I found myself headed towards Skurbuchan Gonpa. The rickety bus departed from Leh town and followed the Leh-Srinagar Highway relentlessly. At a junction along the way, the highway either crossed a bridge towards Lamayuru or continued along the Indus River towards Dah Hanu. Without crossing the bridge, the bus proceeded towards Dah Hanu, passing through Skurbuchan Gonpa along the way. Gradually descending in altitude while glimpsing the Indus River on the left, every green-covered stretch of land along the Indus River was a village. From Dongkar to Skurbuchan, Achinatan, Sanjak, Dah Hanu, to Garkun, this area would soon be adorned with trees bearing juicy, orange fruits in about a month and a half, filling the villages with the sweet scent of ripened apricots. Late summer and early autumn heralded the season of apricot hunting, an excitement shared by many Ladakhis at this time of year, including myself.
As the bus finally arrived at Skurbuchan village, I took a short break at a homestay where I was welcomed with Tsampa and Lassi. Of particular interest was the Lassi, containing finely chopped vegetables, reminiscent of the aroma and taste of coriander often found in Vietnamese dishes like Pho. I recalled encountering this herb abundantly in Zanskar’s Karsha village during a homestay and being fond of Ladakhi coriander, I pondered whether adding it to a thinner noodle soup like Thukpa would enhance its flavor.
After the break, I decided to climb up to Skurbuchan Gonpa nestled tightly against the mountainside behind the house. At the foot of the Gonpa stood a large prayer wheel, and I began my exploration by circling it clockwise. Then, I ascended the narrow path along the mountainside, admiring the cluster of Gonpas shining brightly against the azure sky. Winding my way around the buildings, I finally reached the Gonpa.
The rooftop of the Gonpa served as a small square, offering a panoramic view of Skurbuchan village surrounded by lush greenery, with the Indus River peacefully flowing through the valley beyond. Looking to the right, I spotted the white Skurbuchan Palace nestled in tiers against the rocky mountain.
Exploring the interior of the Gonpa, I found it undergoing renovations, with painters delicately crafting intricate Buddhist paintings on the walls. The preliminary sketches of exquisite Buddha paintings on the pure white canvas, gradually infused with colors to create depth and contrast, left me in awe of their technique. The smooth brush strokes, rhythmic yet intricate, reminded me of monks meditating in caves, engaged in a silent battle against the self. These Vajrayana wall paintings and sculptures were uniquely captivating, a testament to the specialized skills found in Ladakh, possibly taught at the Central Institute of Buddhist Studies in Choglamsar. I speculated that the painter might have hailed from there. The institute, frequented by monks and open to the public, featured modern buildings blending Ladakhi designs, making it an intriguing visit for anyone interested.
Leaving Skurbuchan Gonpa behind, I strolled through the village. A paved pathway connected Skurbuchan Gonpa to Skurbuchan Palace in an arc, bordered by wheat fields on the inner side. Several small shops lined the path, forming a small market at the village center where elderly folks and housewives engaged in casual chats while children played around. Beside the pathway, a clear stream flowed, sparkling under the sun, indicating its suitability as drinking water. Skurbuchan, despite its age, had many relatively new houses on the flat terrain, a consequence of the massive floods that hit Ladakh in 2010, washing away buildings in flat areas like Skurbuchan village. The village, now seemingly untouched by such floods, had recovered remarkably.
Continuing along the arched pathway, I glanced up and saw the alabaster Skurbuchan Palace atop the rocky mountain peak. I ascended the path leading to it, a winding staircase crafted into the steep mountainside. While the ascent was steep due to the mountain’s incline, the staircase was well-maintained, making the climb manageable. Midway through the stairs, I looked back, witnessing the panoramic view of beautiful Skurbuchan village below, knowing that the view from the summit would be even more breathtaking. Suppressing my curiosity, I pressed on. Reaching the summit, I turned around to behold the breathtaking view—a true definition of scenic beauty. The Indus River winding through the mountains, past Skurbuchan village, and beyond, the rocky mountains transitioning into lush greenery, all formed a natural artwork, a testament to human interaction with nature. Clusters of Gonpas nestled in the cliffs to the left, overlooking the ancient village of Skurbuchan below, made this spot a treasure accessible from Leh without journeying all the way to Zanskar for such panoramic Gonpas. In my opinion, Skurbuchan offered a far more stunning experience compared to Lamayuru Gonpa nearby, and I encouraged others to explore it. Additionally, I learned from a Japanese photographer I met on the way that in mid to late February, after the Noble Silence, there’s a sacred event where people perform the Five Body Postures while traveling from Skurbuchan to Lamayuru over two weeks—a journey I contemplated experiencing next year.
Finally, as I looked back from the summit of the rocky mountain, I saw a large, stark white structure resembling a giant miso-dressed dish, seamlessly blending into the Himalayan backdrop—the Skurbuchan Palace Tea House, where I found myself alone, immersed in the grandeur of the mountains.
