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There is palpable anger among the locals, and the killings have deeply disturbed them
People in Ladakh have largely refrained from speaking to the media about the recent episode of violence, due to a climate of fear and mistrust following the unrest. File pic/PTI
Late on Friday evening, I received a message from a source in Ladakh informing me that activist Sonam Wangchuk had been detained and was likely to face stringent action.
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The next couple of hours were tense for a television journalist like me—filled with constant live broadcasts and commentary on his arrest. To my surprise, I was soon sent to Leh, anticipating the possibility of further violence and unrest.
I left Srinagar in the fading evening light, watching the city slowly slip into shadow as our vehicle rushed its way towards the high mountain roads leading to Leh.
The familiar bustle of Srinagar gave way to winding stretches of highway, with the dim glow of roadside tea stalls flickering against the darkness. I knew the night was long, restless and tiring. At times, the silence was unsettling, interrupted only by the steady hum of the engine and the occasional sweep of headlights cutting through the mountains.
Sleep came in fragments, stolen between jolts on uneven roads and the rare moments of stillness when the vehicle paused.
By morning, as the light started to show over the Ladakh ranges, I sensed a shift in the air—not just the altitude, but a palpable tension. Entering Leh, the first sight that struck me was the coiled glint of concertina wire stretched across key roads. Curfew was in place, a familiar scene pre-2019 in Kashmir.
Policemen in body gear stood guard, their eyes scanning every passing vehicle. Our car slowed to a halt at one checkpoint. A uniformed officer approached briskly, his hand resting firmly on the strap of his gun and demanded our identities. The exchange was brief, the silence lingering before a nod allowed us to move on.
As we drove deeper into the town, the atmosphere thickened with unease. Outside the BJP office, the aftermath of an attempted arson lay stark in the open. The building bore the early marks of fire, and scattered across the road were splintered pieces of broken furniture, charred at the edges. Empty shells of tear smoke grenades littered the ground, with burnt plastic still emitting thin trails of unpleasant white smoke that clawed at the throat.
The air carried the smell of burnt wood mixed with chemical haze, wrapping the entire street in a suffocating reminder of the day of violence.
A look at the BJP office tells you the story—broken windows, stones, black dark smoke on the wall, and security forces men guarding the premises with all their strength.
The scene was surreal—the stark mountains contrasting harshly with the unsettled heart of a town under lockdown.
Just a few metres away, the Ladakh Autonomous Hill Development Council office and other important buildings present a similar scene. Everyone walking by casts suspicious glances at us.
Under the life-size statue of Singay Namgyal, also known as the “Lion King”, who ruled from 1616 to 1642 and played a pivotal role in unifying Ladakh, policemen and paramilitary personnel stand guard, allowing vehicles to pass only after thorough inspection.
People in Ladakh have largely refrained from speaking to the media about the recent episode of violence, due to a climate of fear and mistrust following the unrest.
Just as I was about to speak to people, a message flashed on my phone about a press conference to be addressed by the DGP of Ladakh Police. I immediately boarded the vehicle and headed towards the civil secretariat building, whose road was littered with stones thrown during recent unrest.
The DGP informed the media that investigators were probing a possible Pakistan link in Sonam Wangchuk’s case, pointing to his prior visits across the border and alleged interactions with Islamabad-based officials. Everyone’s eyes were lit with reporters immediately flashing questions.
Ladakh-based media began questioning the police action of opening fire on protesters, while the DGP defended the response, explaining how they protected personnel and buildings from the mob.
“Sir, we need to highlight that the protesters were carrying the national flag and a photograph of the father of our constitution—they were nationalists,” a young woman, possibly in her late twenties, insisted.
There is palpable anger among the locals, and the killings have deeply disturbed them. “I visited the home of one of those killed in the firing, but no one wants to speak to the media,” a reporter from a Delhi-based national newspaper told me.
The authorities relaxed the curfew for just two hours, only to reimpose it as people began heading back to their homes.
This is the first time Ladakh has witnessed such an incident, where four lives were claimed, and the government responded with a heavy hand, imposed curfew, and used gunfire and tear gas shells.
About the Author
Ieshan Wani, senior correspondent, CNN-News18, has over eight years of experience in reporting, producing and editing news for broadcast, digital and print platforms. His reporting has mostly been from Kashmir….Read More
Ieshan Wani, senior correspondent, CNN-News18, has over eight years of experience in reporting, producing and editing news for broadcast, digital and print platforms. His reporting has mostly been from Kashmir…. Read More
Leh, India, India
September 27, 2025, 19:23 IST
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