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

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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

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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.”

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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

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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

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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

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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.

***

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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?

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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?”

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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

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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

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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.

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“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

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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.

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***

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

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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.”

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.”

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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.

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“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?”

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“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

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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

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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.”

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***

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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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,

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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.

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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

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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.

***

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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

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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

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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

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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.”

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.”

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“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

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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***

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

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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,

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.”

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“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

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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.”

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“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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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?”

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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

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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.

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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.”

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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.

***

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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

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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.”

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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

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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.

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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?”

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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.”

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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

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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

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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.

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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.”