The ancient discovery that put a Silk Road city back on the map

After unearthing a rare collection of highly prized Silk Road artefacts, a family in the Himalayas has opened a museum dedicated to one of the fabled route's final traders.

Muzzamil Hussain was in grade school when the first bombs fell on the playground outside of his classroom in Kargil, a mountain city in the Indian province of Ladakh. While the violent onset of the 1999 Kargil war between Pakistan and India unfolded around him, Hussain and his family escaped south to the remote Suru Valley.

After India claimed victory later that year and displaced families returned home, Hussain listened as his bedridden grandfather asked the family to visit an old property, originally built by Hussain's great-grandfather, near Kargil's bazaar to make sure it had survived the war. When Hussain's uncles cracked through an old rusty latch and peered through the hand-carved wooden doors, they discovered wooden crates stamped with names of cities around the world. Making space on the dusty floor, the family began to lay out silks from China, silver cookware from Afghanistan, rugs from Persia, turquoise from Tibet, saddles from Mongolia and luxury soaps and salves from London, New York and Munich. 

They had found an abandoned treasure trove – a collection that would soon become recognised as one of the finest family-owned collections of Silk Road artefacts in India and a discovery that would change the course of Hussain's life.

That was 25 years ago. Today, centuries after it provided a crucial-yet-harrowing thoroughfare for Silk Road traders, the Himalayan mountain pass of Zoji La connecting Kashmir to Ladakh is still known as one of the most dangerous roads in the world. On a recent visit, my palms began to sweat as our 4x4 groaned its way higher up the mountainside. I glanced nervously out the window towards a glaciated peak at eye level, and the valley floor more than 1,000m below. No matter how close I pressed my nose against the window, I could not find the edge of the dirt road; just air and a long way to fall. In the front passenger seat, Hussain texted one of the many enterprises he runs with his family, including two hotels, two museums, a conservation NGO and a tour guide service. This was a regular commute for him, and one that his family had braved for centuries.

I first met Hussain in 2023 while searching for snow leopards in eastern Ladakh. While sipping pink Kashmiri noon chai in a snow flurry at 4,265m, he told me stories of his own remarkable connection to the Silk Road. His flashbacks began with war, flirted with buried treasure and ended in reconciliation. As an archaeologist enamored with mountain history, I needed to learn more, so two years later, I found myself on the Zoji La in the footsteps of Silk Road traders who, like us, hoped to make it to the historic trading hub of Kargil before nightfall.  

The mountainous region of Ladakh is situated in the westernmost corner of the Himalayas amongst the disputed borders of India, Pakistan and China. Towering peaks, steep glacial valleys and sweeping alpine plateaus dominate the landscape. Fields of barley blanket sandy floodplains; blindingly white apple and apricot blossoms paint the shores along the Indus River; and on the ridges above, snow leopards and Himalayan brown bears move like wraiths as they search for their next meal. Because of its location at the crossroads of commerce and conquest, modern Ladakh is home to a blend of cultures including Tibetan Buddhists, Muslims and a number of tribal communities.

The Silk Road refers to one of the world's largest overland trade routes – a network that spanned 6,400km connecting Europe to far East Asia. Although named for the Chinese silks that the Roman elite imported during the 1st Century AD, the cross-continental trade system was established much earlier. Once constructed, the network helped transport ideas, religions, commodities and currencies across the ancient world. While the connection between Europe and East Asia was severed in 1453 when the Ottomans boycotted China, segments of the Silk Road continued to exist regionally in places like Ladakh well into the 20th Century.

A few days after our hair-raising crossing of Zoji La, Hussain and I sat at a small cafe in central Kargil eating dal and sipping masala chai. As the Islamic call to prayer echoed around the mountains of the Zanskar Range and wood smoke drifted in from a nearby bakery, Hussain explain why his family decided to protect and share their great-grandfather's treasure.

