the mystery of the kailash trail (book 1 and 2)
Post on 30-Nov-2015
163 Views
Preview:
DESCRIPTION
TRANSCRIPT
The Mystery of the
Kailash Trail
Book One and Two
Bharat Bhushan
The Mystery of the
Kailash Trail
Book One and Two
Bharat Bhushan
Pre-publication draft manuscript
This is not a publication
This draft copy is being distributed to invite comments and suggestions
Not for sale or distribution
Being uploaded or distributed for guidance and suggestions in developing the story
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or
utilised in any form or by any means, electronics or
mechanical including photocopying, recording or by any
information storage and retrieval system, without permission
in writing from the publishers.
This is not a publication. This is a pre-publication draft
manuscript of a proposed book and is being distributed for
editing, comments, critics and suggestions. The distribution is
within a limited group of experts, resource persons, people
who are familiar with the Kailash region in Tibet, the aspects
of the pilgrimage in the various religions and those who are
interested in the aspects of development of a story.
Those who receive this pre-publication draft manuscript may
forward it those who may be able to contribute to the editing
and development of the story. There will be errors, mistakes
and contextual wrongs galore. Please do not hesitate to point
them out and inform the author at bharatbhushan@yahoo.com
About the book
The oldest mystery known to the Oriental World. It is
said that nobody dares to venture out to walk on the
Kailash Mountain. And it is also said that those who
walked up the mountain, never returned. In all these
centuries, they have gone within, never to return.
About the author
Bharat Bhushan
Environment Scientist, Ornithologist. Birder,
Birdwatcher, Teacher, Trainer. Eclectic and
Serendipitous Vagrant Traveller. On land, through
books, inside the internet, and deep within the mind.
1
I
Ramesh Kulkarni was always patient with his son, Vijay.
He knew that his son would never listen to any advice.
After all, to his adventurous, mountaineer, rock-
climbing, himalayan thrill-seeker son, Ramesh would
always be the middle-class, old-city retiree who had
returned from an active service in the army and settled in
his ancestral house, Pune. "It will always be Poona for
me," thought Ramesh to himself.
"Vijay, be careful," said Ramesh, shouting hoarsely by
habit into the telephone, "DD News TV Channel says
that the weather in Kashmir and Nepal is getting worse.
Do you have to do your trek tomorrow? Can you not
postpone it?"
Vijay laughed into the telephone. Ramesh could hear it
clearly. Vijay said, "Relax Papa, and please do not shout
into the telephone. This is not your trunk-call long
distance telephone call. How many times do I have to
tell you? These are modern telephones. I can hear you
clearly, as thought you are inside my alpine tent, here at
our camp at Manasarovar."
Ramesh smiled and spoke more slowly, "Vijay, the news
says that it is going to get bad in the entire region above
the Garhwal Himalayas. And you say that I am in your
plastic tent? Absolutely not. You know that your mother
here does not allow me to even take my morning walk in
the Deccan Gymkhana grounds if it was drizzling at
2
night. The only way I will reach Manasarovar is if
kidnapped by force by my Army Regiment and taken
there by helicopters."
Vijay enjoyed his father's plight. He knew fully well that
his mother was very careful and paranoid about their
health. She had always maintained that it cost less to be
careful and she was not going to be found giving away
the family savings to medical doctors. She had never
done so, thought Vijay. His mother would always go to
her cousins, who were physicians, homeopaths, ayurved
doctors and included one who was a specialist in treating
arthritis.
Ramesh repeated again on the phone, "Vijay, I know you
will not like to listen to your own father. If you were
here, I could have scolded you, and your mother would
have made you feel guilty by crying out her tears. But we
are in Pune. Gita, your mother and me, and you are far
away in Manasarovar, inside a cold and wet plastic tent.
So take care, and keep calling us whenever you can.
Wait a minute. Your mother wants to talk to you. Please
talk to her."
Gita got up slowly and came limping on her painful
arthritic feet. Her hands were however faster and seemed
to compensate for the slowness. She grabbed the phone
from Ramesh, and spoke to Vijay in a patient voice, "Hello. Your father is scolding you again. That means
you are probably doing fine and well." Vijay replied,
“Mama, please tell Papa not to keep saying that I am in
a plastic tent up here in the Himalayas at Manasarovar.
This is an alpine tent. It is designed to help me stay here
without suffering in these extreme conditions.”
3
“Yes. Yes. I know that. But, be careful out there. The
weather out there is supposed to worsen tomorrow.
What do you plan to do? Are you going on the pilgrim
walk-area, the ‘parikrama’, and return to camp? I have
heard that it takes four to five days to complete the
entire walk around the Manasarovar lake” Gita said, “I
hope you are cautious and sensible tomorrow. Will it be
possible to talk to us from there? You do know that both
your parents are old people, living alone and totally
concerned about your well-being?”
Vijay felt awfully homesick at that moment, with his
mother’s reminder. “Mama, do not worry. I have never
been a foolish trekker. I do not go out to become a hero.
My entire group wants to return back to Pune and we
want to return alive and in good health. We are very
careful. We are very well equipped,” he continued,
speaking in a very confiding tone, to reassure his mother, “And, Mama, we will not go out of our tents, not
plastic tents, tell Papa, alpine tents. We will not go out if
the weather is bad. I promise you. Tell Papa. Tell him
not to worry. You should also not worry.”
Gita Kulkarni smiled at hearing her son’s assurance. She
turned to Ramesh and said, “O father-of-Vijay, your son
has promised that he will not go out of his alpine tents if
the weather is bad. Do not worry. He is asking you not
to worry.” Talking to her son over the telephone,
sounding happy and content, she said, “Vijay, I have told
your father not to worry. You do not tell me not to worry.
I cannot stop worrying. But do call. I will keep the phone
down now. OK?”
Limping back to her bed, Gita felt happy but worried.
She knew her son very well. She knew that her husband,
4
Ramesh, would also continue to worry. Their son had
never implemented any of his promises and had never
been one to refuse an adventure or a challenge. She felt
that he would be tempted to venture out of his tent in bad
weather only because his parents had asked him to be
cautious. Vijay did not know what it was to be cautious.
He was sensible, well planned, meticulous and a good
team leader. Cautious, he was not.
She looked at Ramesh, and knew that he was wondering
about the same aspects. He looked up at her, understood
the unspoken message, the hidden worry and the obvious
concern and nodded in agreement. He raised his hands in
exasperation upwards, in prayer to God and stood up to
get his medicines. On his way to the medicine box that
was placed conveniently on the dining table, he turned to
the prayer room and bowed low with his hands placed together in front of his forehead, and prayed, “O Shiva,
O Mahadeva, O Maheshwara, you are the nearest to
Vijay right now. He is in your territory. He is in your
protection. Please take care of him. We have no one else
to ask help from. Only you can help Vijay and us. Om
Namah Shivaayaa. Om Namah Shivaayaa. Om Namah
Shivaayaa.”
Ramesh wondered about the situation. He had heard
about the weather forecast from the DD News Weather
Channel on television. It was a government news
channel and they would get their information directly
from the meteorology departments and institutions. They
were more reliable than all the other private news
channels. Nobody worried about the upper Himalayas.
The other ‘newsy’ channels seemed to be more intent on
showing climate news about rain in New Delhi, about
flooded roads in Mumbai and rising tides in Chennai.
5
This was another aspect of modern India that irritated
Ramesh totally. He could never keep up with the change
of names of cities and towns. They should allow people
to use both the names, he would emphasise and keep
arguing with his friends.
He stopped in front of the dining table, trying to
recollect the reason he had come to collect something.
He was forgetting more and more stuff nowadays. Did
he come here to drink water? There was an empty water
jug on the table. He would have to get some water from
the tap. He did not like to drink cold water from the
refrigerator. Why did he come to the dining table? He
had just about eaten lunch, only an hour ago.
Newspapers? They were kept neatly folded, with their
crease intact, from his breakfast reading. He would take
them away only after his evening cup of Tea. So why did
he come to the dining table, he wondered.
Gita kept looking at him. She was getting worried. This
was happening only too frequently to Ramesh. She did
not want to help him out, but she feared for him. She used the next best option. She called out, “O father-of-
Vijay, can you get me my medicines and ointments? And
while you are at the dining table, can you bring me some
water after you have taken your medicines?” Ramesh
understood the message only too well. He knew his wife and knew that she was worried. He replied, “This Vijay,
he has made me nervous and forgetful. I will have to talk
to Dr. Atul Kulkarni, our homeopath. He will know what
to do about my new habit of forgetting things. I do not
want to get dementia. Atul will understand. He is not
from your side of the family, na? He is from the sensible
side of the family. Ha Ha Ha Ha.”
6
Gita pretended to look annoyed. She will have to talk to
Dr. Atul Kulkarni before Ramesh went to his clinic. She
could convince Atul to give some sensible medicines to
Ramesh. She would also have to get some medicines
from him for her arthritic pain that seemed to suddenly
shoot up from her knees. The ointments were not
helping. Not helping at all.
***
Sometimes Norbu felt that he would be better back at
home at Darchen with his parents at their small store,
selling stuff to the pilgrims who came up to the pilgrim
paths of this sacred mountain. Judging by the plight of
his situation now, at dusk, with the dark rain-storm
clouds coming up the Kang Renpoche mountain, Norbu
wondered if he would have been much better off in
continuing with taking care of the small barley farm plot
at their native hamlet away from Darchen. He was not at
Darchen, Norbu kept reminding himself. He was in this
small canvas and tarpaulin tent, pitched in a small rocky
depression, waiting out the night at Dirapuk Gompa.
He was not alone, Norbu thought to himself, and smiled.
He had good company, and they were his very good
friends of many years. He had known them both since
their childhood and they had enormous faith in him. The
fourth one in this small tent was a new friend, and yet
the other two had accepted him, even if he was unlike
them. For that matter, even Norbu was unlike the two
yaks that snuggled against each other in this small tent.
7
The fourth one in the tent was a Tibetan Mastiff pup,
less than two years of age. In all appearances though, the
Mastiff looked more dangerous than the yaks.
Norbu began to prepare for cooking dinner inside the
tent. He had seen to it that the yak had grazed on the
meadows below the Dirapuk Gompa after the pilgrims
had gone to rest in their alpine tents. The yak were
content and so was the Mastiff, having been able to get
to some meat from the eateries that were in the
numerous tents near the Gompa. Norbu dug a hole into
the ground inside the tent and arranged fist-sized rocks
within it. The hole was about ten inches deep and was
soon filled up with brushwood and twigs that he set fire
to. Reaching into a dirty cloth bag, he pulled out a
couple of dried-out yak dung cakes and added them to
the fire.
The warmth of the fire inside the tent felt good, and the
rocks lining the hole helped make it better. The yak
began breathing more comfortably, thought Norbu, and
patted the Mastiff away from the fire. Dinner for him
was always taken away from the group of pilgrims and
his own boss and master, who stayed in the alpine tents.
Norbu and other yak boys like him stayed in makeshift
tents and sheds through the night with their animals. It
was a strange group of living beings that made sure they
survived through the night. Yaks, mules, ponies, mastiffs
and yak boys lived together within this small mini-
village that sprung up around the Gompas, the
government managed guest houses, the private tent areas
and the eateries.
Norbu, like other yak boys, stayed through the night
with his own animals. The two yaks that he had with him
8
in the tent were owned by his family, and had been
brought from their native hamlet from the valleys away
from Darchen. His parents kept a small herd of yak at
Shiquanhe, near Darchen, and his younger sisters tended
to their grazing and other care. He had brought the two
yaks on hire to the pilgrim guides for the entire season, to help the pilgrims do the kora, the pilgrimage that
circled the great mountain of Kang Renpoche. The
pilgrims from India called it the Kailas Parbat, while his
own Tibetan villagers called it the Tise.
Cooking dinner each night by himself, Norbu always felt
homesick. He longed for the warm food that his mother
would be cooking at this time at Darchen. He knew that
his mother would be thinking of her son away on the kora around Kang Renpoche, and she would wonder if
by a miracle he could join the family for dinner. For
Norbu, his dinner was a makeshift combination of Tsampa, with a bowl of hot watery tea and grilled barley
flour. To this, he added some not so rancid butter from a
plastic pouch and sprinkled salt with a liberal pinchful.
He had kept some water to heat up on the fire, and he drank it up after gulping down the hot Tsampa.
He could hear the wind gathering in strength and they
could smell the rain clouds that were gathering around
the Kang Renpoche. It would be bad tonight, and what if
the rains continued the entire day tomorrow? They were
lucky that they could put up their tents and sheds inside
this group of rocks on high ground. They would be safe
from the gale and the heavy winds. He had come this on
this path over the past four years, ever since his father
had thought it wise that he should learn this strange new
trade of the pilgrimage path. The barley crops were
failing and his family had lost their ownership of the few
9
stone silos that his grandfather had constructed to store
the harvest from their village. The local government
appointed village headman had handed over the
ownership to a settler from Kashghar on promise of
more income to the village account.
The yak boys knew the winds and the camping grounds
on the kora. This pilgrim group was a slow moving one
and it made for good income to the families that
provided the yaks, ponies and mules. They usually
stayed at Dirapuk Gompa, about three kilometers away
from the Dolma Pass, and at the meadows near
Tarboche. Sitting in his tent, made of tarpaulin, canvas,
plastic sheets and strong edge cloth, Norbu wondered at
his life of the past four years. He had scavenged most of
the tent material from pilgrim camps, of stuff that had
been left behind and from material that the policemen at
Shiquanhe confiscated or picked up from illegal visitors.
He could not have afforded the tent to accommodate two
yaks and a yak boy, if he had to purchase it.
From within his tent, Norbu could see the high peaks of Kang Renpoche, or Kailas Parbat, as the pilgrims called
it. The winds were blowing the pale white clouds around
the high peaks. The snowcap of Kang Renpoche was
shining in this dark dark dark night at Dirapuk Gompa.
He could not even see the pilgrim camp in the meadow below this rocky hideout, but the snowcap of Kang
Renpoche was brilliant. The moon was out of its
shadows and had come up in front of the peak, a not-so-
thin crescent, with the clouds seeming to try to chase it
away. There were waves and waves of clouds that kept
throwing the moonlight back and forth on the smaller
peaks.
10
In turn, the lower peaks seemed to twist and turn like a mighty snake around Kang Renpoche. The drizzle
seemed to have begun on the peak, and it made the
snowcap look even brighter. It was raining heavily on
the meadows below the Dirapuk Gompa. Norbu
wondered about the day to come. Would they be able to take the pilgrims on the kora? If it rained here, in these
high plains, it meant bad roads and a bad day on their
path to the Dolma Pass and then onwards to Zutulpuk or
Zuthrul Phug Gompa. They may have to stay somewhere
on the way if the pilgrims could not keep up with the
speed that they would be required to maintain. It may be
wiser for them to stay in the higher grounds of Dirapuk
Gompa than to risk walking through the Dolma Pass.
His parents would worry about his health on such nights,
but they would not be scared for him, Norbu thought to himself. He was visiting so many neys, and these sacred
places would not be places of danger to him and his
yaks. His family knew of the Tibetan Mastiff pup that
had begun to accompany him from Darchen. It had come
up, skinny and starved, to his parents shop near the neykhor in Darchen, and Norbu had fed it from the meat
waste that his mother had salted to store away. The
Mastiff had fallen in love with the salty taste and seemed
to have signed away his life in devotion to Norbu. He
had never left him and always looked up in love, though
it looked very ferocious and dangerous, even when
moving about peacefully.
Norbu had wanted to become a monk, but his parents
had refused him permission. The local monastery had
agreed with his parents. He was here, now, at night,
waiting out the rain, in a makeshift tent at Dirapuk
Gompa, with his yaks and mastiff. He wondered about
11
the Kang Renpoche and the various stories that he had
heard about the mountain from his parents, from the
pilgrim guides, the pilgrims and the policemen of
Shiquanhe. Nobody dared to climb the mountain.
Nobody even dared to walk up to its foothills. The local
policemen, monks and villagers kept a watch out for
anyone who would try to do so. They said that nobody
had ever returned.
His parents sold the neyigs, the guidebooks to the local
sacred places. He could read some of these books and
heard from others who could read properly. It spoke of
the veneration that all religions had for Kang Renpoche.
He had met pilgrims of all types. Hindus, Jains,
Buddhists and Bon Pos. They came here to walk the kora. Some walked from Darchen to Tarboche to
Dirapuk Gompa to Dolma Pass to Zutulpuk to Darchen,
while some pilgrims walked it the other way around. It
was good money for the work that took up some months.
His family needed it to support them through the winter
when there would be no work. It was all due to the
sacred peak of Kang Renpoche. Norbu could see the
peak from within his tent, in this night, with the
gathering rainstorm, and he bowed his head in prayer,
asking its blessings for a safe kora.
***
12
The lone Chinese policeman at the roadside eatery
outside Darchen on this stormy night wondered about
the odd couple sitting by themselves at a dining table
hidden away from the wood-fire. A Buddhist monk and
a Sikh sitting together certainly looked very suspicious
in this heartland of western Tibet. As if the recent riots
were not the end of troubled days, he wondered about
what these two strange and unlikely companions were
talking about. Better to make sure, he thought, and
gestured for the eatery owner to come across.
It was an eatery, a store, and a safe house for pilgrims’
travel and camping equipment, a parking space for rent
for vehicles and also had a ramshackle shed alongside
that doubled up as a stable for yaks, ponies, horses and
mules. Every activity of this eatery was illegal, thought
the Chinese policeman. But, every service provided by
this eatery was an essential life support system in these
hostile lands of Darchen, the gateway to the Lake
Manasarovar and Mount Kailash, as the waves of Hindu
pilgrims from India kept reminding him.
The eatery owner came up to the policeman and smiled,
for he had to, and asked, “O Shenshe, would you have
some more hot soup and grilled bacon? We made a new
bowl just now.” The policeman nodded, for the hot soup
would be very welcome in this night that promised of a
storm, a strong windy hailstorm possibly, tomorrow. The
soup would help him get through this night. He could
not go into the town of Darchen in this rain. He had
brought his bicycle inside the eatery to prevent it from
being blown away. Or stolen, he smiled, by the poor
Tibetan pilgrims from the neighbouring valleys.
13
The cycle was propped up against a steel-black hummer
with Lhasa number plates. The sleek 4-wheel turbo
enhanced vehicle had been brought inside the eatery to
prevent it from being damaged by the hailstorm. There
were two land rovers parked close to the hummer. The
dining tables had been moved aside to allow for the
vehicles to be brought inside for protection. The eatery
owner would be paid for the service, would be paid
handsomely.
The policeman nodded towards the Buddhist monk and
the Sikh pilgrim sitting away from the others in the
dining hall. The eatery owner understood the
policeman’s unspoken question and shouted out to the
Buddhist monk, “O Master, do come over here, into the
warmth of the wood fire. I will get you some hot soup
and rice with curried potatoes. Shenshe here, our
policeman friend is about to take a new bowl of soup,
and he can do with some advice and guidance from you.
Get your friend from India also to sit near the fire. We
will get him some more food.”
To his surprise, the Buddhist monk and the Sikh pilgrim
came over without a word of protest and without any
delay. They came over to Shenshe’s dining table, if it
was to be called that. The table was actually a long plank
of thick wood, covered with a plastic sheet nailed to it
with card paper. The plank was resting on stone blocks
on either end. There were lower stone blocks on both
sides of the plank to serve as chairs. For Shenshe, the
eatery owner had provided some luxury. He had covered
the stone block with a pile of clothes to serve as a
cushion.
14
To his further surpise, Shenshe realized that the
Buddhist monk was a stranger. For he knew most of the
monks in the region, and this Buddhist monk was
certainly not from the Darchen or Shiquanhe area. His
robes were also different. So he was not from any of the
local monasterial orders. The Sikh seemed to be a holy
type of pilgrim. This was certainly getting to be very
strange, thought Shenshe. He introduced himself to the
two holy men, “O Masters, welcome. I am Shenshe, and
I am the police custodian of this place and the nearby
settlements along this road from Darchen. You two do
not seem to be from here. Are you both pilgrims then?”
The Buddhist monk bowed low in greeting and sat at the
table. The Sikh holy man also bowed, with his palms
together in front of his chest, and took a seat next to the
monk. It was the Buddhist monk who answered,
“Brother, we greet you with the spirit and friendship of
our peoples. Hot food will certainly be welcome. I am
Tibetan, but born in India. My grandparents had settled
in the sacred land of Bodhgaya and I am a monk from
the monastery at Nalanda, where the most enlightened
one taught many hundred years ago. My Sikh brother
with me is Sardar Amarpal Singhji, from Amritsar, from
the holy temple of his people. He hopes to become a
holy man of his religion in the future, but for now has
come to this land in search for answers about his
Master.”
That was certainly a new one, thought Shenshe. He had
never heard such a story for an excuse in all his
monitoring the local Buddhist monks and their activities.
He asked, “It is certainly an honour to be in the presence
of two holy men, such as you. What does the Sikh
pilgrim seek? And why do you accompany him? Do you
15
also seek answers about the Sikh religion? Why does he
seek your help? Why here, of all places, Darchen or the
Kang Renpoche, the Kailash Mountain, as he would
perhaps call it?”
Pilgrims, local Tibetan vendors and the eatery owner and
his wife gathered around the three men, in anticipation
of a good story and of allowing the stormy night to pass
them by while they heard the Buddhist monk talk, for he
had come from the holy land of the most enlightened
one. The monk knew what was expected of him, and he
gave himself up to the eager faces of everyone waiting to
hear him speak. He said, “I do not know much of the
religion of my companion, but what I have learnt from
him over the past ten days, I cannot but compare the
similarities that we seek in our lives, the messages that
we are custodians to from our masters before us, and the
path that we provide for one and all in our temples,
monasteries and sacred places everywhere.”
“My brother from Amritsar comes here to the land of
Kang Renpoche, as you know it, the Sumeru Mountain,
as he would declare, to visit the monastery of Guru
Rinpoche, the Precious One, the Lotus Born, he who is
also known as Padmasambhava, a manifestation of the
Amitabha Buddha, and was resident below the great
mountain. My brother, Sardar Amarpal Singhji, is a holy
man from Amritsar, or he will soon be, comes in search
of the knowledge about his first Master, Guru Nanakji,
who came here many hundreds of years ago. I will allow
him to say of his search.”
The Sikh pilgrim spoke in Hindi, and yet all those
gathered here understood him, for it was the search in
his eyes that helped them realize the sanctity of his
16
words, and he said, “My brothers here, I bow to you, for
you are all fortunate, to be in this most sacred of all holy
lands. Hindus, Buddhists, Jains, Sikhs, Bon Pos and all
Tibetans alike, this land of Kailas, this birth place of the
mighty rivers. I come from Amritsar, from the holiest
temple of our people, in search of knowledge of my
beloved Master, Guru Nanakji. He came here in his
journeys, some say he came from Ladakh, and some say
he came from Sikkim. Whatever anyone would say, he
did come here and stay, and taught of his way of
understanding and knowledge to the people.”
“The Tibetan Buddhists have regarded my beloved
Master as a saint. The Buddhist followers of that time
learnt from his teachings. It is said that he was known as the Rimpoche Nanak Guru of Punjab, and not much is
known of this part of his journeys, his third journey also known as his third Udasi when he stayed near the Kang
Renpoche. It is said that there would be stone
inscriptions in the monasteries and gompas in this area
telling us of the journey of my beloved Master. I come in
search of such knowledge that would help me speak of
his journey here. It is possible that the inscriptions would
be in Hindi or my language, the Gurmukhi, and therefore
would not have been understood by the local people
here.”
The Sikh pilgrim continued, “O brothers, I bow to you,
again. Do let me know if you know of those who could
help me or guide me. I come in search of knowledge. It
is said that my beloved Master helped the local king to
reconstruct some damaged monasteries. He was
honoured for his help and guidance and teachings given
here. There are also those who would say that my
beloved Master, Guru Nanakji, the Rimpoche Nanak
17
Guru of Punjab, was the also a manifestation of
Padmasambhava himself. There is also the mention that
it is perhaps only Guru Nanakji, who actually went up
the Sumeru Mountain and returned. This knowledge
would perhaps be found in the monastery of Guru
Rinpoche, on the path from Tarboche to Dirapuk Gompa
and Dolma La.”
So saying, the Sikh pilgrim sat in prayer, and began to
recite, “Ek Omkar…”
***
Everyone who came in search of him called him
“Maharaj”. It was his actual name. His name was
Hariram Maharaj. He had explained his name once. It
seems that his given name was Hariram while he had
been given the title ‘Maharaj’ because of his skill in
making very tasty vegetarian Gujarati-Rajasthani style
food of Western India. All good cooks in his land were
called ‘Maharaj’, he had explained very humbly. He had
also added, after a while, that the word ‘Maharaj’ meant
‘the King of Kings’, which of course, he was not.
And then the story of his life began to get more
complicated. It was too much for the eatery owner at
Shiquanhe to understand. He knew that India was a very
large country and that the Hindu, Sikh, Jain and
Buddhist pilgrims from that land were different from
each other. He had also begun to understand over the
many years that he had operated this tented eatery
18
outside Shiquanhe, that Indians within the Hindus or the
other religions were also very different from each other.
He had himself come over from Quinhai, a town at some
distance from Shiquanhe. But he knew his fellow
Tibetans and the ever migrating Chinese.
Some Indians would come into his eatery in the early
years, and would ask for vegetarian food, which he had
not known would be an exclusive demand. He began to
cook vegetarian food for them. And then other Indians
came who demanded that the vegetarian food had to be
cooked in separate utensils from the ones where he
cooked meat or fish. His wife was from Yushu, and she
understood this demand from the monastery near her
village. The monks at the monastery were very strict
vegetarians and they had demanded that the eateries
nearby served vegetarian food cooked from separate
utensils. She had convinced him to separate the utensils.
It would mean more customers, and these strict
vegetarians usually paid much better. Her advice had
been correct and he had profited from the separation of
utensils.
Later, came the demand from larger pilgrim groups and
tour companies from Kathmandu that they would bring
clientele on an exclusive basis if he were to employ a
Indian cook who knew there demands and tastes and
understood the need to employ strict vigilance on
bringing forth the ‘strictly vegetarian Hindu’ food. He
had understood their need and he did not argue for the
pay was good and prompt. There were no credit dealings
here and the requirements were growing to such an
extent that it would be adequately profitable to accept
and adapt. After having employed more than ten
different cooks from India, of all types, including ones
19
from Nepal and Bhutan, who claimed they knew ‘strictly
vegetarian Hindu’ food, he had discovered the Maharaj.
It was the other way around, for it was the Maharaj who
had come in search of Luo Tsering of Quinhai, the
owner of the tented eatery that had a very gaudy painted
signboard that read “Strictly Vegetarian Hindu Food
(cooked separately)”. He had introduced himself in the
pidgin Tibetan+Chinese+Hindi+English that he had
picked up in his stay in the various cities in Ngari. He
wanted to stay on in Shiquanhe, he had explained, and
he wanted work. He could cook the ‘strictly vegetarian
Hindu food’, he said, and moreoever his name was the
best certificate that he could proclaim to all Hindu
pilgrims to the Kailash Mountain and the Lake
Manasarovar.
Luo Tsering and his wife had planned on running a
simple tented eatery out on the pilgrim path from
Shiquanhe to Darchen and they had started with the
simple local Chiang cuisine, and restricted themselves
only to culinary delights at dinner such as cow hoofs or
cheese. They had added on Sichuan and Xinjiang cuisine
depending upon the season and the movement of
Chinese troops and policemen or pilgrims from other
parts of Tibet. They had done well but the income was
largely being spent on surviving in this harsh climate on
the snowy deserts of the Tibetan Himalayas. The
pilgrims from India had changed their income and profit
margins and the eatery had grown into a parking area
and tenting ground.
The demand for very exclusive vegetarian food had
surprised him, and he had imagined it to be that of a very
small group of pilgrims. What he had not realized was
20
that most pilgrims visiting Kailash Mountain would not
even dare to accidentally pollute themselves or their
pilgrimage by the proximity of non-vegetarian food.
Hariram Maharaj had helped them out enormously, Luo
thought, for he had taken over the entire section of
cooking, managing and hosting the Hindu pilgrims from
India. Maharaj had also searched for and trained three
helpers, leftover pilgrims from Nepal and India, to work
in the vegetarian section.
Sometimes they would sit to relax, in-between pilgrim
groups, and they would chat. It was usually never a
discussion, for it was Hariram Maharaj who would talk
without a stop. Luo found it very difficult to understand
whatever Maharaj would explain about himself. There
was very little else that Maharaj would talk about. It was
either about him, or nothing. Maharaj explained stuff in
a very specific sense of geography, culture, religion and
the diversity of India, all of which never seemed to make
any sense to Luo. He listened quietly, because it seemed
to be useful to pick up some of the phrases and words,
and in understanding and respecting the diversity of
these strange pilgrims from the lands below the
Himalayas.
Maharaj explained that his name meant ‘King of Kings’,
but he was not one. He cooked Gujarati-Rajasthani food
of Western India, but he was not a Gujarati or a
Rajasthani. He had worked in a Gujarati household of a
very rich businessman, where he had cooked for more
than forty members of a very large family that lived in a
single house. They had begun to call him ‘Maharaj’, and
he had become known to the neighbourhood by that
name. His Master, Seth Walchandbhai Shah, had been a
devotee of a holy man from Rajasthan, who had his
21
ashram in some place near a big river called the
Narmada. This river did not flow in Rajasthan, but the
holy man had established his ‘gompa’, as the Maharaj
had described it to Luo, to help him understand. Upon a
request from the holy man, his Master had asked him to
work at the ashram and cook Rajasthani food. The Seth
had continued to pay for his salary, and the title
‘Maharaj’ had followed him there.
Pilgrims would regularly visit the ashram to do the kora,
the pilgrimage on foot around the entire length of the
Narmada River. They would stay overnight at the
ashram, and tell stories about the world outside the
kitchen. Maharaj had however begun to attend the
sermons and lectures of the holy man and had begun to
practice yoga, especially the Hatha Yoga that was taught
here. It was taught to a select few, and it was a rare
practise, Maharaj explained to Luo. It was about the
breath, and about breathing or how not to breathe – Luo
was getting confused here and found it all very vague
and difficult to keep up – and about meditation and
concentration and about inner consciousness and postures and something called asanas, as Maharaj kept
explaining.
A group of Hindu monks, or sadhus, from the ashram
decided to do the kora around the Narmada River, and
Maharaj had sought permission of the holy man to
accompany them. He had finally found his calling, he
said, for the freedom in walking out along holy shrines
and sacred places, with fellow pilgrims, was utter and
total bliss. The pilgrimage on foot around the Narmada
River had taken several long days, or a couple of months
– Luo forgot this detail – and Maharaj realized that he
could no longer stay back in the kitchen in the ashram.
22
One of the ashram monks on the Narmada parikrama or
kora had explained to Maharaj about the Kailash
mountain and the abode of Siva, the eternal.
The ashram sadhu had explained that the Kailash parikrama was the ultimate expression of devotion, and
the closest that one could get to reach Siva. It was the
most difficult and the toughest. The sadhu was totally
certain that Maharaj could never even dream of reaching
Kailash or doing the parikrama. He had predicted that it
was in Maharaj’s fate-lines on his palm that he would
not amount to anything and he would not achieve any
form of greatness. This outright rejection had spurred
him, and he had complained about it to the holy man.
The holy man had been compassionate and
understanding. He had told Maharaj that the Kailash parikrama was not the ultimate test. The final challenge
was in completing 108 koras around the Kailash
Mountain, or walking 108 times around the sacred peak.
If one would achieve this, and if one would practice the
strict adherence to meditation and concentration through
Hatha Yoga, then one could get admittance to the very
secret sect of Nath Yogis within the hidden hill slopes of
the Kailash Mountain. He had understood his calling,
and he had arrived at Shiquanhe to wait for his time.
Each year he completed about five koras, but he would
do more the next year, he said.
***
23
“Drolma La” shouted his grandfather, upon sighting the
Pass and pointed out to his grandson. It happened each
time, thought the young man, smiling at the excitement
of his grandfather. They were returning from Darchen
and the clouds were gathering over the mountain pass below the Kang Renpoche Mountain. Yeshe was worried
about the coming rains. It was unusual for the clouds to
gather in such strength in this time of the year. What would happen to the kora? What would the pilgrims
walking the kora do about sheltering or waiting out the
rain? Most importantly, what would his parents do at
Dirapuk with the shop and camping site that they set up
each year?
Yeshe was returning with his grandfather, Sangye, who
was also known as the “Great Old Qinhai Nomad
Horseman”. Seated on their trusted mules, they were
leading four yaks, loaded with trading goods, eatables,
medicine boxes, matches and salt (most important), and
boxes filled with religious memorabilia that pilgrims
would purchase from them to keepsakes of their kora
around the Kang Renpoche. Bzanba and Kangryi,
Tibetan Mastiff dogs, who knew their job on these rocky
paths around the great mountain, were herding the yaks.
They had done these tasks efficiently over the past many
years that the family of Sangye came to Dirapuk.
The old man looked at the dogs with affection. He had
known their parents and their grandparents and their
great grandparents and their great great grandparents.
After all, was he not known in all of Qinhai and Nagre
provinces as the sacred custodian of the Tsang Khyi
breed of the Tibetan Mastiff? Both, Bzanba and Kangryi, were of the true gene line of the Tsang Khyi , through
they were not of the provinces of Qinhai and the
24
Darchen-Shiquanhe areas. The Tsang Khyi breed was
known from the Cuomai, Jiazha Sanru, Cuona and the
Longzi areas. European fanciers of the Mastiffs, and the
rare Russian, usually ended up staying for a couple more
days in their camping rent-sites at Dirapuk, wanting to
learn from the old man about the Mastiffs and hoping to
strike a bargain to see if he would commit to selling their
pups.
To Yeshe and his parents, Bzanba, Kangryi and the other two Tsang Khyi Mastiffs were very loyal guard-dogs and
helpers with the yaks, mules, ponies and the Qinhai
horses that they brought with them all the way from
Tsaparang, near Zanda. Each year, Sangye traveled with
his family to the Kang Renpoche, to establish his trading
station, camping site and shop at Dirapuk. It took them a
number of days and several halts to reach the kora trail
stops. They usually established their small settlement
away from the trail, higher up, amongst the rocks and
walls of the hills at Dirapuk. Their shop was almost at
the level of the Drolma La Pass, and on clear nights on
this sprawling flat wilderness, the lights could be seen as
a welcome sign to the pilgrims walking rapidly down the
path in the late evenings.
Over the years, the locals at Dirapuk had made space for
the great old man and had begun to recognize his arrival
as a good omen for the trade of the area. Sangye
commanded tremendous respect in the region though he
was only a nomad horseman and it was in his trade to
breed, nurture and sell horses in Tibet. He never sold the
Tibetan Mastiffs to foreigners, for it was against his
religious beliefs to allow the breed to go out of Tibet.
The Mastiff had come to Tibet with the Living Buddhas.
They were worshipped with the Living Buddhas in some
25
monasteries. Yeshe suspected that the old man had a
secret network through which he distributed the pups to
trusted custodians and breed-protectors whenever a new
litter arrived.
They made good time riding on the mules rather than
walking. The yaks preferred to walk without being
chased by their owners. They seemed to pretend to be
watchful of the Mastiffs, but Yeshe knew that they were
all good friends. He was happy to see the groups of
pilgrims resting near the shop run by his parents. They
were of all sorts here, who knew the wisdom of seeking
high ground away from the pilgrim trail at Dirapuk. The
slow moving hill streams and the innocent looking
marsh grounds could turn dangerous after a stormy
night. There were poor Tibetan pilgrims from all over
the region, in groups with their sign-flags held high to let
their members know of their common resting place for
the night. In contrast, there were the rich Scandinavian
trekkers and mountaineers who had set up their tents in
the enclosures given to them.
There were Hindu and Buddhist pilgrims from India,
gathering inside large tents set up by their tour
companies. These tents were set up at the beginning of
the season, and the companies kept bringing in new
groups of pilgrims, sometimes two groups in a week,
and sometimes three, if the weather held well. They had
their own style of cooking and they brought their cooks
and helpers. The Europeans brought their noodles,
beans, meat, fish and water and used the utensils and
allowed Yeshe’s mother to cook for them. The Tibetan
pilgrims brought bags of their foodstuffs and used
makeshift cooking areas in the camping site to cook their
food.
26
Yeshe began to unload the stuff from the yaks with help
from the Darchen boys that his father had hired upon
arrival. They rushed in and out of the main storage shed
that they had made against the rock wall behind their
cooking tent. Freed from their goods, the yaks were led
away by the old man to the holding stockade and stable
for the night. It was best to prevent them from moving
about to graze on this very strange night, thought the old
man. He moved the eating and water pans of the
Mastiffs to the deeper walls of the stable to help localize
them for the night with the yaks, mules, ponies and
horses.
On arrival from Tsaparang, Yeshe’s parents had gone in
to Darchen and hired the helper boys and about ten
women from the village-settlement. All ten women were
elderly in age and some were widows, while the others
seemed to have been from very poor families. These
boys and women came to live with Yeshe’s parents and
the great old man at their camping settlement at Dirapuk.
The women helped clean up the tenting areas, pick up all
the garbage, rake the soil, feed the yaks and mules and
would help in odd jobs with the pilgrim groups. Each
woman would take up a group of pilgrims by turn as
they would come, whether poor ones or rich trekkers.
Yeshe’s parents had also taken help from some masons
in Darchen, some years ago, to help construct some low
bunker-like flat roof stone houses that were more like
abutments to rocky areas on these mountain slopes.
These stone houses helped to house the foodstuff and
other provisions that they packed in to last the entire
tourist season. Over the past three years, Yeshe’s mother
had begun to keep ducks in one of the stone houses to
27
collect the eggs and sell them. As they traveled back and
forth from Tsaparang, they purchased about twenty
ducks at Shiquanhe or Darchen, depending upon
availability and price. The ducks were packed in wicker
baskets and loaded on to the yaks and brought to
Dirapuk.
One of the older women helpers brought hot soup and
buttered wheat bread to Yeshe. She sat nearby talking to
four pilgrim women while Yeshe took a quick break
from his work in helping the camping site settle down
for the stormy night. He could guess about their
conversation. They were not talking about the Kang
Renpoche Mountain. They were discussing about village
girls from their neighbourhoods who could be married
off to Yeshe and how to go about getting the permission
from the great old man. The older woman helper smiled
in the discussion and rushed back to Yeshe to take away
the bowl and plates and nudged him knowingly, as
though the marriage was already done and over with.
This discussion happened each night and he knew the
manner in which he had to respect the affection of the
Tibetan pilgrims. He knew it would not happen so easily
for these pilgrims were from all over Tibet and each
region was entirely different from each other. Yeshe and
his family were nomadic horsemen from the Qinhai
plains and knew of no other life than moving about in
their yak-hair tents. It was only at Dirapuk that they
established an elaborate settlement. Back at Tsaparang,
they would stay in their yak-hair tents, while this entire
settlement, stables, sheds and other equipment would be
packed up and left in the custody of one of the woman
helper’s family at Darchen. Yeshe’s parents paid the
woman with good money and she would not be tempted
28
to break their trust. For now, the stormy night that was
approaching fast was uppermost in all their thoughts and
worries. Yeshe took a good look around the camping
site, at the stables and at the tented eatery and shop.
Bzanba, the large Tibetan Mastiff, was also looking
around, apparently not trusting Yeshe to do his job
properly. The dawn would disclose what the night would
bring.
II
They sat quietly, amidst the rocks, watching the stream
of pilgrims walk by, intent in reaching the Dirapuk
Gompa before sunset and darkness would cover the
valley beyond Guru Rinpoche. The other pilgrims did
not notice them and nobody remarked about this group of walkers of the kora. They were about twelve of them
together, sitting peacefully, cross-legged, amidst an
earlier year’s campsite and its leftover rock-circle. A
group of pilgrims with their mules and yaks walking by
earlier had seen them cooking their lunch and soup. This
group of twelve pilgrims had continued to sit at the same
spot since noon.
The group seemed to be waiting. Patiently. They were
dressed like the other Tibetan pilgrims who came up the
kora and had nothing to distinguish them otherwise.
There seemed to be a holy man amongst them, twirling a
prayer drum in his hand, and reciting a singsong hymn in
a low voice. He would sing a line of the hymn in rhythm
with the prayer drum, and the group of pilgrims would
29
repeat the line with the same low volume. Nobody could
hear the words but could understand the devotion.
Their clothes were dirtying, unwashed from having worn
in over many days. Some of them had fur coats, grubby
and smelly. They were all dressed for the bitter cold of
the region and were very comfortable in sitting it out in
the open. They did not speak within the group. The
minimal bags that they carried with them had only
absolutely basic requirements. Some of the group had
windcheaters and jackets picked up from the flea
markets at the other cities and villages that they had
walked through.
They did not seem Khampa pilgrims from east Tibet
though they were certainly dressed like them. They had
not stopped at the tea stall in the makeshift tent earlier
where most other pilgrims took a break without fail.
These twelve had come through the resting pilgrims at
the tea tent, filled up some bottles of water from the
buckets kept outside the tent, and had silently walked
away towards the Dirapuk Gompa. There were other
Tibetan Buddhist pilgrims from east Tibet sitting around
in smaller groups near the tea tent, and they had watched
this group curiously, for they had not exchanged any
greetings. The holy man in the group had not even
glanced at the other holy men in the various groups of
Tibetan Buddhists resting near the tents.
The twelve were now seated at a distance on higher
ground from the pilgrim’s walking path. The Choku
monastery could be seen at a distance. The holy man in
the group of twelve had remarked that there did not seem
to be anybody at the monastery for the windows were
dark and one could not see any light from within. They
30
had reached this circle of stones from a higher trail that
they had walked on, from the Grachom Ngagye Dorsa.
Not many pilgrims preferred to take this trail for it was
rumoured to be inauspicious and inhabited by the
demons and evil spirits who did not dare to harass the pilgrims on the kora.
The Grachom Ngagye Dorsa, near Sershong Tharchen is one of the few sky-burial places permitted near the Kang
Renpoche. It was said to exist for more than thousands
of years at the place. The group of twelve pilgrims did
not pay any respects at the burial place but merely
walked through silently, at a steady pace, choosing the
higher trail towards Choku. They were now seated after
an hour’s slow walk from the monastery. It would be
dark in an hour or earlier if the storm clouds came up
faster in this valley. The slow moving water streams
would pick up speed and could block the walking trail
later. It would become dangerous to walk in the darkness
with only the faint light that may be visible from the
pilgrim tents on the higher slopes towards Choku.
Usually the windows of the Choku monastery were
lighted up to help the pilgrims.
It was not so at the Choku monastery. The monks were
yet to light up the windows and had come to do so. One
of the monks had spotted the group of twelve pilgrims
sitting at the circle of stones on the higher trail from
Choku towards Dirapuk. A rainstorm was sure to come
pouring down the pilgrim’s path, and it could be a
hailstorm tonight. Most pilgrims were walking by at a
rapid pace. Some groups had come up to the monastery
and had taken up refuge in the shelters outside. Some
pilgrim groups had set up their tents much earlier during
the day, fearing the worst. It was therefore a very curious
31
sight to see a group of pilgrims sitting in an open spot,
almost seeming to await the rain.
The young monk called for the other two monks to join
him at the window and pointed out the group of twelve
pilgrims seated out in the open. A younger monk
suggested that they should send out one of the Tibetan
guides on a mule to go and enquire if the group was in
trouble and if they needed help. The senior monk
gestured in the negative and kept watching the pilgrims.
On an impulse, the senior monk called out to an old
Tibetan guide who usually lived near the Choku
monastery during the pilgrim season. This old guide,
now in his eighties, but very hyper and spirited eighties,
came up in a brisk walk to the window, crossing the
monastery hall.
The senior monk pointed out the group of twelve
pilgrims sitting out in the open to the old Tibetan guide.
The old man looked intently at the group and nodded
sadly. The other two monks looked on in puzzlement.
The youngest one asked, “O Master, what is it that
makes you seem so sad? Do you know of that group of
foolish pilgrims? Are they going to sit in the rain
through the night? Is it their foolishness that makes you
sad?”
The senior monk did not answer. Instead, he spoke to the
old Tibetan guide, “Dawa, my friend, when was it that
we saw such an event earlier? Was it not at the very
spot?” The old man nodded, and looked out at the group,
intently once again, kept watching for a long time, and
replied, “Yes, Master Rinchen. It was so. This seems to
happen once in three to five years. It has happened about
three times in your time here at Choku.” The senior
32
monk, Master Rinchen, spoke in agreement, “Yes. I have
seen it happen three times earlier. It’s usually after a
period of three or five years. I wonder how do they
decide that it is to be this year, and that it is this time of
the year, and that they should select the very same spot.”
The young monks were more puzzled than before. The
Master, knowing their unspoken questions about the
group of pilgrims, said, “My brothers, this is a very
unusual happening. You are seeing it for the first time.
Who do you think they are? Can you guess and tell me
what is mean to happen today?” The young monk looked
out at the group again, and replied, “Master, from their dress and appearance, they seem to be Buddhist Khampa
pilgrims from east Tibet. They must be resting or
praying together, wanting to witness the gathering of the
rain clouds on the great mountain’s peaks. They will
probably run in later or set up a tent at that place.”
It was the old Tibetan guide, Dawa, who answered with
a sad smile, “No. No. They are not Khampa at all. We
have searched the place earlier. They are from
someplace else. They are definitely not Tibetan but they
go to extreme trouble to dress up like the local Buddhist
pilgrims from towards Lhasa. We do not know where
they are from. Each time they have appeared, I have
spent much time at the circle of stones and in the nearby
trails, searching for some sign about them. We do not
know where they come from. They sit out through the
night at the place and it is usually through a stormy night
such as the one that is to come. They know and select
the night and come to this spot. In the morning, they are
gone. They are never known to go back to Darchen or go
forward to Dirapuk. They are not seen on the other trails.
They just disappear in the morning. Nobody has seen
33
them in the daytime in any of the local trails, towns or
villages.”
“We enquired in the nearby villages. We spoke to the
other pilgrim guides, policemen and other pilgrim
groups. We asked at the monasteries and other
guesthouses along the roads going away from Darchen
towards Lhasa. There was no news,” said the elder
monk, “It seemed like they had disappeared. We
regularly have news of people who try to climb the Kang
Renpoche, and they are from all sorts of communities.
