Imagine trying to meditate while fighter jets roar overhead, and the atmosphere thick with tension and the looming fear of war between two nuclear-armed nations. The contrast is almost surreal.

On April 22, terrorists killed 26 Hindu tourists in Pahalgam, a village in Jammu and Kashmir near the Pakistan border. Among the victims was a Nepali citizen. Just eight days later, on April 30, I boarded a flight to Leh, the capital of the Union Territory of Ladakh, which shares its border with both Kashmir and Pakistan. Leh is only 220 km by air from Pahalgam, and Pakistan's border lies roughly 200 km away, near the village of Turtuk in Thang. 

The SpiceJet flight started its journey from New Delhi with a little bit of turbulence while ascending through the thick haze of pollution hanging over the Indian capital. But soon, the plane leveled out and started to fly above the Himalayas. Luckily, I had a window seat which allowed me to look down at the vast expanse of the snow-capped peaks. The skies were crystal clear, offering a sweeping view of this pristine white landscape. White is peace. White is beautiful.

After some time, a river appeared in the scene. Soon, a brown, barren, desert valley became visible. Lying in the upper Indus River valley, the geography of Leh is totally different on the northern side of the Himalayas. It is barren, rugged with small peaks and a vast desert.

Ladakh is famous for its natural beauty, picturesque landscape and breathtaking views. Often called a hidden paradise, it is known as the Last Shangri-La—a sanctuary for Tibetan culture which has struggled to survive in its homeland since the Chinese invasion of Tibet in 1949. It is also known as the land of the three M’s—monastery, mountains and meditation. The aerial view of the valley was simply beyond words, breathtaking and sublime.

After an hour and 20 minutes, we touched down at the Leh Airport. Just before landing, a stern announcement warned passengers not to take any photos or videos, as the airport is shared with the military. Really? I thought. How can you stop me from capturing this mesmerizing sight? I was disappointed, like many other passengers, and slipped my phone back into my pocket.

What is interesting is, a regular Indian SIM card does not work in Ladakh. To use mobile services, one needs a local Ladakhi SIM card. It is an unusual restriction for a tourist destination. But it reflects the region’s sensitive geopolitical situation. India maintains tight communication controls in this region due to the ongoing Kashmir dispute.

After landing, I caught a bus from outside the airport and headed to the main market area, commonly known as Leh Market. In a small restaurant there, I met Nandi, a Nepali-speaking boy who grew up in Uttarakhand. He generously offered me a hotspot, and I was finally connected to the Internet.  

Online, I was immediately struck by the flood of content calling for war with Pakistan in response to the terrorist attack in Pahalgam. Many Indians believed the attack was supported or sponsored by the Pakistani government. News channels, online portals, newspapers and YouTube creators were all loudly demanding retaliation. I couldn’t help but wonder—why this craving for war? Is there a single aspect of war that is truly good for humanity? War is never beautiful. It is ugly in every possible way.

That evening, I stood outside my homestay on the banks of the Indus River and spotted lights moving across the sky. I assumed they were Indian fighter jets. The next morning, I entered a Vipassana meditation camp—and from that moment on, I was completely disconnected from the outside world. I had no idea what was happening in the skies above me.

The silence lasted until May 9, when the course ended and I came out of the camp. My phone, laptop, books and diaries all had been locked away. Communication with fellow meditators and servers was strictly prohibited to maintain noble silence.

Initially, I did not understand the purpose of noble silence—one of the most important rules of the Vipassana Meditation. Why can't meditators talk to each other or make small talk with servers and the management team? But after completing my first Vipassana course in February 2024, began reading more about Buddhist philosophy and gradually came to understand its significance.

What makes Buddhist philosophy, especially the teachings of the Buddha, is its focus on the human mind rather than metaphysics. In Tripitaka, an elderly woman asked the Buddha, “What is Dhamma?” (Dhamma is the Pali word for Dharma)? He replied, “Dhamma is to understand the cause of suffering and to find the path to liberation from that suffering—Dukha.”

