“I tell my beloved to return to her homeland.
There is no time left to linger in a foreign land.
Living in someone else’s village, I endure endless taunts.
Oh my Laila, do you find it fair for me to suffer so?”
—Excerpt from Yusha Inna or “Return, my beloved”
Nestled in the rugged embrace of Kargil’s mountains, the villages of Hardass, Latoo and Karkitcho stand as quiet sanctuaries, where the Balti people, despite centuries of upheaval, have found a tender sense of home. In the breathtaking corners of Ladakh—Turtuk, Bogdang and Chulungkha, the Baltis have stitched their lives back together with threads of resilience, warmth, and deep, aching nostalgia. Their hearts beat with the pulse of the land—where the mountains are not just a backdrop, but a living, breathing presence.
The vivid culture of the Baltis has softly blended into the tranquil regions of Shargole, Wakha, Mulbekh, and Hunderman, enriching their timeless beauty.
Shargole is a place where the very air seems to hum with serenity. Surrounded by towering snow-capped peaks, as if nature has painted its finest masterpiece—greenery in every shade imaginable, blossoming flowers swaying softly in the wind, and a sky so blue it seems to whisper secrets. The village, cradled in nature's arms, like a poem, written in the language of the earth. Time seems to slow here, as though the land itself is taking a quiet breath, savoring its own beauty. In Shargole, every passing moment feels like a gift, with the abundance of nature filling the hearts of its people with peace.
Wakha, where the road between Leh and Kargil pauses just long enough for travellers to stretch their legs and savor hot cups of chai, is a place where the soul finds comfort in the smallest of things. A village perched on the crossroads of journeys, it serves as a moment of respite—a reminder that even amid life’s relentless rhythms, there is always time to stop, breathe, and simply be.
Mulbekh, bathed in the soft glow of Buddhist traditions, invites a deeper sense of grace and contemplation. The festival days—Shukla, Samola, and Osaar—are not just occasions for ritual but for connection—to the earth, to the skies, and to one another. They are celebrations of life itself, acknowledging the rhythms of nature, the blessings of the harvest, and the prayers of protection whispered into the winds.
And then, there is Hunderman—perched on the very edge of borders, a village shaped by the weight of history and the pain of separation. Yet, within its borders, an unwavering resilience hums beneath the surface. Despite the echoes of conflict, the spirit of Hunderman remains unbroken—its museums house the memories of lives splintered, yet its people hold steadfast to the stories that refuse to fade.
Before the 14th century, Baltistan was known as "Little Tibet," a kingdom where the Balti's lived in harmony with the land. Over time, their culture has been infused with the colors, sounds, and rhythms of the many traditions that have passed through this region—Mughal influences blending with Tibetan ancestry, creating a rich tapestry of music, dance, and art that carries the soul of the Balti people through generations.
In the heart of Ladakh, where the jagged peaks of the Himalayas pierce the sky and the winds whisper ancient secrets, there exists a timeless tradition woven into the very fabric of the land. Here, both men and women wear the pheran, a woollen robe that sways like the rhythm of the mountains themselves, draping them in warmth against the biting cold. These robes, crafted from thick wool, come in a mosaic of colours—each one a reflection of the earth, the skies, and the shifting seasons. Some are dyed with deep crimson, others with the soft ochres of the desert sands, while others still shimmer in the blues and greens that mimic the skies above.
The men, stoic in their manner, wear a nating—a small, rounded cap perched atop their heads. But this is no ordinary cap; it carries a legacy of fragrance. Beneath the soft fabric, there is a tiny compartment where a single blossom is tucked in, its delicate petals unfurling to release a fragrance that dances on the mountain air. In times long past, when perfumes were scarce and the winds carried only the scent of the earth and snow, the nating became a silent tribute to beauty and grace—a way to hold the fleeting scent of a flower, to keep it close. The men wear it with pride, a subtle reminder of the resourcefulness and elegance of the people who call this rugged land home.
