Spectrum: Quiet heroism of Ladakh’s Dr Norbu Olthangpa, the surgeon who never took leave

Not all heroes wear capes. Some roll up their sleeves and serve in silence, easing pain, saving lives, and asking nothing in return. In Ladakh, that hero is Dr Tsering Norbu, known fondly as Dr Norbu Olthangpa, a surgeon who’s become synonymous with selfless service in one of the harshest and most remote regions of India.My father was born in 1941 in Nimoo village, 35 km west of Leh, into a pastoral family. Growing up in Ladakh’s unforgiving climate and vast isolation was no easy task. Education was almost non-existent, limited to a handful of villages.He completed his primary schooling in the village school, learning to write on a wooden board blackened with soot from the kitchen chullah (called thab in Ladakhi). Pens were fashioned from willow branches, and ink was made from multani mitti paste.After primary school, he had to walk 35 km to Leh to continue his studies. There were no hostels or boarding schools, so he stayed with relatives, helping with household chores. Barely in his teens, he cooked his own meals while studying. Visiting his parents on weekends was impossible — the journey on foot was arduous, and even with a horse, it required camping twice in the open.“As a child, I never dreamt of becoming a doctor. I just wanted a job,” he would later say.After completing Class 10, he travelled to Srinagar for higher education. He earned his BSc and then pursued MBBS. To support himself financially, he sang traditional Ladakhi songs on All India Radio, Kashmir. Returning home during vacations was a luxury he could not afford, and communication with his parents was limited to occasional letters — sometimes only two or three in an entire year. From Class 11 until the completion of his MBBS, he never visited his parents. When he finally returned home after graduating, his parents did not recognise him.With his hard-earned degree, he had only one desire: to serve the people of Ladakh. At the time, healthcare in the region was abysmal. The district hospital in Leh was a 20-bed facility with no specialists, meagre equipment, and most cases were referred either to the Army Hospital in Leh or all the way to Srinagar. After losing his first son during childbirth, Dr Norbu resolved to specialise in surgery. In 1975, he returned to Srinagar to pursue his Masters in Surgery, completing it in 1978. (That same year, his wife delivered me alone at home in Ladakh, without medical assistance — still grieving the loss of their firstborn.) Following his MS, he was posted at District Hospital, Leh.There was no electricity, no proper operation theatre, no life-support systems, no anaesthetist, and no diagnostic facilities — just rudimentary instruments. Dr Norbu relied entirely on clinical examination to diagnose and operate, determined to spare patients the perilous journey to Srinagar. Wood and coal stoves heated the operation theatre; handheld torches often provided light.Immediately upon his return in 1978, he performed two caesarean sections, personally heating the room with coal stoves, administering anaesthesia, and conducting the surgeries himself while nurses held torches overhead.When asked why he did not pursue further studies, his answer was simple: he could not leave. Patients needed him. Medical services were so scarce that doctors treated every ailment, regardless of speciality. From the start of his service until retirement, Dr Norbu performed six to eight surgeries a week. Over his career, he carried out more than 10,000 major and minor surgeries. It is often said that there is not a single family in Ladakh whose member has not been treated by Dr Norbu.He seemed perpetually alert, as though waiting for someone to call his name. Day or night, if he heard his name being shouted, he would rise and leave immediately. Our home became an informal charity clinic. Patients arrived knowing he would never charge any fee — many brought local butter or cheese; the poorest offered only a khataq, the traditional white scarf of goodwill.Throughout my childhood, I remember only one brief leave he ever took — a pilgrimage to Buddhist shrines in Bihar. Otherwise, he never rested, never called in sick, never made time for himself. From the start of his service until 2002, he did not take a single day of leave, except that one journey. When asked why, he replied that his absence cost lives — during that brief leave, a few patients had passed away. Though he officially retired in 1999, his services were extended until 2002.He received several honours, including a silver medal from the J&K Government, the Rural Surgeons Award, and Ladakh’s first Spalgnam Tuston Award.Yet he always maintained: “I am grateful for the awards, but I did not work for recognition. My duty was towards the people of Ladakh.”Even after retirement, he worked for many years at the Mahabodhi Charitable Hospital, Leh. Now 85, he lives a contented life in Leh, but all day long locals still keep visiting him for advice.Two decades after he laid down his scalpel, the mere mention of Dr Tsering Norbu’s name still stirs emotion in Ladakh — among the young and the old alike.— The writer is a CRPF Commandant

Spectrum: Quiet heroism of Ladakh’s Dr Norbu Olthangpa, the surgeon who never took leave

Dr Norbu Olthangpa’s lifetime of selfless service helped heal Ladakh when medical care barely existed

Stanzin Shakya

Spectrum: Quiet heroism of Ladakh’s Dr Norbu Olthangpa, the surgeon who never took leave

Dr Norbu Olthangpa’s lifetime of selfless service helped heal Ladakh when medical care barely existed

Stanzin Shakya

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