At first, Hussain's family was unsure of what to do with the ancient items. In 2002, Florida Atlantic University anthropologists Dr Jacqueline Fewkes and Nasir Khan heard rumours of the collection and travelled to meet Hussain and his relatives. Recognising the artefacts' importance, the anthropologists encouraged the family to preserve the items for future generations. With Hussain's two uncles serving as the director and curator, the family opened the Munshi Aziz Bhat Museum in central Kargil where visitors can explore hundreds of Silk Road artefacts ranging from 18th-Century Ladakhi sheep-horn bows to 19th-Century Chinese copper water pipes. To Fewkes, it is the personal anecdotes and family connection to the collection that makes this museum unique and important.

"The Munshi Aziz Bhat [museum] doesn't have to, and should not, be the British Museum or the Smithsonian because it offers its own perspective that is invaluable to both local and global audiences," Dr Fewkes told me, "The stories [here] are focused on identities that are significant to the descendants … family and local histories provide an alternative understanding about the past than national or international narratives that you would see in larger museums in India or abroad."

While his uncles run the day-to-day operations at the museum, Hussain focuses on research and retracing his family history – a heritage he hopes can provide an opportunity to attract visitors and more importantly, help his community reconcile with a difficult past.

"I think it's very important that everybody try to preserve their own family histories," added Hussain's uncle, Ajaz Munshi. "In the age of modernisation, we are often going away from our roots, and we must try to keep our legacies intact."

Born in Leh in 1866, Hussain's great-grandfather, Munshi Aziz Bhat, travelled to Kargil after finishing school in Skardu (modern-day Pakistan). At that time, Kargil was known as an important hub on the Treaty Road – a branch of the old Silk Road that connected China to Central Asia via Kashmir.

"Kargil has always been tied to many parts of the world," Hussain told me. "Its name literally means 'a place to stop [between kingdoms]'." A successful accountant, Bhat moved to Kargil where he started a small trade outpost that, by 1920, had grown into seven shops, an inn for travellers and a stable for the many camels, horses and yaks used by long-distance traders who had travelled for up to three months from places like Lhasa or Yarkand. At its height, Bhat's hub housed traders and goods moving between Central Asia, mainland India, China, Europe and the Americas.

"I found it interesting to discover how truly globalised this area was during that time," Hussain said. "This region was really cosmopolitan then."

But Bhat's business was not to last. In 1948 the borders between India and Pakistan closed when the countries were partitioned, essentially shuttering all long-distance trade in and out of Kargil. Bhat retired as one of the last-known traders along one of the final sections of the Silk Road to close, dying later that year. "When my great-grandfather closed the building," Hussain said, "the rooms remained under lock and key for almost half a century." 

The following day while hiking on a ridge above the Mushkoh Valley, Hussain and I passed rings of rocks and an occasional sandbag that remained from the Kargil war. Since the conflict ended, this area located just a few kilometers from the de facto border with Pakistan, retains a lingering reputation amongst Indians as being war-torn and dangerous.

"In Kargil and other places impacted by war, I think there is an identity crisis and lack of pride," Hussain explained. "I think tourism is a great tool to help because when people from the outside come to your community and appreciate your heritage, history and culture, it can help your pride return."

Hussain and his brother Tafazzul launched Roots Ladakh in 2013, a travel company focusing on the natural and cultural heritage of Kargil. While most visitors to Ladakh stay near the capital Leh to see Buddhist monasteries and search for snow leopards, Hussain hopes to slowly invite more people to his home.

"Our vision is to change the preconceived notion about our region as a warzone through the lens of heritage," he explained, poking at a fresh snow leopard track in the mud. "I reminisce a lot about my ancestors and the interesting people they must have met. Kargil today is a transit location, just like in the past, and I feel like I am continuing that legacy by hosting travellers and guests."

Following the old Silk Road, Hussain and I snaked our way up the Suru Valley towards the isolated Buddhist kingdom of Zanskar. Turning a corner, I saw three elderly women walking beneath the tongue of a massive glacier, carrying large stacks of hay on their backs. They were preparing for winter while chatting and walking to their homes, which were several steep kilometers away. Hussain offered them and their goods a ride. As the women climbed in, one asked what news Hussain had from the outside world.

Just as his great-grandparents had done, Hussain turned towards his multicultural band of weary travellers and began to relay stories of politics, trade and faraway lands.  

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