But, usually, we know about it in advance, and the
police outposts get to know from all pilgrim guides and
eatery owners from the gossip that they pick up. These
adventurers are warned away from climbing the mountain. They are allowed to do the kora and complete
their pilgrimage. This is not a tourist destination. Most
visitors, who come here, come out of devotion. It is the
utmost and ultimate pilgrimage destination. But it is this
group that seems to come once in three to five years that
is a puzzle. They just disappear from the trail.”
***
They watched the approaching rainstorm, seated
patiently, humming the prayer hymns, led by their holy
man. The twelve pilgrims continued to sit inside the
circle of stones, watching the dusk taking over the
landscape. The last of the pilgrims rushed towards to
Dirapuk Gompa and could be seen scampering over the
stony landscape, hoping to obtain some safe shelter for
34
the night. The pilgrim trial was totally deserted now.
One could hear and smell the rain at a distance, and the
low evening winds brought with them the threat of the
night. The twelve pilgrims did not move from their
seated circle. They sat out in the open and did not make
any attempt to prepare a tent or a temporary shelter.
The youngest monk, Brother Tamang, at the Choku
monastery could not get away from the window. The
senior Master had not allowed them to light up the
windows. The young monk kept watching the group of
twelve pilgrims seated on the higher trail. They had not
lit up any lamps and seemed to sit by patiently, waiting
for the darkness that was fast approaching. If he had not
known that they were seated at that spot, the young
monk could not have spotted them, even if he were to
search for them. He could just make out the huddle of
heads, with their fur caps, in a small group, in silhouette
against the shimmer of the early drizzle of rain that had
begun to strike the slopes between Choku and Dirapuk.
The group of twelve pilgrims just sat there, without
moving.
The old Tibetan guide, Dawa, sat near the window, with
the senior Master. They had lighted two candles near a
small statue of Buddha and were praying. The other
young monk had lighted two candles near the other
small statue of Buddha at the other end of the prayer
hall. He was praying quietly. Dawa sat up straight and
chatted with the senior Master, “We are the privileged,
though we are by ourselves. You have the sacred duty,
day after day, night after night, to worship the most
enlightened one, in the form of the Buddha statue from
Garsha. We are truly blessed.”
35
The three monks bowed in prayer at this statement by
Dawa, in his reference to the Buddha statues from
Garsha. Master Rinchen, the senior monk, nodded and
said, “O Dawa, my old friend, you are correct. We are
truly blessed. But yet, it is an incomplete blessing. If
only we know of the other three statues, it would have
been a complete blessing. There were five statues of
Garsha. We have only one here. It is said that there is
another one, in Garsha. Three statues have been lost and
nothing is known of their whereabouts. The statue that
my brother monk prays to is the only one left in Choku.”
The youngest monk, Brother Tamang, knew of the story
of the Buddha statues from Garsha. After all, he was
himself from the Tibetan villages near Nyalam, on the
border with Nepal. Some temples dedicated to the
Buddha in these villages were also dedicated to the
stories of the Amitabha Buddha and the stories of the
Buddha from Garsha. It was said that the five statues had
been found in a lake of milk at Garsha, south of Nyalam
and Nepal and also south of Sikkim. The monks at
Garsha had brought them out to Bhutan some years ago
when the monastery at Choku was under the threat of
destruction. The monastery was rebuilt about twenty-
five years ago, and one of the statues of the Buddha from
Garsha was brought back to Choku.
Brother Tamang kept watching the spot where he knew
the twelve pilgrims were seated out in the open. He
wondered what they had planned to do or what were
they expecting to happen in a stormy night. Dawa looked
at Brother Tamang, and said, “Brother, its no use. We
simply do not know what happens out there. They sit it
out on a stormy night. They are never seen in the entire
region before the stormy night is predicted. The moment
36
we know that such a non-seasonal heavy hailstorm is to
come, this group makes its appearance on the pilgrim
trail. And, in the morning, they are gone. Without a clue
and without any explanation that we can understand.”
“There has to be some explanation. There has to be some
reason. It cannot happen each time without any logic.
We are missing something. We have to do something.
What can it be? It must have been planned to happen in
this manner. Its happening right out there in front of us,”
said Brother Tamang in exasperation, watching the
pilgrims out in the trail.
It had started raining heavily. The dusk had come and
gone. The twelve pilgrims continued to sit it out at the
circle of stones. Quietly, they had pulled out black-
coloured plastic sheets from their bags, and covered
themselves. In an instant, their silhouette had changed.
The fur hats were no longer visible and the twelve could
not be seen as separate individuals. The black plastic
sheets covering them made them look like the rest of the
circle of stones that they sat within. The humming of the
prayer hymn could not be heard unless one stood within
the group, and their holy man was continuing to spin the
prayer drum in his hand.
There was no other conversation amongst them. They sat
huddled next to each other, not seeming to get affected
by the chill and the cold winds that moved about with
the rain. The skies lighted up occasionally with lightning
hitting the high peaks. Kang Renpoche seemed to light
up that much brighter in the rain. The circle of stones
had been set up around heavily packed and beaten down
clayey earth. The pilgrims had laid down heavy plastic
sheets on the ground before they sat for the night. It
37
seemed like the twelve pilgrims were used to this sharp
winter-like winds and heavy monsoon. Not a single
individual amongst them had sneezed or sniffled or
coughed.
Up at the Choku Monastery, the young monk, Brother
Tamang, had guessed that the twelve pilgrims must have
covered themselves with plastic sheets to sit it out
through the night in the rainstorm. He looked around the
dimly lit prayer hall in the monastery. The marble statue
of Amitabha Buddha stood serenely near the pair of
elephant tusks. The light of the candles kept playing with
the shadows of the prayer hall and seemed to cause the
statue of Amitabha Buddha to talk to Brother Tamang.
He kept looking devoutly at the statue, and looking back
at the spot where the twelve pilgrims would be sitting
out in the open.
Brother Tamang came to a decision. He said, “Master,
you are my teacher, and you speak for the elders in our
order. The three of us have been staying at our
monastery for the past few years. We have been taught
to be truthful in our path. It is in the knowledge of the
unknown that we seek our goals. Master, you have said
that this has happened at least three times during the
period of your stay at our monastery here. In all these
three times, we do not know what is happening in front of our windows. This is our holy ground, and the Kang
Renpoche is the abode of our gods.”
Master Rinchen feared what was to come, for he could
understand the glint and sharpness of Brother Tamang’s
eyes. He had seen him looking at the statue of Amitabha
Buddha, and had guessed that the young monk had
sought resolve. The Master replied, “My young brother,
38
I know you from when you had come to our temple for
your initiation. I know your dedication and I can
understand you even before you can understand yourself.
Pray tell, what is it that you wish to?”
The young monk bowed in gratitude, and said, “Yes, O
Master. You do understand me well. We have a situation
here, near our monastery that we do not know anything
about. And we have left our houses and families to join
our temple in search of that knowledge that is difficult to
understand and that knowledge which is essential to
understand. The Most Enlightened One had taught us
over these many hundreds of years that it is he who is
the emperor who knows that he has no empire, but is on
the path to knowledge, and is always seeking it. We have
a riddle here, right outside the windows of our
monastery, and we do not try to seek an explanation.”
Master Rinchen and Dawa nodded in agreement at the
wisdom of the younger monk. They could understand
the clarity that he must have received from the magic of
the guardian of the Choku monastery. Brother Tamang
continued, “We should go out there in the rain. We
should not be frightened of the rainstorm. We are used to
the rain, the cold, the winds and the trails near our
monastery. The group sitting out there does not know
what we know. They do not know that we have been
watching them and that we have observed them on the
earlier occasions. They do not know that we know the
higher and lower trail and that we are very familiar with
the slopes near our monastery. We can walk about in this
region in utter darkness. And what do we have to fear?
We should go out there and try to find out what happens
in this rainstorm and in the darkness of the night. Why
do these pilgrims disappear on such a night? Master
Naropa will protect us.”
39
***
Master Rinchen did not much like the idea of
interrupting the flow of life, the sequence of events,
known and unknown, logical and mysterious, strange
and familiar or the godly or ungodly nature of
developments that always seemed to happen around the Kang Renpoche. These sorts of events were meant to
happen, he felt. He spoke in a low voice to the young
monk, “Brother, I understand your quest for knowledge.
But this is the wonderful and unknown world of the
great mountain where the Most Enlightened One arrived
with thousands of arahats and yet declared that there was
much to know and understand about this place. It is not
for us to disturb the way of events in this world. We
cannot seek knowledge by participating in it.”
“There are numerous caves in this magical Lhachu valley in the shadow of the Kang Renpoche that holds
many siddhas, saints, holy spirits, demons or dakhinis.
We do not know who is who. They seek their own goals
and they do not enquire into the lives or questions of any
other. They have been here for several years. It is said
that some have been here for more than a hundred
years,” said the Master, and continued, “Who are we to
dispute what is said about these beings and souls and
spirits in these mountains of the Lhachu valley? We stay
here under the protection of the holy presence of the
manifestation of the Dharmakaya Amitabha Buddha.
Nobody disturbs us. It is in our responsibility to avoid
disturbing the way of life and the manner of events that
abound in this valley.”
40
Brother Tameng bowed in respect. He could understand
the need to restrain one’s impulses in this land of the
holiest among all religions. Who knew what particular
ritual were those pilgrims here to undertake? They
would perhaps be of another religion. He would be
wrong to have gone and disturbed them. But what if
there was to be sacrilege of the holy mountain and the
sacred valley? Should he keep his patience and restrain
himself? What if they were terrorists? Should he keep
quiet? This was a strange and violent world nowadays. It
could also be the Han Chinese, camping here to spy on the kora or to cause an unpleasant event that would bring
a bad name to the monasteries in the Lhachu valley.
No. It was not to be. He would have to request the
Master’s permission to disobey him. He looked once
again out to the high trail, out in the valley. The rains
were getting to be heavier, and one could hear the
thunder, rolling out slowly at a far distance. At times,
shards of lightning brightened up the skies far into the
mountains. Try as he could, he was not able to spot the
circle of stones or the pilgrims. The wind was getting
much colder and it would be absolutely death to anyone
who would wander out amongst the stones and the
streams in this night. The waters would be freezing
faster than it could flow on the ground, and it would be
extremely slippery.
The young monk spoke out, “Master, forgive me, for it
is in your knowledge about me that you would be aware
of my desire to be absolutely sure in finding out the
truth. We need to know. It may be of anothers’ religion
and it may be a ritual that we should not disturb. But,
what is it that is different from each other in this valley.
We are all seekers of the same truth here, in the shadow of the Kang Renpoche, waiting the turn of events as they
41
happen. The hundreds of pilgrims who come here, do so
in their faith in our presence and that we would not
allow the passing of time to change this place and
destroy their opportunity to offer their prayers. What if
these pilgrims sitting out there in the rain, are wrong, or
bad, or evil or demonic? We need to know.”
Master Rinchen nodded in agreement, and replied, “I
have to agree with you, young one. You are of the new
generation, and it is your world that you take care. I am
only a custodian to allow you to take control of your
inheritance. I cannot deny you the knowledge. But let
there be another way to do this. You take my old friend,
Dawa, with you. I cannot allow you to do this alone. I
know that the two of you know these slopes and can
make your way to the circle of stones in this dark night.
We will light up these windows after a while, to allow
you to seek your direction to return safely. Go safely,
and go quietly. We do not know what is happening out
there. I have not been able to seek the answers in the
years that I have been here, and it has already happened
thrice. These are the three occasions that we saw. Who
knows how many times it has happened otherwise?”
Dawa brightened up at this opportunity to go out in the
rain and seek answers to what was to happen out there in
the night. He had missed out on the previous three
occasions and wondered if he was to carry this ignorance
to his grave. This was his world out there. The unknown was not to happen in the known world of the kora and in
this valley. He was the owner of the kora, he felt. He
was one of the oldest guides on the pilgrim trail. His
father had done the same, and so had his grand father.
Not a single man in his family had ever owned any
property. They had lived their lives in makeshift huts,
tents, and sheds or eked it out in the monasteries. Their
42
women had worked in the guesthouses, monasteries and
eateries. The trail was his world.
They got ready to go out in the rainstorm. The old
pilgrim guide picked up black coloured nylon rainproof
jackets and track pants. The young monk draped a black
coloured nylon coat over his robes. They left the
monastery building and stood in the compound, to get a
feel for the rain pouring heavily onto the cobbled
grounds. From the high walled compound, they climbed
down the stairs and began to get comfortable with the
night. It was not a strange outing for them. The two of
them were used to wandering off in the night together to
seek a good spot to sit and watch the Kang Renpoche.
Those outings had taken place on clear nights or full
moon nights. They had walked out in drizzles and had
occasionally got caught in sudden cloudbursts. They
knew their way around these slopes.
Leaving the monastery’s stairs, they walked up the slope
along the shadow of the monastery, on the other side of
the Dirapuk path. They climbed to a higher trail that they
knew of on the slopes facing the Lhachu valley. It felt
safer to be on higher ground and to be walking a trail
that they were familiar with. Upon reaching the path,
they began walking steadily towards the circle of stones.
They knew that the path permitted them to avoid being
detected. There were some boulders and stones that had
fallen this year and it would allow them to reach a safe
spot above the location of the pilgrims seated out there
in the rain. Perhaps they could stay back on the higher
trail and keep a quiet watch over what was to happen, if
it had not already occurred.
It took them about thirty minutes to reach thereabouts. It
felt right, thought Dawa that they were almost above the
43
circle of stones. He pulled at the young monk’s robe to
stop him. They sat down amongst the stones there, to get
their eyes to make out the boulders and the slopes
downward to the other trail. It took some time but they
could only barely make out the nearest stones. Dawa
kept examining each stone pile in detail, trying to rule
out those that could not be the ones that they were
seeking. Brother Tameng, on his part, was working on a
different strategy. He thought he knew the location. He
had been intently searching out landmarks at these
slopes from when he had been standing at the window of
the monastery. There was an old stone stupa that had
two prayer flags from the previous years. He had
measured that the circle of stones was in direct line from
the stone stupa to the hill stream that flowed near the
lower trail.
They walked down carefully to the stone stupa, with the
rain drowning out any noise that would have been
otherwise very loud and disturbing in this serene valley
on another night. There was a low wall around the stupa,
and they made themselves comfortable next to the stone
structure, on the other side of the heavy rain pouring
down upon them. There was some respite here, and they
sat together, silently, waiting and watching. Dawa
pointed out suddenly, and they could now make out,
about a hundred footfalls away, the circle of stones could
be barely seen. There was a huddle of stone-like shapes
inside the circle, too close to each other, unlike the other
stones on the slopes. These would be the pilgrims,
thought Brother Tameng, huddled under plastic sheets.
Dawa grabbed Brother Tameng’s arm and gestured in
awe towards the lower slopes. They watched in silence
and amazement. The skies parted above, in a flash of
lightning, and they could see clearly for a brief instant.
44
They had never seen anything like it before. It was a yak
herd, walking slowly, in a small bunch, moving ahead
purposefully. There was no sound and they did not seem
like any yak from the valley. These were large animals,
with very low hanging hair. Their heads were held high,
watching ahead, unlike what the other domestic yak
would have done in such heavy rain. There must have
been more than ten yaks, Dawa thought. These animals
were walking in this heavy rain, and walking steadily
and silently, as if on purpose, to some destination.
***
Dawa and Brother Tameng watched in wonder at the
sight of the yaks walking down the lower trail from the
direction of the Dirapuk monastery in the heavy rain.
They could spot them only when the lightning in the
upper mountains cast some light into the Lhachu valley.
The herd walked tightly together, in a close bunch. Each
individual in the herd seemed to be of the same age and
of equal size. They knew their way and kept walking
confidently.
Dawa whispered, “Let us not disturb our attention from
the circle of stones. Keep your eyes at the pilgrims who
are sitting it out in the rain. Those are wild yak and they
are probably walking away from all the pilgrims and
disturbance at Dirapuk and Dolma La pass. They must
have been blocked and they are trying to get out of the
45
valley and on to higher ground. Do not look away from
the circle of stones.”
Brother Tameng nodded in the dark night, and tapped
Dawa’s hands, knowing that they could not see each
other. He kept watching the pilgrims, and on occasions
when he could watch their silhouette, he knew that they
continued to sit there. Had they seen the herd of wild
yaks approaching them? Did they know about them?
Were they connected? In this place, under the shadow of the Kang Renpoche Mountain, Brother Tameng felt,
anything could happen. He kept moving his line of sight
from the pilgrims to the herd of wild yak.
They were certainly larger than the domestic yak that he
was familiar with, thought Brother Tameng. These were
larger, much larger. The span of their horns was also
wider, indeed, much wider, larger and heavier. It was
amazing that the herd could walk so tightly together, in
such a dark night, in a rainstorm and yet not have the
horns get entangled with each other. Realising that he
was getting distracted, Brother Tameng turned again to
watch the circle of stones. He could see the huddle
below the plastic sheets. Did the pilgrims sitting out
there know about the wild yak herd that was walking
towards them in the lower trail?
Dawa whispered again, “Brother, you watch the pilgrims
and the area around the circle of stones. Be careful.
Anything can happen at any time. I will keep watching
the wild yak herd and the areas away from the circle of
stones.” Brother Tameng tapped Dawa’s hand in
agreement. The rain was getting heavier and more
intense. The thunder had started in the valleys nearby,
and the lightning was brighter in the Lhachu valley. The
46
sound of the thunder in each valley seemed to echo
against the other valleys, and seemed like the roars
would never stop.
The wild yak herd moved across a rain-laden fast
flowing stream that crossed the lower trail. The waters
were rising, and the yaks walked through the fast stream
without stopping. Their speed seemed slow, but Dawa
knew that the perspective in this dark stormy night could
be extremely deceptive. The wild yak herds were known
to move rapidly on steep slopes and charge through the
cold plains. The domestic yak stayed away from them
and so did the sheep and goat herders. The Changpa
nomads had many stories of wild yak herds in the high
mountains. After each narration, the stories only got
wilder and fascinating.
Dawa wondered about this herd. This was unlike any
wild yak herd that he had seen in all his years in the
valleys around the Kang Renpoche Mountain. This herd
seemed larger than the largest wild bull that he had seen
five years ago on the banks of the hill stream river near
the Drolma La pass. That bull had been larger than most
other yak bulls that he had seen elsewhere. He had been
able to estimate the height of that large bull because it
had moved against an old stone stupa, and there had
been a prayer cloth hanging over the higher parts. It had
been useful as a marker and Dawa had been able to
understand that the bull was about 7 ½ feet tall.
This wild yak herd that was moving down the lower trail
was uniquely different from other yak herds that he had
known. All individuals in this herd seemed equal in size,
and he sensed that each individual was a massive bull,
and each could be about more than eight feet in height. It
47
was not so much about the height. Dawa felt that the
bulls seemed to be much larger than other wild yaks.
They seemed to be really huge. More than 1.5 tonnes in
weight, he thought. This could not be so much as real, he
wondered. Was it really happening?
He knew that the wild yaks did not mind the rain, but
could they really withstand this intense rainstorm? He
looked at the circle of stones, and could make out the
pilgrims sitting under the plastic sheets. What was
happening? How would this night move? What would
the pilgrims do? Had the wild yak herd come down this
trail on earlier occasions also? He wished that he had
had the courage and presence of mind and initiative to
come out in the rainstorm at night and had tried to find
out what was happening. He felt grateful to Brother
Tameng for his courage.
The wild yak herd was almost near the circle of stones.
They were walking on the lower trail from Dirapuk
towards Choku. The pilgrims were sitting at their spot on
the middle trail. Brother Tameng and Dawa were hiding
behind the low wall at the dilapidated stone stupa on the
higher trail. The rainstorm was beginning to show a
slight drizzle of hail. They were small hailstones and not
dangerous. The hailstorm could change suddenly and
gather in strength and pour larger hailstones. Brother
Tameng and Dawa had a clear view, if it could be called
that in this stormy night, whenever the lightning hit the
higher mountains.
There was some movement in the circle of stones, they
realized. The twelve pilgrims had moved about in the
spot. The plastic sheets seemed to have been opened up
and rearranged. Perhaps the pilgrims had spotted the
48
wild yak herd. Dawa wondered if the pilgrims would get
away from the circle of stones and move up into the
higher trails to get away from the animals.
The animals came to a halt below the circle of stones.
They were tightly bunched, and stood magnificently in
the rainstorm. A strange change took over in the Lhachu
Valley in the area around the circle of stones. The rain
seemed to have stopped here. Dawa and Brother Tameng
could see the rain at Dirapuk, at Tarboche and on the higher slopes of Kang Renpoche and other mountains on
the other side of the Lhachu Valley. The clouds cleared
over Choku and the moon came out from the high
slopes. The valley was bathed in brilliant moonlight and
one could see the herd of wild yaks and the circle of
stones.
The wild yaks grouped around, turning about, and were
now facing the circle of stones. They continued to be
bunched very tightly. The animals began to walk up the
lower hill slope towards the circle of stones. What was
happening, wondered Dawa. He could sense Brother
Tameng’s excitement. The yaks walked right to the
circle of stones and stood there silently. The twelve
pilgrims removed their plastic sheets and continued to sit
at the same spot. They seemed to be humming some sort
of a prayer hymn. Dawa could see that one among the
pilgrims was a holy man, and he had a prayer drum that
was being turned about.
Brother Tameng nudged Dawa silently, and pointed with
his finger at the lower slope. At the spot where the herd
of wild yaks had turned and walked up to the circle of
stones, there now stood a pack of wolves, scattered and
silent, watching. Dawa counted twelve wolves that were
49
on sight. They had not seen them earlier. It could have
been due to the rain and the dark stormy night. Had the
wolves come with the wild yak herd? They could have
missed seeing them earlier. Or, the wolves could have
been waiting in the region for the twelve pilgrims to
move. They may have been waiting their time. After all,
the wolves were not known to walk with wild yaks.
They were known to be their occasional and rare
predators. The wild yak had only the wolf to fear on rare
occasions.
The pilgrims sat quietly at the circle of stones, watching
the wild yak standing on the slopes. They continued with
their humming. The pilgrims did not seem disturbed and
did not seem to realize that they were watching a strange
happening. Or, did they actually expect it to happen?
The wolves stood silently at the hill stream on the lower
trail. There was no sound in the area, and strangely, the
wild yaks were not even grunting. Dawa and Brother
Tameng could see the smoke coming out of the yaks’
nostrils. Their tails were upright. They were indeed tall
and really large. And then, the night changed yet again.
The moon went behind the high mountains. The rain
clouds returned. The rainstorm started pouring down the
Choku area. It was dark again.
***
50
They waited through the night, sitting it out in the
hailstorm behind the low wall of the stone stupa below
the Choku monastery. The rain did not let go. It
continued to rain steadily. There was no thunder and
there was no lightning. The rainwaters did not fall down
from the skies. It looked like there was a great wall of
water standing between the Lhachu valley and the skies
above the Kang Renpoche. The roar of the storm was
tremendous. The wall of water did not break down and
the hailstorm began to gather in large hailstones.
Dawa and Brother Tameng could not dare to run for the
monastery. Not after what they had just seen out on the
trail. Had they really seen wild yaks, wolves, pilgrims
who did not fear the rain? What else could happen on
this night? Dawa did not want to contribute to any
disaster or personal damage by being foolish by running
out in the hailstorm. Brother Tameng was too awestruck
by the magic of the events that he had just witnessed.
What could they understand from what had happened
here?
It was totally dark out on the trail. The hailstorm was
pelting down on them. They were able to just about hide
below an abutment on the stone stupa that barely gave
them some protection. There was no wind, thunder or
lightning. There was just the sound of hailstones
crashing on the hill slopes. They broke upon hitting the
low wall around the stupa and the broken pieces and
shards were hitting them from all sides. The rain clothes
and robe were their only protection. After a while, Dawa
and Brother Tameng began to pile up stones and rocks
around them to build up a small wall to block the
hailstone pieces flying about.
51
Dawa wondered about what was happening out on the
trail. Were the wild yaks standing out there at the circle
of stones? What made the wolves come out near the
pilgrims? Had the wolves followed the wild yaks?
Where had the yaks come from? He had not heard of any
news or gossip about such a strange herd of extremely
large yak bulls moving about together. Usually yak bulls
moved about alone. They were known to prefer grassy
outer slopes on the lower hills. Sometimes they were
known to have stayed around the banks of the lakes
around the hills. He had not seen bulls of such a
magnificent height and body volume. They were large,
extremely large. Their horns had made them seem much
larger.
What were the pilgrims doing at the circle of stones?
There was no protection out there. How would they
survive the hailstorm? Had they seen the wolves on the
lower trail, behind and beyond the wild yak herd? There
were so many questions, thought Brother Tameng.
Instead of finding answers, they had only discovered
more questions. He wanted to discuss everything that
they had seen, and he simply did not have the strength to
talk.
They never knew that the dawn had come and gone by,
and that the day had begun. The rain had not ceased, and
the dark storm clouds had continued to cover the pilgrim
trail on the Lhachu valley. The first sign of the day came
when the clouds began to lighten up, and as suddenly as
it had begun, the hailstorm stopped. The day came out of
the clouds and the sun shone down on the trail. Dawa
and Brother Tameng peered down from the stone stupa
at the circle of stones. As he had feared, Dawa could not
see anyone. The wild yak herd had gone, and the wolves
52
were not to be seen. The circle of stones was empty. The
pilgrims who had sat at the spot had disappeared.
They waited a while at the stupa and looked up at the
Choku monastery. They could see Master Rinchen and
the younger monk looking at them from the windows.
They were waving at them. Dawa and Brother Tameng
waved back and stepped out of the low wall around the
stupa. They walked down to the circle of stones. There
was nothing out at the spot. There was no sign that a
group of men had sat down at the place. The plastic
sheets had gone. The pilgrims had gone with their bags
and other belongings. Dawa ran out to the lower slopes,
searching for signs and tracks of the wild yak herd.
Brother Tameng continued to search for any sign of
disturbance or presence of the pilgrims inside the circle
of stones. There was no sign. There were no tracks. The
stones were not disturbed. Nothing seemed out of place.
They went down to the river stream that was flowing by
with more and more water rushing down from all
around. Master Rinchen could be seen watching them
from the high windows of the monastery. Dawa searched
for tracks of the wolves. It was not possible that there
could be tracks of any kind. Not after the strength of the
hailstorm that they had waited through the night. Any
sign or track would have been wiped away. They
climbed back to the circle of stones and searched up and
down the trail. There was no sign of any movement right
from the faint view of Dirapuk and all the way down to
the turn of the trail to Tarboche.
Dawa went up to the exact spots where they had seen the
herd come and stop outside the circle of stones. He was
searching for signs of yak hair. Domestic yak would
53
always leave obvious signs that they had moved through
a place or if they had rested at any location. Yak had
different types of hair, and it was the matted shaggy coat
that always left signs of its presence. He could not find
any trace. Where would they have gone? How did the
pilgrims move away so fast, right out in the open, within
the fierce hailstorm?
Brother Tameng looked up in wonderment at the higher
slopes of the Kang Renpoche Mountain. Would the
answers to this puzzle be hidden in the sacred mountain?
What had really happened out here in this stormy night?
He had received resolve yesterday, at night, when he had
sought courage from the statue of the Dharmakaya
Amitabha Buddha in the prayer hall of the Choku
monastery. He had known that this region had more
unknowns than any other region in the highlands of
Tibet. The numerous stories were not even understood
properly. Most were passed on, person to person,
community to community, temple to temple, religion to
religion and had yet to even begin to know exactly the
number of stories of merely the Lachu valley.
Dawa shook his head in wonderment and called out to
Brother Tameng, “Let us go back to the monastery and
look out at the slopes from the terraces of our buildings.
We cannot get anything from this location. The rain and
hailstorm has washed away all signs and tracks. The
pilgrims have disappeared. What had happened three
years ago, and before, and before, has happened again.”
Except, he thought to himself, this time, the mystery
began to get more complex. How could one explain the
wild yaks and wolves? And why did the pilgrims not get
frightened?
54
They returned to the monastery. Brother Tameng went
straight to the statue of the Dharmakaya Amitabha
Buddha and stood before it, lost in his prayer and
thoughts. Dawa stood with the Master Rinchen at the
window, watching the circle of stones. The Master said,
“Peace be with the two of you, my old friend. We had
not moved away from the windows through the night. At
one moment, when the rains had stopped, I could see the
herd of wild yaks, standing near the circle of stones. I
was also able to see the wolves standing out there on the
lower trail and near the river streams. I saw that the
pilgrims stood their ground, unafraid, and courageous. I
never saw what happened after that. The rains and the
hailstorm did not allow us to peer inside the water
curtain that stood out there in the valley.”
Dawa replied, “O Master, I am happy. I was wondering
if I had not imagined the entire night. I know that
Brother Tameng was also with me, but I was frightened
for him also. I am happy that you saw what we saw.
What we did see is what we know. I am puzzled by what
we saw and what we are unable to accept. Is that why we
do not understand? We saw twelve pilgrims who sat out
there in the rain, and waited for the storm to come. They
knew that it was to rain on the trail. They waited for it.
They sat together and did not move, even when it was
very cold and the downpour became heavier. It did not
affect them. Master, did they know that the cold and the
rainstorm would not affect them? They were not like us
at all.”
Master Rinchen nodded, and said, “Yes, my friend. We
are in a puzzle about it because we think that the
pilgrims were also people like us. They stood with
courage, when the wild yak walked up to the circle of
55
stones. We would have run away from the spot right
when we would have spotted the yaks walking down the
trail. These pilgrims did not walk away. They stood
there and looked at the wild yaks without fear. They
knew that they would not be harmed. They are not like
us. How did they know that they could sit out there?
Who were they? Where did they come from?”
III
Below the Dirapuk Gompa, within the circle of
makeshift tents and sheds, one could see the effect of the
rainstorm that had swept the night. Some sheds had
broken up, and some tents had fallen. The rocks had
protected them. The hailstorm had not been as severe at
Dirapuk as it had been near the Choku monastery. Norbu
peered outside his tent and watched the sun claim the
valley. Pilgrims and animals were yet to get out of their
shelters. One and all, they were all awestruck by the
force of the rainstorm.
Norbu said a silent prayer, and wondered if the rain had
hit Shiquanhe or Darchen with the same force. He
prayed for his parents, his sister and their shop and their
animals. His yaks and the Mastiff had survived the night
in the tent. He looked out at the empty valley. Nobody
was moving. He came out of his tent and watched the
trail from the pass to Tarboche, north to Choku, and
northwards of Dirapuk to Drolma La Pass. The upper
56
slopes on the Kang Renpoche were shining like a newly
washed photograph in the sun. The rain clouds had gone.
The snowy peak was beautiful, he thought.
He wondered about his parents at Darchen at their store.
Nearly a hundred pilgrims or more would have sheltered
in those sheds, and the yak herd would have been moved
to a safe sheltered area. Norbu thought back to his native
hamlet and hoped that the rainstorm had not destroyed
the village. His family would not have any home to go
back to. He wanted to return and purchase large farm
plots and go in for vegetable farming. Not barley, he had
decided. Barley farming was a total loss and under the
mercy of the rain, the sun, the clouds, the weeds and the
insects. He would go in for growing vegetables.
Norbu had seen the future. He had seen the demand for
vegetables and food items on the pilgrim trails. These
groups were ready to pay four to five times more than
what his family would get selling vegetables in the local
market. His parents could continue to manage the store
at Darchen and he would raise money by taking the pilgrims on the kora and save enough money to go and
buy large farm plots. These pilgrims were intelligent.
Sometimes they talked to him and asked about him, his
parents and his native village. Some pilgrims spoke to
him about the world outside of Tibet. Some Han Chinese
policemen spoke to him about the craze of growing
vegetables inside cloth sheds. It protected the crop from
clouds, rain, hail, chill and the sun.
He looked back inside the tent at his two yaks sitting
peacefully. They knew that their resting time was
precious. For once they would be up and about, they
would be laden with luggage and goods and they would
57
have to keep walking through the day. The luggage
would not be taken off their backs even during lunch
hours or when the pilgrims rested during the day. The
Mastiff seemed very quiet, subdued and very different
today. Norbu began to pull down the tent and started
packing it up. He rolled the tent around the poles and
tied it up with the fastening ropes. He had one yak for
the tents and his own kit, while the other yak carried the
backpacks and foodstuffs of the touring pilgrims.
The yaks watched him quietly. The same activity was
going on at the other tents. Some yaks had gotten up and
were moving around. The pilgrims had come out of their tents and instantly began taking photographs of the Kang
Renpoche and everything that was happening at Dirapuk.
The pilgrim guide came up to Norbu and the yak boys
and handed them their breakfast kits of oatmeal, noodles,
meat strips and potatoes. A good breakfast would be
required after such a night. The pilgrim guide hugged
Norbu in relief, at seeing him safe, and said, “We will
wait here through the morning. We do not know what
would be happening at the Drolma La Pass. The rains
would be coming down the hill streams now, and there
could be a flash flood anywhere. Let us wait and watch
what happens. We could move at noon, if there is news
from the Pass.”
Norbu nodded in agreement. It was better to be safe than
to be caught in the sudden floods that would occur after
such a cloudburst. He called out to another yak boy and
got him to start cooking breakfast for all the helper boys
and local porters. One of the monks had come out of
Dirapuk Gompa and was walking around looking to see
if everyone was safe. The yak boys and the porters
bowed low in respect when the monk approached them.
58
He came up to Norbu’s Mastiff and patted him on his
head and waited for the dog to growl or snarl. The
Mastiff did neither and merely whimpered.
The monk asked Norbu, “What’s wrong with this guy? I
thought Mastiffs were more dangerous. Did he get
frightened by the yaks in the tent, or by the rain, or by
your cooking?” He pointed out to the hole that Norbu
had dug inside the tent. The doused fire was still warm,
having been fed yak dung cakes through the night. The
yak boys laughed politely and one of the porters came up
to the monk to seek blessings. They whispered to each
other and walked away. Norbu looked at the Mastiff and
wondered. What was wrong?
“Look!” shouted one of the yak boys, pointing towards
the Choku monastery. The porter and the monk also
looked at the direction and returned to where Norbu
stood. They could see a monk from the Choku
monastery and a old pilgrim guide walking towards
Dirapuk. This was very rare, for a monk to walk from
one monastery to another on a normal day, unless there
was a festive occasion or there had been a disaster. Had
something terrible occurred at the monastery? Norbu
shivered, and prayed, looking up at Kang Renpoche. The
Dirapuk monk also prayed silently.
The pilgrims had not noticed anything amiss. They did
not know that it was unusual. They thought it was a
regular happening. They started taking photographs of
the monk from Choku and the old man accompanying
him. Norbu and the Dirapuk monk started walking
towards the lower trail to meet with the monk from
Choku. Nobody followed them. The Dirapuk monk
bowed and said, “Welcome, Brother. Before you say
59
anything, I trust and pray to the Most Enlightened One
that everyone is safe at the Choku monastery? I hope
there has been no disaster.”
The old man replied, “Master, there has been no
problem. I have with me, Brother Tameng, from the
Choku Monastery. I am Dawa, and I am a pilgrim guide.
I do not go around the entire kora nowadays, but escort
the groups who come to Darchen and want to visit
Choku especially to seek the blessings of the
Dharmakaya Amitabha Buddha. We come in enquiry,
for we wish to know about certain questions from events
that happened in the night that went by in the rainstorm.”
The monk from Dirapuk answered, “Brother Tameng,
welcome. You are also welcome, Old Man Dawa, for I
know you well, from many years. This is Norbu, from Darchen and beyond. He takes the pilgrims on the kora.
The yak boys are preparing some breakfast, and you can
share some hot soup so that you can rest and speak. You
look like you need some rest, and that you have been
denied it throughout the night. Were you out in the open
in the rain?”
Brother Tameng asked, for he was impatient, “I must ask
the questions, my brother. I will also accept the soup
with much gratitude, for we do need it. But let us sit
here, so that we do not frighten those who should not be.
Some strange events happened out near Choku during
the night. We have come to enquire about it, for the
beings that created the events, whether they were
humans, animals, spirits or demons, we know not who,
some of those beings walked down the trail from
Dirapuk towards Choku. I want to know if the yak boys
noticed anything wrong at night with the yaks or the
60
dogs. Did the yaks get disturbed, and did the dogs bark
or get frightened?”
Norbu shivered again. So did the monk from Dirapuk.
They remembered their discussion about the strange
behaviour of the Mastiff. It was so unlike the breed.
Norbu thought about the night, and said, “Masters, and
Old Man Dawa, for I too know you, there was indeed
something strange that happened during the night. It was
my two yaks. They were sleeping peacefully and were as
disturbed as any living being could have been during
such a stormy night. My Mastiff was sleeping close to
me, and I was thankful for the warmth that it provided
me. And then, suddenly, the yaks stood up, quietly, not
grunting, inside the tent, and were wide-awake. I was
worried that they would charge out into the rains and
tried to get them to relax. They did not do so. They were
very tense. They stood for about an hour, as though they
sensed some strange spirits or demons outside the tent.
Their tails were held high, and yet they did not grunt.
Their breathing became very heavy and the smoke from
their nostrils made it look like fog clouds had entered
our tent. And then, suddenly, they sat down again and
went to sleep. The Mastiff never barked at all.”
***
61
The rainstorm had damaged the tented eateries at
Shiquanhe through the night. Hariram Maharaj and Luo
Tsering went about examining the tents and the damage.
They seemed to have been lucky as compared to other
tented eateries in the region outside Shiquanhe, on the
road to Darchen. Most other eateries and their sheds
were blown away or destroyed. Luo Tsering’s eatery
seemed to be quite intact. It must have been due to the
protection from the nearby police station that was taller
than the eatery, and stood in the way of the direction of
the rainstorm and the wind that blew it around.
The vehicles that had been brought inside the tent were
safe and it had been sensible to do so, thought Maharaj.
It had been Luo’s sudden idea and initially Maharaj had
thought it was a crazy thing to do. The morning after the
rainstorm showed the damage done to the vehicles that
had been left out in the open during the night. More than
fifty pilgrims had stayed inside the tented eatery through
the night. Some were going towards Darchen and some
were on their return from the kora. There were some
local townspeople with their bicycles who had rushed in
at night.
Maharaj and Luo knew most of the locals, pilgrim
guides and were also familiar with some of the pilgrim
groups, for they had stopped at the eatery earlier. They
got their kitchen boys to start preparing soup and
noodles for breakfast. Luo’s wife began preparing the
extra-sweet tea and Tsampa separately for the local
Tibetans. One of the boys began to heat up the earlier
night’s leftover yak meat soup and potatoes in a separate
bowl in the adjoining tent. The pilgrim groups knew
about Luo’s separation of vegetarian and non-vegetarian
food and accordingly began to move about.
62
There were two pilgrims sitting near the stove, warming
themselves, and looking outside the tent, perhaps
wondering about if it was safe enough to travel. Luo was
curious about them. He spoke to Maharaj in a low voice,
in Tibetan, “Maharaj, do you see those two there, near
the stove? They came in quite late, when it was almost
sure that it would be a bad night. They were walking on
their own. They are not local Tibetans and neither do
they look like Changpa nomads. Do you know anything
about them?”
Maharaj had picked up more than a good understanding
of Tibetan, but could not speak it fluently, and spoke in
his pidgin language that he had made up. Luo could
understand it, for the conversation usually was about
activity within the eatery or about religion or god and
godmen. Maharaj said, “I do not know them. They are
not from any pilgrim group. They look quite rested and
are not tired. They must be going to the kora, or may be
trading in goods in this region. Are you sure that they are
not Changpa? Their dress looks quite like the villagers
from Eastern Tibet.”
Luo was sure. He knew the Changpas, for they came in
regularly to trade with him. He bought meat, salt and
other spices that they brought to sell. They had an easy
smuggling route from Eastern Tibet to Ladakh that they
had used for more than hundreds of years. It was said
that there were more Changpas in Ladakh in India than
there should have been in their own lands in Eastern
Tibet. They were good tradesmen and brought in a good
reliable supply of spices, grains, pulses and branded
goods from India. Maharaj needed those spices and
pulses to cook his trademark food for the Hindu, Sikh,
63
Jain and Buddhist pilgrims from India. He would never
have eaten such food at Qinhai, from where he had come
from, and neither had his wife in her village.
Maharaj went to the stove and began getting his special
utensils ready. The “strictly vegetarian” pilgrims from
India liked to see him in action, and actually see him
cook. They knew that he could be trusted to keep his
utensils and plates and bowls separately and “clean” and
not to pollute them with the beef-eaters. A group of
pilgrims from Gujarat, especially from Navsari, had
come on an exclusive pilgrimage to the Mount Kailash,
to the Hindus among them, and to the Ashtapad, to the
Jains among them. The great Mountain Kang Renpoche,
was all-inclusive, and was known by different names to
the different religious groups who struggled and made
their once-in-a-lifetime journey to do the ultimate of all
pilgrimages.
The Navsari pilgrims were on their return journey from
the sacred Mountain. The pilgrim guide with them was
also from Navsari, though he was settled in Ahmedabad.
The Jain group amongst them had a junior monk from
the Navsari area. The pilgrim guide and the Jain monk
were whispering between them and looking furtively at
the two strange pilgrims sitting near the stove. Maharaj
called out to them, and spoke in Gujarati, “Bapu,
Pranaam. Greetings. It was a terrible night. We are all
lucky. The blessings that your holy man has sought
during the kora has stayed with you, and we are all safe.
Come and get some honest and good Indian Tea. I have
put real ginger, brought all the way from India. It will
make you feel better. Bring your entire group nearby to
the stove. It will be warm here.”
64
The local townspeople and Tibetans and policemen from
the nearby outpost were gathering at the other tent. Luo
and his wife served local Chiang breakfast. The lunch
and dinner was usually cooked in three cuisines, Chiang,
Sichuan and Xinjiang. But breakfast was always the fast
way out, and the easy way, simple Chiang style. It was
all meat, in the soup, in the noodles and mixed up in the
Tsampa. The earlier evening’s yak meat curry was
gulped down as soon as it had been served. The bowls
were welcomed with happy grunts and smiles. They now
waited for the slower cooked breakfast with happiness,
since they now had something inside their stomachs.
Maharaj was getting curiouser about the two strange
pilgrims. They should have gone to the other tent and
grabbed the meat soup and yak meat. They did not seem
to be interested. They were waiting for vegetarian
breakfast? That was really unusual. Did Changpa
nomads eat vegetarian food exclusively? The pilgrim
guide and the Jain monk from Navsari came to stand
alongside Maharaj. They stretched their hands towards
the fire at the stove and warmed them. The helper boys
passed on cups of Tea to all the pilgrims including the
two mysterious men.
Maharaj began to roll out his famous aloo-parathas, the
ones that local Tibetans were very curious about, and
were always standing around watching him stuff spicy
and cooked mashed potatoes inside rolled out wheat
bread, ready to be heated and made ready to eat with
curry. The pilgrim guide from Navsari spoke to Maharaj
in Hindi, “O Maharaj, thank you for giving us tea that
makes us feel that we are already back in Gujarat. I want
to ask you something, and that’s why I speak to you in
Hindi and not in Gujarati. Is that ok? I spoke with my
65
Jain brother, and holy master, and we wanted to ask you
if you know anything about these two men? They look
like they are from this place, but we want to know if you
know them?”
The Jain monk said, also in Hindi, “There is a reason,
Maharaj, why we speak in Hindi and not in Gujarati.
These two men were with us at the kora. They were not
with us, but they were nearby and we saw them on many
occasions. We did not think too much about them but
what we heard at night, when we were all sheltering
during the rainstorm, makes us curious. And what we
saw or did not see during the kora, about these two men,
makes us more curious. Do you know them?”
Maharaj was puzzled. He had thought that these two
men had come to Shiquanhe to proceed to Darchen, for
they did not look too tired or exhausted. Why would
Navsari pilgrims want to talk in Hindi and not in
Gujarati? That was really strange, he thought. He
replied, “No, my brothers. I do not know them. What
was strong about what you heard at this place, during the
night?”
The pilgrim guide said, “Maharaj, you know that we are
from Navsari. We are therefore familiar with different
types of Gujarati, Hindi and Kutchi languages. These
two men who look like they are from Tibet, they were
talking a strange and not-so-familiar language that we
have hard only in Navsari. It’s not Gujarati. They talked
the language of the ancient priests of the people from
Iran, the Parsis. It was not actually the language that we
hear from everyday from the Parsis we meet. It was very
different. But we sensed it to be the type of ancient Parsi
that their priests recite when we attend their weddings
66
and religious functions. It was not entirely the same, but
was similar.”
The Jain monk added, “Yes. It was that. What was
strange was that these two men were with twelve other
pilgrims when they came by our group at Darchen, when we had completed our kora, and they went ahead with
them and returned from Tarboche itself. The twelve
other pilgrims went ahead. Why would you go all the
way to Tarboche to leave your companions?”
***
Vijay Kulkarni had stayed up awake through the
rainstorm during the night inside his 4-person alpine tent
near the Manasarovar Lake. Their camp was near a
village settlement at some distance from the lake. They
had pitched their tents outside a school’s compound
wall. The buildings and the nearby prayer hall had
offered some protection to the group from the hailstorm
that had crashed down during the night. The storm had
ceased after dawn, and surprisingly the morning fog and
chilly wind was absent.
He walked around the tented area looking out at the
deceptively still waters of the Manasarovar Lake. The
waves were lapping at the shore and one could hear the
faint sound. It meant that the morning was very silent in
the village. That was strange, thought Vijay. He should
have been hearing the Mastiffs and other village dogs
barking their heads off. The domestic yaks sitting nearby
67
were also quiet. Possibly everyone, humans and animals,
were all tired in trying to survive through the night.
His colleagues had not stirred out of their tents. They
knew that there would be no moving about until the sun
had come out and there would be no sign of any repeat
storm. The group was taking the opportunity to sleep in
and gather some much needed rest. Vijay walked near
the school compound gates and looked in. Several
trekking and pilgrim groups had set up their tented
camps inside the compound. The school building had
been constructed on three sides around an open
playground. It had been a sensible choice. The tents had
not blown away and there did not seem any damage. The
school gates could also prevent disturbance from the
village dogs and yaks.
Vijay walked back to his tent and looked in. His team
was waking up and moving around. Himanshu and
Paramita came out and joined him in moving around.
They were hydrogeologists, and had come on the
expedition to collect rock samples and study the region.