According to Buddha, the mind (chitta), full of defilements, is at the heart of the cycle of suffering. To remove those defilements is to attain liberation. So, most of his teachings revolve around understanding how the mind works—how it controls our actions and influences our thinking. This is why a layman, without proper teaching, cannot find the way to end suffering. That is what made Siddhartha the Buddha, he discovered a way out.

So how do we purify the mind? The Buddha has prescribed a threefold path: Sila (virtue), Samadhi (concentration) and Prajna (Wisdom)—the essence of his eightfold path. Virtue prevents the mind from gathering defilements. A virtuous mind remains stable, which supports deeper concentration. And a concentrated mind perceives reality clearly, enabling purification.

Vipassana meditation is a training in this purification process. But for it to work effectively, the mind must first be made stable. If you engage with social media, watch YouTube videos, read news or books, or talk to fellow meditators, you are feeding the mind—keeping it active and restless. But if you stop feeding it, it settles. That is why meditators are not allowed to use mobile phones, laptops or books, or even speak to one another. The same rule applies to servers. Once you have learned the technique, you can practice it even amidst the chaos of daily life.

Buddha teaches us how to live peacefully in this world. Yes, he said that purifying the mind leads to better rebirths—or even ultimate liberation (Nibbana). But even for those who do not believe in rebirth or the afterlife, these teachings are valuable. They help us to live peacefully and happily.

One evening, during the meditation retreat, I suddenly remembered everything that had been unfolding in the outside world before I entered the camp. It struck me—there I was, learning peace in a war zone, under the roar of the fighter jets!

The Vipassana camp was set in a beautiful location, just eight kilometers from Leh town and two to three kilometers from the mighty Indus River. Interestingly, the Indus River itself had made headlines shortly after the Pahalgam terrorist attack, when India announced to hold treaty in abeyance.  The treaty had long stood as a rare symbol of cooperation between two bitter rivals.

Despite decades of hostility, including bans on sporting ties and cultural exchanges—like Pakistanis being barred from the IPL or working in Bollywood—the treaty had remained untouched. Signed in 1960 by Indian Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru and Pakistani President Ayub Khan, the treaty endured through three wars between the two nations (in 1965, 1971, and 1999). That longevity made it a model for transboundary water-sharing.

The Indus originates in the sacred Kailash-Mansarovar region of Tibet Autonomous Region. The region is traditionally believed to be the source of three great Himalayan rivers: the Ganges, the Brahmaputra and the Sutlej. The Brahmaputra flows eastwards across Tibet, then turns south into Northeast India and Bangladesh. The Sutlej flows westward from the southern slopes of the Himalayas and eventually merges with the Indus. The Indus itself flows northwest from Tibet, enters Ladakh through, and continues toward Gilgit-Baltistan, passing near the base of K2 Mountain, before curving southward into Pakistan. All five of its major tributaries also flow from India into Pakistan.

After the Vipassana retreat, I returned to my homestay in a small area called Zampa on the banks of the Indus. My host, Daya, told me that Zampa means bridge in the local language, and sure enough, there was a bridge nearby. He also told me that the water level in the Indus had dropped significantly in recent years.

Until 2019, Ladakh was part of the Indian state of Jammu and Kashmir. That changed when the Modi government revoked Article 370, stripping Kashmir of its special constitutional status and reorganizing the region into separate union territories.

While there is an interesting contrast between Ladakh and Kashmir, they share a long and intertwined history. Ladakh was part of the Kushana Empire some 2,000 years ago. The Kushanas belonged to the Yuezhi tribe, which had invaded the larger parts of Central Asia, northwestern South Asia and eastern Iran. They were the third Central Asian tribe, after the Shakas and Huns, to invade and control parts of northwestern South Asia.

The Kushanas made a significant contribution to the spread of Buddhism. Emperor Kanishka, whose capitals were in present-day Peshawar (Pakistan) and Mathura (India), had convened the fourth Buddhist Council in Srinagar. Renowned Buddhism scholars like Asvaghosa and Vasumitra participated in this council which marked the formal separation of Mahayana Buddhism from Theravada or the Hinayana.

