 7,000 residents. Change has been most visible here, guided by the slow surge of travellers. While this may have slowly pushed Turtuk out of the shadows of pain, it still lurks silently everywhere.

Mohd Ibrahim, a local and a guide, was born after '71, but the Kargil War is fresh in his memory. As we walked on a wooden suspension bridge connecting Yul and Farol, the two hamlets comprising Turtuk, separated by a glacial stream, he said, “A lot has changed since those days. This riverbank used to be lined with military artillery.” Now, river-view cafés have taken over. “The village is still dotted with bunkers built during the Kargil War. Families hid there for weeks; some were later converted into cold storage for butter and perishables,” he said.