This area was like a godsend opportunity for them and
they enjoyed the aspect that Vijay and other trekking
leaders would be worrying about the logistics. It was a
mixed group, comprising trekkers, pilgrims,
hydrogeologists, inland fishery experts, wildlifers,
photographers, birdwatchers and tour guides.
Each group had their own agenda. They did their own
thing while the tour guides and trekking leaders kept
them moving within an agenda. The Chinese did not like
anyone wandering around and usually frowned upon any
informal studies that had not been permitted. Fair
enough, thought Vijay, we would have done the same
68
thing in India, and we would not have done that only to
the Chinese. We would have stopped one another also
from studying whatever is usually obvious to each of us.
Himanshu asked, “Vijayrao, what happened to you at
night? I did not see you sleep at all. You seemed to be
moving about in the tent through the night. You had also
walked out during the rain and kept going in and out.
What happened? Upset stomach?” Paramita laughed, for
she knew that Himanshu liked to keep making fun of
Vijay. She added, “No, that cannot be. Vijay Sir does not
ever have an upset stomach. He has moved about in so
many wild areas and he has eaten all types of food. His
stomach cannot be upset. He must have been moving
about trying to take photographs of the rain and thinking
of trekking in the heavy downpour or in the hailstorm.”
Vijay smiled at their banter. He knew them from old
times, even Paramita. She had been a post-graduate
student at the University of Pune and was a keen
geologist. Himanshu had made her into a serious
hydrogeologist and an expedition addict. They had
accompanied him on many expeditions and were
genuine in their work and much accomplished. Vijay
replied, “No upset stomach. I do not know what
happened to me. I could not sleep at all. I sat in the tent
for quite some time. I was very curious. A strange
situation had occurred. The dogs in the town were not
barking. It was raining very heavily. I felt that it was
such a waste. Here we were, up at the shadow of the
Mount Kailash and on the banks of the Manasarovar
Lake. An opportunity of more than a lifetime, and it was
raining. And we were hiding inside a tent when we had
some of the best rainproof kit and dresses with us. Why
hide inside? I decided to go outside and watch the rain.”
69
“So why are looking so different,” asked Paramita, “you
seem so very different. You look strange and weird all
over. What happened? Did one of the dogs pounce on
you, or did the yaks charge at you? You look like you
were scared to death, with all your hair standing on end,
and you are walking about extremely nervously, jittery
and all scared.”
Vijay nodded. He was glad that the subject had come up
so soon. He wanted to get it off his chest and talk to his
friends. He said, “I had a really weird night. It was weird
throughout the night. So many incidents that happened
are all strange. Not a single incident or a disturbance, but
it was all so very different. I was walking about, all
kitted out, and I do not think I was seen in the rain,
because my kit is all-black, and it was an all-black night
out here, with the rain pouring in like there was nothing
else in nature.”
“About 2 am or so, I saw the mastiffs and other dogs
from the village. They were all whimpering. They were
not getting wet. They were all hiding deep inside the
school porch and in the open porch of the prayer halls.
They were not getting wet and were quite dry. But, they
were all whimpering. It was very strange. And then, I
saw the yaks. They should have been sheltering and
should have been inside their sheds and places where
their people would have moved them to protect them
from the rains.”
Vijay continued, “The yaks were standing out in the
rains, bunched up and all wet. They were watching the
Kailash peak. They did not move from the spot, and did
not move their gaze away from the peak. I kept walking
70
around, and realized that all domestic yaks had come to
stand together. Something was happening. Were they
seeing ghosts? If there were ghosts or demons or evil
spirits around, why were they watching the Kailash
peak?”
Himanshu interrupted, “Vijayrao, this is a strange place,
we knew that. The local stories are full of demons, gods,
good and evil spirits and humans possessed with strange
powers. Why cannot the yaks have their part in it? But
what you say is strange. Why should all the yaks come
together? They do not know each other, and all the yaks
in this village would not be related. They come from
various villages, towns, prefectures and communities.
They are so many hybrids. Why would they stand
together, and that too, in this heavy rain? It does not
make any sense.”
“I agree,” said Vijay, “I thought the same. I looked
around to see if there was any human walking around.
There was none. I walked around the yak herd, staying
quite far away, until I was in a straight line behind them,
and the Manasarovar Lake was behind me. I was in the
line from the Manasarovar Lake to the yaks that had
gathered. I could see what they were seeing. I was also
watching the Mount Kailash. I tell you, Himanshu,
Paramita, this place is really strange.”
“It was about 3 am or so, thereabout. It was raining
heavily here, and so was it raining through the Lake and
the area to Mount Kailash. But, as I kept watching the
yaks, the rain seemed to have stopped at the Mount
Kailash peak areas, at night, while it was raining
everywhere else. The Mount Kailash and its peaks were
all shining brightly. I could see the moon shining
71
extremely bright, and the snowy peak was as brilliant as
it was day out there. It stayed like that for about an hour
or so. And suddenly, I could no longer see the peak. The
rains had started out there, I guess.”
“During that time, the yaks stood still, bunching tighter
and tighter, watching the Kailash peak. They stood that
way, even when the rains had started out there on the
peaks. I came back to our tent and sat for some time.
You two were sleeping so peacefully, that I had no mind
to disturb you. I came out at about 4.30 am, and the yaks
had gone and there was no animal or human being
moving about. The dogs were still whimpering on the
school building’s porch.”
Vijay continued, “Something happened out there on the
Kailash peak that the yaks here, so far away, and the
dogs, dangerous at other times, knew about. They
seemed to know that something was happening out
there. How can we stay here, not knowing about it? I
want to change the plans for our expedition. Let us go
out to the kora once again. I want to go to the nearby
monasteries and the pilgrim trail and ask one and all
about what happened out there. I wonder if someone was
witness to whatever happened.”
***
72
Sangye, the great old Qinhai nomad horseman, was
restless at Dirapuk, having waited for the rainstorm to
subside. He feared for the worst, for Dirapuk and the Drolma La Pass were the highest places on the kora
around the Kang Renpoche. He prayed that snow or
frozen carpets of water would not follow the rainstorm
on the pilgrim’s trail. The yaks would slip with their
luggage and could break their legs. Who would take care
of them? It was difficult to get medical help in these
regions and the animals had the worst of the pilgrimages.
He knew that he had taken care of the safety of his
horses, yaks, mules and ponies. He had also made sure
that his mastiffs were protected. The sun came out later
on the hidden valleys north of Dirapuk and Sangye
waited inside the shed that he had built of stones, old
bricks, scavenged tin sheets, canvas cloth and
camouflaged army webbing. The shed was more of a
single wall that helped him and his family to stay within
the mountain overhang that backed out to a series of
caves. One could not see the caves from below, in the
valley, or from the tented settlements at Dirapuk. The
Qinhai old man protect all humans and animals in his
care in the overhang.
One end of the caves and the overhang stretched out to
the settlement of tented eateries, camping areas,
cemented rooms that protected the foodstuffs and ducks.
From his hideout, Sangye could look into the valley
above Dirapuk, stretching north-west away from the
Kang Renpoche, and higher towards the other peaks that
were much lower. He could also see down the trail
towards the Choku monastery and upwards, towards the
east, to the Drolma La Pass. He called out to Yeshe and
73
they walked to the edge of their settlement and watched
the pilgrims and others move around near Dirapuk.
Yeshe called out to Bzanba and Kangryi, the Tsang Khyi
mastiff dogs, who did not move out from the shadows
inside the caves. Sangye remarked, “Leave them be, they
must be hesitant to go out so early, after the rainstorm.
Let us go out and see what has happened to all our stuff.
The storm was quite heavy and has gone away just about
after the dawn.” They walked out to the edge of the
stone edge, above the spread of tents that had come up in
the evening and night and watched. People were moving
about. Some trekkers were walking up towards the
tented eatery that Yeshe’s parents managed.
Sangye could see Yeshe’s parents had woken up earlier
and the women-helpers were also active, beginning to
heat up soup bowls, hot water and tea. The pilgrims
would welcome the sugary tea and soup. Very soon, they
would also be looking forward to some hot and
appetizing breakfast. The old man was happy with the
cup of tea that he had in his hand. He grabbed Yeshe by
his shoulders and began walking to the rear end of the
stony overhang. The passages from the valleys were
usually good indicators of snow to come, or of sudden
floods that were hiding away. Yeshe’s parents had
planted vegetables in tents made of army webbing
material.
The tents protected the vegetables from the sharp chill
and night and morning dew. As they approached the
tents, Sangye and Yeshe called out to each other,
pointing out the terrible destruction that seemed to have
occurred during the night. The two largest tents seemed
to have been pulled down. The smaller tents were all
74
standing intact. The largest tents were towards the
mountain trail that came down from the higher valleys
and were along the mountain river stream that flowed
amongst tall boulders.
Yeshe spoke first, “Is that not strange, the larger tents
have fallen while the smaller ones are standing and there
does not seem to have been any damage to them.” The
old man nodded, and rushed to the area of damage. The
tent pegs seemed to have been pulled out in a row, and
the tents had merely fallen over the planted vegetables.
The crop was not destroyed. The tents had to merely be
pulled back once again. He examined the pegs closely.
He had pushed them in when they had put up the tents
and he knew that he had hammered them in to quite a
depth. How had they come to be pulled up? He noticed a
stranger aspect. The pegs between the two tents had been
pulled up. The pegs on the other sides of the tents were
intact and there was no disturbance to them, or any sort
of damage. So why did the pegs along the passage
between the tents removed?
Sangye and Yeshe rushed to the trail between the two
large tents. The trail came down from the upper slopes
of the valley and went towards the lower slopes to the
east of the Dirapuk tents and settlements. The trail had
followed the river stream from the upper slopes and had
come away because of the big boulders that had come
down during an earlier avalanche and landslide that must
have happened at least fifty or hundred years ago. The
two tents had been established on either side of the
narrow trail. There was hardly any movement in this
region, and especially during the rainstorm, no person or
animal would have dared to move around in the upper
slopes.
75
Yeshe wondered, “Why would all the tent pegs be pulled
up? Who would have the strength to pull them out? All
the tents along this trail have been pulled up. What sort
of animal, and what sort of strength would have pulled
out these tent pegs, and so many of them?” The old man
nodded in agreement, and looked closely and wandered
about. “Yeshe, look closely. All tent pegs have been
pulled out in one direction only. Something or somebody
has come down this trail, and the tents have been pulled
out as they came down. Whatever it was, it was very
strong. Extremely strong.”
The trail was quite wide, and yet it narrowed near the
vegetable tents. This was the first year that Yeshe’s
parents had tried to grow vegetables in this high
location. It had worked out well even though it was still
an experimental challenge. The local villagers at
Dirapuk or at Darchen did not know about the
experiment in any detail. They had laughed about it
when they heard it from the women helpers or from the
shepherds who went up the trail to search for wandering
sheep. Sangye looked at the trail above the tent area.
There were no forests here. The grass clumps were the
only vegetation.
The upper trail was almost five metres wide at the
nearest spot in the valley above, when it left the river
and came away because of the high boulders. It must
have been a herd, moving down the slopes to escape the
rainstorm. Chiru antelope would not have the strength to
pull out the pegs. Kiangs were not known to hide in the
upper slopes. Which other animal was known in these
higher slopes, he wondered. Yeshe stood alongside the
old man, and the two Qinhai nomads tried to visualize
76
what must have happened in the night. Whatever came
down, the large herd of animals was very strong, and
needed a lot of walking space. This herd walked
together. They needed to get away from the upper
slopes.
“Where would they go?” asked Sangye, in spoken
thought, almost in a whisper, “Yeshe, my boy, why
would animals this strong require to get away from the
upper slopes? They were not coming down because they
were scared, my boy, they were coming down because
they were going somewhere. Where would they go? This
trail is crowded with pilgrims, trekkers and very good
wildlifers and local villagers. There would be immediate
mention if such a herd, of very strong animals, were to
be seen moving around.”
“I think these animals waited for the rainstorm to come.
They were waiting for a moment in this region of the
kora, when they would be sure, absolutely sure, that
nobody would be moving about. The rainstorm provided
the opportunity. They were going somewhere and were
in a stubborn hurry about it, and were walking in the
storm in the dark night. The ropes of the tent pegs must
have been just a mere hindrance to the strength of these
animals. Whatever this was, it was a herd of very large
and very strong animals. They could not be chiru or
kiang or wild horses or domestic yaks. Even wild yaks
that we know are not known from these higher valleys.”
Yeshe looked around in amazement. His grandfather was
correct. There was no sign of any other damage. Even
the vegetables had not been trampled upon. The tents
had been left lying where they had falled down when the
pegs were pulled out. He looked at the ground, where the
77
morning dew had settled in along the river edge and
pointed, “Look, there, at that dew that has collected in
the edge of the grass clump. It’s a clear trail. That’s a
yak’s footprint. But, look at the size and the depth of the
footprint in the mud and grass. That is not a regular wild
yak or a domestic one. This one was very large. This
animal was very heavy. And, if it was a herd of great
strength, this was a herd of wild yaks, very large, moving down this valley to the trail of the kora. Where
did they go? Where did they come from? Why do they
hide from one and all in this valley?”
***
The tented eatery at Darchen was crowded with pilgrims
and local villagers queuing up for hot soup and tea in the
morning. The rainstorm had ended an hour earlier and
the pilgrims began to move around. The vehicles were
moved out of the tents, where they had been kept to
protect them from the hailstorm. The tables were
rearranged and two additional hot water dispensers were
kept outside the tent. Pilgrims came up to the hot water
tanks and filled up their bowls to help them wash up and
get ready for the day. This was not a daily provision, but
after the rainstorm, the eatery owner felt that it would
help the pilgrims feel welcome at his establishment.
Shenshe, the Chinese policeman, had slept in the eatery,
while waiting out the rainstorm. He had chosen a good
warm corner, and had used the large round bolsters and
78
the mattress in place of the sleeping bags that others
were using. The Buddhist monk from Nalanda and the
Sikh holy man from Amritsar in India had slept nearby.
Their luggage was kept between them. The presence of
the Chinese policeman inside the tent had prevented any
enterprising quick-fingered thief from exploring the bags
while the pilgrims slept through the stormy night.
This was a strange world, thought Shenshe. His family
and his elder relatives had warned him about not going
crazy in Tibet. He had expected that he would be posted
to some remote location in Tibet and would not be able
to get back to his family as often as he would have
wished to. He had however not expected to be posted in
this remote circus, as he often called it. Everyday was
different. It was not like Lhasa, where every policeman
was supposed to be extremely alert and watchful. This
place was a different country each day, as he had
determined.
Every day he saw new people, from different places in
Tibet, from other countries and from all communities.
Each visitor had his own reason for coming here. For
every visitor, it seemed to be a journey of a lifetime.
Most people came from places that did not have high
mountains. For Tibetans also, this place was an
important pilgrimage. Chinese tourists and pilgrims from
other parts of China had begun to journey here. Shenshe
wondered about this strange meeting place. The highest
in the world, as he often heard others discussing the
pilgrimage.
Yesterday, he had learnt something quite new. The
Buddhist monk from Nalanda was Tibetan, but he was
not from Tibet. He was third generation born in India,
79
and came from a monastery that was not within a
Tibetan exile enclave. He was traveling with a person
from an entirely different religion, very unlike the one
that he practiced. Was it allowed? Every pilgrim from
India seemed so very different. This other pilgrim was
from a community that he had rarely met. He had seen
them in other cities in China, very occasionally, and
sometimes in Lhasa. He had also seen a couple of them
on the newly introduced train to Lhasa. But he had never
met one in Darchen or heard of a Sikh pilgrim on the kora.
The Sikh pilgrim seemed to know everything about the kora and about the Kang Renpoche Mountain. He called
it the Sumeru Mountain. That was something new,
Sheshe thought. He had memorized all the names for the
mountain, and when he had thought he had them all, this
Sikh pilgrim had called it by yet another name. They
were sleeping peacefully. However, he had noticed that
the Sikh pilgrim had not slept during the night. He had
been sitting up through the night, facing the mountain,
meditating or chanting. He had been using his prayer
beads and reciting slowly. The Buddhist monk had sat
up once or twice, and watched him quietly, and had gone
back to sleep.
Once the Sikh had gone out of the tent, dressed up in a
good rain jersey, and had stood at the entrance area.
Shenshe kept watching him. The Sikh seemed disturbed
and he had kept moving in and out of the tent, with his
prayer beads. He would go outside the tent and stand,
looking around and searching for something. The
Buddhist monk from Nalanda woke up twice and looked
at the Sikh pilgrim and smiled at his restlessness, and
went back to sleep. Shenshe wondered about it. He
80
assumed that it must have been because of the strange
location and the proximity of the holy mountain that he
had come this far, in search of answers to questions
within his religion.
Shenshe waited for the two pilgrims to wake up. He sat
nearby, in a relaxed manner, suspecting that the day
would be very long and there would be too many things
to attend to. He wanted to pick up on the opportunity of
sitting down in peace that he had obtained, and he would
maximize it. The police outpost was nearby, but the
other police constables had gone away to Shiquanhe and
had been expected to return. They would have been held
up due to the rainstorm, he thought.
He joined the owner of the tented eatery for breakfast at
his invitation. The hot noodles, soup and tea was
extremely welcome. Meanwhile, the two pilgrims had
woken up and cleaned up. They packed up their sleeping
bags and haversacks. They seemed to be carrying
separate tent kits also, observed Shenshe. At his gesture,
the owner of the eatery invited the two pilgrims to sit
with them for breakfast. The Sikh pilgrim sat down next
to the Chinese policeman, and placed his hands together
in prayer, and recited a couple of sentences to himself.
Not able to contain his curiousity, Shenshe asked, “O
Mr. Singh, you did not sleep well. I saw that you were
sitting up and meditating through the night. You were
walking around and went out in the rain also. Something
was disturbing you. Are you ok? Everything ok? No
problem? Is your stomach doing fine with the miserable
food of this Tibetan hotels? Not like Beijing, you know.”
81
The owner of the tented eatery and the Buddhist monk
from Nalanda did not respond to the bait of the Chinese
policeman about Tibet. Everything about the high
mountains of Tibet seemed to be miserable to the Han
Chinese, thought the monk from Nalanda, for he had
been told of the years of oppression and the persecution
of Tibetans over the past many decades. He had not
expected that it would be so deeply ingrained amongst
the common everyday people of China and Tibet. They
should be grateful, he thought, for all their waters come from Tibet. If not for the Kang Renpoche, the people of
China would have been destroyed in history, a long long
time ago.
“Sardar Amarpal Singh of Amritsar”, said the Buddhist
monk, and translated the questions that Shenshe had
asked, “I had also noticed that you had a very disturbed
night, though you were in constant prayer. Do tell us
what was it that was disturbing you, so very badly. I had
thought of asking you at night, but each time I woke, I
saw you with your prayer beads an prayer books. I did
not have the courage to disturb you at that time.”
The Sikh pilgrim bowed to Sheshe, and with the
Buddhist monk translating for him, he spoke slowly. He
said, “Yes. You are a true policeman, I can see. In India,
also, I am always watched. People do not understand me.
My brothers, Sikhs in service to the temple understand
what I can experience. I cannot explain in detail. I am
able to sense or experience or go into a trance when I
focus on divinity. I can sit peacefully for meditation. I do
not need food or water until I come out.”
“But, what happened yesterday, at night, during the
rainstorm, was very strange. I am usually able to sit
82
down for meditation even on a crowded street or inside a
railway train. There are always people at our temple, and
yet, I keep reading the holy books with peace in my
heart. But, yesterday, I could not pray at all. I tried my
best. I kept stopping and starting and stopping and
starting all the time. I could not even complete one
round of my prayer beads.”
“I went out of the tent, many times,” Amarpal continued,
“I tried to seek strength from the Sumeru mountain. I
called out to my Guru. But there was something that
prevented me from talking to my God, from doing my
prayers, and from reciting the holy name, as I have been
taught to do so, and as I have done for so many years, in
my beloved Amritsar. I went out to try to see the holy
mountain, and failed to do so.”
“And then, at one time, when I closed my eyes and focused entirely on my waheguru, my guide and my
inspiration, I saw a miracle. In the midst of the
rainstorm, I could see the Sumeru Mountain, shining in
the moonlight. The rain had stopped falling on Sumeru
and the moon was out there, shining brightly. The snowy
cap of the Sumeru was so brilliant, I was lost for words
to myself, to describe it. And then, it was gone. The
rains were back on the Sumeru. The peak disappeared
from view, once again. I was, once again, not able to
recite my prayers properly. What would have happened
out there? I need to go to the Sumeru Mountain and
explore.”
***
83
Sangye and Yeshe walked around the broken tent trail
and searched for sight of more tracks of the herd of large
yaks. They could not find any sign along the tents. It was
amazing, thought Sangye, for he had heard of such a
herd in stories that his great grandfather would tell of one visit to the Kang Renpoche when he had returned to
the Qinhai plains after a pilgrimage. He had been almost
blind and had to stay back in the village when others
would go out in search of wild horses for trapping and
herding. Most villagers had merely heard the stories and
had smiled in indulgence and gone about their work.
Sangye stood quietly, on the trail, looking at the
mountains above the Dirapuk areas and the Drolma La
Pass region. These were unknown mountains, and there
had been no explorations, and no known hunters from
many years who had entered these areas. He had heard
of no one who had gone and returned. He watched the
slopes, the turns, the gorges, the passes, the cliffs, the
peaks and the smaller peaks. These mountains could
hide such a mystery. A herd of ten thousand large wild
yaks would have easily hidden themselves inside these
ranges, he told himself.
He had come to the Kang Renpoche hills and valleys, for
so many years, in search of talk and gossip of wild
horses and trade of rare breeds of Tibetan animals. He
was no longer strong enough to go inside these mountain
ranges to hunt and lay down traps and track the trails of
wild animals for it would take long weeks to do so. His
own son, Yeshe’s father, was not interested in the art of
tracking and tracing a trail. It required lots of patience
and offered almost no returns, except the thrill of
moving about in the mountains. It required you to be at
one with these magnificent mountains and ranges. Yeshe
84
may still pick up on these skills. Such a legend as this,
the trail of the large wild yaks could be just the answer,
he thought.
“Come, Boy, lets go back to the house, and think about
what is to be done,” Sangye said, walking slowly, deep
in thought, and spoke a prayer, “Yeshe, you, of my own
blood, this could be very well a true fact, that large wild
yaks did come down the mountain trail from the higher
ranges. There was such a story and talk, but that was of a
time long before even your father was born. This
mountain has blessed us, with what fate will have for us
in the future. Come, bow your heads, and thank the most
enlightened one, and thank the thousand Buddhas who
came to Tibet, and thank the Dharmakaya Amitabha
Buddha, for opening up the magic of these mountains.
We have much to be thankful for.”
Yeshe knew that his grandfather believed that every
mountain in these ranges, around the Kang Renpoche
was a Buddha, and that the old man was also convinced
that each mountain was a living being. He stood next to
Sangye, bowed his head in prayer, but try as he could, he
could not focus, for his thoughts were racing. Large wild
yaks? Taller than the tallest wild yak? Heavier than the
heaviest wild yak? Not one, but many? Could it be true?
Was such a thing possible? They had walked down a
single trail. There were several other trails in the region,
and they chose to walk between the tent lines on this
trail? They would have never known or suspected if they
would have come down any other trail.
Sangye knew his grandson well. He knew that he would
be extremely curious and excited. He was like he had
been at that age. Sometimes he wondered if his own son
85
had betrayed him by not becoming a trailsman or a
hunter. He had set up shop and started cooking food.
How could he do so? Was that all that life had to offer?
These mountains, the tallest of the world, these valleys,
the most mysterious of all, the animals, the trees, the
clouds and the gods. Where would you get all these in
the world? These were all here. Sangye waited patiently
for his grandson to start with his questions and wondered
if he would be true to his blood and ask to be allowed on
the trail.
For now, it would have to wait, thought Sangye. We
need to know if there would be tracks of the herd of
large wild yaks down in the Lhachu valley. There could
be sign on the mountain streams, and there could have
been sightings by others in the valley. This was one of
the most crowded valley in the area, with the number of
pilgrims and movement of animals and the establishment
of tented eateries and camping areas.
The old man and his grandson walked out of the trail and
returned to the eatery. Sangye pointed towards Dirapuk.
There seemed to be some activity going on. Two monks,
of different coloured robes, and old trailhand and guide
and a young yak-boy accompanied by two yaks and a
mastiff pup were walking near one of the mountain
streams, looking at the ground, as if search of a trail.
Could it be so obvious, he wondered. They must be
searching for tracks of the wild yaks. Let Yeshe pull his
own deductions. He would now know if his grandson
was a future trailhound or not.
Yeshe spoke, with excitement, “Grandfather, look at that
group of people. They are not looking up or around and
they are not walking away from each other. And they are
86
not close to each other. They are walking about, looking
at the ground, and they are walking about in a wide
circle. They are searching for something. Could it be that
they are searching for trail of the large wild yaks? They
must have known something. Can we go there and see
about what is going on?”
Sangye smiled, with happiness in his heart, and said,
“Yeshe, it could be. And yet, it may not be. But let us go
there and find out. But slow down, my boy, and do not
tell them about what it was that we saw on the trail
above our eatery. It may frighten people and pilgrims
and your parents would lose their trade. Let us first
know about what is it that they search for. Let us be sure,
absolutely sure.”
Yeshe nodded in agreement. He had not thought of the
danger of disclosing such information. A drop in trade,
even for a couple of days, would destroy their meagre
business. They depended on the income of each day,
while out here. He decided against calling out to his
dogs, and went down in a small run to join up with his
grandfather, who could walk quite fast on the slopes. It
was on the plain flat ground that the old man walked
very slowly. As he would usually remark, the plain
grounds were not meant for walking, it had to be ridden
on horses or mules or yaks. It was the slopes that were
meant for climbing.
They met up with the monks and the old pilgrim guide
and the yak-boy. The old guide and Sangye seemed to
know each other. They bowed in respect. Sangye went
up to the monk from the Dirapuk monastery and offered
his respects, with his palms brought together, and said,
“O Master, you who are blessed with the opportunity to
87
be in service and in constant prayer to the most
enlightened one, I greet you. It is indeed a sacred
blessing, for, in the shadow of this great mountain, I am
able to meet with you, and with the monk from the
Choku monastery, as his robes make him out to be. You
seem to be in search of something. Did something get
washed down from the monastery?”
Dawa, the old pilgrim guide, smiled at the Qinhai
horseman’s guile and curiousity, and replied, “Great
horseman from Qinhai, you are a patient bird that circles
these mountains in search of what you seek, for so many
years. So did your father, and so did his father before
him. I know you from many years. Drop the pretense.
You are coming down the trail from where we stand.
You must have seen spoor and trail of what we search
for here. Or, you would never have come down from the
warmth of your eatery, where your son cooks hot soup in
the morning instead of running ahead of you.”
Brother Tameng and the monk from Dirapuk smiled at
this banter. They were used to the talk and the tradition
of discussion in this part of Tibet. The monk from
Dirapuk spoke, “O Sangye, I greet you. This is Norbu
who is a yak-boy with the tour group from Shiquanhe.
His two yaks that were with him, inside his tent to hide
from the rainstorm behaved strangely at night. His
mastiff seems to have been very scared and timid at
night. He is walking about quietly even now. And,
Brother Tameng from the Choku monastery has a really
mysterious story to tell us, he says. Let us hear him. For
now, we are following old Dawa, in looking at the river
stream, and to see if it would tell of anything that moved
through the night.”
88
Sangye replied, “O Masters, and old Dawa, I understand.
From what Norbu has told you, and of what Dawa is
looking for, and he is correct that I come to meet you
with purpose, is it possible that you are all searching for
spoor and trail of a herd of wild yaks? Very large wild
yaks?”
IV
Brother Tameng and Dawa looked at each other and
smiled. The monk from Dirapuk spoke out, “What?
What large wild yaks are you talking about? There are
no wild yaks near the Dirapuk area and neither are they
known from this valley. What are you talking about,
Qinhai horseman? Yeshe, what is your grandfather
saying?” Norbu looked scared. No wonder his yaks had
behaved strangely. Why did his mastiff go weird then?
Are mastiffs scared of wild yaks, he wondered?
Dawa spoke to the monk from Dirapuk, bowing, “O
Master, please forgive us. Brother Tameng and I, we are
scared. We are worried that people will not believe us.
We have not spoken to anyone. That’s why we did not
tell you about our search. The Dirapuk to Drolma La
area, and the slopes between the two places, are the
entrance to the valley from the North. We wanted to
scout for sign on these riverbeds and the smooth sand
before it was filled up with pilgrims and trekkers
walking around. The domestic yak would have destroyed
all trail.”
89
Norbu, Yeshe and Sangye stood close together,
alongside the monk from Dirapuk. Brother Tameng
bowed in reverence to the sacred mountain peaks, one by
one, and added, “Brothers, you are all devout people,
tied to your circle of life, and to this sacred mountain.
What happened yesterday was very strange, and we
could not have imagined that such a thing would come to
pass. We do not want to add to the mystery. We want to
search for what could be possible. For what has
happened can have several reasons. We will discuss
them later. We need to think fast, before the valley gets
crowded.”
“Yesterday, at night, through the rainstorm, old man
Dawa, and I, with permission from my Master Rinchen,
moved about near the Choku monastery slopes. I will tell
you the rest of the events later, but we saw very large,
really large wild yaks. We saw an entire herd of these
animals. They were enormous. At least one or two feet
taller than the largest wild yak you would have seen or
heard about. At least 300 to 400 kilos heavier than the
heaviest wild yak you would have known or been told
about. We are not bluffing. We saw them. They were
huge. All. Not a single animal in the herd was smaller
than any other,” Brother Tameng continued.
“We do not want to waste time. It is very important that
we know what we saw was true and we should know
what really happened. I will tell you the other details
later. But something truly different happened out there in
the rainstorm. Now, old man from Qinhai, how are you
able to ask us the exact question? What do you know?
Have you also seen these wild yaks? Do you know of
them? How do you, from far away Qinhai, know about
90
wild yaks in this valley? Have you seen them at Dirapuk
or at Drolma La?”
Sangye looked back at the mountains above, northwards
of Dirapuk, and pointed. He said, “They came from
there. They came from the valley above Dirapuk. It’s a
really long valley, and needs about four to five days of
riding on a fast horse to go through it. They came from
there. I did not see them. Neither did my grandson, here.
We saw tracks of the animals. We saw only one track.
Not a single track in any other place did we see out
there. These were really large animals, I can tell. Old
man Dawa and myself, we know each other from many
years gone by. What we do not know about these valleys
does not exist here at all. But, this was different.”
Dawa nodded. He looked up at the valley entrance,
above Dirapuk. It could be possible. This contour was in
a straight line, from above Dirapuk, down to the Lhachu
valley, down the river stream, going past Choku
monastery, to the spot where the circle of stones would
be. There was no deviation, no turn off, and large
animals like those yaks that they had seen, any obstacle
would not stop them. The river streams were shallow at
night, and they would be getting deeper now, through
the day, as the slopes brought the waters down. What
was there? Were there more wild yaks in that valley?
Where had they gone? Did they return on the same path?
Yeshe was excited. He could sense that Norbu was also
very excited, hearing about the herd of large wild yaks.
Norbu’s mastiff was standing close to him, not moving
away. He was looking very scared. He thought back to
his own two mastiffs. They had also behaved very
strangely. They had not barked, and neither had they
91
accompanied them in the morning. That was so very
unlike them. They would usually be moving about much
earlier than Yeshe or Sangye. So what had happened had
also frightened the mastiffs?
“Masters, I have a simple question, for I am not a great
trailsman as my grandfather is, and am not like old man
Dawa. I am like Norbu here, from another land, with my
parents and family, with our animals and trade,” said
Yeshe, “I am curious about a different aspect. I can
understand the excitement about the herd of very large
wild yaks. If I exist, someone could be larger than me. If
I am hunted, I will hide. I do not see the mystery in what
you say. I will definitely move about when I cannot be,
will not be, hunted. But, the mystery that I see, is in the
mastiffs.”
“Look at Norbu’s mastiff. He looks so timid and scared.
Our mastiffs are still hiding in the cave and sheds back
beyond the eatery that my parents manage. Something
else is happening. It is continuing. You saw the wild
yaks at night. We saw trail of the wild yaks that moved
through the valley. We do not see them now. But, the
mastiffs are acting scared even now, late in the morning.
What is wrong with them?”
Sangye patted Yeshe, with pride, and said, “Come,
Masters, my friend Dawa, let us go and have some hot
soup and noodles. I will show you the trail behind the
Dirapuk area. No pilgrim goes up there. That area will
not be disturbed. We can find trail and sign out there.
That is wild and remote area. The valley will not be
good for sign. The rains have flattened out the sand and
mud. Waters are feeding the river streams from the
slopes. All sign would have been wiped out. Come, be
92
our guest. We will be honoured, that Masters from the
Choku and Dirapuk sacred temples would come to bless
us. You must be tired, Master. Do not get misled by old
man Dawa. He is full of energy and strength. He does
not need food.”
Dawa added, “Yes, Masters. Let us go up the valley.
There must be a story out there. I will ask Yeshe’s
mother to give you a separate stove and utensils. I will
cook soup for you and add my own recipes. Who knows
when we will eat again in the day? I fear that we will
have a very long day ahead of us. We will also speak to
Norbu’s masters and request them to take another yak
boy and animals. Norbu has seen his yaks’ behaviour
and his mastiff understood that something happened. We
will need to keep them with us.”
He spoke to Norbu, “Boy, go and request your pilgrim
guide to come and meet us at the eatery. Tell him that
the holy master of Dirapuk and Choku want him to meet
them. We will talk to him. Will you accompany us
today? Are you frightened? You have been blessed, my
boy. You are going to be part of the mystery of the valleys of the mountains of Kang Renpoche. Go, get him
with you to the eatery.”
Norbu smiled with relief. He was getting worried that he
would have to travel with the pilgrim group and would
go away from the excitement. He had wondered about
getting away from the group. He had already decided to
pretend to be unwell and stay back at Dirapuk. That
would have been bad, for he would have placed the
group to trouble. He knew old man Dawa would not be
refused. Other yak boys could take his place. For it was
only one day’s trail from Dirapuk to Drolma La Pass and
93
then down to Zitalpuk and to Darchen. He ran to the
pilgrim group’s tent to talk to his group leader. His
mastiff ran alongside him, quietly, without barking.
The group started walking up to the eatery. Brother
Tameng held on to the walking stick that Dawa had
given him. He was thankful for the support. He had a
prayer wheel on the other hand, and was twirling it
slowly. He waited to catch his breath, and looked back at
the Choku monastery and the valley. He could not
believe that he had seen all that he had indeed seen. And,
he was happy that the old nomad horseman from Qinhai
had also seen trail of the herd of large wild yaks. But,
what of the wolves? Should he talk about them?
Yeshe’s parents were surprised to see the odd group that
walked in. Old man Sangye, with their own son, Yeshe,
the two monks, one from Choku and the master from
Dirapuk, and old man Dawa. What was going on,
wondered Yeshe’s father. He rushed to welcome them,
bowing low.
***
94
Sangye asked for Yeshe’s father to get some fresh soup
and noodles cooked for the group and also to get buckets
of hot water for them to wash up. Brother Tameng patted
old man Dawa in his appreciation of Sangye’s
thoughtfulness. He said, “Old man Dawa, we are either
stinking and very smelly, or your friend Sangye is
indeed very thoughtful and considerate. Let us get
cleaned up and refreshed with food, my friend. Who
knows what this day is going to lead us into?”
Dawa smiled and nodded. He knew Sangye and could
guess where this would lead towards during the coming
hours. The old Qinhai horseman was a pure out and out
trailsman. This sort of a mystery was the challenge of his
lifetime for him. Dawa felt the same challenge that was
inviting him to sink in. Here they were, in the most
mysterious place on Earth, and they had thought that
they had heard about all the mysteries that were to be
known.
Yeshe’s mother felt blessed to be serving to the two
monks from the monasteries in the valley. They were
actually here, in her eatery, sitting down to partake in
what she was cooking. This was a story that she would
take back with her to Qinhai and she knew that all the
women-helpers would take back to Darchen. There
would be gossip and stories and rumours that would be
woven inside one another, and the final story would not
be anything about the real reason that this strangely
mixed up group would have for getting together.
She felt that she knew and understood the old man
Sangye, better than her own husband did. Yeshe was
also similarly attracted to his grandfather, she knew. Her
son would never manage an eatery. He was trapped with
95
them, here, having to take care of the animals and help in
the eatery. She saw the tourists, pilgrims and visitors to
the valley, those who came in from so many different
places, nations and locations, of very different religions
and rich and poor and those who had left everything
behind them. She knew that her son was better than
many among those who visited, even if they were rich
and had better equipment.
Sangye was talking to the old man Dawa, while the two
monks were washing up in the secluded area of their
cave behind the eatery. Two boys and Yeshe were
waiting near them to help and provide more buckets of
hot water. Old man Dawa was speaking, “Wild yaks are
common in the plains and hills away from this region. I
have seen herds of more than two hundred wild yaks in
one grassy plain. I have hunted them and have skinned
some myself. We are familiar with domestic yaks and
we live with them all our lives. I know what I saw at
night. These were wild yaks that we have never seen.”
The monks came into the eatery, cleaned up and looking
eager to join in the discussion. Yeshe’s mother would
not allow Sangye and Dawa to sit with the monks until
they had gone and cleaned up. She chased them out of
the tent. Brother Tameng smiled at the two old men
pretending to be frightened of Yeshe’s mother. He
bowed in prayer, along with the monk from Dirapuk,
before beginning to eat. Yeshe came to them and sat
nearby on a small stool, waiting to get them more
noodles and soup. His mother came back with tetrapacks
of orange juice, “especially smuggled in from Ladakh,”
she said, in a whisper.
96
It was not much of a luxury, but it was certainly a
thoughtful gesture on her part. The orange juice and
other juice packs, tetrapacks and cans, came in through
Ladakh, smuggled in by Changpa nomads, in huge
quantities. There were other smuggler gangs along the
border with Nepal and the tourist and spiritual circuit
certainly welcomed these supplies. Whenever raided or
caught, the eatery owners would explain them away as
supplies purchased from tour groups.
Norbu entered the eatery with his pilgrim tour owner and
came to sit near the two monks. The pilgrim guide,
Bipinbhai Shah, was a regular tour operator, who would
stay in the valley for more than six months, and had
come to the kora for the past ten years. He knew his
place in an open location, in front of the two monks from
the local monastery. Their word was law to the local
peoples, and if he refused them, he would not be able to
operate in the region. Norbu had not told him much, and
he did not know the details or reasons why the boy
would not accompany him.
Bipinbhai Shah did not bother too much about the
reasons. After all, he was not married to the yak-boy, he
thought. He needed two yaks to carry the baggage, and
he did not mind it if different yaks took on the burden.
But, he was curious. A little bit. Something strange must
have happened for the monk from Choku and the monk
from Dirapuk to sit in this miserable eatery outside the
regular camping areas. He did not even allow his pilgrim
group to eat in these tented eateries. His group usually
set up their tented places, inside a compound, and
cooked their own food. It was safer and cleaner for the
tourists and pilgrims.
97
He sat reverentially on a stool at some distance from the
monks. The old pilgrim guide from Choku came up to
Bipinbhai and asked for him to allow Norbu to stay
back. He told him, “Bhai, I know you from earlier. You
are a good and fair man. We need your help. I know
Norbu, as I know his family at Shiquanhe. The two
monks have decided to travel to some remote areas, and
we need Norbu’s help and his two yaks. This is all
sudden, and we have no time to go to Darchen and get
new help teams. Can you manage without him?”
Bipinbhai nodded in agreement. His mind was thinking
fast. This was really weird. This old man was definitely
lying. There were many pilgrim guides in the Dirapuk
area without any work. Holy men do not just go out
wandering in these hills. But, he could not disagree. He
was given a bowl of soup. He knew it would be made of
vegetable stew, since the two monks were also drinking
from similar bowls. He sipped at his bowl politely,
knowing that it would be a sacrilege to refuse, and later,
bowed and stood up and left the eatery.
Norbu walked out with Bipinbhai and bade farewell. The
pilgrim guide was fond of Norbu, since he had
accompanied the group on several kora. He paid him his
entire fees, and added some money in a liberal measure,
to retain goodwill. Bipinbhai knew his economics in this
region. The added ‘tip’ that he paid to Norbu, he knew,
would bind the boy to his pilgrim group as an unpaid
obligation. The boy would be back with his yaks and
with his pilgrim group for the next year, and he would be
more than enthusiastic, thought Bipinbhai, and waved at
him, as he went back.
98
The two yaks and his mastiff, his tents and other
baggage, had been brought up to the eatery and had been
kept in the custody of two helper-boys from Darchen.
The boys knew Norbu, and were excited at these sudden
happenings. Something strange must have happened,
they gossiped. Norbu returned to the tented eatery and
went to sit with Yeshe. The old man Dawa patted him in
affection, and said, “Welcome, boy, get some hot soup
and noodles inside you. Yeshe’s father will get some
Darchen boys to feed your yaks and your mastiff.”
Brother Tameng and the old horseman, Sangye, had
been in discussion with each other. It was the monk from
Choku monastery, Brother Tameng, who spoke, as
though he had come to a decision after seeking advice
from Sangye. He said, “Brothers, we do not know what
is to happen in our lives now. The circles of our lives
bring us all together, and our circles have met each
other. This valley is the most mysterious place on this
world. This valley is also the most sacred place on this
world. We are fortunate that we are here, and we saw or
experienced what we did yesterday.”
“We do not know where the herd of large wild yaks
went. We do not know what happened to the twelve
pilgrims who sat out there in the circle of stones below
Choku. Why did the pilgrims sit out in the open in the
rainstorm? Why did the wild yaks not frighten them?
Why did the wild yaks come to the circle of stones?
Why did the wolves wait at a distance? Was there any
connection? We may never know anything about all
these events.”
He continued, “What we do now know, because of old
man Sangye and young Yeshe here, is that the herd of
99
wild yaks came down the slope behind this ridge. They
seem to have come down the long slope behind Dirapuk.
This is certain knowledge. We can try to find answers to
these questions. Let us plan and let us go inside the
valley and try to explore this region and see if there are
any wild yaks, if they are very large, and if there are
more of them. If we saw only male wild yaks at night,
there must be others. There must be female wild yaks,
and there must be young ones, and there must be herds
inside these valleys. Let some of us go into the valley.”
***
Old man Dawa looked at Brother Tameng, and said,
“We should explore the valley. Who will go? It may take
days or weeks to travel inside and return. Will Master
Rinchen permit you to go away from the Choku
monastery? I am keen to go inside. My life is spent, and
there is nothing more for me to do. I would like to seek
the truth of the incidents that have happened. We need to
plan.”
The monks from Choku and Dirapuk looked at each
other, and at a gesture from the other, Brother Tameng
spoke, “My brother monk and myself, we have discussed
this issue. We will need to consult with our seniors and elders before we move out of the kora area. You are free
to go. You and old man Sangye can plan the details. We
will provide you with whatever support you need. That
would be of no problem. We can also organize a chain of
100
support, to move food and goods to you if you keep
setting up camp sites that we can recognize.”
Sangye nodded in agreement, bowed to Brother Tameng
and said, “Masters, it is correct that you advice us about
going in to this mysterious valley at the earliest. We will
need your help, guidance and support in being able to
stay inside the valley for many days if required. The
small settlement of Dirapuk would not be of enough
help. You may need to get help from Darchen and
Shiquanhe also. I will go, with my grandson, Yeshe, if
his parents would permit, and old man Dawa and the
young lad, Norbu.”
The monk from Dirapuk interrupted, “Take Norbu, but
do not take him too far. We have not informed his
parents. Let him return after a day’s journey. We will get
two others to be ready to return with him to join you. Let
Norbu be the one who would always return to Dirapuk
and go back into the valley to provide you with goods
and supplies. He has two yaks, and his Mastiff will give
him courage. When he returns, I will get some men from
the monastery to take mules and yaks and dogs to go
with him. They can help set up an advance camp at a
day’s journey.”
Dawa and Sangye agreed with the wisdom and the plan.
It would be necessary to make sure that they would not
be trapped inside the valley if it would rain or snow
suddenly. Nobody would know the locations. The people
from the Dirapuk area were used to traveling in this
habitat and terrain. They could take care of themselves
while helping others. Yeshe looked at his parents, who
were standing nearby. His eyes asked the question. His
mother came up to him and patted him and nodded her
101
permission. She was proud of her son, and knew that this
was a god-sent opportunity for the boy to learn from the
old man.
“What about you, Brother Tameng?” asked Dawa, “You
were the most curious and most strong in this search.
You wanted to find out about the reason why those
twelve pilgrims were sitting out in the open kora area. If
you would have just stayed back at Choku because of the
rainstorm, we would not have known about the herd of
large wild yaks and we would not be here, planning to
go inside the valley. Would you not come with us?”
Brother Tameng smiled, and replied, “Old man, you are
right. My heart says that I should go with you, and move
about in the valley. But I would need my Master’s
permission. I will also need to send word to Darchen and
other monasteries to organize supplies for you. Who
knows how many days you would need to be inside
those high terrain and forests? Who knows what’s out
there? I will also try to join up with you. I want to talk to
some of the pilgrim guide operators and take good alpine
tents, sleeping bags and other supplies from them. We
will need them as we go higher, or stay longer, if we
have to.”
“But, I also need to return to Choku, because I fear for
what we are about to do,” he said, and continued, “I fear that this valley could be a Beyul, one of the hidden
valleys of peace and refuge, of our way of life, of the
way of the Buddha in Tibet. This valley may be one of
the lesser known of the 108 valleys that are known and listed as Beyul. Or, this could be one of the unknown
ones, and may be one of those that are spoken rarely. I
will need to consult with Master Rinchen. We will also
102
send word out to all other monasteries. There may be
scrolls or records with us or others.”
Yeshe and Norbu had never heard of a Beyul. The old
man Sangye had heard of these hidden valleys that were
protected by the spirits and by the hidden records to
prevent them from being damaged or destroyed. It was
usually forbidden to establish houses or to do farming or
take animals for grazing in these valleys. He nodded, to
himself, thinking, that if nobody had ever gone inside,
and if this valley was indeed quite long, it could be also
be an unknown old glacier that may have retreated in
some portions.
The monk from Dirapuk explained for the benefit of
Yeshe, his parents and Norbu. He said, “There are many
unknown and hidden valleys in these sacred lands. Some
are known about, and we know that they are unknown.
