Part-3

After four straight days of being on the road (or on the mud) almost from sunrise to sunset, waking up leisurely on a bright and sunny morning near the shores of Lake Manasarovar had an element of dreaminess to it. As the caravan was staying put until later that evening, we were free to relax or venture out on our own, and many of us took the opportunity to enjoy a pleasant walk to the lakeshore a few hundred metres away. While the Chihu Gompa area provided for some great views of the lake and Mount Kailash - which was still covered by clouds - the access to the lake all along this west shore was surprisingly marshy. Still, many devoted yatris navigated the mini-quagmires into the water for a quick dip, only to find their feet stuck in several inches of mud. I reconciled myself to this situation by deciding to take a nominal bath by sprinkling some water around my head. As I gingerly walked up to the edge of the water, going past several other yatris performing puja on the banks after their morning dips, I couldn’t help noticing Swami Shivayogananda (-ji) a little further in, prostrating full length in the water - by almost flying full length with his face down into the water three times - totally unfazed by the muddy nuisance around him. As I walked towards him, in the direction in which he was prostrating, I saw the sum total of his inspiration: partly visible behind the clearing veneer of clouds was the bottom half of Mount Kailash.

A few hours after lunch, we left Chihu Gompa for Darchen - the name means a flagpole for prayer flags - which would serve as the base camp before our parkirama. Within an hour’s drive north we were in Darchen, a small town right at the foot of the hills that surround the holy peak of Mount Kailash, which was still only partly visible due to grey clouds. As we pulled into the town, we could a see a lot more people and vehicles and shops, and the general buzz and activity made this place a deserving base camp. Even as we got out of our jeeps, scores of peddlers flocked to us hoping to sell us trinkets, beads, miniature prayer bells, boxes with engravings of the Buddha and many other fancy items, and continued to followed us into the modest entrance to one of the buildings that would be our shelter for the night. To say that these walking Tibetan saleswomen were well-versed in the difficult art of “Selling to an Indian” would be a serious understatement. They came armed with charming smiles and wielded a calculator to overcome language barriers and display the selling price to us, as some of us haggled defiantly for several minutes, being fiercely determined to get the best deal on offer. It was a lucky day for the ladies. Not just the saleswomen, but even the female yatris on the group. While the men and boys were herded into a large room that looked like a hospital ward, with barely enough leg room between the beds to allow even a mouse to crawl in, the women had checked into a set of rooms in a nearby building.

It was still early evening, and the sun was still bright and it appeared that the cloud cover in front of Mount Kailash was lifting. In a swift change of plans, the Swamijis decided in favor of going on a short drive up a nearby hill to a place called Ashtapada, that was said to allow close-up views of the famous south face of Mount Kailash. Within fifteen minutes, the caravan was on the go again, climbing up treacherous mud roads along the side of the hill, and in less than half an hour we arrived on the inside of the mountains when we came upon a dash of greenery, and finally a small stream running on large palm-sized rocks. Before we even knew it, we were in the presence of Mount Kailash, so majestic and enchanting, shining in the glory of the sun in the clear evening sky. As we got down from the jeeps and rushed forward - cameras and camcorders in hand - on to the meadow lined with prayer stones, tridents and flags, there was a stunned excitement written so large on our faces, as were tears and smiles, all of which reflected an unspeakable feeling of sublime joy.

It was an unexpected treat for us, many of who, before leaving Darchen hadn’t the faintest idea of how wonderful the view from Ashtapada was going to be. It is impossible to imagine the awe that the first full view of Mount Kailash inspires in you - and nothing can prepare you for it. From the chilling sensation in the spine to a natural and wholesome expansion of the breath, it truly has to be experienced before one can even begin to imagine it again. The south face of Mount Kailash is verily a manifestation of the Lord Dakshinamurthy, who bestows the highest knowledge upon his devotees. The legendary vertical third-eye of Lord Shiva was so prominent on the snow-white face of the symmetric triangular peak, that our own mortal eyes were magically transfixed by it. From here, one could also clearly see the Nandi mountain, which was directly and unmistakably south of Mount Kailash. Following the lead of Swami Shivayogananda -ji, a dozen or so of us ascended a steep hill in the direction of Mount Kailash, hoping to get a much closer view. Climbing steadily while chanting quiet prayers, I arrived at the top of the hillock and sat down alongside the other yatris to take in the full glory of Lord Dakshinamurthy for several minutes. It is a grace I will never forget. And while I sat there in prayer, in the holy presence of Mount Kailash, breathing in the lightness of the moment, I was just beginning to appreciate how fortunate I was to be called here, and to actually be brought here, at the fountainhead of truth, knowledge and bliss.

As the sun began to disappear into the horizon, we walked back down to the meadows, still turning around to catch another glimpse of the magnificence, and shortly thereafter, we reluctantly got into our jeeps that brought us down - quite literally - from the highs of Ashtapada, to the dust and litter that welcomed us back in Darchen. Once we arrived at the motel compound, it was quickly back to business: packing, last minute purchases of woolens, waterproof jackets and trackpants, long-distance phone calls followed by soup and dinner, before the lights went out.

