This story was originally published in the November 2021 Issue of Evo India Magazine. It has been updated with AP Style editorial guidelines. All image credits to WBB and Jatin Verma.
"We cut mountains, but we connect hearts," read the Border Roads Organisation (BRO) signage as we drove our four-wheel-drive SUVs cautiously through a stretch of the Zanskar region in western Ladakh. I used to be a frequent canyon carver, but the mountains in Ladakh impacted me so intensely that they're now etched in my memory. Ladakh, the eastern parcel of land in the larger Kashmir region in Northern India, not only strikes you with its grandeur but if you're the curious kind, it also makes you wonder what must have transpired millions of years ago during the convergence of the Eurasian tectonic plates.
There are multiple high-altitude passes carved around these mountains and boy, they're a driver's dream. Roads that fill your heart with joy and fear in equal measure. The passes are so remote, that many of them are "outside of Google’s current coverage area of driving,” according to the maps. Fortunately, they’re very much within the Wander Beyond Boundaries (WBB) scheme of things. Spearheaded by Nidhi Salgame and retired army colonel Satender Malik, WBB advertises itself as a self-reliant and sustainable extreme overlanding group. Steering clear of the typical touristy circuit of Nubra Valley, Pangong Tso, and Khardung La, WBB introduced us to the virgin landscapes of Zanskar, Kargil, and Dras. These landscapes house a profusion of ancient cultures, rarely documented wildlife, and some of the most dangerous Himalayan passes.
The convoy comprised expedition-ready Mahindra Thars, Toyota Fortuners, and a Maruti Suzuki Gypsy; all serviced, lubricated, and shod with chunky Ceat all-terrain tires. Much of the leisurely drive out of Leh on day one was along the Indus River that originates in Tibet and flows through Ladakh into Pakistan-occupied Kashmir (PoK). We then drove to Dah, one of the five villages that form the Aryan Valley. Inhabited by a native community called Brokpas, there’s a line of thought that this community might have descended from soldiers in Alexander’s army who conquered the region two millenniums ago. This is an apricot growing belt where one can pluck the fruits from roadside farms. Skitzum, our generous host at the Aryan Residency hotel organized a song and dance performance depicting the Brokpa culture; the lyrics paid tribute to khumani (apricot) orchards, mountain animals, and nature.
The following morning, we began our ascent to Sasi La and Hambuting La — "La" denotes a mountain pass in Tibetan language, and is colloquial in India. These passes connect Leh to Kargil through the Batalik sector. Thrilling alternatives to the busy NH1, these passes are longer routes worth exploring if you love driving. Rocky mountains draped in warm hues and intricate textures envelop you and there’s no beaten path — just an unpaved trail that you climb for nearly three hours before reaching the summit at over 13,500 feet.
The Thar flexed its muscles; I engaged the 4x4 low mode and it made mincemeat of everything in its path. The climb to Sasi La was where the Thar and I began establishing a deeper human-machine connection — I could foresee a downshift metres ahead, predict where I needed to ease off the throttle or just feather it to avoid the wheel slip over the slippery terrain, and immaculately calculate the time it would take for the turbo to spool up and deliver the torque to make a climb.
I needed every bit of this synergy on the following day’s drive from Kargil to Dras through a remarkable ascent to Umba La. Back in 2018, Umba La was part of Raid De Himalaya’s — a popular motorsport rally in India — special stages comprising one of the world’s most spectacular sets of switchbacks, which are steep hilly roads cutting sharply in quick successions. Over 50 hairpins, a single gravel track, and dangerous drop-offs induced a spine-tingling blend of thrill and fear. It’s hard to fathom that for years, rally drivers and riders fearlessly pelted through a pass with no guard rails.
The old Thar’s steering has excessive play and your arms overwork. A hairpin at every 100-odd meters made it even tougher. But when I reached the summit, the effort seemed worth it; the route appeared like a twirling ribbon, overlooking snow peaks and towering mountains — aren't such spectacular views something we all crave for? At the top, our hearts raced, and strong winds swept through our hair. I truly cherished the refreshment breaks — every morning the team packed hot water flasks and food in air-tight containers, items that would be intermittently consumed through long hours of driving. And we left no waste behind, the breaks on ‘Cafe Bonnet’ were fully sustainable — but I admit, the diesel-sipping Thars, not so much.