Some are not known, for they are deep within prohibited
areas, and we do not know that they are Beyul. The
locations of such ones are hidden within the verses
written in secret scrolls and may have been forgotten.
Some reason may have caused them to be kept a secret,
and with passing generations, we may have forgotten
that such and such scroll holds such and such secret.”
“However, this place, the valley around the Kang
Renpoche, and with the number of monasteries in this
area, it would be difficult to forget such a place,” he
added, “It could be known to our elders and they may
not have related the scroll to this exact valley. Let us
stay back and find out. Let Dawa and Sangye, Yeshe and
Norbu, travel inside the valley. We will make our enquiries. If this valley would indeed be a Beyul, we
would need to convey and submit the necessary prayers
103
and conduct the necessary rituals to seek permission for
us to enter and disturb the spirits that would be resident
inside.”
Brother Tameng spoke, “Yes. We have to be careful.
What we saw were incidents that we do not understand.
Let us not forget the wolves. They are the natural
predators of the wild yaks and yet they did not seem to
harm them. It may be because they are the wiser since
the yaks were quite large and fearsome. The wolves may
consider us, our homebred yaks and our mules and our
dogs as easy prey. This long valley could also be an old
glacier that has broken up at various locations over
hundreds of years. We should be careful.”
Sangye sent Yeshe and Norbu to start organizing the
animals and supplies. Yeshe’s father went inside their
store and began to pick out supplies that would last more
than a week for the entire group. He had two alpine tents
that he had been given to him by an expedition team
from Norway. They had visited the Dirapuk eatery and
stayed with them during a kora. They did not want to
carry the heavy tents with them since they would be
driving back to Kathmandu and flying back to Norway.
He had taught Yeshe to open the tents and use them, to
ensure that the cloth did not start rotting if left inside the
packages. These tents would be useful today, he thought,
everything happens for a purpose, and the most
enlightened one must have sent the expedition from
Norway to give him these tents.
There were two sacks of dried out charcoal that had been
made for specific use in these high altitudes. This was
his reserve supply from Shiquanhe and Ngari, for the
days that he could get trapped in a snowstorm or
104
avalanche if it hit these parts. These two sacks of
charcoal would be useful to Yeshe and his grandfather.
He would send word to his cousin at Shiquanhe and pass
on a list of requirements. The goods could be with him
inside of a week, if the weather held. He could be the
person to stay here, and make sure that his father, and
his son, both who were very precious to him, would
return safely.
The two monks left the tented eatery, and began to walk
back to their monasteries. Old man Dawa walked with
Brother Tameng for a distance, and returned. Yeshe and
Norbu were busy getting the animals and supplies paired
off in a sensible manner. Sangye went to get his
Mastiffs. The dogs would be useful to warn them of the
wolves and to give them courage. The monk from the
Dirapuk monastery spoke to some helpers to send across
prayer clothes and a prayer wheel as blessings for the
team. Yeshe’s mother walked out of the tented eatery,
and looked quietly at the peaks of the Kang Renpoche
mountain, and prostrated on the ground, in deep
reverance, and prayed with all her heart, for the blessings
of the most enlightened one, for her son, for his
grandfather, for old man Dawa and for the young Norbu,
their animals and their dogs.
***
105
Sangye looked at the young Norbu and his grandson,
Yeshe. He knew that their youth would help them in this
search into the unknown and unexplored valley. Old
man Dawa would also be able to travel with the group.
He was happy. This is how he would have wanted his
life to shape up, to be in search of the great unknown of
the mysterious mountains of the greater Himalayas in
Tibet. It would be a group that could stay inside the
valley for many days or weeks. They would need to plan
in that manner, he thought, for who knew what was out
there.
They were ready to move within the hour. Sangye had
paired up with Yeshe, while Dawa was with Norbu.
They would ride out on Sangye’s chosen horses. He had
picked them from his knowledge of their strength,
courage and loyalty to him. They would never bolt from
danger and they were used to moving about on higher
terrain. Four yaks were chosen. All four animals were
with black hair, for there were other yaks that were
white, pied and brown. Sangye wanted all the four yaks
to look true to the wild breed. He did not want the other
domestic yaks to stand out in the wild habitat and in the
mysterious valley.
Yeshe and Norbu moved out the four horses and yaks.
The three mastiffs walked out behind them. Sangye and Dawa said a silent prayer, looking up at the great Kang
Renpoche peak and waved out to Yeshe’s parents. The
local pilgrim guides, yak-boys and other helpers came to
greet the team. The word had gone out to everyone in
Dirapuk that the monks from the two monasteries had
asked Sangye and Dawa to go inside the unknown valley
in search of a sacred place, that had several holy spirits
and gods. They were to go and return with unknown
106
treasures that the holy gods had left hidden within these
valleys.
The monk from the Dirapuk monastery returned to meet
the group and asked them to stand together, for he would
recite a prayer to seek the permission of the gods and
sacred spirits, to allow them to enter the hidden valley
and let them know the secrets that were within. He spoke
to the four of them, after the prayer, and instructed,
“These are areas that we do not know about. Brother
Tameng has gone to consult with Master Rinchen if
anything is known about this particular valley. We will
also send word to the other valleys and try to find out
any knowledge that is known or heard earlier or written
in the various religious books.”
“Since we do not know about the place, I have just now
spoken a prayer to the guardian spirits of these
mountains around Dirapuk, to permit us to travel within.
Let us wait sign of any type or from anyone that may
suggest that we should not enter. If there is no
inauspicious sign, you may proceed ahead. I have also
brought prayer clothes and sacred stones for you to place
at the entrance to the valley above the trail at Dirapuk.
You will be the first to lay the stones to be used to
construct an entrance to this mysterious valley.”
Sangye, Dawa, Yeshe and Norbu bowed in respect. The
local pilgrim guides, the helpers from Darchen and the
yak-boys joined the group and bowed low in respect to
the prayer and the rendition that the monk had made to
the good spirits of the mountains around Dirapuk. The
monk continued, “All those gathered here. You are the
fortunate devotees today. Immediately after our friends
and brothers enter the valley, you will all join in the
107
construction of the entrance that the monks will lead
from Choku and Dirapuk. If my Brother Tameng does
not return in time, we will leave a corner of the entrance,
for him to install.”
This was a traditional practice, for the devout to
establish a stupa-like entrance structure, made of loosely
held stones from the location. The entrance would be
invested with the strength of the gods and spirits and it
would allow those who would pass through the opening
to be blessed. The oldest such entrance in the valley was the well-known Yam-Dwar (the entrance of Yama, the
God of Death) near Darchen. Sangye and Dawa stepped
up on the trail and laid the stones for the first two
corners, while the monk from the Dirapuk monastery
placed the third corner. Yeshe placed a stone to connect
the stones of Sangye and the monk, while Norbu placed
a stone to connect the stones of Sangye and Dawa.
Yeshe’s parents placed the next two stones followed by
the locals.
The group of four crossed the stones that signified the
sacred entrance that had been installed across the trail.
They looked back towards Yeshe’s parents, the locals
and the monk, and waved. They looked up at the Kang
Renpoche Mountain and bowed in respect and reverence.
As if in mutual consent, they walked along their horses.
Yeshe and Norbu’s horses following the yaks, while
Sangye and Dawa led from the front. The three mastiffs
ran back and forth, wondering about the fuss and being
generally happy about everything.
The trail seemed to climb initially away from Dirapuk
and entered a riverbed that was covered by extremely
large boulders. This could have been the reason why
108
people had not dared enter the valley, thought Sangye.
So, where had the wild yaks walked in from, if the
valley entrance was totally blocked by the boulders?
There had to be an entrance somewhere, he thought. The
four of them spread out, searching for a way through the
large stones. The yaks were tied some stones along with
the horses. The mastiffs were also asked to stay near the
animals.
Old man Dawa wondered if this was the end of their
search. There did not seem to be any possible entrance
amongst the boulders. Yeshe and Norbu were getting
impatient. They had been eager to go ahead, fast, inside
the valley and meet up with the wild yaks. This huge
landslide on the riverbed looked like a disaster for their
search even before it had begun, thought Yeshe. Some of
the boulders were ten to fifteen feet in height, and most
looked like they were 4-5 tonnes in weight while all gaps
and spaces between the large ones were stuffed with
smaller ones, mud, old and dead trees, and bushes and
grassy clumps that seemed like they had always existed
in this place, for centuries.
There was absolutely no sign anywhere of any
movement of animals. There was no trail of Chiru, or
wild yaks or wolves. Strangely, there was no sign of any
domestic yaks or horses having been brought up to these
places to graze, though there was ample sign of grass
and palatable bushes. The local sheperds and their goats
and sheep did not seem to have discovered this place.
How could such a location have remained undiscovered,
thought Sangye. Was this place known to have evil
spirits, he wondered?
109
Dawa and Sangye walked around, quietly, peering
within and above and around the boulders. There did not
seem to be any sign of boulders having been disturbed
by the herd of large wild yaks that would have walked
down this trail. Dawa looked for sign, some sign, that
twelve large wild yaks would have left behind,
accidentally or by the very size and weight of the
animals. The entire area was stony. The trail had stopped
on either side of the rocky landslide. The rocky spread
was about thirty metres wide, entirely blocking the
valley, and seemed to be at least fifteen metres high.
They could not see beyond the rock wall that blocked the
entrance.
“There had to be another way through this wall,” said
Sangye to Dawa, “Let us walk back for some distance,
and look for a higher location. We could look for what
we can see from above this rock wall. I will go back and
climb any narrow trail that I can find. Let Yeshe and
Norbu stay with the animals. You keep searching here.
The wild yaks would not have had to squeeze through
this wall. That goes against all aspects of animal
behaviour. Think of the heavy rainstorm during the
night. No animal, wild or domestic, would have risked a
passage into the unknown. There has to be a trail in this
maze. We are not able to see it.”
The sheer sides of the rock and the mountains alongside
were almost like a box that had been filled up with
stones. Strangely, thought Norbu, the yaks, horses and
dogs were looking very peaceful. They did not seem to
be disturbed in this location. Had they come to the right
location? What if the herd of wild yaks had indeed
moved up this valley, and been blocked off at this
stonewall, and had actually returned back through
110
Dirapuk to walk through the Lhachu valley? It would
mean that they had never come out of this unknown
valley. He wondered if he should speak of his doubts to
Dawa and Sangye.
He looked at the enthusiasm on Yeshe’s face. He had
seen the pride that Sangye had in starting on this search.
Old man Dawa was very happy. They looked content,
even if they were totally blocked. There was no sign of
anger or exasperation. He would ask later, he told
himself.
V
Shenshe wondered if he had heard right. The Sikh
pilgrim from India, in search of answers to questions
about his holy master, wanted to go to the Kang
Renpoche Mountain and “explore”!!! Nobody went out
there. He knew that. He did not bother much about the
superstition or mythology about the mountain, but it was
his job to maintain the peace and prevent any break
down in law and order in this remote place. This pilgrim
wanted to go on the mountain just because he could not
sleep?
He was alone at Darchen today. Whom could he discuss
this problem with? Perhaps he had not heard him
correctly. After all, he did not know the language
properly. Did he really say that he might want to walk up
the mountain that all these pilgrims thought to be very
111
sacred? Should he stop him? Should he tell him not to go
up the mountain? Shenshe wondered about the action he
should take. Most yak-boys and other guides would
listen to a policeman, he knew. It would be better to just
frighten them and wait and watch.
Sardar Amarpal Singh sat down next to Shenshe and
smiled at him in a very peaceful and happy manner. His
smile and demeanor were very comforting. It was
puzzling for Shenshe. This man wanted to disrupt the
local customs and do something that could very well be
illegal, and he was now sitting next to a policeman and
smiling. Shenshe looked at the Buddhist monk from
Nalanda and asked, “Brother, did your friend say that he
wanted to walk on the Kang Renpoche Mountain? Did I
hear him say that? Am I correct in understanding him?”
The monk from Nalanda smiled at the predicament of
the Chinese policeman, and replied, “Do not worry. My
Sikh brother is a devotee of the Sumeru Mountain. He
will not do anything wrong and will not go against the
practices of the kora. He has felt some pull from the
sacred mountain. It was a strange night during the
rainstorm. We do not know about what was happening
out there. We are not tourists. These pilgrims who come
here, to do the kora, are not tourists. We come here in
reverence. We feel the pull. You see only a mountain.
We see our very identity.”
“It is not about Tibetans who fled to India. It is not about
Tibetans from various locations elsewhere who come
here to do their pilgrimage around the kora. This sacred
mountain is about several religions. We who come here
do not come as tourists. Those of us who come from
beyond Tibet, for us, this pilgrimage are a once in a
112
lifetime journey. We do not come here to doubt our
religion. We come here, those of us who come as
pilgrims, we come here to worship,” said the monk from
Nalanda, “we do not come here to commit sacrilege.
Trust us.”
Sardar Amarpal Singh spoke to the monk in Hindi, and
he translated to Shenshe, and said, “My brother, my Sikh
brother, tells me that I am mistaken and so are you. He
says that he would go near the Sumeru Mountain, our Kang Renpoche, but he will not walk on it. He says that
he does not know if he would want to walk on it. He
does not know about what will happen. He felt the pull
of the mountain. He says that it did not rain for a brief
while on the peaks of the Kang Renpoche when it was
raining all about. He saw the peak very clearly. He felt
as though something happened out there. He wants to go
nearby, but he does not know if he will change his mind,
once he goes closer.”
The Sikh smiled again, and Shenshe was more confused
than before. Why is this man smiling again? He has just
now told the monk that he would perhaps commit
sacrilege, and there he is, smiling again. He thought
about what he could do. It was certainly not a clear
crime to climb the mountain. It had been prohibited
within the various religions through their respect and
reverence for the very sacred mountain. If someone
would go, there would be widespread condemnation. He
knew that people spoke about those who did dare to go
on their own, without telling anyone. But he had not
heard of anyone who had returned. Did this Sikh pilgrim
know that nobody returned?
113
The monk spoke again to Sardar Amarpal Singh upon
Shenshe’s insistence. He conveyed the policeman’s
worries and concern. They spoke for some time and the
monk translated, “My brother tells me that he is not
master of the future. He is here, on land that has never
been understood by anyone earlier. He has come here in
search of answers. This is his life. There is nothing else
that he wants to do or achieve. There is nothing to go
back to in India, if he does not get answers about his
questions. He would rather go nearer to the sacred
mountain, and wait.”
The Sikh pilgrim spoke again to the monk, who
repeated, “My brother would not wish to go to Tarboche
or to the Yam-Dwar. He does not wish to go to walk on the kora trail. He will do it later. The group of pilgrims
that we came with has gone ahead. My brother could not
walk beyond Choku and became breathless. We returned
from the monastery area and returned to Darchen to
await the group of pilgrims who have gone ahead to
complete the kora. He says that he would want to walk
today to the Silung Gompa or to the Gyengtak Gompa,
and stay there at night.”
Shenshe replied, “Yes. I was wondering about what the
two of you are doing alone here at Darchen. Pilgrims
from India are not allowed to move around without a
group. Your pilgrim guide will be held responsible for
anything that you would do that could be condemned. I
have no problem with your Sikh brother and his
questions. I respect religion. I have my job also. I think it
would be good for you to go to the Gyengtak Gompa. I
know the monks there. I have stayed there. Its closer to
the sacred mountain.”
114
The three of them, Shenshe, Sardar Amarpal Singh and
the monk from Nalanda stepped out of the tented eatery
and looked up at the Kang Renpoche slopes. The Sikh
pointed out to the peaks and identified them separately
by name. He knew this terrain well, thought Shenshe.
They spoke again to each other with respect, and the
monk translated for Shenshe, “I have told my brother
that you have recommended that we should go to the
Gyengtak Gompa and that you know the monks there.
He was happy about it. He says that it is a sign for him
that he received instructions from one who has just
turned up without him having to search for you.”
“He has also one request, though,” continued the monk,
and said, “He wishes to ask if it would be possible for
you, he says this, if it would be possible for you to come
with us to the Gyengtak Gompa. He says this because
you know the monks and he knows that we cannot go
wandering about without our pilgrim group. The monks
may not allow us to stay at the Gompa for fear of action
by the police. He says this, not me. He says that if you
are with him, he wants to see if you would stop him,
when he will decide to go on the mountain, if it would
call him. He wants to see if you have the power to stop
him when the mountain will decide for him. He says
this, not me.”
Shenshe smiled. He liked this sort of an open challenge.
At least this pilgrim was not trying to tell him any lies or
bluff his way through. He was correct in asking
Shenshe’s help for nobody would help wandering
pilgrims from the groups from India. It was about one
night, and what could one night’s damage do that the
rainstorm had not already accomplished, he thought.
Gyengtak Gompa was the closest to the Kang Renpoche
115
from the south, and was directly in the line of sight
between Darchen and the Nandi Peak. It gave an awe-
inspiring sight of the Kang Renpoche mountain peak and
the Sikh pilgrim would perhaps be satisfied at the
proximity.
The policeman spoke to the monk from Nalanda, “OK. I
will come with you. Take two sherpa boys from the
pilgrim group, and one yak. We will also take three
horses for us. It would be wiser. You have been
breathless earlier. Did you all not take any medicines
with you? Look at your size and shapes. You two are not
meant to walk these hills. Devotion is not the measurement of fitness to walk the kora. Why did you
not hire horses? Let us go. I will get the local yak boys
and horses to come with us. They will not disagree with
me.”
The monk from Nalanda turned to speak to the Sikh
pilgrim. He and Shenshe saw a strange sight. Sardar
Amarpal Singh was seated out there in the open, with his
prayer beads, deep in meditation and apparently chanting
some hymn. He was facing the sacred mountain, and
was lost in prayer. The stranger aspect of the sight was
not the Sikh, but it was the mastiffs nearby. They were
crouching, very close to the ground, and growling. They
were not growling in anger or in threat, but seemed to be
very wary. Two yaks nearby were standing still, their
tails up straight, in stiff alert postures, their heads up,
and breathing out very large smoky bursts of air from
their nostrils. Shenshe shivered at the sight, and was
worried. There was something very different going on.
***
116
Master Rinchen greeted Brother Tameng as he returned
to the Choku monastery. The local helpers and overnight
pilgrims had begun to move around, and some pilgrims
had started moving ahead towards Dirapuk. The local
helpers at the monastery and old pilgrim guides and yak-
boys at Choku gompa watched Brother Tameng
curiously. They could realize that something was going
on. These guides and yak-boys along with some horse-
boys had made the Choku gompa as their campsite. They
waited for pilgrims who started off from Darchen with
much enthusiasm and later crashed due to breathlessness
by the time they reached Choku.
These pilgrims would be offered help and support with
yaks and horses at Choku and taken around through the
Drolma La pass and ahead to Darchen. They could meet
up with breathless pilgrims every day. They knew the
Choku gompa in a familiar manner, since they had
camped here for most of their lives and their fathers had
done so before them, and their fathers before them. They
participated in all the prayer sessions and attended the
talks and festivals conducted by the monks. This was
their world. They knew of nothing else. There were no
newspapers, radio, TV or Internet or cellphones.
The pilgrim guides and helpers knew of only one truth
during each pilgrim season. They kept coming every
day, and they paid well. They did not mind hardships
and, they were usually affectionate, curious and
considerate to the local people. They had not known that
Brother Tameng had gone out in the night during the
rainstorm, but some of them had seen him return with
old man Dawa. They had seen them rush out again
towards the Dirapuk area. And now, Brother Tameng
returned without Dawa. What was wrong?
117
Inside the monastery, Brother Tameng went straight to
the statue of the Dharmakaya Amitabha Buddha and
stood quietly in prayer. He shivered, wondering in
amazement at the splendid turn of events and
developments that had happened. The younger monk and
Master Rinchen waited patiently. They had realized that
the old man Dawa had not returned. Something must
have happened. Brother Tameng completed his prayer
and spoke to them and told them of the events that had
taken place at Dirapuk. He spoke to them about Norbu,
and of his two yaks and his mastiff pup, and of the great
old horsman from Qinhai, Sangye, his grandson, Yeshe,
and their eatery and the trail above.
He spoke about the manner in which old man Sangye
had spotted the trail of the herd of wild yaks, and of how
he too had been convinced that they were indeed very
large animals. They had been convinced that the herd
had come down from the valley above Dirapuk. Brother
Tameng told Master Rinchen of how Sangye, Dawa,
Yeshe and Norbu had decided to go ahead and enter the
mysterious valley. Nobody knew anything about this
valley. Nobody had entered the valley. He did not know
why. But, he said, the team had taken yaks, horses and
mastiffs, and had gone in.
Master Rinchen smiled at the number of events that had
taken place. He spoke, affectionately, to Brother
Tameng, and said, “You returned, inspite of your
eagerness? You caused this chain of events to happen by
your curiousity. And you did not go with them? You did
not hear anything about the twelve pilgrims who were sitting out in the open kora through the rainstorm and
through the night? Why did you not go with old man
118
Dawa into this mysterious valley? You could have sent
someone back with a message to inform us.”
Brother Tameng bowed in happiness at the confidence
and affection that the Master Rinchen had for him. He
had told old man Dawa that he needed the Master’s
permission to move inside the valley. He replied,
“Master, I am utmost grateful for your appreciation. I
wanted to go with them, inside the valley, and explore
and search. But, I decided to allow them to go ahead,
and wanted to talk to you and seek your permission. It is
the valley and the manner of information that is available
about it, that made me cautious. Nothing is known about
the valley. The monks from Dirapuk do not know
anything about it. Expert pilgrim guides and trackers and
hunters do not know about this valley. They have not
entered it. That aspect of the unknown made me wait.”
“Master, I am worried, frightened and fear about what
we are about to do,” said Brother Tameng, looking up
again and again at the serene face of the Dharmakaya
Amitabha Buddha, “Nothing is known about the wild
yaks, nothing is known about the manner of these
pilgrims, where they came from or if they returned back
to Darchen or went ahead to Dirapuk, and nothing is
known about the valley where old man Sangye saw the
trail, and has never been inside.”
“I fear that this valley could be one of the most sacred of
all Beyuls of the Kang Renpoche area. I have not heard
of this valley but we do know that there are many secrets
in this place. Nobody at Dirapuk had even entered this
valley to collect firewood or graze sheep or goats or go
in for hunting or trapping. Why would such a large area
nearby be unknown or not explored? Do we know
119
anything of this valley? Even the monks at Dirapuk said
that they would have to enquire.”
Master Rinchen smiled, and replied, “Brother, do not
worry or fear what we do not know. If it were for us to
respect, worship or fear, we would have known about it.
We are in this land of the Thousand Living Buddhas, we
stay and pray everyday to the most revered Amitabha
Buddha, we read from the words of the great
Sakyamuni, we walk around in the lands that have been
made holy by Avalokiteswara himself, the greatest of all.
Why should we fear the unknown?”
“You go ahead and make plans to go back to my old
friend Dawa. Do not leave him to his fate. He needs his
strength and courage from you. I have never seen him
happier in all these years that I have known him at our
monastery. Get yourself organized. We have enough
supplies here, and enough gear that has been stored by
expeditions and pilgrim groups. Get alpine tents,
sleeping bags and supplies for everyone and go back.
You may have to stay in that valley for a long time.”
Brother Tameng bowed in gratitude and respect and
went about getting organized. Master Rinchen turned to
the younger monk, and instructed him to go ahead to the
Chiu and Gyengtak gompas and find out if there was any
knowledge or mention or scrolls retained in their prayer halls or premises about unknown valleys or Beyuls in the
kora and in the region nearby. He also asked the younger
monk to be cautious and restrained in what he would talk
about in the other monasteries. He did not want to be the
cause of any new superstition or panic.
120
Master Rinchen thought back about what he had known.
There was mention of a sacred valley, near the sacred
mountain, to its north. This he was sure of, and he knew
that it had been spoken about very rarely. Over the years,
it was hardly ever mentioned, except for referring to it as
some sort of a paradise area, teeming with angels and
sacred spirits. Since it was mentioned to be very close to
the sacred mountain, over hundreds of years, it had come to be referred to as being above the Kang Renpoche
mountain slopes. He knew that this was not correct.
There would be scrolls or records somewhere in this
region. It was not a mystery. It was only a forgotten
secret, he said, to the younger monk.
Brother Tameng returned to the prayer hall with gear and
supplies and began to organize the stuff and separate
them. He had brought back two old pilgrim guides,
horse-boys and yak-boys. Master Rinchen counted the
group that the young monk was assembling together to
return to the valley above Dirapuk. Two pilgrim guides,
who had obviously been selected because of their skills
in tracking and hunting, as they were well-known for
these abilities, three horse-boys and three yak-boys. The
Master knew these boys. They could survive the journey
and would not get frightened. They would not run away
from the young monk and would not desert him.
“Master, I seek your permission and blessings. These
good people have agreed to come with me to the valley.
I have merely told them that old man Dawa is in search
of a herd of wild yaks and wolves that came out during
the rainstorm and that I am keen to participate in the
adventure,” said Brother Tameng, “I fear however, the
fact that those strange pilgrims who sat at the circle of
stones, and disappeared later, were not frightened at the
121
sight of the herd of large wild yaks and at the strange
behaviour of the wolves following them. The wild yaks
came up to them and stood near them, and looked at
them. Did they expect this to happen? Did the
mysterious pilgrims come here to meet the wild yaks?
What should I do when I come to the herd of wild yaks
in the mysterious valley above Dirapuk?”
***
Vijay Kulkarni looked at his two partners, Himanshu
and Paramita, and repeated, “I want to go to the Mount
Kailash area. I want to change our plans to survey the
Manasarovar Lake area. Do you want to come with me?
I felt as if there was something out there, and that
something or somebody was talking to me. You know, at
the human level, we exist, and we do our work. But this
was really something else. I felt like there was
something else out there yesterday, at night, in the
storm.”
Paramita laughed, and hushed herself soon enough on
seeing Vijay’s irritated look. He was serious, she knew,
about going to Mount Kailash. However, there were
other problems. She spoke to Vijay, in a serious note,
“Vijay Sir, I would also like to go to Mount Kailash
immediately. But you will put the entire tour group to
risk. We are here as tourists. Not as scientists or research
teams. We are here with this group to do our first recce
in this area. We cannot leave this group. We need to go
around the Manasarovar Lake, and then go ahead to the
122
Mount Kailash area for the parikrama, when this group
goes to that area.”
Vijay knew of the legal implications. He did not want to
risk his opportunity to return to the area with other
groups to search for hydrogeological clues to the reason
why so many rivers started from this mythical and
magical mountain. Why should so many rivers start only
from this mountain? Why could they not have started
from somewhere else? So much of Asia, so many
countries of South Asia, not forgetting Tibet, depended
on the Mount Kailash. He wanted to very desperately
pick up several rock samples without making anyone
upset. If the initial results did show any good
information, he could always request permission to
return on a detailed study.
Himanshu would know the manner of risks that one
could play out now, since they were so close to the
Manasarovar Lake and the Mount Kailash area. He was
an experienced field scientist and would know what
could be done and what should not be risked. He looked
at Himanshu, and said, “Dada, we have to do something.
What happened out there during the storm may not be
there tomorrow. We are from India, and you and me, we
know that there are gods and demons everywhere. We
have more Gods within our religions and belief systems
than all the other religions put together. And, we are
here. At Mount Kailash. Should we wait for two more
days?”
“Wait. You should wait. Whatever may have happened
out on the Peak, you and me, we cannot risk the entire
group. For most of them, this is their one-in-a-lifetime
opportunity and we can always return, and we will, I
123
believe. The others, in this group, they have staked their
entire lifetime savings, their pension and their strength
and good health to come here. We cannot throw that
away for our curiosity,” replied Himanshu, “These
mysteries have been here for thousands of years.
Nothing is lost if you do not discover it today. Relax.”
Paramita and one of the Sherpa boys had begun to pack
up the tents and other equipment. The tour group had
three large trucks and a fleet of land-cruisers. Luckily,
Vijay thought to himself, they had one land cruiser for
themselves, as all others had four tour members each.
The Sherpa boy with them had become a good friend,
while the Tibetan driver of the land cruiser usually kept
humming songs to himself. He did not understand
English or Hindi and the Sherpa boy usually translated
instructions or enquiries.
Vijay helped with the packing up, and kept chatting with
Himanshu, “You know, I really did feel something from
there. It was like some individual energy, directed right
at me. I sensed it so very clearly. But, I cannot explain it
in any logical manner. That is more irritating than the
fact that we are not going there immediately. I have gone
to more mysterious places than this in India. I can
usually sense the bunkum from the real, the mystical
from the made-up. This did not come from any godman
or temple or hymn or mantra or tantra. I got the feeling
of energy directly from the peak, from Mount Kailash.
Go ahead, laugh at me and I will not get angry with
you.”
“There was some sense of reality to it all,” continued
Vijay, pointing at the peak. The sun had come out
strongly, and the three of them could see the Nandi Peak
124
and the Mount Kailash peak. It was absolutely
resplendent and there was a very wholesome feeling of
calm to the mountain. They could feel that they were
experiencing a very satisfying perspective, just by
watching the peak. It felt extremely real. The feeling or
the perspective was just a sense of calm, and they kept
looking at the peak until the Sherpa helper-boy called
out to them, breaking their trance.
The tour group was ready to drive around the
Manasarovar Lake. This parikrama would be done on the
Land Cruisers, while they would be on foot around
Mount Kailash. Himanshu had wanted to study the soil
and rock samples around the Manasarovar Lake and
compare them with the ones that they would pick up
around Rakshas Tal, and the Kailash area. They got into
their land cruiser with the Sherpa boy and the Tibetan
driver.
Their first stop was to be in the area between the
Rakshas Tal and the Manasarovar Lake. The drive would
take them past Parkha and they would go ahead to their
first stop at Chiu Gompa, on the banks of the
Manasarovar Lake. It was to be a spectacular spot, and
they would love it, the Tibetan driver had kept
reassuring them again and again. The Sherpa-boy
translated for him, “He says that you can wash your sins
here also. All Indians can get instant blessings here. There is a small junior river Ganga here, called Ganga
Chu. This is a connector river between the Rakshas Tal
and the Manasarovar Lake. It is below the Chiu
Gompa.”
They had smiled politely at the implied joke, and Vijay
had playfully thumped the Tibetan driver on the
125
shoulder. The driver looked happy that he had pulled this
joke on yet another group from India. He did it to each
group that came to start the Manasarovar kora. These
pilgrims from India are very lazy, he thought to himself,
for how could you even want to do the kora on vehicle.
One should do it very respectfully on foot, he would
repeat to each Sherpa-boy or other drivers.
The vehicles stopped at the Chiu Gompa and the
pilgrims walked around. Vijay, Himanshu and Paramita
climbed to the roof of the monastery and stood quietly,
looking at the awesome expanse of the Manasarovar
Lake on one side, and the sight of the Mount Kailash
peak, extremely clear, and without clouds. Paramita kept
taking photographs “by the hundreds”, as she termed it.
Vijay rushed them through, “Come on, come on, and
there is no waiting here. We need to go down and walk
to some distance away from the group. Remember, we
have to make it to the Serka Khim area, near this
Gompa, and get samples from the ancient gold mining
area.”
They rushed out of the monastery. Vijay had friends in
the other groups who were part of the pilgrimage. He
knew that they would take all the photographs that they
could and more. He did not want to use up his time in
taking photographs of the area. This was perhaps the
most remote pilgrimage area, and perhaps had the most
number of photographs per square kilometer, he joked,
to Himanshu and Paramita. They walked out to the
banks of the Manasarovar Lake, pretending to enjoy the
view. The Sherpa-boy accompanied them, explaining that this area was also known as the Ngava Ngopodupuk.
He could not explain the reason, but Vijay knew about it
and was not keen on asking the boy about it.
126
The Sherpa boy was bored with them and ran back to the
pilgrim group at the Gompa, knowing that he could
perhaps get some good food, from one of the trucks.
Vijay turned towards Serka Khim, and they walked up
into the marshy lands, away from the banks of the Lake.
These marshy lands seemed to be like a mosaic of small
grassy mounds of earth, interspersed with slush, stones
and bare fallow land. Vijay stood quiet, while Himanshu
and Paramita walked on ahead. Vijay was watching the
area between Serka Khim and Changjagang, on the
banks of the Lake. Something was just not correct, he
kept telling himself. This cannot be happening.
He was a young boy, perhaps sixteen or seventeen,
sitting within the marsh, just where it ended, looking out
into the Manasarovar Lake. What was strange, he
thought, for he could not be sure, was that the boy did
not seem to have any clothes on him. He had some sort
of a hat, or a helmet, something like from an army
soldier. He seemed to have some sort of metal shirt on
his chest and back. He could not be sure entirely,
because the light shone off the boy, from against the
sheer shine of the waters of the lake. He looked very
peaceful. He seemed to be holding something in his right
hand. Was he meditating here? Suddenly, there seemed
to be a gentle spread of a halo-like glow near the boy,
and it was gone, and the boy was no longer sitting at the
spot near the Lake.
***
127
It was quite a distance from Darchen to Shiquanhe. Why
would the two pilgrims leave their other companions on
the kora and return? That would not be allowed for
Indian pilgrims. The local police would have kept track
and the pilgrim guides would have immediately
informed about it to the local government officials or
police officers. Nobody kept track of the many hundreds
of pilgrims who came from all over Tibet, and usually it
would not have been noticed, thought Luo Tsering.
These two pilgrims had been noticed because of the
rainstorm.
What was this big mixture of languages? India seemed
to be like China, he thought. These people from a very
small region in India spoke in several different
languages. It must be quite significant for them to have
been disturbed about the two pilgrims though they
looked like all other Tibetans. Now that they had pointed
them out separately, Luo could see that they were not
Tibetan. They were fairer, and taller, and had much
cleaner clothes. As Maharaj pointed out, “Those clothes
have been made to look dirty.”
“Back home at Navsari, we hardly get to speak to the
priests of the Parsis during their prayers inside their
temple. We meet them only when they sit at our
neighbourhood Pol, at the shop that sells sandalwood
and other oils and material for prayers and rituals,” said
the Pilgrim Guide, who also doubled up as a spiritual
guide to the pilgrims who accompanied him from
Gujarat, “These pilgrims are speaking that most difficult
dialect in a very comfortable manner. They do not seem
to be from India.”
128
Maharaj decided to take matters in his hands, and
approached the two pilgrims, and said in his pidgin
Tibetan-Chinese, “Greetings, my brothers. Have you had
any breakfast? I noticed that you did not take any. The
night was very bad, and it looks like it would rain again
in some moments. You may not be able to travel out
there. Have some food, special food for pilgrims like
you, who look like you have traveled all the way from
India.”
The two pilgrims looked up startled at Maharaj having
approached them. They understood what he had said, for
they nodded in agreement. They did not speak, but
approached the hot stove and accepted the hot breakfast,
sat down quietly and began to eat. They did not eat the
food, as an Indian from the Navsari region of Gujarat
would have done. These two pilgrims had not washed
their hands, and had sat down to pick at their food by
using the fingers of both hands. No devout Indian,
especially from Gujarat, would have used the left hand,
unless he was left-handed, thought Maharaj. These two,
he declared in Hindi to the Jain monk and the pilgrim
guide, these two were definitely not from India.
Maharaj and Luo sat in front of the two mysterious
pilgrims and looked at them. Luo spoke to them in
Tibetan, “Brothers, it is not that we are curious, but it is
because that we are worried that we ask. There is enough
trouble nowadays in Tibet and the policemen will come
later and talk to me and maybe, they may not allow me
to run my business here for the coming seasons. I need
to ask you, for these pilgrims here, from India, feel that
you have returned to Shiquanhe from Darchen, without
the rest of your group.”
129
The two pilgrims stopped eating, and sat silently. They
did not look at each other. Maharaj pointed at the food
on their plates and gestured that they could continue to
eat. Silently, he added some more food on their plates
for fear that they should presume that they would not be
allowed to eat unless they answered questions. That
would not do, thought Maharaj, for he could never push
away people from the food that he served them. They
began to eat again, slower this time.
Luo sat patiently. Waiting. Maharaj sat nearby. The
pilgrim guide and the Jain monk sat with the other
pilgrims at some distance. The two mysterious pilgrims
ate slowly. Once, one of them looked pleadingly at
Maharaj who immediately served them another complete
helping. Luo asked again, “Brothers, please do realize
what I am asking of you. You do not seem Tibetan. The
monk from India, he who is sitting there with the other
pilgrims there, told us that you were seen at Darchen
with twelve other pilgrims. And that you speak a very
strange language.”
The elder of the two spoke, in fluent Tibetan, “My
friend, we thank you for your hospitality. We did not
know that you were concerned and that the pilgrim
brothers had seen us at Darchen yesterday. We took a lift
with one of the trucks that this pilgrim group had with
them, and the Tibetan driver had helped us come away
from the predicted rainstorm at Darchen. I thank you and
your cook from India. This food was very tasty. We have
never eaten these foods before.”
“Never eaten these?” asked Maharaj, “But the Jain monk
in the group said that he could be very sure that you
spoke Parsi. Actually he said that you spoke old Parsi.
130
Who speaks that language in Tibet? Nobody. And now,
you say you have never eaten Indian food? And you
speak very good Tibetan. They also said that you came
away from the Darchen area without the others in your
group that had been moving around in the kora. They
saw that you had walked all the way to Tarboche
earlier.”
The elder pilgrim replied, “My friend, there is nothing to
fear from us. We are like anyone else. I am only
surprised that the pilgrim brother from India recognized
our ancient language. We speak Tibetan freely, but we
also retain our ancient language. We are happy and
pleased that some of our brothers are in India. We did
not know that. We returned from Darchen because we go
to return to our place. Our group will return later.”
“We are Tibetan now. We live in Tibet,” he continued,
“We come in pilgrimage. Our group will complete the
kora and they will return later. We have done the kora
earlier. I have done it twice. My brother, sitting here
with me, has done it once. We came to get our group to the kora. There is nothing wrong about us and there is
nothing suspicious about our actions. For us, the Kang
Renpoche Mountain is most sacred. More sacred than for
any of you.”
The Jain monk and the pilgrim guide had come to sit
near and were listening. Maharaj translated the
discussion for their benefit and explained what was
being told to them. The Jain monk smiled and said,
“Come on, that is not correct. I am a Jain, and for us this is the location of the Ashtapada Mountain. The legend of
the mountain is the oldest of all, even earlier than Shiva,
and the other stories of Buddhism. Yet, all religions
131
coexist here in peace. For all, this mountain and the
region is the most sacred of all, in our religions. How do
you say that this is more sacred?”
The elder pilgrim smiled, and replied, “Peace be with
you, Master. We bow to you, and to the legend of the Ashtapada Mountain. We are at peace with all religions.
We are from a very ancient religion, and of a very
ancient people. You would not understand about our
religion and about our way of life. We come from
villages to the west of the Ngari town, deep in the
mountains that have never been visited by tourists,
scientists, governments or armies. We live in peace
there. But for us, this region is the home of our most
ancient gods. The mountains are the homes of our gods
and we come to visit them.”
The two pilgrims accepted the hot cups of spiced-up
sugary tea that Maharaj handed around. The elder
pilgrim continued, “We are more curious about the fact
that our ancient language is still spoken in other parts of
the world. We live in seclusion, having come to Tibet
from an ancient spiritual land to the west. We keep our
customs, and we live in our small world. Every three
years, some of us, our priests and the monks among us,
are selected to travel to this sacred ground. We visit this
place and return. That’s all. We are like all pilgrims here. We have done the kora earlier and we are returning.”
The Jain monk said, “A land to the west of Ngari and
Tibet? And you speak the ancient Pharsi language. You
must have come from Iran like all the other Parsis. Are
you also a Parsi? You are certainly fairer than the
Tibetans. That is most amazing. I should tell my friends
back at Navsari. They will be very happy. But I did not
132
understand the fact that these mountains are more sacred
to you than they are to others.” The elder pilgrim replied,
“Master, there are more secrets here than what you know
or what you have heard about. This region has more
secrets than there are stories and myths about the
mountains. You know of only sacred spirits and gods
and demons. For us, these mountains, people, animals
and the waters hold more secrets than the stories.”
***
The sight of moving shadows of dusk climbing up the peaks of Kang Renpoche Mountain was swallowing it.
The dark shadows came much early today than during
the days of the past month. It must have been due to the
leftover storm clouds over the region, thought the young
monk at the Dirapuk Gompa. It had been a strange day
that had followed the rainstorm. He had returned from
the eatery run by Yeshe’s parents and was thinking of
the group that had entered the mysterious valley that
could be a Beyul, a sacred and hidden area.
He wondered about the turn of events. The other monks
had discussed the developments and were sitting near
him. They looked at the mountains outside the windows
of the monastery. The young monk spoke to them about
the enthusiasm of Brother Tameng from Choku, the
energy of the old man Dawa, the youthful courage of
Norbu and Yeshe, and the loyalty of Sangye, the great
old horseman from Qinhai. These were the different
peoples of the kora, along with people like Yeshe’s
133
parents, the yak-boys, the horse-boys, the helper-women
at the various eateries and boys from Darchen and
Shiquanhe and other places who came here, each year, to
help the pilgrims who came from many different
countries.
Did anyone really know about the many mysteries and
magical stories of the Kailash Kora, the mountain peaks
of Kang Renpoche and the awesome diversity of
dimensions across the region to the Manasarovar and
Rakshas Lakes? The senior monk at Dirapuk was
worried about the location and discovery of the
mysterious valley, very nearby and yet totally unknown. Could it be a Beyul? What should one think about the
herd of large wild yaks?
One of the younger monks had worked in Nepal and had
read many books in Science and especially Biology,
before he had discovered the fact that the search for pure
knowledge was more fulfilling and more supreme. He
had left a good career in science in Nepal and had been
accepted by the senior Masters of Dirapuk and their
Drukpa Centre in Nepal. He had come to Dirapuk after
five years in Bhutan. The scientist-turned-monk offered
a brief submission, “Masters, and brothers, there is
nothing strange about the herd of large wild-yaks. It is
possible that an entire group of wild yaks would have
stayed trapped inside these higher valleys for centuries.
They would have obviously become very different from
the other wild yaks.”
The senior Monk asked, “Young brother, can it really be
possible? That isolated animal groups would become
different if not able to meet other animal groups? How
can that be possible? Does that happen to humans? That
134
is indeed strange. Magical are the ways of the rules of
existence. There is so much more to learn. Can it be
possible that this could be true? Can it be such a simple
answer to such a mysterious question?”
The young monk who had discussed with Brother
Tameng about the sightings of the wild yaks, wolves and
the twelve pilgrims, said, “It may be so. The wild yaks
could have become different from other wild yaks. But
why would they walk during the rainstorm? Would it not
be wiser for such a group to hide inside their own
territory? And Brother Tameng said that it was very
clear that the entire herd of large wild yaks were male,
extremely large, and almost equal in size to one another.
Where have we ever seen a herd of wild yaks that were
all male and equal in size? That is very strange.”
“Also, it is the mystery of the herd of the large wild yaks
walking through the rainstorm and coming to a standing
halt in front of the twelve pilgrims. Why would they do
that? Did Brother Tameng really see what he saw? I
thought at first that he could have been mistaken. But
old man Dawa was with him. He knows this region and
he knows the pilgrims, and he knows the wild animals of
the mountains. He will not make such a mistake,” said
the young monk, “And, what about the wolves? Why
would they accompany or stand near the herd of large
wild yaks? They would follow them from a distance, and
they would be only one or two at any time. Brother
Tameng said that they saw almost as many wolves as
there were the numbers of large wild yaks. And why did
the group of pilgrims not get frightened by the wild yaks
and wolves?”
135
The assembled monks nodded in agreement. They had
heard of stranger stories from the mountains but not one
as mysterious as this one. And this was not a story,
thought the senior Monk. It had really happened, and
only within the past twenty-four hours. He thought about
the turn of events, quietly, watching the changing
shadows of the mountain peaks. Sometimes, it seemed
like a huge monkey was about to catch the moon, while
at other times it seemed like a dragon had been
swallowed up in one gulp by the mountains. The
shadows came in all shapes over the mountains.
He came to a decision, and said, “Brothers, we have
heard what was said to us by our brother. I know Brother
Tameng and Master Rinchen. They are not lunatics or of
those whose mind suddenly starts to travel these great
distances across the mountains. There are those whose
minds have traveled back to more than four or five
centuries, and there are those who say that as they sit in
meditation on the kora, they can feel that five to six
spirits also sat with them in prayer, lending their strength
to each other.”
“We will keep a watch on the valley tonight. I want two
brothers to take separate locations on the valley. Get
some good pilgrim guides or sherpas to help you sit
through the night, fearlessly. I need not say that anything
can happen. Take your prayer beads and if you want, the
spinning prayer-drum. Use the tents that are already in
place. Do not construct or borrow any other tent. Do not
go to sleep. Just keep a watch over the valley. It would
be very helpful and will help us decide if what happened
yesterday, at midnight, will repeat itself tonight.”
136
“I will focus on the Beyul. There must be mention
somewhere. It cannot be this close and stay unknown in
myth or religion. How could this valley have been
hidden away for so many centuries and especially when
the mouth of the valley opens into the most crowded
location in the Ngari province? Do you know that there
are small cities in India or Nepal that have more people
than the entire Ngari prefecture? And yet, this valley is
the most crowded. Why did the herd of large wild yaks
chose to walk down this valley, together, in the stormy
night.”
The young Monk replied, “Master, as Brother Tameng
of Choku mentioned, it was Master Rinchen who picked
up on one point. That was the fact that the twelve
pilgrims who sat out there in the circle of stones did not
get frightened. It seemed like they were expecting the
wild yaks to meet them at that place. Is it strange? We
have so many domestic yaks carrying supplies and goods
through the kora. Could it be that the pilgrims thought
that the herd was consisting of large domestic yaks? It
was dark, and raining heavily. They could have been
mistaken?”
The senior Monk commented, “I agree. If it was so, why
did we not see or spot them in the daytime? Where did
the twelve pilgrims go? Did they foolishly attempt to climb the inner kora or attempt to climb the Kang
Renpoche Mountain? No. It could not be such a simple
explanation. If one would try to climb the unknown
peak, he would attempt it in the daylight hours. Why
would they try to do so at night, during a rainstorm?”
The two monks chosen to sit it out in the valley
requested permission of the senior Monk to leave the
137
monastery premises and stay out through the night. The
young monk who had befriended Brother Tameng went
up to the windows of the monastery and looked at the Kang Renpoche mountain peak. What was out there?
Why were people not allowed to climb the mountain?
