Darchik

The road, lined by khobani trees, had remained straight for almost three hours. It finally took a turn and crossed the river to which it seemed inseparably bound. They had come together at a turn just ahead of the small town of Khaltse where the winding metallic strip had de-coiled itself from the rugged, barren mountains and laid beside the gushing, gargling, grey waters of the mighty Indus. The road, as it approached the PoK, now crossed the river and was again lost amongst the folds of the mountains - this time greener, and this time in a different world, amongst a different people.

The mountain hamlet of Darchik along with three other nearby – Garkone, Dah and Beema - is home to a group of people called the Brog-pa. These villages lie close to the PoK and are a good 6-7 hours from Leh which is where most tourists land in for a trip to Ladakh. They are however closer to the town of Kargil which is about an hour’s journey in the southwesterly direction. Darchik is closest to the border and along with Garkone, require a permit from the Army to visit. The permit can is arranged easily by most hotels. The only place for tourists to stay here is a PWD guest house at Dah.

These people – the Brog-Pa - think of themselves as the true descendants of the Arya people who migrated to the sub continent from the Central Asian highlands around three thousand years back. It is difficult to ascertain whether this is entirely true or is simply a myth which has helped these people maintain a sense of identity – after all myths and legends are integral to any community, leave alone an ancient one. It has no doubt helped their livelihood as this story alone draws more tourists than would have otherwise been possible in this remote, secluded, lost Himalayan kingdom.

Myth or no myth, one thing is certain, they are different from any other people living in Ladakh. Their beautiful looks, fair skin, sharp features, blue eyes, contrasts sharply with the brown skinned, flat, mongoloid features of the Ladakhis and are more in line with people from Kashmir, north of Pakistan, Iran etc. Their appearance, however, compliments their surroundings perfectly. The beautiful, sharp features reflect the tremendously beautiful but stark surroundings they live in. For many people, to whom Paradise is decidedly on earth, and Gods and Goddesses are nothing but a group of people bestowed with a higher than average natural endowment, just to have a glimpse of these God like people is reason enough to travel over uneven, rugged country on a seemingly never ending journey to the end of the world.

We stepped out of the car as it crossed the river. The remaining 5 minutes to the nearest huts had to be covered on foot. The driver pointed to a mountain behind us – it was across the border in Pakistan. We were in the Kargil district – the war zone. Heavy shelling had taken place in these border areas and the villagers had to be removed to army camps beyond the artillery range. They returned after the war ended. Walking past a series of khobani trees by the Indus it was difficult to imagine a place of such un-earthly beauty as a grim bloody battlefield. We climbed up the slope to small green fields rendered partially orange by scattered khobani and bordered by the first few huts.

Sing Dorje, the man of the household, welcomed us to the nearest hut which housed a sitting room and a kitchen. The kitchen also doubled as a dining room. The living quarters were in a different hut. While the elderly women and the children gathered around us, the younger women went about their daily chores of washing clothes and picking khobani from the fields.

The Brog-pa livelihood is dependant on agriculture and the army. The women mostly work the fields. Khobani (apricot) is a major crop. The fruit is consumed along with the dried seed which is supposed to tone the respiratory system. They are mostly sundried; however, recent developments have also led them to use a solar dryer. The dried seeds and the fruits are then sold to the markets mostly through the army as the markets are far away. The men do several odd jobs for the army like working on road maintenance etc. However, despite this, most of the villages are poor with a very simple lifestyle built around bare minimum requirements. They still don’t have electricity although they have been promised that before every election since the last fifteen years or so. Solar power works for around 5 hours a day. Every year they eagerly look forward to the summers as the road opens for tourists. As they don’t have too much too offer, they often present themselves in their festive gear for a nominal financial reward. The winters bring with it a gloomy seclusion as they remain cut off from civilization for months on end.

Currently there are around 62 families in Darchik with a few more in the other three villages. All along they have managed to maintain their identity with a strict adherence to intra-community marriages. However, with more and more youngsters bidding farewell to the villages for the wealth and glamour of the cities, they are finding it more and more difficult to maintain their so-called racial purity. Their society is mostly patriarchal with a woman being allowed to marry the younger brother of her husband if he were to die an untimely death. The dead is usually cremated with the family holding a 3 month “ashouch” – similar to contemporary Hindu customs. Their main God – “Pal dan lamo” – is a God similar to the Hindu Goddess Kali. Their proclaimed religion is, however, Buddhism! Though this appears surprising at first glance, it can be recalled, that when a new religion is enforced on a people with beliefs and practices firmly rooted in the depths of time, the new religion simply functions as a garb over the existing beliefs and practices; the observations and celebrations remain same, the names change merely.

The blue eyes of a young girl gaze at us through her light brown hair rendered golden by the blaze of the sun as we start to take our leave. Was that how Draupadi could have looked? I ask myself. Or had the migrants already changed colour on mingling with the locals by the time the Mahabharata took place? Or was I just being a victim of the age old concept of racial superiority of the fair skinned and the blue eyed that has plagued man kind? Difficult to say…lost in the wilderness, amidst the folds of the towering abode of the Gods, along an ancient mythical river, anything seems possible!