We witnessed two majestic glaciers on the following day’s drive to Rangdum through the Pensi La, the gateway to the Zanskar Valley. Parkachik and Drang-Drung glaciers are the only ones in India that can be viewed directly from the road. Usually, glaciers are so high and remote that one needs to trek for kilometers before even catching a glance.
After relishing a sumptuous local breakfast of dastuk (mix of rice, milk, dried cheese, and greens) and sattu (masala chai and flour) in a hamlet called Rangdum we endured another day of off-roading to reach the town of Padum for a day’s rest. Rest was vital that day because the ascent to Shinku La (16,580 feet) the following morning was among the toughest drives I have done in my ten years of driving experience. Countless switchbacks, steep ascents, and a narrow off-road track demanded exhausting levels of concentration.
Oncoming vehicles made us place the tires bang on the edges with millimeter precision and we even reversed on slopes to find shoulders and make room for two-way traffic. The hairpins were so narrow that they couldn't be negotiated sans three-point turns. We had to display impeccable control over the pedals to avoid getting close to the edges — just a peek over the window gave us jarring views of deadly drops. A part of me was thrilled, but I often had goosebumps and wondered what a mistake would cost me.
The higher we drove, the Thar’s performance dropped — low oxygen saturation at high altitudes has a direct impact on the combustion process in the engine resulting in reduced responsiveness — just imagine trekking in the Himalayas, the higher you climb, the more you pant — cars, in essence, experience the same thing. But we knew the drill. Shift to a lower gear, maintain steady revs and the Thar would soldier on.
The journey between Shinku La and the next two passes was eventful. We took a breather from driving and went rafting in the glacial waters of the Tsarap River from the world’s highest rafting point in Padum at 13,100 feet. Thanks to Stanzin, a graduate in Hindustani Classical music from Miranda House, Delhi, and our gracious host in the village of Purne, we attended another Zanskari cultural performance overlooking the breathtaking confluence of the brown Tsarap and the turquoise blue Lung Nak rivers.
There were two more passes to conquer before the expedition culminated; Singe La and Sirsir La. A nearly 150 km long off-road drive, this part of the Zanskar Valley seemed like Mars. It looked as if the mountain slopes were a blank canvas for a supernatural force to unleash its creativity. The textures and hues were of ornamental elegance. Amidst this visual catharsis was a clinically carved out road by the Indian Army's road construction unit, Border Roads Organization, much of which ran parallel to the Zanskar River.
An intoxicating and transcendent driver’s road that involved, entertained, and engaged, leaving me at times speechless. Singe La reaches an elevation of 16,590 feet and for over three hours you continue driving at those heights before the descent begins. A proper top-of-the-world experience. The Thar functioned at its peak potential with the 4x4 low mode making it climb like a stouthearted Himalayan trekker. The chassis belly danced through the uneven surfaces with ample articulation as the all-terrain tires clawed into the surface.
A common radio call from the lead vehicle, “Convoy shift to first and hold steady revs”, often broke the sleep of the co-drivers. If you didn't hold steady revs, you'd risk losing torque, and sliding back — remember the ravines were hundreds of feet deep and the trails didn't have guardrails. One mistake, and you're at the bottom of the gorge in a mangled piece of metal with no roll cage. The subsequent 45-degree off-road shortcuts cutting through the switchbacks were named ‘sleep breakers’ because the sheer angle of these inclines was terrifying. My co-driver broke the grab handle of the Thar as she held onto it for dear life.
Mastering engine braking and throttle modulation are life-saving skills in such situations. Amidst all the driving madness, it was hard to overlook the stark reality of Ladakh. All the passes traversed will be tarred soon as the Border Roads Organization aims to improve regional connectivity. Many of the passes will transform into four-lane highways, putting an end to the off-road thrills. There’s a Shinkhu La tunnel project in the pipeline for all-weather connectivity between Himachal Pradesh and Ladakh. Not to mention the impact construction would have on the local ecology and climate — the Drang-Drung glacier is melting at an alarming rate of 60 meters every year, according to some scientific studies.
Nobody can assure that the yaks, marmots, and sea buckthorns will continue to co-exist as they do today ten years from now. So if you’re an off-roader at heart and want to explore the raw, unadulterated, and rarely documented western Ladakh, now is the time to plan your journey because, in a few years, it will be a different landscape altogether. And if you do, make sure you pick the right wheels, something like the go-anywhere Mahindra Thar as your trusted companion.