Could it be that the twelve pilgrims came here to the kora and waited somewhere for a stormy night? Why
would they do that? Have these pilgrims foolishly tried
to climb the mountain?
The young monk continued to play with his thoughts.
Those twelve pilgrims knew why they chose to sit it out
on the circle of stones. They knew that they would have
to sit through the rainstorm. The wild yaks did not
frighten them. Was there something out on the slopes of the Kang Renpoche Mountain? Did the wild yaks,
wolves and the pilgrims walk up the Mountain and
disappear? Or did they walk down to the Manasarovar
Lake and kept walking away from the tourists and
pilgrims at Darchen and at the lakes? It had been said
that mountains keep their secrets efficiently. If you want
to share in them, you had to ask them politely or through
prayers.
138
VI
They were getting to be tired and desperate as the
shadows of dusk started taking over the valley. The
mountains surrounding this particular spot were quite
high and dusk would probably be totally in control much
before it would take over the Dirapuk or Choku areas,
thought Sangye. He kept looking for the entrance and
began to accept the fact that they may not be able to spot
it in time before the darkness would prevent any further
discovery. At a gesture from him, and knowing what he
would be thinking, Yeshe and Norbu accompanied him
to the animals and began to unload the supplies.
They would have to establish a shelter fast enough
before it would be too cold to move around. There was
sufficient shelter here to take support from the rock
walls and the huge boulders that had fallen close enough.
The shelter could come up within the spaces between the
rock walls and the boulders and could also allow for the
animals to rest inside. Dawa began to collect dry twigs,
branches and material to get a fire going inside the group
of boulders that they had chosen. The mastiffs were
moving around quietly and seemed to be glad that a
campfire was finally lit up.
They sat around the fire, having placed the animals deep
within the hideout. Yeshe and Norbu had cut down some
long poles and branches and had made a make-do shed.
It made for quite a comfortable cave-like shed and they
would need it, Sangye told Dawa, for the night in this
higher valley looked like it would be fiercer than the
Dirapuk area. They had walked out from the monastery
139
for only about four hours and yet, it seemed like they
had been climbing steadily, though they were in the floor
of the valley.
Dawa looked up at the narrow distance between the
walls of the valley at the location of the fallen boulders.
He pointed out the gap at the top and said, “Old man
from Qinhai, do look at that narrow valley that is
blocked out by these boulders. This is indeed a strange
valley. We have climbed quite a bit, and if these
boulders have come down this valley, they could have
spread out for quite a distance. We are only at the
entrance. What if we do manage to get inside these
boulders through any entrance? What if we get trapped
within these maze of boulders?”
Yeshe and Norbu heard Dawa but did not respond. They
were busy cooking dinner for everyone and were also
separating the food supplies for the yaks and horses and
the mastiffs. Sangye patted Bzanba, his favourite mastiff
over the many years that he had been coming to the
valley of the Kang Renpoche mountain, and replied,
“Old man Dawa, I know. I have also been thinking of
the same problem. It can be quite terrifying if we get
stuck inside the maze and we are unable to get out of it
before a rainstorm or a snowstorm hits us. The size of
these boulders worries me. There may be larger ones
behind them.”
“Larger boulders may not be a problem. They may
provide space between them for us to walk through.
What if there is a pile up and some boulders may have
crashed through. We should be careful before we enter
this area. We should scout ahead, and locate open land
or caves before we enter. We should keep the return
140
passage open for fast movement to get back to Dirapuk,”
said Dawa, accepting the bowls of Tsampa and noodles.
They could afford to indulge in eating well, for Norbu
would travel to Dirapuk tomorrow and return with more
people, supplies and animals.
Sangye added, “There must be some very distinct way.
How could large animals such as the wild yaks have
walked through? They are not known to climb sheer
rock. I have seen some animals on steep slopes, but have
never heard of them hopping from rock to rock. The
passage could be narrow, and the yaks may have walked
through in a single line. But they would have known
about it. We do not know if the yaks returned to this
valley. They could do so tonight. Remember, that
wolves accompanied the herd of those wild yaks. The
wolves could return earlier.”
Norbu looked up worried at the thought. What if the
wolves entered this camp hideout of theirs? He would be
safer if he slept nearer to the yaks and the mastiffs. The
yaks could frighten of the wolves. He thought back to
the story that he had heard from Brother Tameng and old
man Dawa and the manner of behaviour of the wolves.
Would he indeed be safe in this hideout? He thought
back to his worries earlier in the evening. They seemed
to be headed into a trap, with this valley that looked like
a box filled up with stones.
Norbu placed his sleeping bag near his yaks, and
accompanied by his mastiff, and made sure that they
would be comfortable for the night. He had kept the
huge tarpaulin sheet nearby to be ready if there would be
a rainstorm or a snowstorm in the night, and he could
cover up with his yaks and his mastiff. The other two
141
yaks and Kangryi, the mastiff, had snuggled up against a
rock wall that had been made warm with the cut-up
bushes and brushwood that Yeshe had lined up. Dawa
had set up three small campfires inside the hideout and
had placed a pile of stone pebbles and small rocks within
them to keep warm if the fires were to go down.
He was moving around, fire-to-fire, and adding dry
wood and twigs and stoking them to make sure that the
night in the hideout would be warm enough for the
animals. He could sleep for short periods of time and
could also wake up in a completely alert manner at the
faintest disturbance. Norbu sat up and watched Dawa
nearby, intent on relaxing at the fire, and said, “Old man
Dawa, you are wise and you know this valley well. I have never stepped away from the kora around the Kang
Renpoche Mountain or the big lakes. I look at you for
guidance. But, I have one question that has been
bothering me since the evening.”
Dawa and Sangye looked at Norbu, not surprised that the
young boy was worried. This could happen to anybody.
These mountains did that to many. You could go around
these regions like you had the toughest personality, the
best courage and strongest will, and suddenly, you could
be hit by worries and panic. It had happened to both,
Dawa and Sangye, in many a camping trip. You could
get frightened, having to stay trapped inside your tent or
inside a dark cave, through the night. People around the
world did not know the colour of darkness, Sangye often
said to Yeshe, until they came to the upper Himalayas in
Tibet, and looked at the night without any lights or fire.
There could be no darker colour of black than the colour
of night in these mountains.
142
“Stay in peace, boy, for you are with good friends in
these mountains,” said Sangye, “Old man Dawa and I,
we have many years of travel, camping and wandering
about in these mountains. We know that it could get
frightening to move into the higher areas, suddenly,
without planning or discussing the trek forward. We do
not know where we go. Perhaps, no man has ever
entered this valley. Tomorrow you will turn back to
Dirapuk and return with more people, supplies and food
and animals. It will get better and better.”
Norbu nodded thankfully, and bowed, showing his
gratitude, and said, “I thank you, for you are both well
acquainted with these mountains. I am worried for
another reason. We search for the path of the herd of the
large wild yaks and we think that these animals came
down from this valley. I have another question. What if
these wild yaks walked up this valley, wanting to enter
the region beyond, and came to this very same rock wall
and stopped? What if they returned from this spot,
unable to enter, in the rainstorm during the night? What
if they went from here to go through Dirapuk and then
walked through the Lhachu valley? What if they came
from a different place, from a valley someplace else?”
Sangye looked at the young boy with new respect. This
fellow was a thinker, no doubt. He wished that his
grandson, Yeshe, would also use his brains like this
young boy or like the courageous young monk from
Choku. The old nomad from Qinhai replied, “Young
man, you are correct. It could be possible. Anything is
possible in this valley. We do not know. What we now
know is that there is this valley that is unknown. The
herd of large wild yaks was unknown. The aspect of
wild wolves accompanying wild yaks in a rainstorm was
143
unknown. There is only one known fact. The fact that
the tracks of the wild yaks were seen only on the trail
leading away from this valley is the only known aspect.”
“Let us enter this valley. Let us explore the unknown,”
said Sangye, and added, “We have nothing else to do in our lives, me and old man Dawa. The kind Kang
Renpoche Mountain has blessed us with this mystery,
and allowed us to pursue it. Who knows what will
happen? The wild yaks may not have come from here.
But, an unknown valley is out there, waiting for us to
enter it.”
***
“Would Dharmakaya Amitabha Buddha show the
direction? Would there be a sign? Would there be an
indication of what was to be done by him in this strange
turn of events? Was this why he had joined the
monastery? Was there some purpose in his life that was
to be revealed now?” wondered Brother Tameng. He sat,
quietly in meditation, thinking within himself, trying to
clear his mind, trying to focus on the most revered
Amitabha Buddha, trying to absorb the vibrations of this
magical land of the Thousand Living Buddhas.
Master Rinchen and the younger monk watched him
quietly. They sat patiently, nearby, away, to a corner, out
of his line of sight, so as to allow him to come to a
decision by himself. This was a difficult moment, Master
Rinchen thought to himself. He could guess the dilemma
144
inside Brother Tameng’s mind. The young boy was a
dedicated monk and had come over totally inside the
realm of searching for knowledge and truth, as would be
shown to him by his own efforts. He had to make this
decision and he had to be able to carry the courage of
what he would determine.
Brother Tameng sat in meditation. He tried to blank out
everything from his mind. He removed event upon
event, out of mind, one after the other. He removed the
thoughts of the rainstorm. He searched for the images he
had of the twelve pilgrims that had sat out there in the
circle of stones. He searched for a definite set of images
inside his mind, and removed them. He blanked them
out. His breathing began to get more even and his face
looked calmer to Master Rinchen. The yak boys and
horse boys who had gone together to accompany Brother
Tameng came inside the prayer hall and sat quietly,
watching him. They knew there was some special prayer
going on.
He continued to search for other images and kept
removing them. The herd of large wild yaks, the strange
behaviour of the wolves accompanying them, the
fearless manner in which the twelve pilgrims stood up,
facing the wild yaks and the sudden hailstorm. These
images were all sought out, one after the other, and
removed from his mind. Brother Tameng knew well
within himself, that if as Master Rinchen suggested, that
this was a sacred and mysterious Beyul, then it was a
sacred mission for him and the team that would explore
it. He wanted to be prepared for the survey and the
journey, physically and spiritually.
145
A group of Russian pilgrims, trekking through the route
from Darchen to Tarboche to Choku had come inside the
prayer hall. The two pilgrim guides who were to
accompany Brother Tameng gestured to the Russians to
stay quiet and to make themselves comfortable in a
farther corner of the prayer hall. The pilgrims complied
dutifully and went to the farthest corner and sat down,
waiting for a signal to allow them to unpack. One of the
yak boys went outside, picked up two jars of water and
placed it near the Russians and gestured that it was safe
for drinking.
Brother Tameng was sitting straight up, still, silent. He
did not seem to be in any sort of trance, but could be
seen to be very calm, peaceful and content. He had
achieved a sort of a blank space in his mind, when he
saw nothing, thought of nothing and contemplated
nothing. He did not even think of the Dharmakaya
Amitabha Buddha, and did not think of the valley of the
Kang Renpoche Mountain or the mysterious valley. He
was in a position of absolute non-being, if there could be
such a term, and was just waiting. He knew that he
would be told in some manner. He was waiting, but also,
his mind was not waiting.
This is a difficult concept to explain. You have to be
there and you have to know how to achieve this stage in
meditation. There is no one who can teach you to reach
that exact point and there is no book or theory that helps
explain how to do it. You are only told that you can
reach such and such point of nothingness in meditation,
and you need to keep trying and trying and trying.
Brother Tameng had spent years in meditation and so
had Master Rinchen. They had never come to a situation
where they could claim that they had achieved a stage of
146
total nothingness. The paradox, of course, is that when
you are at that stage, you know that you have achieved
something that cannot be shown off to others. Brother
Tameng was now at that point in his meditation, wherein
he had kept on removing image after image of the
situations that had occurred during the night and day,
and now he could search for directions without allowing
them to decide it for him.
He understood what he had to do. He had to go to the
mysterious valley, and join the team that had gone
ahead. He had left behind the aspect of the twelve
pilgrims, the circle of stones, the wild yaks, the wolves
and the hailstorm. These would not be the reasons for
which he would enter the Beyul. He would go to the
mysterious valley, because, just because, it existed.
There was the valley, north of Dirapuk, and people had
not entered it. It could be a sacred Beyul, and Master
Rinchen and the monks of the other monasteries in this
region would begin a search for any documents, records
or parchments that may turn up. But, he would not wait
for any information.
In the absence of any expectation, and in the absence of
any dual purpose of trying to seek reasons for the turn of
events, Brother Tameng knew that he would be ready to
accept any situation that he would see, and he would not
avoid any chain of events that may develop because he
had been taught differently, or that the world had known
of only a particular aspect or logic. He would not see it
as being illogical, irrational, impossible or non-spiritual.
This would be a Beyul that he would have to accept, as it
would reveal itself.
147
Brother Tameng came out of his meditation and looked
up at the Dharmakaya Amitabha Buddha and hummed a
slow prayer. Master Rinchen and the younger monk
came near and sat alongside. The yak boys and the horse
boys and the pilgrim guides sat respectfully behind
them, at some distance. Master Rinchen led the prayers,
humming slowly, turning his prayer wheel, and
gesturing to the younger monk to use his chanting beads.
The prayer continued until the entire string of beads was
turned and the younger monk stopped at the master bead.
He waited at the master bead, his thumb and his middle
finger, grasping it, while his forefinger was kept away,
in a gesture that made sure that it did not touch the
chanting beads.
Master Rinchen nodded, and told Brother Tameng, “It is
time, my brother, it is time for you to go. Take your
team, the animals and take this prayer wheel and my
chanting beads with you. My blessings and prayers will
go with you. Every day and every moment, we will pray
for you here. Our thoughts will be with you. Do not
hesitate to send messages and information back with
these boys and do not hesitate to ask us for anything that
you would need. We may be monks and this may be a
monastery and this may be the most remote place in the
world, but we can get things done. You know that. It is
His Way, and He will most definitely send His helpers
here to show us the way from time to time.”
Brother Tameng looked at the team that had assembled.
The two old pilgrim guides smiled at him with affection.
They knew him from many years and they knew the old
man Dawa. Where the old man would go, there would be
adventure and they did not want to be left out of it. The
rest of their lives were routine, and Brother Tameng had
148
just now invited them to go into what was totally
uncertain and to unknown regions. This was their life.
They wanted to go with him. The three horse-boys and
the three yak-boys went out to get the animals ready.
The equipment had already been packed up and was to
be tied onto the yaks.
They were to take six yaks and six horses with them.
Everyone would ride up, with Brother Tameng, the
pilgrim guides and the horse boys on the six horses. The
yak boys had divided up the supplies, tents and other
equipment in such a manner that three yaks had lighter
loads and they could ride them. Brother Tameng bowed
low in front of the Amitabha Buddha, hugged the
younger monk and sought Master Rinchen’s blessings.
The Russian pilgrims watched quietly. They came out of
the prayer hall and looked at the number of animals
loaded up and the team assembling to move out. This
would be some expedition, said one of the Russians.
Master Rinchen and Brother Tameng did not give any
hint that they had understood what he said, for they
knew the language quite well. The team began to move
out of the Choku monastery with Brother Tameng
placing himself in the center, so that he could allow his
horse to move ahead by itself, by following the lead of
the other horses. He was beginning to get tired and
exhausted now, and he did not want to take the trouble
of having to stay alert, up front, on the Kailash trail. This
was certainly a magical land, he thought, this strange
mystery that nobody could or would walk up the Kang
Renpoche and now, this turn of events. He looked at the
Choku monastery, and waved to Master Rinchen and looked at the peak of the Kang Renpoche and sought its
blessing.
149
***
They reached Dirapuk early, with the horses and yaks
being able to walk at the same speed because of the
water streams and marsh that had begun to collect
through the valley. The higher slopes must have
collected most of the waters of the rainstorm and the
streams had begun to flow through to the valley. It was
difficult riding the animals through the slush, rocks and
deepening streams. The sun was not to be seen from the
valley but the peaks could be seen reflecting the
sunlight. The team rode to the Dirapuk monastery and
alighted at the gates.
The monks from the monastery had seen the team
approaching and were at the gate to receive them. The
monk from the Dirapuk monastery welcomed Brother
Tameng and accompanied him to the prayer hall. The
team rode ahead to Yeshe’s parent’s eatery and made the
yaks and horses comfortable in the sheds. Yeshe’s
parents welcomed the pilgrim guides, yak boys and
horse boys and invited them to eat and rest. Hot soup
was ready and the boys were happy, for it was getting
colder as the evening began to fade away into the night.
Brother Tameng met the other monks within the
monastery and sat with them for dinner. Yeshe’s parents
had sent across an enormous platter of food and this was
shared with the pilgrim groups who had taken shelter in
the monastery for the night. The pilgrims wondered
150
about the occasion but welcomed the food. The monks
sat near the windows and discussed the situation. The
monk from the Dirapuk monastery introduced the other
monks to Brother Tameng and the group sat together
quietly in prayer. After a while, the senior monk
gestured with his prayer wheel to permit discussion
within the group.
“This is a strange point of our lives, when we do not
know what we have set out to achieve. We know that
some mysterious events have occurred in our valley, but
we do not know what we are supposed to learn from
them,” said Brother Tameng, “We are here in the monasteries in the valley of the Kang Renpoche
Mountain, on the path to seek knowledge. There are
some windows that have been opened to allow us an
extremely brief view of the magic and mystery of this
valley. Should we seek this knowledge by going out in
search of it, or should we wait in our prayer halls,
hoping that these events would come in search of us, and
drown us with knowledge?”
The monks at the Dirapuk monastery smiled at this very
obvious naiveté challenge by Brother Tameng to get
them excited. The senior monk laughed loudly, for he
was of a very boisterous nature, unlike the monk who
had gone out to meet Sangye and Yeshe on the earlier
day. The senior monk turned his prayer wheel four times, and bowed in the direction of the Kang Renpoche
Mountain, and said, “Brother Tameng, you are a good
man. You do not need to convince us. We are going to
give you strength in your search. We have come here to the valley of the Kang Renpoche, and we have come
here in search of the knowledge that would meet us.”
151
The younger monk of the Dirapuk Monastery, he who
had gone to meet Sangye and Brother Tameng, said,
“Thank you, Master. We could have sat back in our
houses and villages, wherever we were, with our
families, and without forsaking our lives, as we knew
them. We are here today. There must be a reason. We
have to accept the events without sentiment and without
emotion. They have happened, and they have happened
here. Brother Tameng is to be complimented in allowing
these windows, as he calls them, to open. If he had not
been curious, we would never have known about them.
Now that this has occurred, we need to take this
forward.”
Brother Tameng bowed, to convey his gratitude at the
affection and friendship that the monks from the Dirapuk
monastery has provided, and said, “Brothers, Master, I
thank you. We have resources that most pilgrims who
visit here do not possess. These pilgrims whom you see,
taking rest in our prayer halls every day, they come here
on a journey that is once in their lifetimes. We stay here,
and for us this valley is not a place to be visited, to take
photographs, and to return to tell neighbours, relatives
and friends about our journeys. This is our life. One
team has already entered the valley. The two old men,
Dawa and Sangye, are the best trailsmen in this valley of
the Kang Renpoche. There is none better than them. We
need to allow them to lead us inside the valley and we
need to provide them help and support and resources.”
The younger monk of the Dirapuk Monastery looked at
the senior monk, bowed, and said, “Brother Tameng, we
agree. We had discussed the issue within our monastery
and our Master consulted with the old records that we
possess. There is no mention of this particular valley
152
where Sangye has led the team to search for the herd of
large wild yaks. The Master also told me that he has
never heard of any story or gossip or mention about such a herd of large wild yaks in the valley of the Kang
Renpoche. But, that was a very rapid search of the few
documents that were consulted by the Master within the
monastery.”
The senior monk placed his hand on the several ancient
volumes that had been stacked nearby, and said, “What
we do not see in these books may not be labeled as non-
existent. It only means that these events are written
within these books. While you would enter the valley
with Sangye, we will send our messages and enquiries to
the other monasteries about our search for the mysterious Beyul. We will not include mention about the
herd of large wild yaks. We do not want more tourists to
flood this sacred valley.”
The younger monk nodded, and spoke to Brother
Tameng, “What if the wild yaks were sacred spirits? We
do not want them to be harassed or chased by tourists or
crazy hunters who would come down from the Han
regions. We hear stories of mountain goats being hunted,
and we hear horrible stories of yak herds being chased
by hunters on powerful vehicles. This is not the Tibet
that we knew of earlier years. You spoke of the strange
behaviour of the wolves. How could that be possible of
the wolves that we know in these regions?”
“We know of the closely held relationships of the
ancients, of the sacred spirits with the animals in these
regions. The Hindus believe that their Lord Shiva rides a
white bull, Nandi, when he leaves the sacred mountain
and visits other places. The Thousand Buddhas came to
153
this valley with their Mastiff dogs. Are these stories
true? Has anyone seen the white bull of Shiva?” asked
the younger monk, “But, as the Master says, just because
we have not seen the white bull, and because others have
not seen the white bull, how can we say that it does not
exist?”
“We think that, Brother Tameng, what you were shown,
of the herd of wild yaks, wolves and the mysterious
pilgrims, is to let us know that some secrets do exist and
they can be contacted. We can see them. We can search
for answers to some of the mysteries of the Kailash, of
the Sumeru, of the Kang Renpoche, and we should go
out in search of them. But, the Master has sought
caution, for the spirit of adventure is not to drown the
cause that we are here for, that is to go out into the
valley, into the Beyul, only, only, only in search of
knowledge.”
The senior monk nodded in agreement, and sat quietly in
prayer, turning his prayer wheel. The other monks
waited, in respect, with Brother Tameng. There was
much to think about, for what they were to seek and
search, was about a set of events that they were not
acquainted with. The younger monk waited for the
Master, and when the prayer wheel stopped, said,
“Brother Tameng, it is with concern and respect that we
should enter the Beyul. The reason we emphasise this
need for respect is because the entrance to the valley is
near the Dirapuk monastery. We support you.”
Brother Tameng nodded in agreement, and replied, “I
thank you, my brothers, Master, and in homage to the
Most Enlightened One, for it is the search that is more
important than the result. We do not know what is to
154
happen, and what is it that we would discover. I saw
what I saw. I can never forget it. Old man Dawa was
more excited about the opportunity to enter the Beyul.
That is understandable. For, Dawa and Sangye are the
best in this region. This is why I want to join them. For I
want to be sure that we focus on the search for the
unknown. I do not want the two old men to convert the
search into a hunting journey. An unexplored valley is
sure to be filled with animals that would not shy away
from humans.”
The younger monk smiled at the reference to Sangye’s
enthusiasm for the hunt, since he knew him from the
past few years, and said, “I agree with you, Brother
Tameng. I will accompany you into the Beyul. We have
discussed about it in the monastery. My senior brothers
have agreed that I should join you. This could be our
Beyul. Our elders may inform us later that we were
supposed to guard the entrance. We will go together,
Brother Tameng, and we will see what we will see.”
***
The team started from the Dirapuk monastery in the dark
of the dawn. The early rays of the sun were brilliantly
bouncing from the higher peaks of the mountains. The Kang Renpoche Mountain was in silhouette and looked
as if it was night on one side of the peak, while the other
side, the one that they could not see, was past its dawn
hours. They had planned to travel early and fast, and
meet up with Sangye and Dawa at their camping place
inside the mysterious valley. The Master of the Dirapuk
monastery had felt that the Beyul team may find it
155
difficult to start early since they were inside a valley
surrounded by steeper and higher mountains, and dawn
would establish itself at least two hours later in there.
Yeshe’s parents had not slept at all through the night.
They had been busy putting together supplies, including
food items and packing them up in waterproof bags. The
yak boys and the horse boys had moved the animals
inside the sheds and were able to get the bags all loaded
up in time. The two old pilgrim guides, Katishe and
Satawa, were moving around, checking all the supplies,
animals and talking to Yeshe’s parents. Brother Tameng
and the monk from Dirapuk monastery walked up to the
eatery. One of the helper ladies fetched them bowls of
hot soup and noodles. The monks bowed to show
gratitude and sat near the stove and welcomed the
warmth.
It would be cold out there, thought Brother Tameng, and
really cold, much worse than the times in the Choku
monastery in winter. Would they survive and did they
have enough supplies, he wondered. Sangye, Dawa,
Katishe and Satawa were tough trailsmen, and they were
very familiar with the planning that was required to go
into the high valleys. It would be foolish to make
mistakes by trying to be heroic or adventurous. These
experts would know that and they would certainly not
allow anyone to lead them into an accident.
They began to walk up the slope behind the eatery. The
yaks were walking ahead with the supplies, while the
horses were coming up behind the monks. Katishe and
Satawa were walking up far ahead of the yaks to search
the trail. There was no light to make out anything on the
path, but the old trailsmen were looking out for sign of
156
Sangye’s team and trying to understand and get a feel for
the path ahead. They began to look around at the amount
of boulders on the slope and on the streambed and were
getting worried.
Brother Tameng and the monk from Dirapuk caught up
with the trailsmen and understood the problem. It was
quite obvious. The size of the boulders was getting
larger and the distance between the mountain slopes
towards the entrance to the valley was getting narrower.
Did Sangye and his team actually get into the valley
yesterday? Was there a clear path through these boulders
and into the valley? It did not seem likely. The early
hours on the trail and the good spirits of the yaks and
horses allowed the team to move fast through the narrow
paths that did exist and they reached the blocked passage
within two hours.
Sangye was sitting at a shelter near the valley walls. He
waved to them, happily, and his two mastiffs came
running out and started barking. The dogs also seemed to
be happy at the sight of more people and animals. It
must have been tough out here through the night,
thought Brother Tameng. Dawa walked out of the shelter
and hugged the two old trailsmen. They knew one
another from many years in the valley of the Kang
Renpoche Mountain, and were always happy to meet up
in the mountains.
Yeshe and Norbu met Brother Tameng and started
talking excitedly. They were in a hurry to explain the
predicament that had been encountered. The team could
not enter the valley. These boulders had blocked the
entire entrance to the Beyul. How could the herd of the
large wild yaks have come through this path? Even the
157
mastiff dogs could not enter. How could the larger yaks
have come out of the valley? Perhaps, this was the
wrong path. Perhaps, the wild yaks had not come
through this path. Perhaps, this Beyul was not to be
entered? The monk from the Dirapuk monastery sat
inside the shelter and waited for the young boys to stop
talking. The three mastiff dogs came to sit near him.
They knew him from Dirapuk and were friendly with
him and the other monks from the monastery.
It was getting colder in the valley. Katishe and Satawa
moved the animals inside the shelter and deeper within
the spaces amongst the large boulders. The boys began
to cut up and collect more branches and stuff to pack the
small openings and to start small fires inside the shelters.
Brother Tameng, the monk from Dirapuk monastery,
Sangye, Dawa, Katishe and Satawa sat under the small
rock-cave made by two large boulders and the mountain
walls. The boys sat nearer the entrance and watched the
fog collecting outside.
Sangye asked Norbu to repeat his doubts about the wild
yaks in the valley. Brother Tameng and the monk from
Dirapuk heard him patiently. Dawa knew that it was not
his time to offer his advice or suggest alternatives. The
animals sat quietly deep within, while the mastiffs sat
nearer a small fire and made themselves comfortable.
Yeshe went about adding one yak dung-cake on to each
fire to allow for the flames to give off better warmth.
The fog outside the shelter was getting to be fiercer and
it seemed like it would drizzle very soon.
The monk from Dirapuk monastery spoke to the group,
“My brothers, please do remember the mission that we
are on. Please remember that Brother Tameng saw what
158
has not been seen in this valley at any time before. We
are here at the entrance to this valley because we want to
enter it. We will enter this valley and we will not stop at
any barrier. If we are not able to enter it, then it only
proves the fact that this valley could indeed be one of the sacred and lost Beyuls of Guru Rinpoche. Where else
could such a valley be found? Other than the closest
upper valleys near the Kang Renpoche Mountain, of
course.”
Brother Tameng nodded in appreciation, and said, “My
brother, you do say it correctly. Where else could it be?
And if we are not able to enter it in the normal course, it
does prove that it could be a sacred valley that has an
entrance that needs to be opened. Who are we to enter it without permission of Guru Rinpoche? Are we
permitted? We need to find out. We need to seek the
permission of the Most Enlightened One and we need to seek guidance from Guru Rinpoche, for it was he who
knew the mysteries and secret pathways of knowledge,
land and its relationship with nature, and the manner of
residence of the gods and sacred spirits of this place.”
“Look at the fog out there. Look at the boulders on the
hill stream. Look at the manner in which these boulders
block the valley. Humans have never crossed this place
in recent years. There must be a reason for it. Let us pray
to seek blessings. Let us pray to seek permission. Let us seek the grace of Guru Rinpoche and let us seek to find
the entrance with humility, with bowed heads, and with
a very sincere attitude that lets this land know that we
enter here for knowledge only.”
Dawa nodded in agreement. He knew Brother Tameng
and knew that the young monk had a more wiser and
159
blessed spirit than those who knew these mountains for
longer. Master Rinchen had advised the old man Dawa
to allow the young monk to have his way, and prevent
him from committing to any foolish adventure only if it
seemed to be dangerous. Sangye gestured for Norbu and
Yeshe to join the seniors in prayer. The boys at the
entrance to the shelter pushed tarpaulin sheets across the
opening of the shelter to keep the fog out and joined the
prayer group.
The monk from Dirapuk monastery turned his prayer
wheel and sat quietly, focusing his mind on the boulders
outside the shelter. Brother Tameng grasped his prayer
beads and pressed them against his chest and closed his
eyes to meditate. Norbu sat impatiently, watching the
group sitting quietly, but started the prayers that he was
familiar with. He knew it would not be in good
behaviour to avoid prayers when two monks were sitting
within the group and were in sincere prayer. He may end
up attracting any evil spirits wandering around, he
thought.
Brother Tameng sprinkled some sacred powder up in the
air above the fire and returned to his meditation. He kept
moving the images of the boulders and the valley and the
high mountain walls, the fog, the drizzle and the high
peaks within his mind. There had to be a way. He pulled at the image of the Kang Renpoche Mountain, the image
of Guru Rinpoche, the images of the Buddhas, the
Amitabha Buddha, the Sakyamuni himself,
Avalokiteswara, and moved these images with the
images of the boulders and the blocked up valley. There had to be a blessing from Guru Rinpoche, and he
requested him to permit the group to enter the
mysterious Beyul.
160
***
The prayers continued. Brother Tameng and the monk
from Dirapuk were concentrating all their efforts to
search for answers deep within their mind. Sangye,
Dawa, Katishe and Satawa completed the inner circle
with the two monks around the prayer books that had
been assembled near the fire. Norbu and Yeshe sat
outside the circle, while the yak boys and the horse boys
sat at a distance. Suddenly, Sangye started rocking to
and fro, and started humming loudly, and sat up straight
on his knees. He brought his hands to his ears and began
to humm in two syllables, repeating the words that
sounded like ‘ki’ and ‘cha’, again and again and again.
Brother Tameng and the monk from Dirapuk looked up
startled. It seemed as if the spirits of the valley had
entered the old man Sangye, and it seemed as if someone
else was reciting the humming. Someone, who did not
sound like Sangye at all, but sounded more like it was a
woman. The drizzle of rain outside the shelter had
stopped, and the fog had lifted, as if magically, like it
had just been wiped out from a painting where it had
existed for thousands of years. The old man Sangye
stood up and walked out of the shelter, with the others
following him quietly.
For Dawa, Katishe and Satawa, it looked like nothing
was wrong or out of the normal. They were used to such
divinations of the spirits of the mountains speaking
through one of their own. The monks had heard about
such events, but had never seen one directly. They did
161
not seem too surprised, but were looking on respectfully,
worried, since they did not know how were they to react.
They remembered the advice given to them by their
Masters, that they should accept whatever that would
happen out here, and were not to question any
development.
The rocks seemed to be resonating from the sound of the
drizzle of rain that had just gone by, and it sounded as if
the large boulders were trembling. The sky above was
clear, totally without any clouds. The old man Sangye
came to stand in front of a huge mass of extremely large
boulders and seemed to be crying out his humming
sounds and was quivering in a gentle shake of his body.
Yeshe looked on at his grandfather, in what was totally
unknown to him before, and wondered if he was to
worry about him or to stay courageous in his belief that
the old man could do no wrong.
Sangye began to humm out the word ‘ki’ loudly, and
stopped reciting the word ‘cha’. The sound of his
humming began to echo out through the boulders, and
the word began to be proclaimed thousands of times,
again and again, causing the aspect that the boulders
were trembling with extremely clear sound of the word
‘ki’. The skies above were suddenly filled with white
clouds and surprisingly, from within these clouds, one
dark gale-clad cloud dropped lower into the valley. It
started raining heavily through the boulder area, and the
place became dark and seemed like night had taken over
the day by force.
The group could see the other white clouds above the
gale-cloud. A flash of lightning seemed to come out of
the dark cloud, but did not strike down, and rather, it
162
hissed out as a straight beam of light, with extremely
loud and clear thunder, going away into the valley
inside. Brother Tameng and Dawa, standing next to each
other, trembled at the sight of the lightning, racing deep
inside the valley. The thunder started resonating through
the boulders in waves that multiplied upon themselves,
thousands of times. All this time, old man Sangye stood
near the large boulders, quivering, and humming.
The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started. Thin
white clouds began to descend down the valley and a
very gentle breeze began to come through the boulders.
The valley continued to be in darkness, and yet, as if by
magic, light came out through two boulders, curving out
like a crown of diamonds on black stone that would
never have reflected any form of light. These rays of
light were coming through the valley and were being
reflected off some strange form of mineral that seemed
to cover the inner sides of the boulders. Sangye stopped
humming, and pointed, and said in Tibetan, in a dialect
that was very ancient, “There, you see what did not exist
before. It exists now. There, you see what we saw, and
yet we did not see. The very best of warriors of very
nature created by the sacred spirits of this valley, the
most peaceful warrior of all, peaceful white light. The
sacred spirits show us the entrance, the manner in which
the light is shown, we will enter.”
The old man Sangye crouched low, and stretched his
arms, in the manner of a vulture, and said, “It is here,
that we see what we could not see from the ground. It is
in the manner of the grey vulture, that we should see
from a distance. There is a trail here, and it curves inside
these boulders, back and forth, like the lotus would have
its petals, we would need to enter from here, and walk
163
through the maze. See the light that shines upon these
ancient minerals on the rocks. These are from the sea
that covered this ancient land much before the
Dharmakaya Amitabha Buddha. It is so said to me in my
mind, and I do not know how. Let us make haste.”
The monk from the Dirapuk monastery took control and
said, “I will stay here, at the shelter, and will keep Norbu
and two boys and their animals with me. One of the boys
will go with you for some distance, but send him back
with something to mark the way back. We will get more
help here, and my brothers will come here, and we will
pray here. This is indeed a sacred place, for the manner
in which we are permitted to enter, through the very
signs of the sacred spirits, it is clear. We need to be
respectful in what we do.”
Old man Dawa nodded in agreement and gestured for the
team to get ready and start to move through the entrance.
Sangye, Katishe and Brother Tameng had started
walking inside the space of the trail between the
boulders. It seemed to be quite comfortably wide, and it
was well used, judging by the smooth passage that it
provided. They had not been able to discover it
yesterday, when they had arrived in good daylight. It
was the lightning and the contrast of the rainstorm with
the clear clouds elsewhere, that showed up the entrance.
Brother Tameng realized that the light had hit the
fossilized layers on the inner side of the boulders, fossils
that looked like they were seashells. The light had been
reflected from the fossils as if it had hit against a small-
enclosed room with a million mirrors.
Yeshe and Satawa rushed around inside the shelter
getting the animals loaded up and entered the space
164
between the boulders. It was miraculously comfortable
entering the space and it seemed quite silly now that they
had not spotted such an opening on the day before. They
should have seen it. They had been misled by the play of
shadows and dark corners between the boulders and had
not been able to realize that there would be adequate
space for them to pass through with the heavily laden
animals. It was a very comfortable path, as they could
see, and they made good progress and met Katishe who
gestured for them to stop.
Brother Tameng and Sangye were standing in front of a
ledge within one of the boulders, and they seemed to be
praying. There was a painting, about ten inches by ten
inches, inside the ledge, and it showed an image of that
of a very ancient god-like person. He seemed to have
been a warrior, judging by the dress that he had worn,
and his kingly moustache. He was smiling and his face
was radiant. He was a very strong and tall person,
Brother Tameng thought. The person was shown sitting
on a mountain summit, crouched, as if he would launch
himself into the valley and would comfortably fly over
it. The person seemed to have been blue in colour.
Behind him, there was a cloth banner in white and the
painting at this spot was quite damaged.
“He must have been the guardian spirit of the Beyul. I
have never seen such an image. There is none like him in
all the stories that I have heard of the Amitabha Buddha,
or the Sakyamuni or the stories that have been told of
Guru Rinpoche. There is great karma here, great siddhi
here, and great blessings abound, for the emanations that
arise here, from this image, are still in existence. Look at
the aspect of the painting. It is out here in the open,
within these boulders, and has never been damaged by
165
the rains or the climate of this valley,” said Brother
Tameng to Sangye, He is a divine spirit, no doubt, but he
is blue in colour. That is strange. But, who are we to
question anything that we discover in this valley?”
The team started walking forward. The path kept curving
through the boulders but did not seem to open up above.
There were boulders above the path, and it was obvious
that daylight never entered the space here. Sangye lit a
torch, made of branches and twigs, and kept swinging it
back and forth in a curious manner. Each time he swung
it in front of him, it would flare up, and each time he
took it behind him, it would die down. There was a
definite current of air up ahead.
VII
Hariram Maharaj looked at the two pilgrims with
wonder and amazement. The Jain monk nodded his head
in awe. Strange are the ways of the Gods, he thought to
himself. These two pilgrims spoke in a language that
seemed like very ancient Pharsi, the singsong manner in
which the priests at the temple at Navsari would speak.
He did not understand anything but he was familiar with
the sounds and the words. He spoke in Hindi to Maharaj,
and said, “Praise be to all those who seek the best of
their lives here at the Ashtapada. Peace be with all those
who seek to come here and meet others from so many
other religions.”
166
Luo Tsering understood the intention behind the words
of the Jain monk though he did not understood any
Hindi. He asked Maharaj, “Do ask these two pilgrims if
they would stay and wait for their colleagues or would
they go ahead or return to the Kang Renpoche?” The
elder pilgrim seemed to have understood the question,
for it was he who replied, “I thank you for your
hospitality, my brother, for it was indeed a terrible night
that we survived together. It was because of your good,
tented eatery here, and the food that we received, as did
all the other pilgrims, that we are safe today. It could
have easily been a disaster.”
The words of gratitude were welcome to Luo Tsering,
for it was rare that he was told that he had done a
splendid job. He replied, “Where do you come from, if
you are to the west of Ngari? And, you say that you are
also west of Tibet? These pilgrims here are from India
and they do not know our land the manner in which we
do. I am myself not from Shiquanhe. But, this is a good
land and we are blessed that these pilgrims come here,
each year and we benefit from the trade? Are you also
traders in your land? Is there good business in your
place?”
The other pilgrims had drifted away, eager to get out of
the eatery, and soak up some of the bright sun that was
shining down. The Jain monk stayed back near the stove,
sitting alongside Hariram Maharaj. The younger monk
had not spoken and had kept his silence, but looked
extremely at peace, and did not seem to be disturbed by
the discussion. The elder pilgrim looked around at his
audience, and bowed to show his gratitude and to signal
the fact that he did not resent the question about his
identity and his nativity.
167
“We come from a similar place to the Kang Renpoche,
and we come to this region in pilgrimage. Our place is
near the great lake that you and the Indians know as the
Great Karakul. This lake is also like the lakes near the Kang Renpoche, and yet, is similar in not allowing us
and the other locals to benefit through any agriculture,”
said the elder pilgrim, “Our Lake is below the great
mountain ranges, that the Han Chinese and others in the
world know as the Pamirs. We live below the shadow of
the great Kongur Mountain.”
The pilgrims from India did not respond, and Maharaj
continued to wait to hear the rest of the story. They did
not know the Karakul Lake and they had not heard of the
Kongur Mountain. The Jain monk understood that the
story was over, and he replied, “We do not know of
these places. But, I do understand that your place is
towards Iran from Tibet. And therefore, the use of the
strange language and dialect is understandable. How
come that you say that your gods are different? The
Parsis from Iran in India did not seem to have many
gods deep inside mountains.”
Maharaj said, “Yes. The Parsis in India do not have gods
that they visit inside or on top of mountains. So how did
you say that your religion and way of life is linked to the
mountains that are the homes of your gods that you come to visit in the Kang Renpoche? I have never heard
of Parsis coming to the Mount Kailash to offer
pilgrimage or to pray to Shiva or Buddha. Is it in your
religion that you would come to pray to Shiva or Buddha? Or, to Guru Rinpoche?”
168
“We do not speak the Parsi language and we do not have
any ancient Parsi language,” replied the elder pilgrim,
“What you heard are words that sound similar to the
Parsi or ancient Parsi language that you think that you
are familiar with. The Parsis in your land would not
understand our language. And, we would not understand
their language. It is only that some words and the
manner of our speech are similar. That’s all. Nothing
else.”
“We did come from Iran and the areas around
Afghanistan and the other nations that are in the region
to our West. But, we come from a nation that existed
much much earlier, and there is no such nation in these
times in those regions now,” the elder pilgrim said, “We
live in poverty. We are not rich. We live in mud and
stone houses. We live in a mixed community with
Kirghiz nomads, who live in yurts, and our village
exists, in peace, though we do not have money.”
The younger pilgrim stood up and came near the stove,
extending his empty soup bowl. Maharaj refilled it
quietly, in the manner of a householder feeding guests at
his house, rather than in the manner of an eatery. He had
quietly included the spicy condiments of an Indian soup
and this had made it tastier to the bland soup that the
Tibetans were familiar with. The younger pilgrim picked
up some fried eatables and went back to sitting alongside
his colleague.
The Jain monk spoke, “My brother, what you say is
quite fascinating. You seem to be from Iran, and you
seem to speak Parsi, and yet you are neither. The travels
of your people must have been accomplished hundreds
or thousands of years ago. I must speak of this to my
169
friends from the Parsi temples at Navsari. There are
many experts in the city and they keep studying the
history of their people. They may know something that I
do not know.”
“But, I am still curious about why you would leave your other companions on the kora and return? We would not
have done so, since we are from India, and our travel
permit requires us to travel together and return together.
The local police and the customs office at Nyalam would
not permit us to travel to other regions,” said the Jain
monk, But I guess, it must be since you are from this
land. And, you are in Tibet, since you do not seem to be
from within China. Are you from China, or are you from
Tibet? And why did you leave your companions behind at the kora?”
The elder pilgrim nodded in agreement, and replied,
“Yes, my brother, you who seem to be a holy man, we
do not need travel papers or permits for travel in our
land. We are so ancient, and have ancient traditions and
our way of life is the manner of this land, that we do not
know the nature of the nations of today. Tibet and China
exist today, and in the manner of your nations, India,
Nepal and Pakistan, we do not belong to any nation. We
are here, because we live here. We do not participate in
any political or social activity here. We are neither from
China and nor from Tibet.”
“You are all curious about the pilgrims who stayed
behind at the kora. It is very simple. They wanted to stay
behind. You come from distant lands, and it is in your
tradition and in the manner of nations that you are from,
and in the manner in which the nation of China exists,
that you are allowed to only do the kora around the
170
sacred mountain,” the elder pilgrim continued, “And, therefore, you come all this distance, do the kora, and
you leave. But, you never come here, to be a part of this
land. You do not come here to stay here, and to live with
the sacred mountain. This is what we do. This is our
land. This is our mountain. We come here, to live with
the mountain.”
“We go back to our villages, and we return. Some of us
stay back, and some return. We pray, we do our sacred
rituals, and we stay here. Our group will return later,” the elder pilgrim said, “Some of us do the kora, as I and
my brother did it this time. I have done it twice earlier.
We will return to the great Karakul Lake. As I said
earlier, for us, the Kang Renpoche Mountain is more
sacred than to any of you. My holy brother from India, I
know, you had said that the legend of the Ashtapada
Mountain would be the earliest, and we bow to you and
to the legend.”
Maharaj was absolutely fascinated. His goal of
completing 108 koras was nothing compared to what the
elder pilgrim was telling him. He had been living
illegally in Shiquanhe, and forever, he seemed to fear
that he would be caught and sent back. He made up his
mind now, at the words of the elder pilgrim, and said,
“Brother, I am very happy to hear what you say. I would
also like to stay on the sacred mountain, and keep on doing the kora. I fear the cold for I am from the plains of
India. Please tell your people that you can come here, to
this eatery of Luo Tsering, and you can always stay here,
in your travel to the sacred mountain. I shall do the kora
with you the next year, if you would return, and I will
wait for you. Truly, this place is tremendous in its
magic.”
171
***
Where had the young boy gone? He had been sitting
near the Lake, and Vijay Kulkarni was absolutely sure
that he had indeed seen him very clearly. The surreal
aspect of the young boy seated on what must have been
extremely cold marshy areas, and then, to have
disappeared, seemed extremely typical of what he should
have expected here at the Manasarovar Lake, he thought.
So early in the morning, and especially after the
rainstorm and the visions he had of something happening
on Mount Kailash, it was typical that he saw stuff
happening by themselves at the Lake also.
Himanshu and Paramita were almost near the Serka
Khim area, and were pretending to take photographs of
the area and the Chiu Gompa. The other pilgrims had
begun to climb up to the monastery. Vijay walked
speedily, without running, to the spot where had had
seen the young boy. He did not look back at the vehicles
or at the group of pilgrims. He knew that Himanshu
knew his job and Paramita was very good at identifying
the rock types. He did not have to push them or ask them
to be diligent. They were better at their work than him.
The small grassy mound was empty. The boy was not to
be seen. Vijay walked around the mound. It was barely
two feet above the marshy slush and the smooth stones
on the bare fallow land. Himanshu called out, “Vijay, be
cautious. A monk seems to be walking towards you from
the Chiu Gompa. He seems to be quite a senior one, by
the colour of his robes.” Vijay kept walking around the
172
mound and turned towards the monastery hill and could
make out the monk walking down the slope towards the
Serka Khim area. He may have some other work, and
may not be related to the sighting of the young boy,
thought Vijay.
Where had the young boy disappeared? There was no
pathway around these mounds, and there did not seem to
be any well or hole in the ground for him to slip into.
