Snow Leopard: Stories from the Roof of the World

20. Legends of Zanskar

— 165 — 021 Once upon a time, there were three friends: a snow leopard, an otter, and a house cat. One fine day, after playing among themselves, they decided to partake of a special meal. “I will hunt a fat ibex on the far slope,” said the snow leopard. The otter declared, “I will bring water from the river to quench our thirst.” “I will bring fire from the nearby village for cooking our delicious meal,” offered the house cat. Having decided so, the three went in separate directions. After much stalking, the snow leopard managed to kill a fat ibex. He then dragged the ibex carcass down the steep slope to the place where they were to meet. The otter, which had gone to fetch water from the river, came across a school of fish and became so absorbed chasing and playing with the fish that he forgot to return to the meeting spot. The house cat found the comforts of a house and stayed in the village relishing tasty butter and milk. The snow leopard waited and waited for his friends to return, then gave up and ate the ibex, leaving the spleen for the otter and the fat for the house cat. While the two friends never returned, to this day Legends of Zanskar R i N c h e N W a N g c h u k iNdia—The snow leopard guides a native Ladakhi to safety and to a career in conservation. R i N c h e N W a N g c h u k — 166 — the snow leopard always leaves the spleen and fat of a kill for his friends, the otter and the house cat. So goes the legend from the Valley of Zanskar. I grew up in the Valley of Nubra (Ldumra, or Valley of Flowers), listening to such beliefs and tales from our family’s sheepherders— Tsering, Tundup, and Lhamo. Nubra lies north of Leh, the capital of Ladakh, India, and north of the Zanskar Mountains. To reach Nubra you must drive over Khardung La, the highest paved road on earth at 18,380 feet. Most of the people in our valley were agriculturists, but my family raised livestock. Collectively, we cared for about 130 sheep and goats, enough for a comfortable livelihood in Nubra. Only my bride’s family owned more. My family name, Stakrey, was conferred on one of my ancestors by the king of Ladakh in honor of his fierceness in battle, beating back raiders from Tibet. Stakrey means “tiger-like.” My father followed in the warrior path, joining the Indo-Pakistan conflict at age seventeen and becoming one of India’s most highly decorated soldiers. It would seem that my fate was to become a soldier as well, but, as it turned out, my life path would be influenced not by war but instead by a wild creature of Ladakhi lore and early childhood memories. As children, my cousin and I would follow the herd as it lazily grazed among the brush. At the onset of winter we would take our livestock across the frozen Nubra River to graze all day on the thickets of sea-buck forest. In places the thicket would allow only narrow paths and at times would become so entangled that we would have to retrace our footsteps to get back to an open spot. Occasionally, we would come across a lynx track. Tsering would warn us to take special care of the younger sheep and goats, as lynx were notorious stock killers. Our vigil of protection included other predators such as red fox, wolves, and—the most elusive of them all—the snow leopard. One cold winter day it had snowed during the morning before we set out to cross the river. In the deep thicket, my cousin Skalzang and I followed a fresh lynx track until it disappeared into thick brush. Later we rejoined Tsering and the herd near the foothill. With the sun high overhead, Tsering started a noontime fire and L e g e n d s o f Z a n s k a r — 167 — began the ritual of making our lunch of tea and stew. Skalzang and I were collecting wood for the fire when suddenly all the sheep panicked and began running helter-skelter. We overheard Tsering cursing and saw him pelting stones at a bush a few yards away. After...