For the women, their attire is as much a symbol of tradition as it is of reverence. Their pherans are often adorned with intricate embroidery, the stitches telling stories of family, of the land, and of the enduring strength of women. Draped in these robes, the women of Ladakh move through their world with an almost otherworldly grace. Over their heads, they wear the hijab, a simple yet profound symbol of their faith and culture. It is a veil that, while protecting them from the harsh winds, also honours their deeply rooted spiritual beliefs. It speaks of a land where religion and heritage intertwine, where every movement is a gesture of respect to both the divine and the earth beneath their feet.
The women’s nating is adorned with delicate silver jewels called tumar, that glisten brightly when touched by the rays of the sun. Around their necks and wrists, the women carry ornate charms. The kau, a small silver box, rests delicately in their hands or on their belts, its beadwork so intricate it seems to capture the very essence of the mountains themselves. This little charm box, like a piece of living history, is more than just an ornament. Inside, the women carry bits of their lives—homemade creams, soothing and rich, to protect their skin from the harsh winds; kajal, the dark, silky substance used to line their eyes and ward off the evil eye; and sometimes, a tabeez—a small talisman for protection, a prayer for the safety and well-being of those they love.
Each piece of their attire is a testament to the wisdom of the ages, a reminder of a people who have endured the harshest of winters and the most unforgiving landscapes. Yet, in the face of such challenges, they have never faltered. The pheran, the nating, the kau—these are not merely clothes and ornaments. They are stories, passed down through generations, stories of resilience, faith, and beauty. In the mountains of Ladakh, every stitch, every jewel, every tiny box is a whisper of the past, a promise to the future, and a celebration of the present.
But it is the legacy of the Partition that runs deepest in their veins. The political divide of 1947 may have separated families, but it could never sever the ties of love and longing that bind them. Today, the Balti people exist on both sides of the border, their hearts split between two homes, and two lands, forever yearning for the place they once knew. The pain of this divide is echoed in the poetry and music that rise from the valley, capturing the depths of this separation with a tenderness that transcends borders. Their songs are not just melodies—they are heartbeats, the rhythm of a people who continue to long for what was lost, yet never forgotten.
And within this sorrow, there is a quiet beauty, a tenderness in the longing. The Kayal Mag speaks with Zahraa Banoo, a Balti singer whose voice carries the weight of untold stories, breathing life into this delicate ache. With each note, and each word, her music weaves together the joys and pains of the Balti people. Her voice is both a whisper of longing and a triumphant cry of resilience, embodying the spirit of a people who have endured, yet never broken.
It is the story of Majnu and Laila, forever entwined in the heart of the Balti people. Yet, in this pain, there is also a profound beauty—a reminder that love, even in its most sorrowful forms, is never truly lost. The same sentiment is echoed by the Balti song Yusha Inna—Return, my beloved—where the divide between the two lovers mirrors the greater divide between the lands, the families, and the hearts torn apart by borders. And though the heartaches, there is joy too. Each note that carries the sound of their homeland is a step closer to healing, a bridge across the invisible walls that separate them. The music is both a balm and a celebration—of past struggles, of the resilience of the people and of a love that, though divided, is far from lost.
In the face of all that has been lost, the Baltis stand with quiet pride. Their beauty is not just in their land, their music, or their culture—but in their ability to endure, to love, and to rebuild again and again. Their faces, soft with the inheritance of their Tibetan roots, shine with a light that cannot be dimmed. In the echoes of their songs, in the rustle of their robes, in the gentle glint of their eyes, one can feel the warmth of a home that, despite all odds, remains unbroken.
Renzu Music, based in Kashmir, is dedicated to amplifying the voices of Balti musicians and bringing their art to a global audience. Through their efforts, songs like Yusha Inna not only celebrate the beauty of the Balti language but also provide a platform for preserving and promoting the region’s unique cultural heritage.
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