Could one hide below these mounds? Not possible,
thought Vijay. He climbed up on the grass mound that
he had seen the young boy seated upon, and walked
around. It was a largish mound, and had not seemed to
be of such a size, when he had seen it from a distance.
The grass was wet with the morning dew and there were
puddles of water seeping in, from the leftover since the
rainstorm.
Vijay walked about on the grass mound. At places it was
very soft and slushy and mostly covered by the grass
made heavy by water and dew. There seemed to be an
open fallow patch towards the Lake edge, and it was
obviously looking very different. He went to the open
patch, and stood staring at what he could see. Himanshu
and Paramita had been keeping a watch out for the
senior-looking monk who had been walking down from
the Chiu Gompa, and decided to join Vijay. It was
apparent that he seemed to be excited about something,
and there was this monk who was walking towards him.
The sight was amazing. There were some drawings on
the fallow land, drawn by a wet stick that was lying
nearby. It seemed like the young boy had sketched four
circles, with lines inside each one, more in the form of
spokes of a bike’s wheel. The four circles were drawn in
173
a line, next to each other. What had the young boy done?
Why did he draw these four circles? Suddenly, Vijay
realized that the monk from the Chiu Gompa was
walking straight towards the grass mound, and he was
walking quite rapidly, despite his age. He was a senior
monk, and it would not do to avoid talking to him. Vijay
lifted his hand and waved in a friendly manner at the
monk, and hoped that it would suffice to establish his
good intentions.
The Sherpa boy had begun to walk towards Himanshu
and Paramita, having noticed the monk who had been
walking away from the monastery. Was it perhaps so
obvious that the three of them were doing something
different? Vijay kept looking at the sketch and tried to
remember all the drawings and the imagery of the
thangkas that he had seen and studied before he had
come on this trip. He had never seen any such design or
sketch in any of the Buddhist imagery, paintings or
illustrations in the books that he had studied, or the
monasteries that he had visited in India, in Himachal, at
Dharamsala and at Nalanda. The thangkas that he had
seen at the monasteries in Ladakh did not have any such
sketch.
Where had the young boy gone? How had he managed
to disappear? Why did he not have any clothes on him?
How did he survive without clothes in this extreme and
bitter cold climate? Vijay kept looking around the grass
mound and at the fallow open land where the sketch had
been made. It had been made deliberately, and had been
done so in the morning. The stick had been used to
sketch the four wheels or circles. They seemed to be
wheels, he thought, because of the lines that had been
174
sketched in the manner of spokes radiating out from the
center.
The senior monk came up on the grassy mound and
greeted Vijay in perfect Hindi, and said, “Brother,
welcome to the Chiu Gompa. I notice that you did not
bother to climb up into the Gompa but you prefer to
wander about in the marshy lands. I come to warn you to
be careful of the bitter cold. It was a very bad rainstorm
yesterday night, and today could be dangerous to those
who do not know these mountains. Come with me, and
let us return to the monastery.”
Vijay thought, what the heck, perhaps the senior monk
could help figure out the sketch of the four wheels. He
pointed out to the location, and to the sketch on the
ground, and said, “Sirji, you speak very good Hindi. It
sounds like music to us, for we find it is very difficult to
understand the local language. I came to this grassy
mound because I saw something very strange. Look at
that sketch on the ground. It seems to be a sketch of four
wheels, side by side. I am also disturbed that I had a
sudden vision of a young boy who was sitting at this
place, without any clothes.”
Himanshu and Paramita had been listening quietly, and
looked startled at the statement by Vijay that he had seen
a young boy out of nowhere. They kept their silence, and
walked up with the senior monk to the spot where the
sketch had been made. The senior monk introduced
himself, “My Hindi is from the years that I was at the
various monasteries in India, and visiting various places.
I also get to meet and talk to the several pilgrim groups
from India, and I am always happy to allow them to stay
overnight with us. I saw you wandering around, and I
175
rushed here. Last week, we had two pilgrims who died
due to altitude sickness, while wanting to take bath in
the Lake. Not everyone can do so, for their health and
age may not permit them.”
Vijay smiled, and replied, “Thank you, Sirji. I
understand your concern. I am very familiar with similar
altitudes and we are good at being sensible in these
mountains. You are correct. A small mistake could have
dangerous consequences. Please take a look at the sketch
of the four circles here. The young boy, who I had seen,
must have been sitting here. The sketch here proves that
I had not imagined it, and that I am telling the truth. The
strange part of what I saw was that the young boy
seemed to have some sort of metal shirt on his chest and
back. He did not have any clothes on himself. He was
also wearing a helmet of some sort.”
“But, please take a look at the sketch. I have not seen
anything of this sort in any Buddhist monastery or any
book,” Vijay said. The senior monk looked at the sketch
and walked about and was looking around. He seemed to
come to some sort of conclusion within himself, and
replied, “Brother, you are different. You are able to
understand this land. Therefore, these mountains have
adopted you, and you are able to see what is here to see.
Such visions are not strange to us, except that I have not
seen any vision during the entire period of many years
that I have been in Tibet. But, people do see different
visions, and that is part of our daily life here, in this
remote high mountains of the world.”
“What you see is definitely not Buddhist,” he continued,
pointing at the sketch, “This is not Hindu or Jain. This is
Bon. This is an extremely unique sketch, and is known
176
to us as the – The Setting Side by Side of the Four
Wheels. This comes from the teachings of Great
Perfection. Each circle is a Khor-lo, or, a Wheel of
Teaching. This is not like Hindu Tantra or Chakra or
whatever. This is very different and is a sketch of a very
ancient teaching. It is rare to see anyone sketch it so
easily on such barren land, and yet be able to convey its
teaching. The four wheels depict the wheels of a vehicle.
They convey the need to understand these four schools
of thought, for it is through the motion of all four aspects
of Teaching that the vehicle can move forward. Did you
see the boy go somewhere? I did not see any boy
walking around in this marshy land. We are very
attentive.”
***
A Sherpa guide from the tourist group had been given
the duty by the tour-leader to stay behind at Darchen and
take care of the pilgrims who stayed behind, for
problems of altitude sickness, breathlessness and fear of
walking at these heights. Such problems came in many
forms. Some got breathless, while some got
claustrophobic in their tents at night. Some pilgrims
were known to have got claustrophobic inside their
sleeping bags, because of the heavy sweaters and
woolens and blankets and other stuff covering them to
protect them from the cold. The tour-guides knew about
these problems and the Sherpa guides were trained to be
protective of the pilgrims and take care of them in an
affectionate manner. Some did, actually most guides
took care of the pilgrims in their groups. Some did not,
and these were rare.
177
The monk from Nalanda discussed the visit to Gyengtak
Gompa with the Sherpa guide and informed him that the
policeman would also accompany them. Shenshe waved
to the Sherpa and called out and said, “Go and get three
horses, horse-boys and one yak with one yak-boy. You
will also come with us and bring your other Sherpa boy
also. We will go to Gyangdrak and we will stay there
tonight. I want to see the mountain call this sikh pilgrim.
He says that the mountain talks to him. They think I
have no other work here at Darchen. It is okay. We will
all go together and stay at Gyangdrak tonight instead of
Darchen.”
The Sherpa guide had been seeing all the arguments and
discussion since the night before and he had been sitting
quietly at one corner of the tented eatery through the
rainstorm. His brother was with him, and they had been
with this tour group for more than five years. The tour-
leader was a very good man, from their remote village in
Nepal. He had gone to Mumbai and established a good
tour agency that brought pilgrims to the Mount Kailash
from all over India. Some pilgrims came from other
countries and they had begun to trust this tour group.
The Sherpa guide knew better than to argue with a
policeman, even if in Nepal. And this was not Nepal,
and this policeman was not a ‘Tibeti’, but a ‘Chini
Police’. He went about organizing the animals and boys.
Sardar Amarpal Singh had completed his prayers and sat
quietly inside the tented eatery, contemplating his prayer
beads and his stainless steel bangle. He wore a single
bangle, very thick, and he considered it to be more
precious than the prayer beads. He took out a cotton
scarf, orangish-saffron in colour, and began to polish the
178
bangle. As he polished it, his mind went back to his
house, and to Amritsar in India, and to the Amrit
Sarovar, the sacred tank around the Harmandir Sahib
Temple. He had been sitting at the steps and had been
deeply immersed in feeling a happy glow at seeing the
temple in the evening. At that moment, a tall, well-built, Sikh Sevaadar (= volunteer), had come up to him and
mysteriously produced the prayer beads, the steel bangle
and the cotton scarf and gave it to him and walked away.
Amarpal felt that it was most definitely a miracle. It was
a sign from the sacred book, and from the Sikh gurus, to
go closer to the temple, to learn more about the word of
Guru Nanak, and to do something significant in his life.
Since that day, more than fifteen years ago, Amarpal had
left his family, property and partnerships with his
brothers and uncles, and had gone into the service of the
temple. The priests at the temple had been reluctant to
allow him initially, for he had come from a large joint
family, and they wondered if he had left his family after
fights and problems. Amarpal returned to his family and
brought back men and women from his house to meet the seniormost granthi (= priest) at the Harmandir Sahib
temple. They had jointly vouched for Amarpal’s serious
intent and his total devotion to the word of Guru Nanak.
He had not gone about trying to become a granthi, or a
sevaadaar or a kar sevak (= voluntary worker or helper)
at the Golden Temple premises, and the various other
establishments in the complex. He immersed himself in
the library in the temple and at the Akal Takht (= the
highest body of the Sikh religion). He kept walking
around in the museum premises at the temple and visited
all libraries and museums in Amritsar. He had wanted to
understand the world of his first teacher, Guru Nanak,
179
and he had wanted to understand why the great man had
done what he had done. Thereafter, Amarpal had
decided to focus and limit himself to the Udaasi (=
travelogues and pilgrimages) of Guru Nanak, and
especially his third Udaasi that had brought him to
Sumeru.
Shenshe and the monk from Nalanda checked out the
horses and the yak and the boys. Luggage and sleeping
bags and food packages were loaded on to the yak. The
team moved out of Darchen, with Amarpal, Shenshe and
the monk from Nalanda riding the horses. The boys kept
a tight grip on the bridles and walked at a rapid pace
towards Gyangdrak. The Nandi Hill and the Mount
Kailash peak could be seen glistening under bright
sunlight. A small rivulet coming down from the Nandi
Hill towards Darchen had frozen up. Some of the
topmost ice sheets were beginning to melt down and this
made the slope towards Gyangdrak to become slippery.
The boys knew what to do. They controlled the horses
and kept them walking towards the monastery. Sardar
Amarpal Singh had ridden horses earlier in his native
village, but this journey was quite different. He had also
become older, heavier and had not ridden horses on
steep slopes. The boy kept asking him to lean forward to
help the horse climb the slope faster. The monk from
Nalanda found it difficult to breathe if he would lean
forward. He had to sit straight up and gasp for air, and
this made it more difficult. He ended up being almost
breathless. Shenshe had traveled this route, but had
always done it on foot. He did not have any problem
with his breathing and enjoyed riding the horse.
180
The Gyangdrak Gompa, or Gyengtak, as it was usually
called, sat on a hillock that looked like an island by
itself, in this harsh topography around the Mount
Kailash. One could see the Ashtapada slope from behind
the Gyangdrak Gompa. Today, it was resplendant. The
monastery seemed to have been constructed across three
or four levels. The bottom two levels were in white
colour, while the top two levels were in stark contrast, in
brown shades. The bottom level also served as the
compound around the monastery, and must have helped
establish the plinth for its construction at this remote
location.
The uppermost level of the monastery was quite majestic
in its appearance. It emerged from within the white
compound and the ground structures, and rose high
above the hillock. It seemed quite juxtaposed with the
dark and shining white clouds that were floating around
it. One side of this uppermost level did not have any
windows. There were four large windows on the each of
the other two sides. The side opposite the one without
windows had two small windows alongside a broad wide
window in the centre. The level below the uppermost
had two large windows established in alternate central
positions below the four large windows. A faint footpath
could be seen after the rainstorm of the previous night,
going to the monastery. The prayer flags were intact and
did not seem to have been blown away during the storm.
They entered the Gyangdrak Gompa compound and
alighted from the horses. The boys and the Sherpas took
the animals and went around to spots that they were
familiar with. They knew the locations to camp down for
the evening and night at the Gompa. Shenshe, Amarpal
and the monk from Nalanda walked through the
181
compound. Large prayer wheels were rotating slowly in
the noon breeze in the entrance to the compound. Three
large prayer wheels were affixed within one wooden
frame, and there were twelve such frames in a row. The
thirty-six prayer wheels were golden in colour, and the
bright-red frames gave it a beautiful contrast.
They could see various camping sites at a distance.
Darchen seemed to be just a patch of huts and tents at a
distance. The Manasarovar lake was shimmering as a
faint patch of sky that had come to rest on the ground. A
caravan of tour groups was moving around in the
distance, approaching Darchen. Four land rovers
followed by two trucks, followed by another group of six
land rovers with two trucks. The rainstorm must have
lifted in the region, thought Shenshe, and very soon,
other pilgrim groups would begin to come together at
Darchen.
The entrance to the gompa was similar to those
elsewhere, with the two deer seated facing the wheel of
dharma, in the center. Towards the hill-slopes, they
could see two retreat cabins set up into the cliff. One of
the monks was watching them from a lower window and
came out to greet and welcome Shenshe, for he had
recognised him as the local policeman. Shenshe
wondered with amusement, if the monk could figure out
the nature of the strange group that he must be seeing, a
Han Chinese policeman, a buddhist monk from India,
and a sikh pilgrim.
***
182
The monk bowed to Shenshe, and said, “Welcome, my
brothers, I am Shedrub Repa, and I welcome you all to
the Gyangdrak monastery. This is the Gyangdrak
Gompa.” He pronounced the words, Gyangdrak Gompa,
in a very thick Tibetan accent, as “rGyang-grags” and,
“dgon-pa”. Shenshe did not even bother to bow in
return. Who was he to welcome him here and there, in
his own territory? He had more than enough right to enter any premises around the Kang Renpoche mountain,
sacred or not, he thought.
The monk from Nalanda glanced at Amarpal Singh, who
nodded his approval. He walked up to Shedrub, the
monk from Gyangdrak, and bowed low, to show more
than adequate respect, and said, “My brother, I am also
from Tibe, and my fathers before me, and my
grandfather, have visited the Gyangdrak Gompa. My
name is Sonam Sangye. I am extremely proud that I am
able to visit this sacred place today and be able to meet
you. I am thoroughly blessed today.”
Shenshe realized that this was the first time that he heard
the monk from Nalanda refer to himself by his name.
This must indeed be a special occasion for him, perhaps
more important than what the Sikh pilgrim wished to
achieve. Sonam continued, “Let me introduce my dear
brother from India, from Punjab. He is a holy man from
the Sikh religion, and has come to trace the footsteps of
his first Master, who visited the sacred mountain and
traveled in this sacred land of ours. That was several
hundreds of years ago.”
“His name is Sardar Amarpal Singh. We were at
Darchen yesterday, and during the rainstorm of the night
before. This kind policeman at Darchen, has become like
183
a good friend and brother to the both of us. He is a nice
man, Brother Shenshe,” said Sonam, the monk from
Nalanda, “But, we are here for a very strange reason, and
I beg you, my brother, Shedrub, to indulge us our
strange request. My Sikh brother, he who himself is a
holy man in Amritsar, and very well respected, he
walked about in the rainstorm in the middle of the night,
and he says, that he saw the sacred mountain, peaceful,
with no rain falling on it, and he feels, he says, that he
saw something happening on it. Some movement. He
says that he thinks that the sacred mountain is calling.”
The monk from Gyangdrak, Shedrub, smiled, and bowed
in respect towards Sardar Amarpal Singh. Shenshe was
surprised. What was happening? This monk was not
even surprised that a strange pilgrim, a Sikh pilgrim, had
come to the monastery for the first time perhaps in its
history, and he tells him this weird story that he saw
some movement on the sacred mountain during a
rainstorm, and this monk believes him? What was wrong
with this people? He could have been so much happier if
he could have been posted at Shanghai or Beijing. Even,
Kashgar would have been better. And the police
bureaucracy had to post him at this totally forsaken
place, at Darchen, and he had to listen to stories like this.
As if in answer to his unasked question, Shedrub replied,
“Our Sikh brother is indeed blessed to have been able to
see the magic of the sacred mountain. I am not surprised
at all. Anything can happen here, in this valley of the
Kang Renpoche Mountain. But, come inside the Gompa,
and take rest. Brother Shenshe, please inform our Sikh
brother that he is not alone in thinking that there was
something happening on the sacred mountain during the
184
rainstorm. He is not crazy. There was something indeed
different on the sacred mountain during the night.”
Shenshe could not believe what he was hearing. The
monk was actually saying that there was someone else
who would have seen movement on the sacred mountain
during the middle of the rainstorm. How could that be
possible? He would have to investigate this situation.
What would happen if this would become known all
over the world? The government would kill him, for he
was the only policeman in this region now, today, and he
was here, on the spot, and he would have to admit that
he did not know anything about any suspicious activity
on the mountain.
Shedrub, the monk from Gyangdrak, continued, “The
monks from the Choku Gompa are here, having come an
hour ago. They speak of strange happenings on the
sacred mountain. They also feel there was some
movement during the night. Come, enter our gompa.
Rest for some time.”
Shedrub led them inside the main prayer hall. There
were several tour groups and pilgrims seated around.
There had been pilgrims sitting around with their tents
and equipment in the compound outside the gompa. It
was cooler inside the prayer hall, and much more
comfortable than looking continuously at the snow clad
peaks. The light often reflected painfully off the peaks
and the snowy landscape. The low-lit candles inside the
prayer hall provided the comfort that one needed.
In one sunlit corner, the monks from Choku Gompa and
Gyangdrak Gompa were seated together and were in
discussion. They looked up at Shedrub and the strange
185
group of visitors, a Han Chinese policeman, a Buddhist
monk from India and a Sikh holy man. The senior monk
from Gyangdrak Gompa could guess that Brother
Shedrub would have more than adequate reason to bring
this group to the discussion with brother monks from the
Choku Gompa. He stood up and welcomed them to be
seated. Brother Shedrub went ahead to organize some
refreshments and hot soup for the visitors.
The senior monk greeted the three visitors, “Welcome to
Gyangdrak, for this is the sacred house of the Most
Enlightened One in many ways than what is known to
us. I am blessed to be here to serve you, having come all
the way from my native home in the valley of Mustang
in Nepal. I am Nam Ang Tsering, and the seniormost
monk at Gyangdrak. I welcome you here. There are our
brother monks from Choku, and they come here to
discuss with us. Come, join us.”
The monk from Nalanda acknowledged the welcome,
and replied, “Greetings, senior brother, and guardian of
this sacred place, I am Sonam Sangye, I am from this
sacred land, but my parents had gone to India and I study
at Nalanda. I bring with me, Sardar Amarpal Singh, a
holy man from Amritsar in India, and brother Shenshe,
the policeman who has been very helpful and kind to us,
from Darchen. I am sure that you would have met him
before and you know him. We do not wish to disturb
you, but we come here, because my brother, Amarpal,
thought he saw something strange happen in the night on
the sacred mountain, during the rainstorm, and he says
that he is being called by the sacred mountain to come
closer to the slopes and the peak.”
186
The senior monk of Gyangdrak, Ang Tsering, nodded in
appreciation at the judgement shown by his brother,
Shedrub, and said, “Welcome, one and all, this is the
meeting place of all religions. God is here, and makes
his presence known by the different messages he sends
to one and all. We are all humans, and it is this particular
detail that is dear to him, and nothing else. Our brothers
from Choku are also here to discuss the same strange
happening that took place at night. They also feel that
something or somebody or some strange thing was
happening in the middle of the night, during the
rainstorm, on the slopes of the sacred mountain. We are
discussing it.”
Sardar Amarpal Singh, at the invitation of Master Ang
Tsering, explained what had happened with him during
the night at Darchen. Brother Shedrub, the monks from
Gyangdrak and the visiting monks from Choku listened
in silence to the strange looking Sikh pilgrim. They had
seen Sikhs earlier in Tibet and in Nepal, but they had
never spoken to any Sikh or discussed religion with
them. To hear Sardar Amarpal Singh, speak with such
passion, devotion, reverence and knowledge about the greatness of the Kang Renpoche Mountain, the monks
could only marvel silently at the amazing diversity of
attachment that brought pilgrims to the region.
The two monks from Choku explained to the seated
group about what had happened at the Choku and
Dirapuk areas during the rainstorm. They explained the
visions of Brother Tameng and old man Dawa, and the
happenings at the valley behind the Dirapuk Gompa.
They also explained about the expedition that had started
to enter the mysterious valley behind the Dirapuk area
and of how eagerly the many people had joined up in the
187
journey. The monks also explained the fears of Master
Rinchen from Choku that he did not wish to commit any
sacrilege or take up any wrong action. It would be good
to know if there were records or knowledge of any such
mysterious happening, or of the existence of the
mysterious valley. They wished to know, they explained,
if the records of the numerous Beyuls in the region
included mention of the mysterious valley behind the
Dirapuk Gompa. Sardar Amarpal Singh heard them in
silence, and felt a happy sort of calmness within him, as
he realized that he had not been wrong, and he had not
gone crazy.
***
Master Ang Tsering heard the monks from Choku speak of the happenings in the valley of the Kang Renpoche
Mountain during the rainstorm. He was concerned. He
had been aware that there could be surprising events,
unexplained occurrences and enormously intensive
spiritual experiences in this region. He had never known
of such a series of events, so very totally unrelated,
across so many locations, to people who did not know
each other, and all these events happening during one
stormy night. This had never happened.
The monks from Choku had begun to once again retell
the story of the sighting of the wild yaks in the
rainstorm. Sardar Amarpal Singh seemed to be excited
about the fact that the wild yaks had gone out of sight in
front of the Choku monastery. He kept nudging the
monk from Nalanda and repeatedly pointed at the slopes
of the Kang Renpoche. Shenshe, the policeman, looked
188
up startled at the excitement of the Sikh holy man.
Looking at the head monk of Gyangtrak, Shenshe spoke
in Chinese, “I hope this holy man from India is not planning to walk up the slopes of the Kang Renpoche.
He wants to do that. I do not want any trouble if he goes
up the slope.”
Startled, Master Tsering asked, in Chinese, “What do
you mean? He wants to walk up the sacred slopes? And,
you brought him here, to Gyangtrak, to the entrance to the inner kora? Why did you do that? You are
responsible. I will inform the Superintendent at
Shiquanhe or your senior officers at Ngari if he does
that.” He knew that the policeman would worry about
that threat. Master Tsering knew what was to be done
with enthusiastic pilgrims. He had done that earlier.
There were methods to do so in a peaceful manner.
Sardar Amarpal Singh spoke to Sonam Sangye, the
monk from Nalanda, “Brother, did I not tell you that I
saw something on the sacred Sumeru? I was correct.
See, these monks are telling us that those twelve men
and the very large wild yaks and the wolves disappeared
from view near the Choku monastery. Did I not tell you
that there was no rain on the sacred Sumeru during the
rainstorm? These monks are also saying the same thing.
They are saying that there was no rain for some time in
the area near the sacred Sumeru.”
Master Tsering decided that it was time that he took
control of the discussion. He spoke to Sardar Amarpal
Singh, Brother Sonam Sangye, Shenshe and the monks
from Choku Gompa, “Brothers, let us focus on what is
being requested for action to be undertaken. This is the
valley of magic. Anything can happen here. Let us not
189
question about what has happened. We are not here to
question the reasons about why they happen. We need to
determine what is to be done in the future, and what is
our role in it. We are at the correct location, at
Gyangdrak.”
“We are at the inner kora, and this is the most sacred of
all the locations around the sacred Kang Renpoche
Mountain. We have been here the longest, and we are
the guardians of this valley. We are not a museum, we
are here with a purpose that has been given to us for
nearly a thousand years,” Master Tsering continued,
“From the times of Ghuya Gangpa, who was the rdordzin, we are older than some of the various
communities of the different religions. And to this day,
we cannot ever say that we know all the mysteries of the
Kang Renpoche. And of those mysteries that we know
about, we do not know the secrets of these happenings.”
The younger monk from Choku Gompa bowed in
respect, and said, “Master, we come here, therefore, to
seek your guidance. Our Master has instructed that we
request you to inform us about the secrets and the
teachings of Guru Rinpoche, and of the secrets of the
mysterious Beyuls, the hidden valleys. After all, this was
also the region where three different kingdoms existed,
since the Zhang Zhung empires. It is possible that there may be a list, or an ancient book, or a Thangka painting
that could inform us about the hidden valley behind the
Dirapuk gompa. There may also be mention about the
existence of the herds of large wild yaks.”
Shenshe interrupted, “Wait. I am not bothered about
valleys and wild yaks, and whether there was rain and
whether it stopped or did not stop. What is this that you
190
tell me about twelve pilgrims who sat in the open and
disappeared in the night? Where did they go to?”
The younger monk from Choku Gompa replied, “We do
not know. That is the reason why we are here today at
the sacred Gyangdrak Gompa. They were sitting out there in the open, in the outer kora, and they sat there
during the rainstorm. Now they are no longer seen in the kora, or near the Dirapuk Gompa, and nobody has seen
them at Darchen or Tarboche. We are unable to say what
happened to them. We are here at the sacred Gyangdrak
Gompa to enquire for more information and guidance.”
Sardar Amarpal Singh spoke to Brother Sonam Sangye,
who in turn translated for Shenshe, and said, “My
brother, the Sikh holy man, says that he thinks that the
twelve pilgrims walked up into the slopes of the sacred
mountain. You may wish to follow them into the
mountain, if you wish, since you are the policeman in
this region. He is joking, of course, my friend. But, he
asked me to tell you this. You cannot tell if he is joking
or not, for he does not look like he is smiling. But, I
know him for many days now, and I know that he is
joking.”
Shenshe sat quietly, sullen, at the leg pulling by the Sikh
holy man, at his expense. Master Tsering replied, to the
younger monk from Choku Gompa, and said, “The
reality of the mysterious valley, in this land, is older than
the Most Enlightened One, when this land was of the
Bon. It is also said that the first great master of the Bon,
Tonpa Shenrab, was also an earlier manifestation of the
Most Enlightened One. But that is of course, argued,
depending upon who is telling whom.”
191
“The Bon call this the land of Olmo Lungring, and this
name was for what is almost the entire land of the Ngari,
and to the west of Ngari, and some lands in other nations
outside China and Tibet. I have heard mention of what
you say of the circle of stones, and pilgrims who have
come to this sacred land, from west of Ngari, and this is
mentioned in some old documents that refer to an
ancient land of Staggzig, but I have to search for these
records,” Master Tsering continued, “It used to be said
that anything can happen in the land of Shambala, but all
that is romantic stuff. It is not from the records and
diaries of our ancient masters of the gompas in this
land.”
The monks of Gyangdrak and Choku Gompas gathered
around Master Ang Tsering, as he began to speak about
the sacred land. Brother Sonam Sangye sat in
excitement. Sardar Amarpal Singh sat patiently. Each
person knew that what they would hear from Master
Tsering, here at the entrance to the inner kora, could not
be told by anyone else, and could not be read about in
any book in the outside world. On his part, Shenshe
could not care less. He was more worried about the team
of government officers to come from Ngari in five days
to enquire about the garbage thrown about by the
pilgrims at Darchen. Somebody had complained and
somebody high up in the government had been called
from some embassy of China in some important country,
and the officers from Ngari had been asked to enquire
into the matter. And, here he was, in this remote
monastery, following a Sikh holy man and a Buddhist
monk from India, and hearing stories.
Master Tsering, bowed his head in reverence, and
continued, “There are ancient books, and records, that
192
the Bon call the gzermig, I think, that the Beyuls exist in
actual fact. They are not mysterious and they are not
confined to mythology. The mystery is about what may
exist inside these Beyuls. We know of the Amitabha
Buddha, and we know of the bdebacan of the Sacred
Master, that the people from the holy land of India, think to be sukhavati. Ancient scriptures in India, for Hindus,
this is also the mystery of lands hidden inside the dzambuigling, or as they call it, the Jambudvipa.”
“The Kang Renpoche Mountain was known to the Bon,
to the ancients who learnt from the Most Enlightened
One, of those who followed the Buddha Amitabha, and
to the ancient Hindus, this sacred mountain was known
as the Yungdrung Gutseg or as the Gyungdrung
Dgubrtseg, and this is known to the modern Christian
world that questions everything that we know, as the axis mundi, whatever it is that they mean. The Bon, the
ancient Hindus and the ancient Buddhists or the Jains,
did not think this to be so. They knew that this land was
the center of the planet. The heavens of our gods exist
here. Our ancients spoke of the hidden lands as the
Beyuls. These could be the lands of our gods. You
cannot expect to walk inside these valleys and meet our
gods or holy spirits wandering about, waiting to meet
you.”
VIII
Brother Tameng and Sangye made good progress inside
the maze of rock boulders in proceeding ahead on the
193
faint path that they could see. A large wild yak could
have easily walked through this maze, on this path,
thought Brother Tameng. If they would have walked in
single file, they would have moved through and arrived
at the valley of the sacred Kang Renpoche Mountain.
Yeshe and Satawa were following them with the yaks
and horses. The animals seemed to be moving through
comfortably, and did not show any distress or fear. The
yak boys and horse boys were spread among the
animals, alternating with them.
The monk from Dirapuk had stayed behind, outside the
maze of boulders, at the night shelter that had been
placed near the entrance. He had asked Norbu and two
boys with their animals to stay with him. Norbu’s two
yaks and his mastiff were walking about in the clearing
with the two other yaks and horse from the Choku
gompa. They examined the equipment with the group
and began to separate the stuff to be retained at the
shelter. The yak-boy and the horse-boy went about
collecting the timber lying around to strengthen the
shelter. It must have been many years since anyone had
come to this clearing. Several good poles and bamboo
was easily available.
Inside the maze of boulders, Dawa and Katishe followed
Brother Tameng and Sangye. The four of them were
walking ahead of the group of animals and boys led by
Satawa. The maze continued for a long distance, and
very soon, Brother Tameng lost all sense of time, and of
day or night. Sangye kept following him, without
looking around at the boulders. He sensed the magic of
the place, and could feel the power emanating from all
around. Dawa kept Sangye in his sight, and walked at
the same pace, and allowed for Katishe and Satawa to
194
keep control and walk the animals at a steady speed
behind them.
Brother Tameng stopped on the trail. The passage ahead
was dark and the boulders had fallen in a manner that
light did not enter the trail. He looked around for a
possible trail through other sides. There did not seem to
be any other passage. The path had to go through the
dark passage within the maze of boulders. They seemed
to be in some sort of a clearing within the boulders, and
there was better light and visibility at the spot where he
stood. Sangye, Dawa and Katishe walked around in the
small clearing, trying their best to spot any hidden
opening in the trail. Norbu and the other boys and all the
animals came up and stood, waiting patiently in the
clearing.
Sangye walked up to the dark passage and peered inside
with his clump of lit-up grass. He could see the boulders
on both sides, and the trail going ahead. Sangye, Dawa
and Katishe got busy preparing a series of grass clumps
for lighting up in the trail. Brother Tameng sat in the
clearing, worried, thinking and trying to sort out this
new development. Norbu’s mastiff came up to him and
sat quietly near him, watching him with patient eyes.
Satawa and the boys kept a watch on the animals, and
kept talking to them, to ensure that they stayed calm and
peaceful.
Brother Tameng came to a decision. He called out to
Sangye, Dawa, Katishe and Satawa to approach him, and
said, “Brothers, I feel I should stop here. I am not aware
of what is beyond this dark passage in this maze of
boulders. I came back with the monk from Dirapuk,
expecting us to go ahead easily through the valley, and
195
to search for the herd of the large wild yaks. But, that
was not to be. There was the blockage, with the large
boulders, stopping us in our path yesterday. And what
we saw today, of the signals and happenings, the
messages and signs that we received, that allowed us to
enter, makes me cautious.”
“I feel that I should return to Dirapuk and Choku. I will
have to once again inform my senior, Master Rinchen.
This was not expected to happen. We will need to be
cautious. Let that not stop you all. You go ahead, and
when you feel that you cannot proceed, then, you should
stop and stay. Send someone back to Dirapuk,” said
Brother Tameng, “We will not leave you all alone. We
will set up a good base camp at the night shelter that you
had constructed. Someone will have to stay guard at the
place, and will have to prevent curious people from
entering. Tourists may hear the gossip and may begin to
walk inside the maze of boulders. You go ahead. I will
return my horse and one horse-boy.”
Old man Dawa nodded in agreement. He could
understand the dilemma. For the people of the Lhachu
valley, this was their life. They accepted the mountains,
the valleys, the trails and the unknown without question
and proceeded along a path, when available. For those
who were educated, there had to be a reason, a logic, an
understanding, of how, why, where and when. The facts
that were not known, the knowledge that was not
available, was to be feared. Dawa smiled, for the people
of the valley, those who were not educated, and this was
true of most of them, the mountains were their teachers,
their knowledge-givers and he was keen to learn.
196
Brother Tameng returned along the path that they had
come through, within the maze of boulders, with one
horse and one horse-boy. Sangye, Katishe, Dawa and
Satawa discussed the situation amongst themselves.
Yeshe sat nearby and listened quietly. The two yak boys
and one horse boy with them, sat near the animals. The
discussion ended quite rapidly, and it was decided that
old man Sangye and Katishe would lead the group
through the dark passage. Dawa would follow them,
with Yeshe and Satawa keeping the animals and the
boys between them.
Sangye peered cautiously inside the dark passage. The
boulders seemed to be in place, on either side. The trail
was clearly seen in the light of the flames from the grass
clump that he was holding. He began to walk inside the
passage. Katishe walked behind him, watching his
silhouette appear and disappear, each time that Sangye
moved the grass clump ahead of him and behind him.
Dawa walked behind them, with the help of the faint
glow, and with the light from the flames of the grass
clump held by Yeshe behind him.
The passage inside the boulders did not seem to have
changed in any manner, except that it had become
extremely dark. They kept walking, watching the
boulders alongside, alert for any turn or passage that
would have been missed in the darkness. The trail kept
stretching ahead smoothly, and the group walked
comfortably. The animals did not panic and did not
hesitate. Sangye’s two mastiffs, Bzanba and Kangryi,
walked ahead of Yeshe, sometimes silently, and
sometimes making noises, that sounded like they were
happy to be part of the group inside this dark passage.
197
The trail ahead of Sangye turned sharply, and began to
climb inside the valley. Faint light could be seen ahead,
and he walked faster towards it. There were brightly lit
openings ahead, inside the passage. The slope seemed to
indicate that they were climbing steadily. And then,
suddenly, they were out of the passage, and into an open
clearing, higher up than the carpet of boulders that they
could see, stretching out inside the boxed-in valley. They
could not see beyond a certain distance, probably from
where the passage had turned sharply. The boulders had
filled up the valley. Sangye kept looking around, trying
to figure out the source of all these huge boulders. It
looked like an entire mountain had crashed here.
The group assembled in the open clearing, and sat
around, resting quietly, and watching the valley ahead.
There seemed to be an awkward problem, thought old
man Dawa. There did not seem to be any valley ahead.
The trail seemed to climb through the narrow gorge, and
disappeared above. They would have to walk ahead, and
watch out for what was in store for them further beyond
the trail and the gorge.
Sangye looked around, as had Dawa, walking about in
the clearing. The opening to the passage was easily seen
from here, unlike the other side, where they had failed to
spot it early. Turning to the group, he said, “Brothers, let
us create a shelter here, and write down a message for
those who may follow us. There are plenty of small
boulders lying around here, and we can manage to
construct a small hut, with a wooden roof, to the best of
our ability. We may also need it ourselves, if there
would be problems ahead. So, let us construct a large hut
to extend out of a cave-sort of opening that can be made
198
from the entrance to this passage. If light could not enter
it, I am sure, rain or snow or hail cannot enter it.”
Yeshe and the three boys, Katishe and Satawa, got busy
with the construction of the stone hut. Sangye and Dawa
looked ahead at the manner in which the trail seemed to
disappear into the very narrow horizon between the two
sheer walls of the gorge.
***
Among the four of them, Dawa, Sangye, Katishe and
Satawa, they were the best of the four trailsmen of the
Lhachu Valley. Nobody knew the hills, the valleys, the
rivers and glaciers of the Kang Renpoche area better than
these old men. Yeshe looked proudly at this grandfather,
and knew that Sangye was much better than the other
three, for he came from outside the valley and traveled
through the year in the other areas, including far off
Qinhai and other provinces of Tibet. He had also
accompanied his grandfather and parents to Karakul
Lake for three years to try and earn a living during the
tourist season at Kashgar and Kongur, but that had not
worked out.
The stone hut had been constructed. It was set up against
an opening amongst the rocks near the passage within
the boulders. They had decided to avoid blocking the
passage, for fear that the herd of large wild yaks or other
wildlife may want to move through, going into the
valley, or going outside. The hut was constructed with
the boulders from the landslide, and had been
camouflaged with adequate branches and timber. It was
199
quite large, and they could move the animals and
themselves deep within the hut, and set up a good warm
fire.
There were two yak boys and one horse boy, and they
had begun to develop a good friendship and chatter with
Yeshe. They were still worried and scared about
Sangye’s huge mastiffs, Bzanba and Kangryi, but they
had realized that as long as Yeshe would be around, the
dogs would not turn harmful. The hut had been
constructed with two cosy rooms within it, with an
opening between them. The small rooms would retain
the warmth from the fire and would allow them to retreat
in the cold nights that they would encounter.
Dawa and Sangye looked out at the trail, sitting at the
opening of the stone hut. Dawa said, “Old man from
Qinhai, I do not think this will be the last hut that we are
going to construct in this valley. Who knows how many
days or weeks or months we may have to be here? I am
not frightened of the winter. I will stay back here, if we
do not get any answers. You can return to your warm
plains of Tibe, outside these sacred valleys, and ride
about on your horses, and pretend to be nomads. I am
going to end my life here, in this Beyul. I know it.”
Katishe and Satawa, sitting nearby, smiled at Dawa’s
statement. They knew him from many years in the
valley. Sangye, noting the jibe about his life as a nomad,
merely nodded, in the laconic face-shrug that is
famously representative of the Orient and replied, “I fear
about what we are going to walk into after that narrow
pass that is above us. This trail seems to climb sharply. We are now sharply traveling northwest of the Kang
Renpoche areas. These areas are known to be extremely
200
mysterious areas. People have come here, over centuries,
in the other valleys. Nobody seems to have entered this
valley.”
Dawa agreed, and said, “I know what you are talking
about. I may have been in one or two expeditions, nearly
twenty or thirty years ago, when these outsiders did not
have good equipment and could not survive in these
areas for many months. Let us go inside, for it is getting
colder and the cold air is beginning to bite my nose. I
need it to help me breathe and blow the smoke out from
my cigarettes. Let us take rest for the night, and pretend
we are all at Darchen or Choku or at Dirapuk, with
Yeshe’s parents. I hope the boys have cooked some good
soup and dinner.”
It must have been about four in the evening, but the
night had taken over. The cold mist came over suddenly
around the hut and blocked out their vision of the valley.
This was not wise, thought Katishe. With the help of the
boys, the two trailsmen and Yeshe, rapidly piled up large
stones at the entrance to the hut, and closed it
completely. It would not do for leopards or bear or
perhaps, wolves or wild yaks to wander inside in the
mist. The group would not be able to escape and would
be cornered and trapped. The hut had been constructed
without windows, but there were some gaps for inflow
of air, and at the rear, almost close to the valley walls of
the mountains, an opening had been allowed inside a
clump of adjoining trees, to allow the smoke from the
fire to go outside, without being seen, unless someone
was searching for them. The group sat together inside
one of the small rooms and started with the hot soup.
The animals were all grouped together in the other small
201
room. The boys had thoughtfully kept a small fire going,
in their room.
Dawa asked of Sangye, “Old nomad from Qinhai, you
have traveled in these regions, from the northern ranges, and to the north of the Kang Renpoche. What do you
think happened here, and where do you think we are
going? We are northwest of Dirapuk, but we seem to be
going up north, straight, and sometimes to the west.
Tomorrow, we will know, when we observe the stars at
early dawn, if we are lucky, and the mist would have
gone by then. These may be hidden valleys, and may be
quite large, but there would be something, someplace,
some hill-range on the other side of this mysterious
place.”
“True, very true,” replied Sangye, “at this moment, it
does seem like we have been walking north from
Dirapuk. But, I do not like the sight of that narrow
mountain pass that seems to climb upwards. People from
places away from the Himalayas do not realize this
aspect. They look at a map, and they only see East,
West, North and South. What they do not realize is that
our world is also made up of UP and DOWN. We may
not go North or South, but going UP or DOWN can be
made of several miles.”
“There is another aspect that worries me,” continued
Sangye, “we may be entering the ‘Kingdom of the Lion’,
that is yet another mysterious place. It seems to be part
of the mythology of this ancient land of Tibe, but the
story did occur north and northwest of Dirapuk and the sacred Kang Renpoche Mountain. Nobody knows much
about the place. But, it could be nearby. Or, we may be
inside the ‘Kingdom of the Lion’ already. This much is
202
known. The ‘Kingdom of the Lion’ is certainly
somewhere in the Nganglong Kangri or near the
Gangdise Shan mountains. We are between these mountains and the Kang Renpoche Mountains. So, we
are nearby.”
Dawa nodded in agreement, for he knew of these
mountain ranges. He explained to Kitashe, Satawa and
Yeshe, “This is an old old story. The story of the
‘Kingdom of the Lion’. We do not know much about it.
But this much, I know. There is another story of an
enormous hidden water storage area, below, inside the
mountains somewhere here. It could be an underground
waterbody, like a glacier is formed above the ground.
There used to be Hindu sages, living in the caves near an
area that was known by the Lion. There were Bon and
Buddhist monks, who would go up these mountains and
meditate inside the caves.”
Katishe spoke up, “Old man Dawa, you forget one other
story from these places. The gateway to hell. There is
also talk and stories about the lake that is totally black in colour, unlike the lakes below our sacred Kang
Renpoche Mountain. It is said, that if you enter this lake,
you can travel to hell, and meet all sorts of demons and
evil spirits. Is that true? Are we entering forbidden
lands?”
Dawa and Sangye sat quietly, and showed by furrowed
brows on their faces, that they were thinking deeply. It
would not do to answer such questions in a light-hearted
manner. The evil spirits and demons may be moving
around, and they could be inside the stone hut. They may
be waiting for such a mistake, and may get angry and
take up residence inside any one of them, or inside the
203
animals. Dawa said, “I agree, Katishe, for, I have also
heard talk of this Black Lake. But we do not have to
worry. For, the problem comes if we enter the lake
waters. Not before.”
“We are here, in trail paradise, for trapping and fur
collections. There is amazing wildlife in these regions.
Bear, Chiru, Mountain Goats, Leopards and different
types of monkeys and gibbons. There is good market for
these skins. But the government prohibits us to carry
weapons and arms and we are prevented by the sacred
region from hunting the wildlife in these places. Do you
know that we get different types of leopard in this
region? The yellow one with spots, the white one on the
snow and the third one, smaller, but with grey-white
design. I hope we do not spot any leopard. They are
always faster and more alert than you.”
“There used to be a time, when one could see Chiru and
mountain goats and wild yaks in herds of hundreds
moving about on the upper slopes of most of these
mountains. Today, they are not to be seen even in small
groups or herds. I am glad that we are chasing a herd of
large wild yaks in these mountains, and not a flock of
high flying birds, or fishes or leopards. I hope tomorrow
is a fine day, and there is bright sunshine, and we are
able to see wild animals and birds in the valley.”
***
The old man Dawa sat quietly through the night. He
could feel the excitement, the tingling of expectation that
he usually had, when the night led to the hunt in the
morning. The nights in these upper Himalayas were
204
unusually longish, seeing that they began at almost 4 pm
in the evening and went on until 10 or 11 am in the
upper hills. The Kang Renpoche areas and the
Manasarovar Lake areas were more open and the dawn
was at these areas much earlier.
The stone hut had been built quite strongly. The smaller
rooms had been set up quite deep into the opening
amongst the rocks and there were two longish passage-
like rooms that turned into one another at sharp angles
before the stone doorway. They would have to do
something about that doorway, he thought. It would not
do to keep piling up stones and boulders. The day was
also dangerous if wandering leopards or bears would
walk in. There was word of vagrant tigers, very rarely
reported, but who could tell with these remote valleys. It
almost seemed like the herd of the large wild yaks would
be the least dangerous.
Dawa thought back of all the hunts that he had been on
and the ages of tracking that he had done. He had been
quite busy as a trapper in his young days, learning from
his grandfather and father before him, and from the other
elders in the region. Those had been really good days, he
thought, remembering the feel of the fur, the sharpness
of the hunt and the understanding of the small tricks that
the animals would go into, while hiding themselves in
these high mountains. It was different, each season, he
remembered, and they would have to change their
methods every time. The traps had been different for
each season, and the location that they would choose for
the same species would be different.
Perhaps all that knowledge would be useful tomorrow,
he thought. He kept walking up and down the passages
205
inside the stone hut. The last room had been given to
their animals, and they had seemed to welcome the
warmth and the glow of the fire. The mastiffs had made
their own corner, and yet, they could keep a watch on
Yeshe. They must be feeling very protective of their
human owner. Dawa smiled and wondered if Yeshe
knew that the mastiffs felt that they protected him, rather
than the other way around.
The entire team had organised themselves around the
fire in the room before the one for the animals. There
were actually three small fires, with one kept aside in the
northern corner, and this had been placed for allowing
Sangye to conduct his prayers. The second fire was
deeper in the ground, and there were many small
boulders arranged inside. This fire was for cooking, and
the warmth inside the arrangement of the boulders would
stay within. The third fire was much larger, but spread
out, to allow for the embers to remain warm.
Dawa kept feeling his right palm tingle and itch. He
knew the feeling. It came the night before the hunt, and
he wondered about it. What would it be out there, in the
valleys? It seemed to be something quite special. He
reorganised his supplies and equipment slowly through
the night. He wanted to be ready for any eventuality. He
removed some of his supplies and clothes and warm
blankets from the packages that were to go on the yaks.
The bag would have to be just heavy enough for him to
carry it by himself.
He was ready for tomorrow. He had his bag, his
woollens, food supplies, medicines and stock of candles
and matches. Everyone continued sleeping. The
excitement of the day and the struggle to construct the
206
stone hut in rapid time had been tiring. They knew that
they were secure inside the hut, and this had allowed for
veterans like Sangye, Katishe and Satawa to lower their
guard and sleep properly. They would not have done so,
if they would have feared any wandering predator.
