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| The Buddha of Mulbekh Chamba, which was built roughly around the same time as the Bamiyan Buddhas |
Mulbekh is about 45 km from Kargil (previous post). It’s a small settlement with around 3–4 shops by the roadside along with something that looks like a small monastery—the kind you’ll find in every nook and corner of Ladakh. It’s easy to miss the 30-foot rock relief of Maitreya Buddha dating back to the 7thor 8th century which stands behind it.
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| Road from Kargil to Mulbekh |
If you look very carefully, you can see the head and the bust peeping from behind the temple and the huge silk cotton tree than guards the campus. Alone it has stood for 1,300 years, watching over the handful of people who reverently offer their prayers to the gentle deity of their lonesome land. The temple is not more than 50 years old.
From the Suru River in Kargil, its tributary Wakha takes over as the guide for travellers along NH1D till Mulbekh. Its journey is not easy. It passes through some of the loneliest and toughest of roads, sometimes slimming down to a narrow channel only a few metres wide to squeeze through the gap between two steep cliffs.
Even in early-August, the river bed was dry in some places and the water was muddy all along its course. Since Markha Valley was apparently under knee-deep water, I wondered where all that floodwater went! Maybe the parched land lapped it all up thirstily.
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| Mulbekh |
By the time I reached Mulbekh I was feeling extremely weary. As it is, the post-trek exhaustion was getting the better of me. I had also walked quite a bit around the Drass memorial. Now I just wanted to sit back in the car and lazily enjoy the sights. In fact, I had no idea we had stopped at Mulbekh. Tanveer said it was the “lunch spot”.
“Madam, there’s a monastery here. Why don’t you go visit it while we cook lunch?” he said. I was in no mood for monasteries right then.
We were evidently following Tanveer’s friend’s car. They had stopped; so had we. I got irritated and asked him why we were following the other car. From what Tanveer said, I gathered that this chap was more experienced on this road than he was. So he had decided to stick to him.
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| Mulbekh monastery |
Tanveer noticed my murderous mood and quietly said, “You are feeling tired, aren’t you?” I sulked even more.
The monastery was a modest structure—all the more the reason I still grumbled as I sauntered up to it. Mulbekh itself was just another ‘oasis’ in the desert of Ladakh.
I calmed down a bit after entering the monastery premises—the usual soothing effect Buddhist temples have with their peace, stillness, and the fragrance of incense and butter lamps. The additional calm here was offered by the enormous silk cotton tree that shaded nearly the entire premises.
The wooden entry gate was adorned with the usual Buddhist paintings and prayer flags. To the right of the campus was a huge prayer wheel. I took off my shoes and crossed the gate. And there it was, towering over me, the tranquil magnificence of the Maitreya Buddha.
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| The 30-foot (9-metre) Buddha of Mulbekh |
I never got around to thanking the other driver and Tanveer for following him. Only when my jaw dropped on seeing the colossal figure did I realize what I’d have missed if we had driven straight through Mulbekh.
A local Ladakhi woman was tying a ‘khata’ (a ceremonial white scarf in Tibetan Buddhism) on a string tied from left to right at the foot of the statue. It was teeming with similar ‘khatas’.
I remembered vaguely then reading somewhere about the rock-cut Buddha; I still could not remember the name of the place. I looked around for the noticeboard, which I had angrily ignored on my way inside. ‘Mulbekh Chamba’! The name surely rang a bell. I could not have felt more stupid.
To my left was the monastery building—a one-room structure. It houses a small Avalokitesvara Buddha statue, lots of paintings, photographs of the Dalai Lama and possibly other high lamas. The temple is just a formality I guess, to ensure regular prayers to the statue and to ensure that it gets the importance that it deserves.
I came out of the monastery and sat down on its cold stone stairs. The pods of the silk cotton tree had burst and the thin balls of fibre were floating everywhere, drifting languidly to the ground in a constant stream—tireless, relentless. It was like watching life in slow-mo.
I sat there—the heady scent from the monastery making me even drowsier—watching the surreal falling of the cotton strands, feeling no need to go anywhere at all. I could have sat there forever and watched the cotton fall from the tree.
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| Inside the monastery |
I sat there until my reverie was rudely broken by the boisterous youths of the other car that we were following. They had decided to lunch at the eatery bang opposite the monastery. They were some 6–7 youths in their early-twenties. They trooped into the first-floor balcony, temporarily squashing the tranquility of the monastery campus.
