In the village of Puga on the Chantan Plateau, which rises above 4,000 meters, there lies a small village known as Puga Village.
The oxygen in this village is about half that of the ground level. The vast plateau of Central Asia stretches endlessly, the sky is infinitely clear, and the village seems infinitely close to heaven. Here, amidst numerous sheep and goats, there exists a nomadic ethnic group tending to a large subspecies of cattle called yaks, with long fur and immense bodies, wandering the Chantan Plateau.
They seek pasture for their livestock and move across the vast highlands with tents called gers, nomadically wandering with their herds.
Once the nomadic journey begins, the head of the household doesn’t return to the village for a long time. Meanwhile, the children are left in the village school. This village school operates as a boarding school where children stay with teachers, studying, eating, and sleeping.
On the final day of our International Fellowship of Buddhist Youth in Ladakh with LIFE on the PLANET, we loaded a truck with supplies and boarded a rickety bus, heading from Stok to the Puga Village school hundreds of kilometers away. Passing by villages like Mato nestled behind Stok’s hills, Shay Gonpa on the lake shore, Tikse Gonpa fortress monastery, and Stakna Gonpa, known as the Tiger’s Nose, we aimed straight up the Indus River. The river’s width varied, converging towards the narrower side.
Inside the bus, Ladakhis showed their exceptional talent for enjoyment, singing and dancing uproariously. Even I, as I write this, joined in the dancing with enthusiasm, inspired by the lively atmosphere. As everyone danced, the already swaying bus began to sway more, rocking left and right.
Along the Indus River banks, hot springs bubbled up, creating a quaint hot spring area. Surrounding it were makeshift restaurants resembling dug-out cabins, small gompas resembling dug-out cabins, and hot spring facilities resembling dug-out cabins. After a meal at the restaurant, we hurriedly bathed in the hot springs before setting off again.
Post-soak, as it often happens, a sudden drowsiness engulfed us all, gently pulling us towards a peaceful nap. Students, still emanating steam from their bodies after the hot bath, nestled deeply into their seats, breathing comfortably. The road diverged, the bus turned right, and in the distance beyond the Y-junction, a large white gompa loomed, its name unknown.
To the right, a narrow, partly frozen river and a narrow valley buried in snow stretched on. Suddenly, the view opened up, the valley turned into a plain extending into the distance. Under the clear blue sky, mountains tinted with tanned leather color surrounded the plain, and in the meandering stream flowing through the wilderness, hundreds of wild horses could be seen.
Having crossed the 4,000-meter mark, the landscape became surreal, resembling a scene from another world, neither moon nor Mars.
Further along, we encountered a Tibetan refugee colony, and we visited their school. Literally a colony of children who had fled Tibet, one couldn’t help but wonder about the circumstances and paths that led them to this remote highland.
Contrary to such thoughts, seeing the lively children somehow brought relief. We unloaded the supplies from the truck and spent a short but joyful time singing and dancing with the children. After bidding goodbye to the children, we headed towards our final destination, the Sky Village of Puga.
Gazing at the vast primitive land on the left, we noticed clusters of tents to the right. These tents, called gers, symbolize the nomadic people’s homes. The nomadic people, along with yaks, dzos, cows, sheep, and goats, roam this vast Chantan Plateau in search of fodder for their livestock.
We had already surpassed 4,300 meters in altitude, and amidst this expansive plain, the school came into view. Parking the bus in the schoolyard, we found ourselves in sub-zero temperatures in mid-May. Despite that, children curiously peered at us from beyond the fence.
As we began unloading supplies from the bus and truck, the children joined in and started helping with the transportation without us asking. Supplies were brought into the school’s spacious hall, and finally, we moved there to greet the children.
In Puga Village on the Chantan Plateau, there are no shops; everything beyond self-sufficiency must be purchased from stores over a hundred kilometers away or awaited from aid organizations. Even self-sufficiency is challenging at this altitude of over 4,300 meters; wheat and rice don’t grow, relying heavily on support from various sources.
The amount of supplies we brought in was enough to fill a truck, but it wouldn’t last more than a few months. Yet, the nomadic culture of Puga Village is renowned worldwide, often featured in BBC documentaries and National Geographic, ensuring continuous support from both local and international sources.
We personally handed out stationery like notebooks and pens to the children gathered in the hall. They lined up eagerly, awaiting the distribution of new stationery. The joy on their faces as they received new notebooks and pens was palpable; their eyes sparkled with excitement. In this world without internet or television, textbooks are their sole source of knowledge. In earlier times, all necessary knowledge was learned from sheep and goats.
Most of the children sleep and wake up in the school. Their dormitories, divided by grade, consist of cold and dark rooms with wooden bunk beds. There’s no heating, but the room warms up with the children’s lively presence, although it may not suffice in severe winter conditions reaching below minus 30 degrees Celsius. Reflecting on life in such an environment, one wonders about the nomadic tribes that have inhabited this highland since ancient times, what drove them, where they wandered, and why they settled here permanently.
We spent the evening singing and dancing with the children until late into the night. A bright full moon appeared in the darkening sky, illuminating the chilled night.
The next morning, with temperatures dropping below minus 10 degrees Celsius, the children were already seated in the hall, reciting prayers with folded hands as the soft morning sunlight streamed in. I was reminded once again of the Ladakhi people’s adherence to Tibetan Buddhism, witnessing the children’s prayers resonate through the hall in the serene morning air. It felt like touching something beyond just human existence or salvation through prayers, resonating with the fundamental aspects of various lives on a higher dimension. In that moment, a subtle breeze of realization swept through, making me aware of being a part of this world resonating with everything around.
For about six years now, I’ve had a growing realization of something I must write about.
The people of Ladakh are not inherently poor, except for a brief period… In 2010, Ladakh experienced an unprecedented flood, leading to extreme poverty for a month. During that month, global support poured in, allowing Ladakhis to rebuild their lives.
There are no beggars in Ladakh (excluding migrant laborers). Even on this front alone, one can argue they are happier than advanced countries. They are often perceived as poor simply because they own less and lead very simple lives.
Their daily life is devoid of stress, and in this simple lifestyle, there are no taxes. For instance, we don’t support Ladakhis because we think they are poor and need our help, but rather because we have slightly more than they do. It’s about sharing what we have with them. Imagine you have 10 pencils, and a person in Ladakh has only one. You decide to share two of your pencils with them.
Now you have eight pencils, and the person in Ladakh has three. The total amount hasn’t changed; it’s just a shift in the direction of goodwill. This concept forms the basis of the social work and society in Ladakh today, and it’s a concept I intend to uphold. I’ve been reminded of the depth of Ladakhi society year after year.
That morning, we quietly left Puga Village behind.