Dawa smiled at his thoughts of the day. The two priests
had returned. This is what he delighted in, for being able
to organise his own thoughts and take decisions for
himself. If Brother Tameng or the monk from the
Dirapuk monastery would have been with them, Dawa
would have had to listen and obey their instructions. He
had grown up with the knowledge that in this strange region of the Kang Renpoche, one should not question
the mysterious manner of events.
He must have dozed off, he thought, waking up with a
start. His right palm was itching very badly and he kept
scratching it silently. The three fires in the room were
glowing brightly. Old man Dawa kept watching the
flames. They seemed to be talking to each other. A gust
of cold air came down from one of the openings high up,
and it sparked the large fire. The flames rose up in
response, and Dawa looked at them, startled. He could
see the image of the herd of the large wild yaks that had
walked down the valley during the rainstorm. The image
seemed to form within the flames, and the yaks were
watching him, quietly.
Dawa looked around to see if anyone else was awake.
None. They were all asleep. The flames had gone down
again, and the image of the yaks was gone. It seemed
like it was a message just meant for Dawa, he thought to
himself. Well, yaks or no yaks, spirits or no spirits, at
this age, when life had moved by him, over all these
207
years, he was not going to go and get defeated by
phantom yaks or for that matter, a herd of large wild
yaks, if they indeed existed. He got up and went up to
the doorway and picked out a stone to look outside.
The sight outside startled him. It seemed bright out
there, with very clear moonlight washing up the entire
valley. He could see the valley slopes and the forests and
the rocky walls extremely clearly. Old man Dawa went
back inside the stone hut and woke up Sangye, and
whispered to him, “Old nomad from Qinhai, listen
quietly, and go back to sleep. I am going outside by
myself, for its bright out there, with the moonlight. I will
not go far, but do not stop me. I am taking my supplies
and woollens with me. Relax and stay with the others.”
Dawa removed some of the stones near the opening and
slid through sideways. Once outside, he walked around
for some moments, getting the feel of the night. It did
not seem to be extremely cold, and he knew he could
survive this chill, quite easily. There was no wind, and
the valley was totally drenched in white moonlight. He
could see everyplace clearly. He went back to the stone
wall doorway, and reaching inside, pulled out his
haversack and supplies. He had also got a stout walking
stick for himself, and to this stick, he tied a prayer flag.
Turning back, he piled up the stones to close the opening
in the doorway that he had made for himself.
Which way to go? Dawa thought, looking at the steep
rock walls. There was actually no other way out, other
than the sharp trail that led upwards to the opening
outwards from the valley that they had noticed in the
evening. What if, he thought, what if, what if he did not
take the obvious way out of the valley? The others
208
would definitely go through the opening and would take
that trail. Was there another trail within this valley? Was
there more to this boxed in area inside these mountains?
He looked around, with this perspective, trying to
imagine out trails that could stay hidden within the sharp
walls and forest cover.
That one there, he thought. That had to be it. The
western corner of the boxed in area, was covered with
forests. He could not see inside the forests. If there was
an opening that led out to another part of the valley, to
another trail, those forests could easily hide such a path.
The forests climbed up to quite a height at that corner.
The walls of the mountain could also not actually make a
corner, at that spot, he thought. There may be a path out
there. He began to walk towards the forest area and
looked down at the trail, startled.
The trail seemed quite easy to walk on, and was quite
smooth. And yet, it could not be made out in contrast to
the valley floor. But, in this moonlight, without
searching for the trail, and just by keeping the western
corner as a target, old man Dawa found that he could
walk easily without any hassles. He had reached the
forest line, and he looked back to the stone hut and the
passage through the boulders that they had traveled out
from. It was a straight line, downwards. This was indeed
a natural trail. Looking downwards, with the moonlight
striking down on the shiny stones on the valley floor,
Dawa recognised the pattern on the dusty path, startled.
It was definitely a trail, and it was indeed a wild yak
trail. There it was, faint, but certainly to be seen. A clear
footprint, a lone wild yak, an extremely large one.
Alone. It had gone into the forest. Very recent.
209
***
Sangye could not sleep after Dawa had woken him and
told him that he was going out there all alone. He knew
the feeling. Old man Dawa must have itched to go out
there, into the valley, knowing that it was out there,
calling him, to explore and walk through it. He had
watched Dawa take his bag and realised that he must
have sat through the night, packing and getting ready.
Sangye, the old nomad from Qinhai, got up and stoked
the flames in the small room for the animals, and got it
to become warmer.
He heard Dawa place the stones back on the doorway.
He would have to wait until the morning, to allow for the
animals to be packed up and ready for walking. He had a
wristwatch, given to him by some Russian trekkers,
years ago, and it ran accurately. Sometimes, he got new
batteries for it at Shiquanhe, and it would run for more
than a year without any problem. It was a trekker’s
watch for high altitudes, and cold winters. It had a glow
to it during the night, and it had been many a night that
he had sought comfort and sanity during winters by just
gazing at the glowing dial inside his sleeping bag. It
could get quite frightening during the winter nights.
Around 7 am, he woke up Katishe, Satawa, Yeshe and
the Yak boys. The boys began to organise a hot sludge-
sort of meal for the yaks, made of grain paste. The
animals would feel comfortable with the warm sludge
for them. Yeshe got a meal organised for the mastiffs.
The animals would have to eat inside the stone hut, for it
would be dark and cold outside. Katishe began to get the
210
breakfast organised. A large bowl of soup with yak fat
and butter started boiling, with appetising flavors.
Sangye had warned Katishe against making any sound
with the utensils or adding any flavored leafs or herbs.
He did not want the smell to be noticed outside the stone
hut. Not until they knew the area, anyway, and knew for
sure that there would be no danger outside.
By 9 am, the entire group had got ready. Sangye asked
the yak boys to take their animals outside and have them
walk around. He had decided that the yaks and the yak
boys would stay back at the stone hut. They would not
proceed with the group until they had known the trail for
some distance and would know for certain that it was
safe ahead. They would not be able to run or move
swiftly, if they had to, if they had the yaks and
equipment with them. The area could be explored for the
next 2-3 days, by keeping the stone hut as a base camp.
The yaks could be allowed to graze near the stone hut,
and would be returned inside at night. The yak boys
would stay back.
Sangye split up the rest of the group. He decided that he
would proceed ahead with Yeshe, on foot, and with the
mastiffs. They would walk up the trail that climbed up
sharply. Katishe and Satawa would watch the trail as
Sangye and Yeshe walked. They would be able to notice
if there was any movement on the rock walls or from
within the forest areas, behind Sangye and Yeshe.
Katishe and Satawa would follow Sangye and Yeshe,
allowing for an hours distance between them and would
repeat the same watchful procedure. This cautious
approach would allow them to keep a watch on the trail
behind them.
211
Katishe and Satawa agreed with the plan. They knew of
the wisdom of the old nomad from Qinhai and knew that
he had survived many a dangerous trail. Both of them,
Katishe and Satawa, themselves, were veterans, and yet
they knew it was sensible to be cautious in these regions.
They did not know the area ahead of them, and it would
be a slow exploration, to allow for a proper approach to
the trail.
Yeshe had removed the stones at the doorway. The yaks
were moved out into the valley and allowed to graze.
The mastiffs went out, happy to be allowed to run about.
Yeshe and the two yak boys went outside and moved
around, watching, carefully. Sangye, Katishe and Satawa
came out of the stone hut, and sat quietly. The fog had
not lifted, and it was light enough to watch the trail for
some distance. The old men sat, watching the trail.
Nothing seemed to move. Even the birds were silent.
The fog was quite cold, and the yaks were shivering. The
yak boys walked around, picking up the yak dung and
taking them back into the stone hut. They would decide
about drying the dung if it was safe to do so. The
mastiffs hid their morning sign well. They had been
trained to do so, by Sangye, who knew the danger of
leaving an open sign, a welcome to predators.
By 10 am, the fog had lifted completely, and they could
see the path to the upper trail. It seemed like a natural
gateway to an unknown valley. The path climbed up
steadily and disappeared into the horizon. They were at a
lower point from the place where the path went into the
valley that they could not see. Sangye and Yeshe picked
up their bags and began to walk ahead. The mastiffs kept
watching them, to see if they would return, and began to
212
follow them. Katishe and Satawa kept watching the
forests and the rock walls nearby.
The yak boys moved the yaks closer to the doorway to
the stone hut. They could go inside quickly if required.
Katishe asked the yak boys to prepare a door for the
stone hut that could be propped up during the daytime. It
had to be heavy, he told them. The boys began to search
for and pick up heavy logs and pulled them to the
doorway. The lower logs were placed across the
doorway, high enough for the yaks to manage to walk
above them. The logs were supported by stones piled up
against them, on either side, inside and outside.
Other logs were kept inside with stones ready to be piled
up against them, from the inside. The boys kept brush
and branches near the doorway on the outside that could
be pulled from within to create a cover across the
doorway. Katishe watched the preparation and the valley
alternatively. Satawa did not look away from the trail
and kept watching Sangye and Yeshe. There did not
seem to be any disturbance in the valley. Sangye had
told them about old man Dawa going out on his own in
the night. They knew him from many years and knew
that the old man was probably safe out there. He may be
up in the rocky walls, or on the trail, or in a cave that he
may have discovered, and may be watching them from
somewhere. Satawa looked all around the valley and
waved. Dawa may see him and he would probably wave
back.
Sangye spoke to Yeshe, “This may just be the entrance
to the ‘Kingdom of the Lion’ as we knew about it, or
heard about it. Many people have searched for it. The
trail is certainly moving in the correct direction from the
213
Kang Renpoche valleys. We are moving north and
northwestwards. We seem to be moving more to the
north than northwest, and we have not left the group of mountains of the Kang Renpoche. It is said that there is a
sleeping lion under this ground that rests on an
enormous bed of water that cannot be seen.”
Yeshe kept watching the trail and the forests on either
side. He was excited. The forests seemed to be changing
as the trail kept climbing. They looked behind them, and
waved at Katishe and Satawa. They could see them at
that great distance. The trail had climbed sharply, and
very soon, it would go through the opening in the valley
wall. They would not be able to see the stone hut behind
them.
“How can it be the ‘Kingdom of the Lion’, out here, in
the Himalayas?” he asked, “for there are no lions here,
and of all the stories that I have heard, there were no
lions in these regions. Could it be a mythical story after
all?” Sangye nodded, as if in agreement, and replied,
“Yes. It could be a story, for there are many stories in
this region. Some stories that I have heard say that the
water comes out from the mouth of a lion, and some
stories say that the lion is resting on a bed of water. So,
we do not know. But, for sure, nobody in recent times,
have actually seen the lion or the lion’s mouth or the bed
of water.”
Yeshe asked, “But, isn’t there a Lion River from this
region? Could the river be named from the ‘Kingdom of
the Lion’ and could it have originated from this region?
There were some groups at the Dirapuk monastery, a
few years ago, who kept talking about such a river. They
214
had given up their search due to the severe unseasonal
winter-like months at that time.”
Sangye nodded, remembering the group. They had only
been in search of information. They had not seemed to
be fit enough to travel inside the higher mountains. Yes.
This path certainly looked like it was moving towards
the place with the story of the ‘Kingdom of the Lion’.
He looked back at the stone hut, and saw that Katishe
and Satawa had begun to walk on the trail, following
them. He knew of the Seng Tsanplo River from its northward flow, beyond the Kang Renpoche valley. The
Seng Tsanplo River was also called the ‘Lion River’.
***
He had been walking for more than four hours, steadily,
and climbing, through the forests that he had seen from
the stone hut. Old man Dawa was surprised at the ease
with which he had been walking through the forest. This
was certainly an old ancient path, made smooth by years
of passage. He had not even stumbled on any pebble or
stone. The path had not been blocked by any bushy tree
or bamboo or foliage. He had not been able to see within
the forest canopy during the dawn hours. But, the expert
trailsman that he was, he knew that there were no
animals out here.
By 11 am, he had reached the upper limits of the forest
line and he could see through the canopy and could look
out at the boxed in valley. From up here, he could see
the stone hut, the river of boulders that they had walked
through, and could see the trail that climbed up,
215
northwards. Old man Dawa sat quietly, watching the
valley. He saw the yaks and the yak boys near the stone
hut. He could see Sangye and Yeshe walk up on the
northwards trail, with the two mastiffs following them.
He saw Katishe and Satawa walk at an hours’ distance
behind Sangye and Yeshe.
He was startled at the clear vision that he had of the
valley from the spot that he sat upon. If he could see so
clearly, other animals and humans, hidden in this valley
could also see them. Any animal or person sitting here,
yesterday, could have seen the arrival of the Beyul
exploration team. They would have been warned. The
alert wild yaks, if they were indeed here, would have
moved out of this valley. He had not seen any trail or
sign of any animal during his walk through the forest.
Old man Dawa got up from his spot and continued to
walk westwards.
The opening came up on the trail suddenly. The corners
of the boxed in valley at the western corner were more of
a fold that hid the opening. The valley turned inside a
narrow fold that took him through the forest canopy. It
became dark for some distance, and if he would not have
understood the feel and recognised the touch of the trail
on his feet, he would not have been able to locate the
opening. He could feel the smooth trail in the dark
canopy, and he continued to walk through the gap.
By noon, the dark opening had led old man Dawa to a
broader forest, and with more sunlight streaming inside
the canopy. He turned on the trail that he had come
through and could not see the boxed-in valley that he
had traveled from. The opening to the valley from this
path seemed to be equally hidden in. He picked up some
216
signs on the rock walls, the ridges and markings on the
slopes to identify the opening through which the path
had come. It was difficult, and it would have been
impossible for a novice trekker or even an expert
mountaineer. Old man Dawa was sharper than either,
and he knew enough to pick out and identify faint stone
ridges that would help him return to this place.
Having marked the location, he turned back to the trail,
and continued to walk inside this hidden valley. The path
seemed to be clearing up, and he was suddenly near the
edge of the forest. He could see an open plateau outside.
It seemed to be more like a high altitude pasture land.
There was plenty of grass here, and it seemed quite tall,
but not tall enough to hide a yak, he thought. Old man
Dawa was cautious. He did not step out of the forest. He
stood against some bamboo and a very large tree.
Making an opening into the bamboo clump, he went
inside and made some space for himself. He hid his
haversack and stout stick inside the clump and covered
them with bamboo leaves. He sat quietly, on his
haversack, not making any movement. There was no
sign of any animal in the grassland. Slowly, he took out
his lunch packet, and ate it quietly. He had a bottle of
water with him, and he drank from it.
He knew this game quite well. This was the beginning of
the game of patience. He knew that there was something
out there in this grassland plateau, hidden inside this
closed valley. He would wait and would wait and wait.
He had played out the waiting game at many a hunt. He
knew that there would always be animals in any valley,
and if they could not be seen, it would only mean that
217
they were very alert. Old man Dawa certainly did not
want to walk into an angry wild yak out here.
He must have sat inside the bamboo clump for more than
an hour. Suddenly, his right palm began to itch furiously.
He kept scratching it silently, and watched the plains,
extremely alert. There was something out there, he
knew. Where was it? From his place inside the bamboo
clump, old man Dawa could see the entire grassland
plateau. The mountain walls were all around the
grassland. There was a forest line around the plateau.
That could be a problem, Dawa thought, for the forest
could hide any other path, if there was, and animals
could be moving through the valley to other valleys
nearby.
The strangest aspect of the valley was that he could not
see any animal. There should have been Chiru and
mountain goats here. The lush grassland should have
been a temptation. What was he sensing? If there were
no animals here, why was his right palm itching so
badly, wondered Dawa. There was something out here.
It was bright sunlight on the grassland and he could see
the entire plateau. Maybe it was not something on the
grassland, thought Dawa. Maybe he would have to
examine the forest that went around the plateau.
Quietly, without any movement, Dawa kept searching
the forest line around the grassland. There was no
movement. He wondered if he should risk it and walk
into the grassland. He decided against it. That trail of the
lone wild yak had been very recent in the night. For, it
had not been covered with dew or water. If it would have
been more than a day, the track would have been
218
covered with water from the night mist or morning dew.
It had been extremely clear and sharp.
There! Suddenly, old man Dawa saw the movement. It
was the strangest of all movements. Not certainly what
he had been searching for. It was like a white blanket
inside the forest beyond the grassland facing him. A
white blanket like form had moved inside the forest area
in front of him. He kept watching the spot. He could not
see it any longer. He was happy, however, for he knew
what he had to search for. He had been searching for
large black forms, shapes of Chiru, and shapes of
mountain goats. He started looking deep inside the forest
ahead, beyond the grassland, for a white shape.
What was it? Some sacred spirits of the valley? Could
spirits be seen in the daytime? He had never heard of
such a being. To the best of his knowledge and memory,
of all the stories that he had heard of these regions, the
spirits and demons usually came out at night. Perhaps,
this was where they came to rest, inside these secluded
valleys, away from all disturbances. He kept watching
the forest keenly. There it was, again, a white blanket
like form, floating inside the forest. It kept moving,
inside the canopy, and came to rest near a group of thin
trees.
Old man Dawa kept staring at the white blanket-like
shape. It did not move. It seemed to be waiting,
watching the grassland. As he kept staring at the white
shape, Dawa began to figure it out. The left edge of the
blanket seemed to taper downwards and there was a
definite shape to it. Suddenly, a rope-like white cord
whisked out from below and moved about. That was
definitely a tail, a white tail, Dawa realised, excitedly.
219
That white blanket was not a blanket, or a spirit, or a
demon, he told himself, happily. It was a white animal,
very large, and huge.
Dawa was excited. Now that he knew how to figure it
out, he began to make out the rest of the shape. The right
edge of the white ‘blanket’, naturally led to its head, and
as he kept watching for the head to take shape, Dawa
trembled. He shivered, actually. For, as he kept
watching, the animal began to become clearer. It was a
white animal. Very huge. The head began to take shape,
and Dawa marveled at it. It was an extremely large head,
and the horns were enormous. It was, indeed, a huge
male yak. It was definitely not a black yak. This one was
an enormous, larger than most yaks he had known, and
perhaps, just perhaps, larger than the herd of large wild
yaks that he had seen during the rainstorm, with Brother
Tameng, near the Choku monastery. This animal, hiding
out there, in the forest beyond the grassland, was an
enormous white male yak, alone, waiting and watching
and waiting. Excited, and yet, calm, Dawa told himself,
he could also wait.
IX
It had been an entire since they had met the senior monk
at the Chiu Gompa. Vijay Kulkarni had decided to stay
back at the monastery. Himanshu and Paramita had gone
ahead with the tourist group. The senior monk had
spoken with the tour guide leader and requested him to
allow Vijay Kulkarni to stay at the Chiu Gompa. The
tour guide had been worried and wondered about the
220
excuse that he would have to give at Nyalam when he
would return with the other pilgrims. It would be five
days yet, for anyone to notice that Vijay had gone
missing from the group.
Vijay was very happy to have stayed back at the Chiu
Gompa. It was not usual for non-Tibetan and non-
Buddhist or Bon to stay overnight at the Chiu Gompa,
unless there was a storm or an unexpected situation.
Tibetan pilgrims seemed to be staying back, in their
entire aspect of eternal timelessness. Their pilgrimage
around Manasarovar or Mount Kailash seemed to be
without any time-bound deadlines. They traveled with
meagre resources and did not have any support system.
They depended entirely on the local monasteries and
would just walk in, knowing that they would not be
turned away. They made themselves at home, helping,
cleaning and cooking at the Chiu Gompa, and one of
them brought a bowl of moderately pungent noodle
soup.
One of the windows at the Chiu Gompa’s main prayer
hall overlooked a spectacular panorama of the
Manasarovar and the mountains that could be seen
beyond the great lake. He could see the tremendously
awe-inspiring landscape. The distant mountains across
the waters of the Manasarovar seemed to be just
standing there, suspended in the clouds. The senior
monk came up to stand alongside Vijay and looked out
of the window. He kept watching silently, soaking in the
nippy air that came from the great lake.
“I am known by several titles in the sacred order, but
knowing that you are from India, from a land that I love
so dearly, you may call me as Loga of the Kla-Chu, for
221
that is how I was known.” The senior monk said, “My
native village is a very small and remote one, deep in the
valleys where several Himalayan streams come together
to flow into the Indus. The Kla-Chu is also one of them,
and our village moves about, depending on the
availability of good grazing lands above and below. It
was beautiful land and the people are extremely innocent
and trusting. My parents decided that I should go away
from the valley and make my future.”
Vijay smiled and thanked the senior monk, and said, “I
am Vijay Kulkarni, from Pune in India. I am from
Maharashtra. I have traveled over many regions in the
Himalayas, but I am yet to go to the source of the Indus.
The actual source is supposed to be unknown, but the
many mountain streams that come in to give the great
river its strength are spread over a great area. Is the Kla-
Chu somewhere in the upper reaches before the Indus
gains in its strength or is it after it reaches some of the
upper plains? Are there any monasteries in that region?”
The senior monk replied, “I heard that someone had
gone up into the inner valleys, some of the most
unknown and secret ones, and he had gone up there with
our monks. The exact details are not known as yet, but
they came out and said that they had been to the actual
source of the great river. They had gone up from
Banggokong, and they had walked through several
springs of Himalayan streams. Do you know that if you
want to walk in search of the actual source, as we think
it should be at, among all our local villages, we would
have to go somewhere close to the northern reaches of
the Mount Kailash kora, probably somewhere north of
Dirapuk.”
222
“North of Dirapuk!” exclaimed Vijay. He was thinking it
out, scanning the maps in his memory and his
knowledge of the region from the many travelogues and
books that he had studied in his explorations into the
Mount Kailash region. He said, “There are none. There
are no valleys that lead out of Dirapuk to the north.
There is one, but it does not go anywhere. There cannot
be any continuity outside the kora. If there were, then the
great rivers of the world would not have existed at all.
They would have flowed into the valley of the sacred
mountain and would have submerged the great lake of
Manasarovar. There would have been no Chiu Gompa or
Choku Gompa. The valley of the kora is a natural
drainage. Is it not?”
The senior monk of Chiu Gompa nodded, “Yes. Come,
let me show you an artists’ illustration of what he saw
once, in the harsh winter, when he had to stay back at the
Chiu Gompa. This must have been painted nearly 150
years ago or 100 years at least. We do not know for
sure.” He gestured for Vijay to accompany him to one of
the paintings that were on the wall near the window. It
was an illustrative representation of the Kailash kora as
it was nowadays, almost. The senior monk pointed out to
a darkish line, broken at places, drawn on the valley
slopes, and said, “See that line. I feel that must have
been a drainage mark for the winter ice that would melt
and flood the valley. Nobody would have seen the
flooding of the kora, unless someone stayed back or was
trapped in the valley.”
“You are all lucky,” said Vijay, “the upper slopes are
smooth and have been removed of their boulders and
stones. There are no major landslides in the valley of the
kora during monsoon or winter. There are no glaciers
223
threatening the valley. But, if you look at the great lake
of Manasarovar, the Rakshas Lake and the valley in-
between these two big water bodies, you can guess at the
landslides that must have occurred. Those big boulders
have come here and settled. Some are as big and tall as
the Chiu Gompa itself.”
“We are not so lucky at my village, for the monsoon and
winter is part of our lives. Our families and their
settlements move to the lower plains in the monsoon and
winter. What are the lower plains, do you know?” the
senior monk asked, and continued, “The lower plains are
much higher than Ladakh or your Uttarakhand. For us, it
is as far as we can escape. That’s all. My grandfather
who had gone in search of the source of the great river
had said that old stories spoke about the place as ‘the
lion that roared and allowed the river to flow from its
mouth’. It must have been due to the great sound that the
mountain streams create when they flow through the
deep valleys.”
Vijay was trying to picture the flooding of the valley of
the kora in the winter, and he did not wish to look
impolite to the senior monk who was explaining about
the valleys of his village and the mountain streams in
those locations. He was wondering if the two different
perspectives would converge and there was something
significant in this discussion with the senior monk. He
spoke to the senior monk, “If it was to be ‘the lion that
roared’, I think it would be very specific to a single
location. There has to be an absolutely single location
from where the most logical source of the great river
would emerge. But, I agree with you, that there must
have been untimely flooding of the valley of the kora,
perhaps once in fifty or hundred years.”
224
“Yes. My grandfather said that he had indeed been to
such a place.” the senior monk replied, “He had gone
with some of the elders from our village and escorted the
monks from the Gompa nearby. They spoke about it for
some years later, and the monks made a record of the
place that they had seen. The parchments and the map
and sketches have been kept as a secret for fear that
people from other lands or people from ours who would
not respect the sacred aspect would go in and destroy the
place. The great river is born from our lands, as are the
other great rivers from all around the sacred valleys of
the Mount Kailash, as you call it. We have many names
and we have names for all the various valleys and
springs.”
Vijay was intrigued. This conversation was being spoken
in a very deliberate manner, he thought. The senior
monk did not seem to be as dispassionate or as confusing
as he thought him to be. He just had a different manner
of explaining a point. Vijay asked, “Are those
parchments, maps and sketches kept in your village or in
the nearby Gompa? Who would take care of them? Have
you seen them? Do those sketches show the Mount
Kailash in the region of the source of the great Indus
River? Have you gone to explore those secret valleys?”
The senior monk, Loga of the Kla-Chu as he wanted to
be called, replied, “No, my friend, Vijay, I was not able
to walk to the Lion and have not seen the mouth of the
Lion. All those parchments, maps and sketches were
kept carefully by the monks from the local Gompa.
When they knew that I had become a senior monk, they
gave the entire set to me for safekeeping. I have those
maps, drawn in our style, with the names of those places
225
in our languages. It is in our concept of north or south,
not like yours. But, they retain the key to many of the
mysteries of this land. Would you like to see these
parchments and the maps? You may be interested to,
no?”
***
The monk from Dirapuk sat quietly, immersed in his
prayers, deep into his meditative trance. He did not seem
disturbed at all with the developments and their current
situation. Norbu sat at a distance, watching the monk in
his meditation. He knew about meditation and prayers,
but had never tried anything like that himself. His
mastiff sat nearby, content and happy to be at peace,
without tourists or pilgrims. He did not have to chase
after the two yaks if they would amble about away from
the tracks. There were no tracks here. The two boys, one
was a yak-boy and the other a horse-boy, sat near their
animals and were busy preparing some sort of a meal.
They had set up a shelter alongside the mountain amidst
some closely fallen boulders. The yaks and horse could
be hidden inside the boulders if there would be need.
Norbu was uncertain about himself. Was he excited? Or,
was he worried that he may have stumbled on to some
series of events that would not concern him? His parents,
back at Darchen, had sent him alone, because they
needed the money that he would bring them. What sort
of money would he make on this expedition? Was he
being honest with the faith that his parents had placed on
him?
226
The monk from Dirapuk had completed with his prayers
and meditation and had been quietly watching Norbu
and understanding the lines of concern that were obvious
on his face. He did not say anything. These were
situations that were brought about by forces that were
greater than what one could wish for or wish against. To
each, was their fate to fight with or against these forces?
Norbu would learn from such situations. He would be
wiser in the future, and would be able to face these
situations or other complex ones in his life, in later
years.
At that moment, Brother Tameng accompanied by a
horse and a horse-boy came out of the concealed passage
within the landslide of boulders. The monk from
Dirapuk stood up and greeted Brother Tameng warmly.
The horse-boy went up to the other two boys and got
busy in their work for he was desperately hungry. Norbu
helped the three boys with gathering up fodder and
firewood. Brother Tameng and the monk from Dirapuk
were in some serious discussion. Norbu went up to them
with two hot bowls of soup and noodles. The other boys
also brought up their bowls nearer and sat around them,
expectant to hear what was to happen.
Brother Tameng described the trail that led into the
landslide of boulders and explained about the clearing
and the darker trail that had been ahead. He explained
that he had felt disturbed that there were forces ahead
that may not desire to be intruded upon. He had come
out of the trail and further explained that he would return
to Choku Gompa to seek the advice and guidance of
Master Rinchen. He would know about what was to be
done. The monk from Dirapuk agreed with Brother
Tameng.
227
The two monks decided that they would return to
Dirapuk and onwards to Choku Gompa to meet Master
Rinchen. Norbu, his two yaks and mastiff would also
accompany them, in case they would send any material
or other people to the hidden valley. The monk from
Dirapuk instructed the three boys to stay at the opening
to the landslide of boulders. He assured them that he
would send supplies, food and warm clothing from
Dirapuk. The boys agreed to wait at the spot, for they
had set up a comfortable camp and they were used to
this manner of life.
The two monks and Norbu walked out of the hidden
valley down the sloping path towards the Dirapuk
monastery. Norbu was happy that the events had
resolved some of his doubts. He would at least be
returning to the Choku Gompa, and could easily walk
back to Darchen and meet his parents. The monk from
Dirapuk noticed Norbu’s happiness and smiled and
thought, it is true... for one has to merely live in the
present, and not worry about events that have passed
ahead or those events that are to come.
They came up to the eating house run by Sangye and
Yeshe’s parents. The monk from Dirapuk took some
time in explaining the run of events. Yeshe’s parents did
not seem to be worried, for they knew that Sangye was
the very best in this region, and he could be trusted not
to be foolishly heroic. They served a hot meal to the two
monks and Norbu and provided some food packets for
their onward journey towards the Choku Gompa. Norbu
became happier and happier, for as a trail helper to the
tourists, he had to depend on leftovers or the food that he
228
would cook for himself. Nobody had ever welcomed
him to their places and had never served him hot food.
The monk from Dirapuk separated from them and said
that he would go up to his monastery and inform the
progress of the expedition to his brother monks and
organise to send a support party to the opening of the
valley. They would carry food and other necessities to
the yak and horse boys who they had left behind. The
support party could travel back and forth. He would join
them at Choku Gompa or at Darchen if they would not
have returned early. Happy that the necessary
arrangements would be made by the Dirapuk monks,
Brother Tameng started on the walk back to Choku
Gompa with Norbu.
They arrived at the Choku Gompa in good spirit, sheltered in the shadow of the sacred Kang Renpoche,
the Mount Kailash. Norbu and Brother Tameng silently
recited their own prayers of thanks to Kang Renpoche
and entered the monastery. Master Rinchen was visibly
happy to see them and welcomed them. Norbu was made
to feel special and one of the brother monks took him to
rest at a room after having made arrangements for his
two yaks and his mastiff. He was given an open shed
that was almost like a lean-to against the walls of the
monastery. It was sheltered against the wind, and the
yaks could feed upon stored fodder near the shed.
Norbu’s mastiff however had different ideas, and
managed to curl up alongside his master.
Brother Tameng explained in detail about the
happenings at Dirapuk and later at the valley. The
brother monks and Master Rinchen listened eagerly.
Master Rinchen was happy, and said, “At least we know
229
that there is a path. We did not imagine all those events.
You have seen the footmarks of the herd of giant wild
yak. I am happy. I thought that these were sacred visions being disclosed to us in the valley of Kang Renpoche.
We do not know what this means, but I can now plan
ahead and we can determine the future course of action.”
“There is a wise monk at the Chiu Gompa. He had
spoken of many mysterious events that he knew about in
the valleys to the north of the kora of the Kang
Renpoche. I have met him on several occasions. I will
talk to him on the cell phone.” Master Rinchen said, “He
had handed over many drawings and sketches and other
rare artifacts to the sacred Gyangdrak Gompa near
Darchen. Brother Tameng, do take some rest for a while.
Let me talk to the senior monk at Chiu Gompa and we
will plan to meet at the Gyangdrak Gompa.”
Brother Tameng went out in search of Norbu and found
him in the shed, fast asleep. The mastiff had gotten used
to Brother Tameng and therefore did not growl or bark at
him. Brother Tameng had a comfortable place to sleep at
the monk’s dormitory at the Chiu Gompa, but he wanted
to stay humble, for Norbu was a member of his team,
and he could not take on comforts, if his team member
did not have any. In any case, the shed looked quite
comfortable. He spread out his mattress and went off to
sleep, covered in a bunch of warm blankets. His brother
monks came out to watch this strange comradeship and
smiled in understanding.
Master Rinchen had completed his telephone
conversation with the senior monk at Chiu Gompa. The
senior monk had not been surprised at all. He spoke of
someone called Vijay who was staying with him and had
230
seen strange visions and their conversation about the
valley of the Lion’s Mouth. This was strange, the senior
monk had said. They had been discussing the same
valleys. He would come over to Gyangdrak Gompa and
they would be able to have a look at the ancient maps,
drawings and sketches done by his grandfather.
Norbu and Brother Tameng were woken up and asked to
get ready to go to Darchen. Norbu could meet his
parents and explain to them about his adventures.
Brother Tameng and Master Rinchen would hire a new
group of yaks and horses and pick up supplies, including
much needed food supplies. They would go ahead to
Gyangdrak Gompa from Darchen. They would have to
be careful about the policemen at Darchen who may
wonder if something suspicious was happening, for the
monks of the three monasteries to meet up suddenly.
Norbu was truly happy now. He had not thought it
possible that he would meet his parents so early. They
would be happy to see him.
***
Hariram Maharaj was fascinated with what he had heard
from the two pilgrims from the Karakul Lake and the
Kongur mountains. He had never known that there were
similar mountains, as sacred as the Mount Kailash, and
that ancient peoples considered both Kongur and Kailash
as continuity. How could that be possible? As a devout
Indian, and as devotees from other religions, everyone knew that Mount Kailash, or Kang Renpoche, was the
final destination in faith. This was the ashtapada and
this sacred valley of the kora was the most sought after
231
pilgrimages in many religions. But, as the two pilgrims
had explained, everyone comes to Mount Kailash and
return. Very few come here to stay.
It could certainly be possible, thought Hariram Maharaj.
There were villages here that did not move during the
winter. There were ancient nomads and herdsmen who
lived out in the open pasturelands in the winter. There
were mountain hamlets that could secure themselves and
be able to live through the winter. Devotees and pilgrims
who came in from India, Nepal and other Hindu,
Buddhist and Jain lands would most certainly return
after their pilgrimage. Tibetan pilgrims, Buddhist or
Bon, would also prefer to return, but they did manage to
do a leisurely journey and would not be chased away by
the police. This was not like Lhasa, he thought.
The two pilgrims had had a profound impact on Hariram
Maharaj. He felt that he had been wasting his life, living
as a fugitive at Shiquanhe. He had settled in to the
landscape, and could speak Tibetan very fluently and he
dressed as one. Nobody could make him out unless they
had to speak to him for a longer period of time. He
should get started on his goal of completing the 108
koras and it could only begin if he were to be closer to
Mount Kailash. He would have to bid goodbye to Luo
Tsering, at least for the moment, and move ahead to
Darchen.
Hariram Maharaj explained his dilemma to Luo Tsering,
who heard him out patiently. He had known that this day
would come, and he had been ready for it. He was fond
of Hariram Maharaj and he did not want this gentle cook
and expert of everything there was to be known about
India and their strange vegetarians. How could there be
232
people who did not eat meat, was an eternal puzzle to
Luo Tsering. He spoke to Hariram Maharaj, “Go if you
must, because I know that you dearly want to begin on your goal of completing the 108 koras. There is nothing
wrong about it. Everyone knows you around here, and
you are spoken about even at Darchen. The policemen
know you. It is you who think that you are successful at
hiding yourself. They know that you are not a criminal
or a spy.”
“I am afraid, Brother,” said Hariram Maharaj, “I am
afraid of the cold. I can suffer it here at Shiquanhe,
because I am inside the eatery and always stand near the
hot stove. I also sleep near the stove. But, I am not
known at Darchen in the manner of a pilgrim. I will have
to stay at Darchen for many years now in order to
complete my goal of 108 koras. I need to get a job while
I am at Darchen. Later, during the harsh winter, I want to
travel back to Shiquanhe in the initial years, and be with
you. You are my only family here in Tibet.”
Luo Tsering smiled, for he knew that Hariram Maharaj
was terrified of the cold and the winter in Tibet. The pull of the sacred Kang Renpoche was very strong. HE
decides about who will go into HIS shelter, and who will
stay away. He said, “O Brother from India, you are a
good man. You have a good heart. I know that you are
totally shaken up by the stories of the two pilgrims who
have come from an ancient land in Tibet, west of Ngari.
But, my brother, this is Tibet, and we are in the most
ancient lands of Tibet. Who knows what exists out there
in the mountains between Kang Renpoche and Kongur
and the Pamirs? Go if you must. But, you are always
welcome here.”
233
The two pilgrims from the ancient lands had been
hearing all this discussion. The elder pilgrim smiled, and
said, “You are correct, O Master of this eatery. Who
knows how the sacred mountains call you. They are
everywhere. These mountains are living beings. They
have noble souls within them. Countless numbers of
noble people, sages, saints and seers have come to these
mountains and have disappeared within them. Today, we
are in a nation where law and order is visible. This was
not the case, at least, about 3-4 decades ago. Many sages
and noble souls have stayed back.”
After having bid a tearful farewell to Luo Tsering and
his wife, and the other friends that he had made at
Shiquanhe, Hariram Maharaj begged a request ride with
one of the pilgrim vehicles that were going back to
Darchen after the storm. The drivers knew him and
never thought that he was something of an illegal
traveler in the Mount Kailash area. They had always
seen him at Shiquanhe and never thought him to be an
outsider. Luo Tsering had spoken of a family that also
had an eatery at Darchen and supplied equipment, yaks
and horses to the pilgrim groups. He had suggested that
if Hariram Maharaj were to say that he had come from
Luo Tsering, he would be able to get a job as a cook at
the Darchen eatery.
Luo Tsering had explained that the family was from a
hamlet near Shiquanhe, and their elderly father stayed at
their farm. Their daughters took care of their yak herd at
Shiquanhe and they were well known in the town and in
the villages nearby. The couple that ran the eatery at
Darchen had settled in well with the trade of the pilgrims
from Europe, India and Nepal. They maintained yaks
and horses and had employed a number of boys to take
234
the pilgrims around the kora. In fact, Luo Tsering had
added, their son, Norbu, was also a yak-boy and he was
well known in the kora. For all one knew, Norbu must
have done the entire kora for more than 50 times as part
of his job.
Hariram Maharaj arrived at Darchen soon enough and,
after enquiry with the locals, found Norbu’s parents and
their eatery. The couple was very happy to know that
someone had come all the way from Shiquanhe,
specifically in search of them. They knew Luo Tsering
and his eatery, and appreciated the fact that Hariram
Maharaj was an exclusive vegetarian cook and that he
was proud of his skills. They needed someone like him,
and agreed with him that he could work at their eatery
and stay inside the place at night, warm, near the stove.
That was very practical.
He had asked them about their son, for he was very
interested in meeting him. More than 50 koras? Wow.
That was something. He had yet to start on his 108
koras. Norbu’s parents had said that he was on the kora
with a very rich and large pilgrim group. They had hired
nearly fifteen yaks and ten horses, and were cooking
their own food, Indian vegetarian food, of course, while
stopping at each place on the path. They had seen the
group earlier in the morning at Darchen and had been
told that Norbu had stopped at the Dirapuk monastery
and would be returning later with the monks from
Dirapuk.
Hariram Maharaj was happy. He was where he wanted
to be. From any place at Darchen, if he would turn around, he could see the most sacred Ashtapada, the
Kailas Parbat, or the Kang Renpoche. The Darchen
235
eatery was more comfortable than the one at Shiquanhe.
This was an actual brick and mortar building, and
warmer than Luo Tsering’s open shed. There were more
pilgrims moving around here, having come from several
routes. The local yak boys and the horse boys and the
porters seemed to have more money to spend at the
eatery.
Norbu’s parents had given an empty room, a small one,
next to their eatery and had helped him to furnish the
place with their extra stove, benches, carpets, wall
hangings, utensils and firewood. From morning to noon,
the vegetarian eatery had been made ready. A local
signboard painter had got it all ready, announcing the
“100% all-vegetarian Hindu food” and including
mention that one could get “Gujarati Punjabi South
Indian Bengali vegetarian Hindu food only”. Hariram
Maharaj was happy. He had never thought it possible
that he would be in demand in the shadow of the sacred
Kang Renpoche.
The next day, Norbu’s parents had exclaimed happily and were pointing towards the Yamdwar, Yama’s
entrance, a place where the pilgrims started on their
kora. Except, their parents said, that something must be
wrong, because their son was returning from Choku
Gompa, with two monks, and they were all walking
comfortably, with the two yaks and the mastiff following
them. Norbu was not following behind the monks as one
would normally do, but he was walking along with them
and talking to them, actually talking to them, and they
were all joking and laughing. Norbu’s parents explained
to Hariram Maharaj that something must have drastically
gone wrong. All these years, Norbu had never returned
without having completed the kora. But, he was actually
236
returning along the path where nobody would dare return
unless dead or seriously unwell.
***
Norbu and Brother Tameng sat at the newly decorated
vegetarian section of the eatery and stretched
themselves. Some of the other boys took care of Norbu’s
two yaks, while his mother fed his mastiff with some
fresh meat broth. Norbu’s parents sat with Brother
Tameng and heard the entire story of the events of the
valley over the past three days and nights. Hariram
Maharaj stood near the warm stove, cooking a meal for
everyone. He was tremendously excited. His first day at
Darchen, and it seemed to be filled with aspects of
adventure.
Brother Tameng explained about the twelve pilgrims in
the stone circle, and the visit by the herd of large wild
yaks accompanied by the wolves. He spoke about the
meeting at Dirapuk and the expedition to the valley
beyond the monastery. Hariram Maharaj was happy,
gleefully happy, at all these unexplained happenings.
This was what he had come in search of. He was excited
to hear about the monks and trackers who had made a team to go into the secret valley. ‘Beyul’, they called it.
Whatever be the name, imagine a secret valley that was
even hidden from the kora in the sacred region. This
could be the reason why he had managed to reach upto
Darchen, he thought.
Norbu kept interrupting, with instances and events that
he wanted Brother Tameng to explain. He had been
237
feeling guilty about having left the group of pilgrims that he was supposed to help on their kora, and he did
wonder if his father would scold him after the departure
of Brother Tameng to the Choku Gompa. To continue
with the description of the events, Norbu asked Brother
Tameng to explain about the hidden valley and the
boulders.
Brother Tameng hesitated. He did not know anything
about Hariram Maharaj. This strange looking, almost
Tibetan looking, Indian was not supposed to be
privileged to know about the Beyul or whatever. If they
would get to know about it, who knows, about 10,000 pilgrims could start coming to the valley of Kang
Renpoche, or Mount Kailash, to visit and wander about
the secret valley above Dirapuk. He decided to change
the subject, until he knew more about the vegetarian
cook who seemed to have been adopted by Norbu’s
parents.
He spoke about the possibility that the hidden valley
could lead them to the ‘mouth of the lion’. This could
probably be the source of the Indus River. They certainly knew of the Lungdep Chu, the river from the Kang
Renpoche valley that flowed into the mighty Indus. The
source of the Lungdep Chu River was quite close to
Darchen. The only way to reach the source of the
Lungdep Chu was to walk for at least two days, if one
had a bit of equipment and yaks and horses. Brother
Tameng kept talking of the possibility of the Lungdep
Chu emerging from the area near Darchen and flowing
through the hidden valley of the large wild yaks.
Hariram Maharaj did not understand the geography and
the distances between the places at Kang Renpoche. But,
238
he loved to hear about all these mysteries. He had once
met some Swedes who had come to Shiquanhe with
tremendous amounts of equipment. Some of their stuff
had been discarded at Luo Tsering’s eatery and Hariram
Maharaj had kept the really good thermal stuff for his
own use. The leader of the expedition from Sweden had
also gifted Hariram Maharaj with snow walking sticks,
thermal gloves and balaclavas. He was just about ready to even walk through the inner kora to find out how the
twelve pilgrims could have disappeared by themselves.
Those Swedes had been mentioning about some search
to some place that they kept referring to as the Lion’s
Valley. Hariram Maharaj had been excited and happy to
talk to them, since he came from Gujarat and it was the
home of the Lion in India. This secret valley that Brother
Tameng was speaking about, it could be the mysterious
and unknown ‘Lion’s Valley’, he thought. How could he
reach that valley? He had to simply go to this spot and
see for himself and travel without any deadlines or
return schedules.
Brother Tameng explained to Norbu’s parents that the
most important concern now was to send food, supplies,
equipment, blankets and tenting material to the people
who were exploring the valley. Nobody had expected
that it would turn out to be a longer expedition, and one
could not withdraw or fail in this journey just because
there were no supplies. As he explained, what if the
expedition took more days and months and was trapped
in the secret valley in the winter? It would be better to be
prepared and with more than adequate supplies. He
suggested that the entire support could be organised by
Norbu’s parents. They would be paid for the material
239
that they would supply. Master Rinchen had sent some
money with him, he assured.
“Would Norbu go back with to the secret valley,
Brother?” asked Norbu’s mother, anxiously. Brother
Tameng smiled and said that it would not be without
him. He had promised Master Rinchen and he would
similarly promise Norbu’s parents that the boy would be
in his care. It was good to be with Norbu, he told his
parents, for he was a good boy and was very intelligent
and knew his way around in these mountains. He was
good to his yaks and his mastiff trusted him and was
very loyal to him. “No,” He said, “Norbu and his two
yaks and mastiff would come with me, for I go to the
inner kora, to Gyangdrak Gompa. My two brother
monks have gone ahead to the sacred place, and they are
trying to understand the knowledge available here about the beyuls.”
Norbu smiled, for he was also wondering if this was the
end of the adventure for him, since he had returned to his
parents’ eatery. His only worry had been that his parents
would have been frightened for they would have been
expecting his return to Darchen with the pilgrims. Now
that he had met them and that they knew of his well
being, Norbu was eager to get back to the secret valley.
He was happy to accompany Brother Tameng for he
knew that the monk was entirely unlike the peaceful
demeanor that he showed to others.
Norbu’s father went out to collect some animals and
boys to be sent to Dirapuk, while Norbu’s mother and
Hariram Maharaj busied themselves with placing the
necessities to be packed up. All equipment, food and
supplies would be covered with thick plastic sheets, and
240
would be covered once again, after they were loaded on
to the yaks and horses. Norbu’s father had gathered up
four yaks and two horses. Two yak-boys and one horse-
boy would go with them. He had chosen boys who knew
the kora and animals that he had known to be steadfast
in snow or rain. The entire group of animals and boys were soon on their way to the Yamadwar and onwards to
Choku Gompa before going further to Dirapuk.