Later, while Kashmir was invaded by Shikhs and Muslims, Ladakh managed to retain its autonomy. Apart from the southern powers, China and Tibet also tried to occupy Ladakh but never fully succeeded; largely due to high mountain passes, which made invasion extremely difficult.  The very name ‘Ladakh’ reflects this geography as ‘La’ means pass and ‘Dakh’ means in the local language which is closely related to Tibetan.

One fascinating discovery I made was about a Ladakhi named Utpala (likely a Sanskritized name) who invaded the Mustang valley of Nepal in around the 13th century. If you look at the map, try to imagine how many Himalayan passes he must have crossed to reach Mustang.

After visiting the Central Asian Museum in Leh Market, I learned that despite its rugged terrain and high passes, Ladakh was once part of the ancient Silk Route; as was Mustang. Interestingly, however, Buddhism did not arrive in Ladakh during those early trade days, nor even during Kanishka's reign. While some Buddhist structures from that era have been found, widespread influence only began around the 11th century. By then, Buddhism had travelled a long route, through China and Tibet, before reaching Ladakh.

The Namgyal dynasty later became key patrons of Buddhism in the region. Among its kings, the 17th-century ruler Singge Namgyal is most well-known. His horse-back statue greets visitors to Leh. Though the place is officially called Namgyal Chowk, locals fondly refer to it as Ghoda Chowk (horse square). Singge Namgyal built the Leh Palace above the Market, relocating it from Shey, and he also built the large monastery at Hemmis. He brought the revered monk Taksang Raspa to serve as the monastery’s chief spiritual figure.

I was curious to know how Ladakh became a part of Kashmir. The answer lies in the 19th century. In the 1830s, Dogra King Gulab Singh ruled a part of Jammu under the suzerainty of Sikh Maharaja Ranjit Singh. Gulab Singh sent General Zorawar Singh to invade Ladakh. Zorawar Singh defeated the Namgyal forces, bringing Ladakh under Dogra control. By the time of India’s independence, Gulab Singh's great-grandson, Hari Singh, was the ruler of Jammu and Kashmir, including Ladakh, and would become its last king.

When India gained independence in 1947, Pakistani raiders captured parts of Ladakh, including Zanskar and the Kargil Valley. But the Gurkha Regiment, composed of Nepali soldiers, fought bravely in the harsh high-altitude terrain to reclaim these areas. Since then, Ladakh remained under India-administered Kashmir until 2019, when it was designated a Union Territory.

Today, the western parts of Ladakh, such as Kargil and Turtuk, have a Muslim majority. Overall, Muslims make up 46% of the population, Buddhists 40% and Hindus 12%. But monasteries can be found throughout the region. Hemis is the largest, and Alchi is the oldest. Tibetan Buddhist culture is visible everywhere, earning Ladakh titles like ‘Hidden Paradise’ and ‘Little Shangri-La’.

This is the place I chose for meditation, and it brought me great inner peace. But I was also aware that I was in a region overshadowed by the looming threat of war between two nuclear-armed nations. When I left the meditation center, my taxi driver and friend Metta gave me unsettling news: India and Pakistan were at war. It was a terrifying moment.

Over 2,600 years ago, the Buddha taught the people of this land about peace. Even Emperor Ashoka, who once waged war from Afghanistan and Kalinga, realized the importance of peace and embraced Buddhism. Yet, the madness of war still haunts this region.

Globally, the relevance of Buddha's teaching is gaining recognition. So, why are we turning away from them? Why are South Asian leaders choosing war and confrontation instead of reflecting on the path of peace the Buddha showed? Today, fields as diverse as psychology, neuroscience and even quantum physics are engaging with his insights into the human mind. Yet here, in the very land where he once walked, are we choosing to ignore them?

The news of the ceasefire brought immense relief, not just to us but to the people of Ladakh as well. Now, they are hopeful that tourists will return. They just want to say, Ladakh is safe and peaceful.