Feeling the irritability begin to creep back all over me—just like Venom does to Spiderman—I finally went back to the car. Tanveer looked at me closely, probably to see whether my mood was any better. It was.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the Buddha statue in there?” I asked him. From his reaction it seemed he hadn’t thought of it. Thirty-foot Buddha statues probably are of little significance to them. I asked if anyone of them could tell me more about the statue, and heard a faint “I will tell you. Come here.”
The owner of the voice was someone who seemed like a local Ladakhi man in his fifties. He was sitting in front of a shop right behind where Tanveer and his friend had parked their cars and were cooking their rice and chicken on the small gas oven.
I went in gladly. He eagerly showed me a chair to sit on and took another one across a table himself. It seemed like a small provision store.
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| Those white specks are not snow. Those are silk cotton fibres |
It turned out that he was a retired government employee (he looked a lot younger) who had worked in the tourism department, and had now opened this store. I felt he had done it mostly to pass time. His sons had grown up and left home.
Another man with short cropped hair and numerous creases and lines on his face squatted next to me. He had a good-humoured twinkle in his eyes. I liked the duo at once.
Adil brought in my plate of rice and chicken. The show-owner told him to put the plate down on the table and told me, “Eat here as I tell you about the Buddha.”
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| Who worked there with a blade? A signature Ladakh landscape |
I can’t remember what the context was, but he said one time, “I am a Buddhist. We don’t have non-veg.” The other man next to me looked at me with gleaming eyes, “I am a Buddhist too. But I eat everything. I was in the Army.” I smiled at him, startled. He was a retired soldier.
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| Namika La |
The shop-owner told me that the Buddha was 2000 years old, dating back to the period of Kanishka, the Kushan ruler whose kingdom spread across modern northern India, parts of Pakistan, Afghanistan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan and China. He was a big patron of Buddhism, and since Mulbekh stands on the old Silk Route, the theory seemed plausible.
I learnt later, however, that this theory has now been challenged, though the plaque at the site also mentions it. Newer estimates date the Buddha to around 7th-8th centuries. But no one knows who had it carved.
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| View from Namika La |
The statue, he explained, is of the Maitreya Buddha—the ‘future Buddha’ who will arrive with his message of peace and friendship (‘maitri’ means friendship) in a world devoid of kindness and virtue.
There are two more similar rock sculptures in that region—in Kartse-Khar village in Suru valley, and Apati village in Kargil. All three date back roughly to the same period as the famous Bamiyan Buddhas of Afghanistan which were blown to bits by the Taliban.
As I ate the delicious chicken curry and rice, we spoke about all kinds of things—climate change, the political situation in the country, Ladakh and Kashmir regions in general—as Tanveer, Adil and the other driver joined us.
It was a good lunch.
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| Fotu La, the highest point on NH1D |
After my meal, the shop-owner gentleman even brought a mug of water—an extremely precious item in Ladakh where water is scarce—for me to wash my hands. I left them wishing I could stay a day there, and learning more about their life and the region. But I was travelling on a tight schedule that did not allow me to make sudden changes in the itinerary.
Our next stop, about 8.5 km from Mulbekh, was the 12,198-foot high Namika La (Namika Pass), the second-highest point of the Srinagar-Leh highway. It was extremely windy though not particularly cold as the sun beat down on us. After some bird’s-eye views and photos of the surrounding valleys, it was time to move again.
We stopped again around 36 km later, at the highest point on the highway, Fotu La (Fotu Pass), at 13,479 feet. Fotu La was windier and somehow colder than Namika La. Both passes were marked with the trademark colourful Buddhist prayer flags and offered grand views of the surrounding moonscape.
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| View from Fotu la |
My intended night-halt spot, Lamayuru, was only some 6–7 km away. I was eager to see the monastery and stay there if possible. I had read somewhere that there is a night-stay facility in the monastery. Tanveer and the other driver, however, were pretty sure there was none.
The other driver, in fact, doubted whether I’d get any accommodation in Lamayuru at all since I had no pre-booking. He would be driving the youths straight to Leh. “He suggested that we also do the same if you don’t get a place to stay,” Tanveer told me.
I kept quiet. I was pretty certain I would get some accommodation in Lamayuru if not the monastery facility. I couldn’t believe that a small settlement like Lamayuru would be teeming with tourists.
It would take only 20 minutes to find out who was right.
To be continued. Next post coming up: Lamayuru
Read more of my posts on Kashmir and Ladakh:
10. Ladakh photos I
11. Ladakh photos II