Brother Tameng and Norbu got ready to go to
Gyangdrak Gompa. Norbu’s two yaks were loaded up
with supplies for the two, the monk and his new student.
Hariram Maharaj had a sudden impulse. He spoke to
Norbu’s father and sought his permission to go with
Brother Tameng and Norbu to Gyangdrak Gompa and
later, to the secret valley. He suggested that it would
always better, as they would say in his Gujarat, that three
people were always better than two. It would be good to
be of help to the expedition, for he could cook and help
with the silly tasks. It seemed like a big group was
coming together, and who knew how many more monks
would start from the Gyangdrak Gompa to go to see the
secret valley.
Norbu’s father was happy to allow his son and Brother
Tameng to be helped by Hariram Maharaj. His son
would be better protected in this strange expedition.
After the severe storm, most of the pilgrim groups had
not arrived at Darchen, and it was a slow business day.
The situation would probably continue for a week, and it
was possible that this entire crazy expedition would be
over, and everyone would return from the secret valley
that they were talking about. He did not want to
intervene in something that his son was obviously happy
with. He was in good company and this was not some
241
travel that would result in ill-mannered behaviour with
the helper boys who came along with the pilgrim groups.
Hariram Maharaj requested permission to borrow a
horse so that he could have help to carry his equipment
and supplies. This was easily given by Norbu’s mother.
She allowed the strange cook from India to borrow her
own horse, for she knew that he was very docile and
would walk obediently behind anyone in these hills.
Very soon, Brother Tameng, Norbu and Hariram
Maharaj were away, walking from Darchen towards the inner kora areas and on to Gyangdrak Gompa with their
two yaks, one horse and Norbu’s mastiff. Brother
Tameng was keen to meet up with his brother monks and
was eager to find out about the information that they would have collected about the beyuls of the Kang
Renpoche valleys and this sacred land.
***
Vijay Kulkarni had affirmed his interest in wanting to
see the parchments, maps and sketches that were spoken
about by the senior monk at Chiu Gompa. Loga of the
Kla-Chu, as the senior monk was to be called, said, “As I
told you, I have not got to see the ‘mouth of the Lion’,
but I do know that those documents will be able to tell
you more about the location or the possible location.
Perhaps, the time has come. Perhaps, this is the reason
why I was not able to go to the secret valley that my
grandfather spoke about. Do you really want to see those
documents? Why? Should they not remain a secret?
Should the location of the source of the Indus not remain
a secret?”
242
Vijay nodded in agreement, and replied, “You are
correct that what is a secret is best served by being a
secret. There are justified reasons as to why our ancients
kept some matters to be hidden from the common view.
This is one such reason. The sources of the rivers were
always to be seen as a precious treasure. The rivers can
be controlled in the valleys that give birth to it. Kings
can rule their kingdoms wisely, or deny the water to
other kingdoms. If allowed to be shared, it becomes a
resource that can be restricted. In any which way, the
source of the river is the fulcrum of a kingdom, its
people and their king.”
The senior monk looked up at Vijay with new respect,
and said, “You speak wisely, my friend. You speak very
wisely indeed. This is the treasure of the Himalayas, the upper Himalayas in Tibet. The Kang Renpoche is at the
centre and holds the secrets to the treasures of the world.
The greatest of the rivers, and many rivers there are, they
emerge from the folds of the sacred mountain. Everyone,
one and all, they think they know that such and such
river starts its flow from such and such place. But, they
do not. They do not know the exact source, or the exact
valley. For, every river, at its source, has many streams
that feed it. One does not know which stream or which
valley is actually the cause of its birth.”
“But, my friend, the parchments, maps and sketches and
paintings are not here at Chiu Gompa,” the senior monk
said, “I had kept all those documents in a protected box
and I have placed them in the custody of the senior
monk at Gyangdrak Gompa. They have many more such
documents. The Gompa is at the entrance to the inner
kora. Have you been to the inner kora? The Gyangdrak
243
Gompa is at the very edge, and one can see the Kang
Renpoche in all its glory from that very place. We will
go to the Gyangdrak Gompa. Come, I will go with you.
We will drive down to Darchen by one of the jeeps and
then borrow horses to go to the Gompa. We will reach
early.”
Vijay was excited to be on the move again. A chance to
go to the Gyangdrak Gompa? Who would refuse? To be
at the edge of the inner kora? How could one stay away?
To be a guest at the Gompa for a couple of days, if I was
lucky, he thought. This was it. The senior monk, Loga of
the Kla-Chu, managed to get a lift on one of the pilgrim
vehicles. It was a truck, and Vijay sat along with him
and two helper boys from Nepal who had been hired to
work with the pilgrim groups. They served them with
hot tea from a thermos flask that they had. Vijay was
blissful at the taste of the sugary milk-laden tea that he had, ‘just like it was made in Pune’, he thought to
himself.
At Darchen, the senior monk from the Chiu Gompa went
about asking at the eateries for horses to be taken on hire
to go to the Gyangdrak Gompa. There seemed to be a
scarcity of horses, for most pilgrim groups would have
taken them away on the kora. One of the yak-boys came
up to them and explained that it would be best to ask the
eatery run by the old couple from Shiquanhe, for they
had many horses and yaks. Why, only today, the yak-
boy explained, the monk from Choku Gompa and a
funny looking Indian and the Shiquanhe boy had gone in
haste towards Gyangdrak Gompa. The old couple from
Shiquanhe would definitely be able to help, the yak-boy
said.
244
At the eatery run by Norbu’s parents, to their surprise,
the senior monk of Chiu Gompa and Vijay explained
that they needed two horses to ride up to Gyangdrak
Gompa. Norbu’s father expressed his curiosity and
explained that there seemed to be quite a number of
people going up to the Gyangdrak Gompa from the other
monasteries. The Choku Gompa had sent two monks
earlier, and now Brother Tameng had gone in with
Norbu, his son, and Hariram Maharaj, a vegetarian cook
from Gujarat in India. There was something happening
in an exciting way, he suggested.
Norbu’s parents described the events of the night at the
Choku Gompa, of the twelve pilgrims who vanished, of
the herd of giant wild yaks and the wild wolves and the
expedition from Dirapuk to enter the hidden valley. As
long as his son was safe, and more and more sensible
men were involved in this matter, Norbu’s father had no
hesitation in helping them out with horses and supplies.
He assured them that he was certain that they would not
be returning any day soon. He thought that they would
be drawn into this adventure, and more and more, he was
sure that they would be traveling for many days.
Vijay and Loga of the Kla-Chu thought about Norbu’s
father and his predictions as they rode up towards the
Gyangdrak Gompa. This seemed to be getting exciting,
and they were looking forward to being drawn into it. As
Loga of the Kla-Chu, the senior monk of the Chiu
Gompa told Vijay, “Brother, as I told you, there is
always a time and there is always a reason about why
events happen when they do, and the manner in which
they occur. Today, we are both witness to this amazing
turn of situations and happenings. Let us see where they
lead us.”
245
They arrived at the Gyangdrak Gompa, and noted the
number of horses and yaks that were already gathered in
an open shed. There were many visitors, Vijay thought.
A junior monk had seen Loga of the Kla-Chu and knew
him to be the senior monk at the Chiu Gompa. He rushed
forward to welcome them and offered to take them to
meet the venerable Nam Ang Tsering, for they were
probably here for the meeting. In answer to an
immediate query about the meeting, the junior monk
replied that there were many monks and visitors from
different lands who had been gathering here since
yesterday and since that strange storm on the Kang
Renpoche.
Master Ang Tsering was not surprised to know that there
were more visitors to the Gyangdrak Gompa. He
welcomed them and requested them to join the group of
other visitors. It was quite a team that had assembled
here, and he was thankful to the sacred Kang Renpoche
for making such a meeting possible, he said. There was
Sardar Amarpal Singh, who wanted to walk inside the inner kora, and try to climb on the slopes, which was
simply unthinkable. Along with him was Brother Sonam
Sangye, the monk from the very sacred Nalanda. We are
truly blessed, he said, smiling at Sangye. Escorting them
both was the unexpected companion, Shenshe, the
policeman from Shiquanhe. He was also welcome.
Brother Shedrub Repa of the Gyangdrak Gompa
introduced himself and introduced the two brother
monks from the Choku Gompa, who had arrived earlier,
with the first news about the twelve pilgrims who had vanished below the slopes of the Kang Renpoche.
Brother Tameng was introduced by Master Ang Tsering
246
who in turn spoke about Hariram Maharaj and Norbu.
Shenshe look curiously at Hariram Maharaj, but kept his
peace. Vijay Kulkarni and the senior monk from the
Chiu Gompa, Loga of the Kla-Chu, introduced
themselves.
Brother Tameng retold the turn of events, for it was he
who knew of what had happened on the slopes of the
Choku Gompa. He described the rain and its intensity, of
the strange group of twelve pilgrims who sat in the circle
of stones. There was silence in the Gyangdrak Gompa,
as the group heard about the herd of giant wild yaks and
there was awe as they listened to the description about
the wolves that were silent. Norbu spoke of what he had
heard in the night at Dirapuk, and they explained, in
turns, about the hidden valley behind the monastery.
Sardar Amarpal Singh spoke of his vision during the
stormy night and Vijay Kulkarni explained that he had
had similar visions at the same time. Each one of them
had been witnessing a part of the happening of that
storm as they had gazed at the Kang Renpoche.
Master Ang Tsering spoke about the sanctity of the Beyuls and the aspect of divinity of the mountains and
lakes in this region. There was magic in the place, he
said, as he had said earlier, and it was not in our power
to seek the mystery. Events would happen, and the mist
would lift by itself, as it did in these mountains. The
senior monk of the Chiu Gompa, Loga of the Kla-Chu,
explained that he had once deposited a set of maps,
sketches and paintings about the valleys to the north-
west of the Kang Renpoche. The answers could well be
in those documents. This was the reason for him to
travel from Chiu Gompa to the Gyangdrak Gompa.
247
X
Yeshe and Sangye kept walking up the trail. They had
left the mastiffs at the campsite. By their sheer height,
the mountains cast their shadows on other mountains.
The shadows took on strange shapes and seemed to be
following them, as they climbed up. Sangye pointed
them out to Yeshe, and said, “Look. Those are the guardians of this secret Beyul. The mountains are alive,
and they send their warriors to guard this trail. If you
stop and fight these warriors or question them, the
mountains can destroy you. We should not get
frightened by them. Let us keep walking without
thinking of the guardians of these sacred mountains.”
Sangye continued, “These strange guardians can attack
you very badly inside your mind. I have known of many idiots who have entered the secret Beyuls without
heeding the advice of the monks or elders. They have
wandered inside these secret valleys for days or months
or years and have not been able to return. Those who did
return spoke of strange battles with the guardians of the
trails. An old man from my village had returned after
five years.”
The trail climbed sharply and in spite of years of
mountain walking experience between the two veteran
trackers, they began to get breathless. The steep ascent
had come upon them suddenly, and they had not realised
it. Yeshe gestured for the both of them to sit for awhile
and catch their breath. Sangye smiled thankfully and
248
they sat quietly. They could see the entire valley floor
from where they had climbed up. Katishe and Satawa
were climbing up steadily and came up to Yeshe and Sangye. The veterans of the Kang Renpoche were
together, and they sat peacefully, amazed at the beauty
of the valley that was spread out in front of them.
They could see the trail that they had walked up and
now, at this height, above the valley, they could make
out the forested trail that had led away from their night
camp. Dawa must have gone through that trail, they
guessed. The opening to the valley wall was a short walk
away, but it would require some strenuous walking.
Katishe pointed to the opening, and said, “Sangye, you
old fox, this path looks more and more like it is going
towards the river bed of the Seng Tsanplo River, but as
we both know, the mighty river must be at a distant
valley. There is no other river that we have seen or heard about. Where could this secret Beyul lead to?”
Sangye replied, “I had mentioned the same aspect, a
while ago. We may be at some place near the source of
the River of the Lion. It is said that the source of the
river is called the Mouth of the Lion. It must be because
of the roar of the waters. That would mean that there is a
sharp and very deep ravine, and the narrow river
thunders down a steep fall. If we are anywhere near the
Mouth of the Lion, we should be hearing the roar very
soon. We will know by that sound, I guess. Let us walk
to the opening in the valley and see for ourselves. Let us
then decide if we are to go back and join up with Dawa
or if we should walk through to the next valley.”
The four of them walked together, Yeshe, Sangye,
Satawa and Katishe, up the steep trail. It had become
249
extremely narrow in the upper rocks, and they could
walk in a single file, one behind the other. The trail
made them breathless and they struggled quietly. They
breathed in, with their mouths open, and did not speak. It
would have taken up much energy to even speak to each
other. Finally, they were at the opening, and they could look at either side. The secret Beyul that they had walked
up from seemed like just a beginning. The valley on the
other side could not be seen. The clouds had come down
to rest inside the other valley and had hidden whatever that could be within it. The Beyul, on the other hand, had
no clouds and was absolutely basking in the pre-noon
sunlight. It was very strange, they thought.
Yeshe spoke, almost voicing the thoughts of all, “This
valley is completely hidden. Should we go ahead, or
should we wait here? We could set up camp at the place
where we sat. The large rocks on that trail can help us
hide out the cold of the night. It will get extremely cold
here. Or, we could go down to our earlier camp and wait
for Dawa. But, this valley seems quite tempting and
exciting. It’s only pre-noon now, and the sun is up and
shining. These are only clouds, and there does not seem
to be any fog. I think, we should be cautious and curious.
What do you say?”
Sangye replied, “I agree. It is almost noon, and we have
at least 2-3 hours of sunlight. We can easily go inside
this hidden cloud valley and get back before sunset.
Since it is downhill, we can return back to our camp of
the night. It will be safer to be back. We do not know of
this valley. We have to be careful since we could be near
the River of the Lion. It is said that at the Mouth of the
Lion, there are a thousand springs of water that come
together, but cannot be seen. My elders told me that one
250
should be careful when one cannot see the springs of
water. It would be an indication of ponds that are alive
below the water surface. They could eat us up.”
“Ponds that can eat us up?” asked Yeshe, “I have heard
of the story. The springs below the ponds are deep or
have deep holes. They cannot be seen from the surface.
People or animals can just fall into the deep and narrow
holes and cannot swim back to the surface. We should
be careful. I agree with Sangye. Let us walk into this
hidden cloud valley and let us try to return if we think
that the journey onward would not be safe. But, before
we proceed, let us leave messages for those who follow
us.”
And thus, the four of them went about leaving messages
in their own traditions. Yeshe wrote out some sketches
on a tall rock, with arrows to indicate the direction in
which they would proceed. Sangye picked up rocks of
different sizes and placed them on a large boulder. He
placed the rocks in a manner that would make them look
like a natural cluster. Any curious animal would not pay
attention to such a loosely fallen group of stones and
rocks. A knowledgeable tracker would however be able
to read the message that four trackers (shown by four
rocks of similar shape and size, in a row) had walked
down the hidden cloud valley.
Katishe picked up some leaves from a nearby tree and
crushed them to extract their juices and painted out four
figures, the position of the sun and the direction of their
journey. Satawa was a minimalist. He placed four stones
in a row, towards the cloud valley and sketched a sun to
indicate its position at pre-noon. To each, their own.
They knew that most monks and yak-boys or horse-boys
251
could read these signs and would be able to understand
that the four of them had entered the hidden cloud
valley.
As they turned back towards the hidden Beyul from
which they had climbed out, they could see the sacred Kang Renpoche Mountain. The pre-noon sun made the
higher peaks shine through the distance, and they felt
comforted. The four of them had gone through their lives
in the shadow of the sacred mountain and in its comforting valleys. As long as they could see the Kang
Renpoche, they felt that there could be no danger that
could overcome them.
They began to walk down the hidden cloud valley. The
clouds hid all sight of the valley. Very soon, they were
amongst the clouds, unable to see the trail. They kept
walking, going by their own experience, of many
decades of moving around in these mountains. After a
while, they were below the clouds, and the valley was
spread out in front of them. The sunlight crept through
the clouds, with rays striking waterbodies, rocks, forests
and meadows. The meadows seemed to have ponds
within them, for the reflection varied from spot to spot.
There was a narrow stream of water, and many ponds
and at least two lakes. The manner of landslides of big
rocks in the Beyul was not present in the hidden cloud
valley.
The hill slopes in this cloud valley seemed to be gentle
and sloping outwards. Yet, the valley was a secluded
one, as they could see. The mountains had surrounded
the valley from all sides. They could hear the birds and
could also hear the sounds of water from various streams
and falls in the valley. They came to some sort of a
252
crossroads, with at least four trails leading to different
locations. As if by habit, the four of them went about
examining the trails, looking for signs. Katishe
exclaimed, and pointed at the trail that he was
inspecting. They could see it clearly. There were signs of
very large-sized yak, going inside the cloud valley.
Alongside the tracks of the wild yak, the four of them
could see tracks of wolves.
“This is it!” exclaimed Satawa, “The herd of the large
wild yak returned to this hidden cloud valley after the
rains. They were probably moving ahead of us all the
while. The other trails do not have any signs. Let us
follow the wild yak and wolves. That is the reason for us
to be here.”
***
Dawa continued to sit inside the bamboo clump. He kept
watching the enormous lone white wild male yak in the
forest around the grassland on the plateau. The lone
white male yak seemed to be very alert. He was not
moving about or foraging. He kept watching the forests
around the grasslands. Old man Dawa could watch the
entire grassland on the plateau. There was nowhere else
to go, he thought. The mountain walls boxed in the
grasslands. The plateau was within the shadows of the
tall mountains.
He looked around the entire plateau. There was only one
path onto this box plateau. The trail that he had walked
up on seemed to be the only path. One could not get out
of this plateau unless one returned by the same path.
253
That is, old man Dawa told himself, if there were other
secret paths that he could not see now. There could be
hidden paths beyond the forests around the grassland. He
looked down at his right palm and smiled. He had been
scratching it silently, all this while, since having become
sensitive to the presence of the lone white wild yak.
He had not seen any other animal since he had arrived at
the plateau. The grassland looked totally ungrazed, and
peaceful. And yet, the lone white wild yak stood within
the forests, sheltered, safe and alert. At times, old man
Dawa felt that the yak was watching him, and that he
had been spotted. The yak was looking all around the
grassland, and seemed to be waiting. He stood quietly,
and looked very patient. Dawa had never seen such a yak
in all his lifetime. He had seen yaks in the valleys of the
Kang Renpoche and he had seen yaks being brought
along with pilgrims from other regions of Tibet. But, this
one was different.
Dawa did not dare to move out of the bamboo clump
that he had hid himself in. It seemed to be the wisest
action, for there were no places to hide in this plateau.
He kept watching the lone white wild yak and began to
compare its size with reference to the vegetation. Those
bushes in front of the yak seemed to be at least 3 feet in
height, and the bamboo clump nearby could be about 8
feet in height. That would make this white wild yak to be
about 5 feet at its snout, and nearly 6 feet at its hump. He
could not remember having seen any other wild yak to
be of the same height.
It was not the height, thought Dawa. It was the sheer
size. Though the lone white wild yak seemed to be 6 feet
tall at its hump, it was the bulk that made it seem to be
254
much taller. It looked like it could easily have been 8
feet tall. As he kept wondering about the yak, Dawa
relaxed, and settled in. He would have to wait it out
within the bamboo clump. He had done this on many
occasions when he had gone out hunting in the mountains around the Kang Renpoche. He had got Chiru
and mountain goats by simple patience. Sometimes, he
would place his traps for partridges, hare and pheasants,
but would always use his bow and arrow for the antelope
and goats.
He had no weapons with him in the Beyul, and he knew
that he would accept death if it came to that, in an attack
by the lone white wild yak. Was this yak dangerous? He
wondered. It would be sensible not to provoke this one.
He had some food that he had packed with him, from the
dinner of the previous night. He could wait it out if the
yak was going to play this game. It was fine by him.
Once, he remembered, he had waited it out in a cave,
blocking the entrance with stones and rocks, to prevent a
snow leopard from attacking him. He had stayed within
the cave for about five days before a snow storm had
driven the leopard away.
Could the lone white wild yak be alerted because of the
presence of a snow leopard nearby? What could it be
frightened of? Old man Dawa had seen many a cornered
wild animal behave similarly, but there was something
else in this posture that did not make it look to be
defensive. The yak seemed to be quite at peace. Could
there be an animal to challenge this huge yak?
Suddenly, there seemed to be movement. The lone white
wild yak began to walk towards a darker patch of the
forest around the grassland. Dawa struggled to keep the
255
yak in his sight. Though it was white in colour, it
disappeared inside the darker forest patches. The shadow
of the high mountain walls swallowed up the forests and
very soon, Dawa could not figure out the presence of the
yak. He kept hoping within himself that he had not got
into a delusion and imagined it all.
Old man Dawa sat patiently inside the bamboo clump.
He knew this game. He could play it out for both the yak
and for himself. He guessed that the lone white wild yak
had sensed his presence and had not entered the
grassland to forage, and now had gone into the dark
shadows within the forests. He must be watching out for
him, as he was. He could wait it out as long as anybody
else could. He was very happy when he was by himself,
silent, watching the wilderness, its beauty and the lives
of the animals as they went about with their lives.
The sunlight was playing with the mountain walls and
the shadows were moving about in the valley. The forest
patches were alternatively getting brighter and darker,
and one needed to be alert about remembering whatever
trail-marks that could be identified and recollected. At
times, some parts of the grassland were covered by the
shadows of the clouds while other parts were in direct
sunlight. Dawa kept watching quietly and patiently. He
could not sight the lone white wild yak or any other
animal.
He wondered about the grassland and the height of the
grass. It seemed to be very deceptive. As he watched, he
could sense that the grass could be much taller and had
fallen down by its own weight. There were parts of the
grassland with bamboo shoots growing out, and he could
only see the tender portions at the top. The grassland
256
could be about 4-5 feet deep in most parts, he thought.
That was dangerous. If there were animals in it, he
would not be able to spot them in time. Forests were
much safer, he thought and smiled. At least, he could see
the danger approaching and could escape. How could
anyone escape in the grassland?
Suddenly, old man Dawa became alert. He could sense
some development. Something had happened. The valley
had been silent, but now, he could feel that the valley
had become quieter. How could it be possible? He
thought. There was something that disturbed the entire
valley. The clouds had covered the entire grassland, and
it had become colder. He could not spot any sunlight
escaping through the clouds to reach the plateau
grassland or the forests. Something was wrong, and he
could not place it exactly. He felt extremely disturbed
and his palms were itching very badly. At one point, he
wanted to get out of the bamboo hideout and run back
down the trail.
He had entered through a small opening in the bamboo
thicket. He turned around to get out of the bamboo
clump that had been his hideout. As he turned, the sight
in front of him made his blood run cold. An icy blanket-
like feeling covered him entirely. He could not believe
what he was seeing. The lone white wild yak was
standing just outside his bamboo hideout, and was
watching him quietly. It must have crossed over the
grassland by walking through the forests and had come
over to the thicket and had been standing nearby, all this
while.
Old man Dawa was in a bad state of panic. He could feel
his heart pounding very loudly. His legs and hands
257
refused to move. He felt very thirsty, but he could not
get his hands to sip from his bottle of water. He looked
at the white wild yak and remembered the moments in
the night from the Choku Gompa. Inside this forest area,
and in the shadows, the white wild yak did not look
white. It looked grayish and speckled. But, it was
enormous, extremely enormous. It stood still and kept
watching him. The tail did not move. The eyes were still,
focused, and watching Dawa. The old man wondered
about the situation. What could he do? Could he run?
That was impossible. There was only one opening in the
bamboo clump, and the white wild yak was standing
right out there, in front of it.
He moved about in the bamboo clump. The white wild
yak stood still. He did not seem to get angry.
Encouraged and calmer, old man Dawa gathered up his
food packet and water bottle and his walking stick and
stood up. The yak kept watching him calmly. Perhaps,
this one was friendly with humans, he thought,
recollecting the twelve pilgrims who sat in the circle of
stones at the Choku Gompa. He moved about within the
bamboo thicket, watching the white wild yak all the
time. It seemed quite calm, almost as if it was waiting
for him to come out of the thicket. Speaking a silent
prayer to the gods, and to the sacred Kang Renpoche, old
man Dawa pushed and pulled himself out of the bamboo
thicket. He came out and stood silently, barely 4-5 feet
away from the enormous, extremely enormous, white
wild yak, and waited for whatever was to happen.
***
258
They seemed to be the most unlikely group that could
have assembled at the remote Gyangdrak Gompa,
thought Master Ang Tsering. Tibetans, Chinese and
Indians, of course, were regular visitors and pilgrims to
the valley of the sacred Kang Renpoche, but, to have
assembled for a common purpose, that seemed quite
improbable. Brother Sonam Sangye was from Tibet, but
had been settled at Nalanda for some time. He
accompanied Sardar Amarpal Singh, a devout Sikh from
Punjab, India. Their companion, Shenshe, the Han
Chinese, policeman from Shiquanhe, was the only one
looking very uncomfortable.
The senior monk from the Chiu Gompa, Loga of the
Kla-Chu, seemed to understand the thoughts of Master
Ang Tsering. They smiled in understanding at each
other. The younger monks, Brother Shedrub Repa and
the two brother monks from the Choku Gompa sat
patiently, awaiting orders or instructions. They knew
their place. It was not theirs to question, but to accept, as
events happened, and to be thankful for any change or
developments. Brother Tameng of the Choku Gompa
was leading the discussion as he had seen the herd of
wild yaks and the wolves accompanying them. He had
also explained about the twelve pilgrims who had sat
within the circle of stones below the sacred Kang
Renpoche.
The puzzling Hariram Maharaj, the young and
courageous Norbu, and the curious Vijay Kulkarni were
seated around the monks. The senior monk of the Chiu
Gompa, Loga of the Kla-Chu, and Brother Shedrub Repa
from the Gyangdrak Gompa went to one of the other
rooms and brought back document boxes covered with
coloured clothes. They opened them up in silence and
259
distributed the parchments containing the maps, sketches
and paintings to the monks who could read them. Some
documents, in ancient parchments, and protected within
circular tubes, were taken by Master Ang Tsering and
Loga of the Kla-Chu. They read the notes and writings
in the ancient parchments in silence.
Hariram Maharaj went about helping everyone, refilling
their bowls of tea and soup, for he could not read this
form of ancient Tibetan script. Vijay Kulkarni kept
taking photographs in his DSLR for he thought that it
would be necessary to examine these documents later, or
have them perused by experts in these issues. It was
Brother Tameng who spoke, “This document mentions
the same questions. It specifically mentions that pilgrims are not allowed to climb the sacred Kang Renpoche, and
this is as instructed within the Bonpo, Buddhist and
Hindu religions. There is also mention that one must not stay the night on the path of the kora unless there is a
snowstorm or a severe avalanche or landslide.”
Brother Shedrub Repa of the Gyangdrak Gompa looked
up from the parchment that he was studying, and pointed
to the sketches, and said, “See, there are the locations of
the various Gompas and the kora. Both, the outer kora
and the inner kora are located on this sketch. It is made
in a very artistic manner, and that’s why it does not seem
to be accurate. They have also placed sketches of the
Most Enlightened One, in different postures at each of
the Gompas. It is most remarkable to see that these
ancient sketches are so accurate. The Dirapuk Gompa is
shown, but there is no sketch of a path leading to its
North West.”
260
Sardar Amarpal Singh looked quite disappointed at the
mention that there were specific instructions that one
should not be allowed to climb the sacred Mount
Kailash. He looked at the parchment that Brother
Shedrub Repa had with him. There were no trails marked out within the inner kora. The Han Chinese
policeman, Shenshe, was watching Sardar Amarpal
Singh with great interest. He could guess his thoughts,
and he smiled. Just you try, he thought, just try, and I
will have arrested you. I am not going to leave you, he
thought to himself. Sardar Amarpal Singh looked back at
Shenshe, and smiled and waved his prayer beads in
blessing at the policeman.
Master Ang Tsering read quietly. He knew of the other
documents, for he had studied many similar parchments
before he had come to the valley of the sacred Kang
Renpoche. This was similar to other sacred mountains
and valleys. But, the information was strictly
implemented in this valley. At least, until now, he
thought. Where could the twelve pilgrims have gone to,
in that stormy night? What were the wild yaks doing in
the valley? What was their significance? The document
that he had been reading seemed to provide detailed
information about the kora and the pilgrimage to Kang
Renpoche from the eyes of devotees from the west of the
sacred valley. There were many references in the languages of the ancient Pharsees.
He decided to share the information with the assembled
group. He said, “Listen, I speak with due respect to the
senior monk, Loga of the Kla-Chu. This document does identify the sacred Kang Renpoche but does not mention
the name as we know it. It identifies the sacred mountain
as the home of the most ancient gods. But, it also
261
mentions of another sacred mountain to the North West. The journey from the other mountain to the Kang
Renpoche is mentioned as the most important journey of
some of these peoples in their lifetimes. This document
mentions that their journey would be the last journey
that they would undertake in their lives.”
Hariram Maharaj spoke, “Yes. The two pilgrims that I had met, they did speak a very strange form of Pharsee.
It is not the language that I know from Gujarat among the Parsis. This was a very different one, almost
sounding more ancient. They spoke of their journey to
this sacred valley as a very important pilgrimage among
their peoples. In spite of many questions, they did not
inform us about the fate of the pilgrims that they had
accompanied. It is very strange.”
Master Ang Tsering nodded in agreement, and
continued, “It is indeed strange to notice such an activity
when one sees it on the first occasion. But, this
document mentions something similar. It mentions that
the mountains around the Kang Renpoche are alive, and
are sacred dwellings of the ancient gods, and the animals
and plants in these sacred valleys are manifestations of
the ancient gods. This document says that everything
that happens in these valleys is with a reason and
nothing happens without a purpose. The ancient people
who travel on their last pilgrimage are supposed to be
coming here for a very specific purpose. But, this
document does not describe or explain the purpose.”
The senior monk, Loga of the Kla-Chu, of the Chiu
Gompa spoke, “I am reading a document of similar age,
but it speaks of different aspects. There is no mention
here about the ancient people or their last pilgrimage.
262
This document mentions that there are different energy
forms here in this sacred valley and in the adjacent ones.
These energies are manifest in the locations of hidden
springs of waters that come out of the regions below our
lands. It speaks of huge underground reservoirs, large
caves and springs of different minerals. It also explains
springs of hot water in the region that come to greet the
springs and rivers on our lands.”
“There is however one mention that is indeed
disturbing,” said Loga of the Kla-Chu, and continued,
“This mention is about the birth of rivers. This ancient
document mentions that the ancient people are sworn to
serve the sacred mountains and protect the deities of
these mountains. They are known to work within
themselves, not trusting anyone. Their sacred
responsibility is to protect the secret locations that are
the birthplaces of the mighty rivers. The document
mentions that most people know of several springs and
streams that provide water to the mightiest rivers that
emerge from this high region of Tibet.”
“This document discloses that nobody knows of the
actual spring or stream that is the true birthplace of the
river. This is kept secret for if this location is destroyed
then the river is killed. The deities within the mountains
ensure that they keep the source hidden and protected,
but it is the task of the ancient people to prevent others
from entering these regions. The animals and plants in
these regions are provided with powers and ‘magical
abilities’ to protect these places.”
Loga of the Kla-Chu explained, “This document has
been written by one of us, I guess, for the choices of
words are those that are meant to explain to us.
263
Therefore, it is possible that they wrote the phrase –
‘magical abilities’ – as a means to explain some
unknown powers. I fear for those that have gone into and entered the secret Beyul. This is the reason why our
elders have always prevented us or forbidden us from entering the Beyuls. These valleys must have been
known to our elders by some sort of information
exchange. But, I fear for our friends who have entered the Beyul above Dirapuk. We should send someone there
to stop them from going ahead.”
***
Yeshe, Sangye, Katishe and Satawa walked through the
uncertain trail in the hidden cloud valley. They could
make out the trail, and as the four of them were expert
trackers, they could walk fast in the trail, picking up the
signs. The trail of the wild yak and the wolves were very
obvious, but there were no signs of any human
footprints. The path certainly did indicate that the herd
and pack had been moving inside the hidden cloud
valley. How far could they go ahead, safely? Yeshe was
worried, for as they moved in, the valley got darker and
darker.
They did not dare to speak to one another. For, though
the trail showed clearly that the yak herd and the pack of
wolves had moved ahead, nearly a day earlier, the
animals could have doubled back on another adjoining
trail and could be watching them. Instinctively, the four
of them knew exactly what was to be done. They
separated their tasks, with Yeshe leading the trail,
watching the signs and walking forward. The other three
264
kept Yeshe in their sights and were walking along with
him in silence. Sangye kept watching their rear, along
the trail that they had walked down from, being careful
about any movement from behind.
Katishe kept his gaze to the inner regions of the valley.
He could only see forests, with darkened canopies. The
bushes and bamboo kept the lower areas hidden from
sight. He could not see beyond 2-3 meters. But, he
stayed alert and watched out for any sudden movement
or signs of animals. Satawa looked out to the upper
ridges, watching out for signs of movement of animals.
He could see outside the valley, up towards the higher
regions.
Yeshe could read the trail easily. The yak herd or the
pack of wolves had not attempted to hide their trail.
They probably did not expect that they would be tracked
to this hidden cloud valley. Very soon, the trail began to
climb gradually. The four trackers realized that the trail
was climbing out of the clouds. This could get awkward,
thought Katishe, for they would never know if there was
any danger below the clouds, following them. Yeshe
kept looking forward, for any sign of the yaks or wolves
returning back on the trail.
Soon enough, they were out of the clouds, climbing up
the hidden valley. Immediately, the four of them turned
to see if they could spot the trail from where they had
climbed down. It was not to be seen. That would be the
reason why they could not spot this trail that was
climbing up, Yeshe thought, and pointed to the rocky
ridge that protruded in the hill sides between the two
trails. They looked ahead to the adjacent mountain wall,
and realized that there were similar rocky ridges
265
protruding out of the slopes, preventing anyone from
locating the other trails.
Yeshe could see that the trail climbed up, above the
clouds, and went over the edge. That would be
dangerous, but they could not resort to any other means.
There were no other ledges or side-trails for them to go
ahead and check out the forest. With Sangye keeping a
watch on the rear-trail, they walked steadily ahead. The
trail narrowed down to about six feet width, and the
signs of the yak and wolves were easily seen. There had
been no snowfall here, and the signs were clear and
could be understood by the expert trackers.
The yak must have walked in a single line, helping each
other, for the tracks were all close to each other. The
wolves, judging by their tracks, had mingled with the
yaks, and both the animals seemed to be comfortable
with each other. The four trackers walked out of the
hidden cloud valley and came up to the ridge. They
could see down both the sides. They could see the
hidden cloud valley, but the valley on the other side was not the Beyul that they had climbed out of. This was a
different valley and had no clouds. They could see the
entire valley. It seemed to be a sort of a plateau, and
there were grasslands in the valley floor. The grasslands
were ringed with forests.
Yeshe pointed out to the grasslands, and said, “There,
look. At the edge of the grassland, if you look carefully.
It seems to be a man, sitting in the open grassless patch.
This trail will take us to him. How did a lone man come
to be up here? Why is he sitting out there, motionless, on
the grasslands in this remote valley? Should we follow
266
the trail of the yaks and wolves, or should we walk up
directly to the lone man sitting up there?”
It looked very surprising to see the lone man out there on
the grassland. But, as they walked down, on the trail of
the yak and the wolves, they lost sight of the lone man.
They were walking inside forests, darkened without
sunlight. With all their combined skills, they could keep
walking through the trail, picking up tracks of the yak
and the wolves. They knew the dangers. They could
catch up with the yak and the wolves, or, the animals
could return along the same path. Worse, they could run
out of daylight, for as the day progressed, the onset of
dusk would be quickened in these high valleys.
The walk through the darkened forests seemed without
any end. They were tired, and they kept eating some of
the food stuff that they had been carrying with them. At
one of the mountain streams, they had rested for a while,
refreshing themselves and refilling their water bottles. It
had been a relief to sit for some time and take stock.
They did not speak to one another, for they could easily
be near the yak or the wolves. They took courage that
there was a lone man sitting out there on the grassland,
and that could mean that perhaps, there was no danger.
They came to the edge of the forest, and it was a
different world from what they had seen from the ridge
of the valley. The grassland was not grassland at all. It
was more like a grass-forest. The grass was almost 5-6
feet tall, and was interspersed with bamboo that was
taller. The trail continued inside the grassland, and they
could pick up the traces of the yak and the wolves. This
was certainly more dangerous than stony trails or forest
paths. There was no way to understand what animal
267
could be coming at them. As Katishe said, “We can only
go ahead. We cannot return. We need to find a place to
camp for the night, and we know that there are no safe
places behind us. At least we know that a lone man was
sitting out there. There may be a place to stay
somewhere nearby.”
The grassland trail was quite wide, and they could see
that the yaks had walked through, two alongside. The
wolves had been moving back and forth. The trail looked
like it had been used quite often, and yet, they could not
see any human signs. How did the lone man come up on
the grassland, if there were no open signs? Up ahead, the
grass was getting thinner, and lower. They moved
cautiously, for they could begin to see all around the
grassland. It was Sangye who commented, “This is a
strange place. There are no birds to be heard here.
Strange spirits are at work in this valley. Let us be
cautious.”
Yeshe replied, “Yes. I noticed that. Not only the birds,
but there are no other sounds in this valley. It’s totally
silent. This trail seems to go across this valley to the
other side. As you can see there is no other trail that we
can spot that can lead us to any shelter. We have no
option at all. We have to follow these yaks and wolves.
Where they would have gone, we go in their pursuit. We
have come into this valley for that purpose, and let us go
ahead, no matter what the dangers may be.”
The three trackers agreed with him, nodding in silence.
The grass cover kept going lower and except for the
bamboo clumps, they could now see the trail ahead of
them for a greater distance. They kept looking around to
spot the lone man that they had seen sitting in the open
268
grassless patch somewhere on the plateau. Yeshe was
torn between continuing on the trail of the yak and the
wolves, and going away from the trail to meet the lone
man. Satawa, understanding Yeshe’s dilemma, said,
“Brother, let us continue on this trail. If we see the man,
we can call out to him and ask him to join us. Let us not
lose this trail.”
In a few minutes, they were suddenly out of the
grassland and stood silently on the grassless patch. It
was stony out here, and the trail of the yak and the
wolves was lost. But, they could see the lone man and
they could recognize him easily. It was old man Dawa,
sitting quietly out on the grassless patch. He had not
seen them, for he was watching the forest patch in front
of him. Not knowing whatever it was that he was
watching, they went up to him, quietly, except for
warning him by rustling the stony ground with their
footwear. He must have heard them, but he did not move
around. He kept watching the forest in front of him. The
four trackers went up to Dawa and sat alongside him,
and offered him some food and water. He accepted the
food and water, and pointed to the forest ahead. It was
then that they saw the lone white wild yak, standing
inside.
***
Master Ang Tsering of the Gyangdrak Gompa spoke to
the gathering of the curious, the faithful and the
travelers, “We would perhaps have to move in to the Beyul and ensure that we are able to bring our friends
back from the secret and unexplored valleys. We would
269
need to be patient in exploring the questions and may
need to be cautious in enquiring into what we see in
these magical valleys. There may be incidents that we
see, and do not understand. It may not be necessary for
us to go into these events and try to understand what we
are not ready to.”
Vijay Kulkarni listened to all the stories and theories that
the senior monks were discussing. For him, it was
getting to be more and more exciting. This is what he
had come in search of. To understand the power of the
Mount Kailash and its neighbouring mountains and to
figure out the means by which the mightiest of rivers
were born in these regions. There were many, the Indus,
Ganges, Brahmaputra and the Mekong among the very
few. These were the mightiest. There were rivers that
went up towards the Caspian Sea and the Dead Sea, and
those that went towards Afghanistan. Nobody spoke
about those rivers. There were many rivers that went
away from Tibet and into China. These were not
commonly known.
“Did the ancients know about the secrets of the birth of
the rivers?” Vijay asked, “For then, it would be one of
the most important aspects of knowledge for this world
at this time. We are fighting all over the world, killing
nations and communities, for control over water. What
do those ancient books, parchments and the sketches talk
about? It cannot be that the secrets of the Mount Kailash
are just hidden away in these few documents. There
must be some more documents and some other places
where they could be stored. Do these documents
mention any more?”
270
The senior monk, Loga of the Kla-Chu, of the Chiu
Gompa said, “Brother, have patience. These are the
secrets of centuries. Let us go about trying to unravel
them, but cautiously. We need to know why they have
been retained as secrets. There is wisdom, always, in the
aspects of ancient knowledge. The way of the ancients
were to hide the most precious in open sight, but with
language that one would not easily understand. We need
to read these documents again and again before we are
able to determine what they actually mean and what they
actually intend.”
Master Ang Tsering, in agreement, said, “Brother, my
senior from the Chiu Gompa is correct. However, I agree
with you that we should try to find out more about these
secret places and the reasons why they have been kept a
secret. Meanwhile, we should hurry and send out another group from amongst us, to enter the secret Beyul, and
bring out our friends who have gone inside, trusting us.
Let us organise the group first.”
Brother Tameng stood up and bowed in respect to the
senior monks, and offered, “I would like to go, for I have
been there before, and I know that it is a peaceful valley.
But, I would like to place one condition for those who
would wish to come with me. They may accompany me,
but would need to keep their cameras behind. For these
are precious regions, and most sacred. I would not like
these places to be destroyed by wandering tourists and
ill-informed pilgrims. Let those who would wish to
accompany us, get ready to journey to this most
beautiful valley that I have ever had the blessings to visit
and to see.”
271
Brother Sonam Sangye from Nalanda in India said, “It is
an important journey. But, I have come here to offer my
homage and prayers to the sacred Kang Renpoche, and I
would only restrict myself to such a task. I would stay
back.” Hearing him declare thus, Sardar Amarpal Singh,
the Sikh from Punjab in India, knowing the Brother to be
wise, said, “I would also stay back. I need to meditate
upon the sacred Mount Kailash and seek the blessings
upon my faith. This is indeed a magical place and we are
truly blessed to know that all devotees are alike in their
journey to seek more knowledge about their faith, as I
would be unto mine. I would like to, with your
permission, stay back at Gyangdrak Gompa as long as I
am allowed to do so.”
Happy to hear the Sikh declare that he would stay back
at the Gyangdrak Gompa, the policeman from Shiquanhe
said, “If they stay, it is that simple, then I would stay
back. I am not sure about this strange devotee from
India. He keeps insisting upon climbing the Kang
Renpoche, and I cannot allow that sort of behaviour. But,
I like him and his simplicity. So, I shall stay with him
and make sure that he does not land into any mischief
that would result in punishment.”
Loga of the Kla-Chu, the senior monk from the Chiu
Gompa said, “I shall go until Dirapuk and wait there to
know about the fate of our brothers who have entered the secret Beyul. And, when they would return, I would like
to offer some prayers and apologies to the guardians of
these valleys and the Beyuls.” Brother Shedrub Repa and
the two brother monks from the Choku Gompa sat
silently, for it was not in their position to speak. Master
Ang Tsering announced, “I shall accompany my brother,
Loga of the Kla-Chu to Dirapuk and will wait with him
272
at the monastery. It is with great excitement that I want to go until the entrance to the secret Beyul.”
Norbu looked up at Brother Tameng and nodded in
happiness and went up to stand alongside the monk from
the Choku Gompa. They had gone inside the secret
valley and they would easily do so, again. He was keen
to go with Brother Tameng. The vegetarian cook from
Gujarat, Hariram Maharaj stood up and went to stand by
Norbu. He was now employed by Norbu’s parents and it
was his duty to be alongside the young and courageous
boy. This would be a great adventure, he thought. It was
a pity that he could not share these stories with other
pilgrims from Gujarat, he spoke to himself.
Vijay Kulkarni looked at the senior monk, Loga of the
Kla-Chu, who nodded in agreement. Yes. He could go to the secret Beyul. It was to be a quiet journey, for they did
not want to alarm the policeman from Shiquanhe. They
were lucky that the Han Chinese had his eyes only on
the Sikh pilgrim from India. Brother Tameng said, “It is
decided then that I shall return to the secret valley. We
have already sent yaks, horses and supplies that must be
arriving at Dirapuk by now. If we walk from here, we
will reach Dirapuk within some time. Let us start early
in the morning, tomorrow, and we will be there just after
post-noon, if we ride on horses and mules.”
At a glance from Master Ang Tsering, the monk from
Nalanda stood up and announced that he was tired and
would like to go to the prayer room to meditate upon the
Most Enlightened One. In similar understanding, the
Sikh pilgrim from Punjab, Sardar Amarpal Singh also
announced that he would like to go up to the roof of the
Gyangdrak Gompa and meditate upon the Mount
273
Kailash. Alarmed at this, Shenshe, the policeman from
Shiquanhe, also stood up and accompanied the Sikh
pilgrim. Sangye, the monk from Nalanda, smiled and
bowed to the group, and said, “It is said that those also
serve, those who do not read, and those who do not
teach. These are the mysterious ways of the Most
Enlightened One, and there is a purpose to each and all.”
After the policeman had left the room, Master Ang
Tsering announced, “It is fine that we would leave on
the journey tomorrow morning, but we are wasting time
until then. Let Brother Shedrub Repa and the two young
monks from Choku Gompa travel now. From Gyangdrak
to Choku. They will inform about the progress to the
senior monks and will bring us some food and drinks
when we are on our way tomorrow. They can also bring
us any news about developments if there are any.
Brothers, please get on your way, and reach safe at
Choku by nightfall.”
Loga of the Kla-Chu interrupted, “I was reading this
document again, and there is a sketch here that has faded
through the years. I can only make out some of the
details. There seems to be a sketch of a yak, a man and a
wolf, but the artist seems to have thought that this is that
of a man with his domestic yak and his Tibetan mastiff.
But, as I see it in close attention, I can understand that
the artist has been told an ancient story and he has taken
the perspectives from life as he would have known to
exist at Tibet during those times.”
“The page in front of this sketch explains a strange
story,” he continued, “for, it says, that those who would move out of the kora, will not reach any place, for it is
the Kang Renpoche that is to be sought and none else.
274
But, there are ancients who travel to arrive at the sacred
valley, as it is written here, for whom the summons goes
out from the sacred mountain itself. HE decides as to
when you may arrive, and HE calls out to you. It is thus
that there would be, as is written here, some pilgrims who would come to the Kang Renpoche, but would not
return, ever.”
top related