The next day got off to a brisk start, with no time to complain about the poor amenities, and certainly no time for a bath. We managed to perform the morning Rudrabhishekam and chanting of Lalitha Sahasranamam fluently like a seasoned group of pilgrims about to embark on their Parikrama. Outside some seasoned photographers were setting up their tripods ostensibly to capture some stunning views of Mount Kailash at sunrise. In quick time, break fast followed, and soon, we were aboard our jeeps, and the caravan made its way west, briefly back on the paved road, and before long we turned due north back on the dirt roads, and stopped at a place called Yamadwar, and we all took great comfort in our knowledge that this name pleasantly translated to the Gateway of the God of Death. We casually found out that the Yamadwar is actually a passage to immortality, and for those few mortals among us that cared for such existential desires, the routine prescribed was follows: Begin by starting at one of the two circular altars that flank the gateway on either side, and walk around it clockwise for nearly one whole loop before making a detour to the gateway and passing through it, and upon emerging at the rear end of the gateway, complete an anti-clockwise loop of the other circular altar thus essaying a spectacular 8-shape, and finish it off in style by leaving behind some part of your physical body behind at the altar. While reportedly people have gone to great extremes to accomplish this last requirement, including trying to separate limb from body in a gush of blood, others far less adenturous or ambitious - like us - were content to leave behind a nail or hair or both, just to be sure. Having non-chalantly ensured our immortal life, we headed back to our jeeps, undistracted by the real purpose of the journey.

The jeeps then took us deep into the canyons between the mountains as we entered the Valley of the Gods, going past the sculpted rock faces on either side before arriving at a vast field shortly after 10 am. In a scene that instantly brought back childhood memories of B.R.Chopra’s Mahabharat on television, the ground ahead was filled with horses, yak, dogs, trucks, jeeps, yatris and most importantly, our colorful Tibetan friends, the men, women, boys and girls who would become our inseparable companions and saviors for the rest of the Parikrama helping us in the form of porters, guides, horse handlers and yak herds. But before they became our friends, there was a rather elaborate pairing exercise using random number generators and lottery systems involving someone picking up little rolled up pieces of paper with the names of the horses and porters from a cowboy hat. From this point, we could see in an easterly direction, a corner of the peak of Mount Kailash, looking down at as with a pair of watchful eyes and giving us faith and inspiration. Then, after we were introduced to our friendly companions - men in their leather coats and cowboy hats and women in bright red, pink or green colored patterned shawls - the porters kindly took our backpacks and slung them over shoulders and posed for photographs while engaging with us in our silly banter of a few handful of Tibetan expressions, and the horses neighed and kicked the dust, while the yatris were brandishing their newly acquired walking sticks like Jedi and their light-sabers. All in all, the general bonhomie was swell and the excitement was palpable, and everyone was just raring to go. Perhaps too much so. After an undue delay caused by missing porters, wandering horses, false-starting yatris, impossible-to-form queues and lots of confusing noises, the caravan embarked on the Parikrama around Mount Kailash well after noon, with some yatris on horseback, and others on foot. We were going to cover the outer kora in a clockwise direction, as the Tibetans called it, which was over 55km in length, of which we probably had covered a few kilometers driving into the valley in the jeeps.

As the sun shone down on a gorgeous day, we marched on along the chocolate-colored walls of the mountains to our right and rustling creek to the left, going over muddy knolls and navigating rocky obstacles, chanting mantras and constantly looking up and eastward in the direction of Mount Kailash. My porter was a shy teenaged-girl named Rimjhi, and she sped away ahead of me in spite of carrying my backpack, while my horse and its handler, another young girl named Thrama followed several paces behind me. A little over an hour into the kora, those of us at the head of the group had to slow down to make sure that the entire contingent was on the move, and eventually we came to a stop on a grassy plain by the stream, where we opened up our lunch packets consisting of samosas, an apple, a mango drink and some biscuits. It was enjoyable to share our lunch with our Tibetan friends, who gladly accepted of what little we gave. And just as soon as we were done with lunch, Rimjhi, my porter was extremely restless to leave, telling me “Chalo Chalo!”, and upon enquiring further I found that her mother who was also a porter, had gone ahead with an earlier delegation. So, while most other yatris still sat there, enjoying their luncheon on the grass, I resumed walking with my Tibetan companions, and before too long, I came alongside a stretch leading up to views of the western edge of Mount Kailash. The view from here wasn’t the clearest on account of several factors including the fact that at this point, we were very close to the foot of the western most part of Mount Kailash. As a result, we could not really see the Western face of Mount Kailash in total, but mostly different perspectives of the Western edge on the bottom, and a small portion of the snow-covered peak at the top. But it was unmistakably Mount Kailash, as evidenced by the dark, almost black color of the mountain, in stark contrast to the much more light brown, sandstone shades of the neighbouring hills.

By mid-afternoon, we had gained some elevation, and the temperature dipped as grey clouds moved into the sky above us, and just as it began to drizzle, we were within sight of the first rest-stop on the journey - which was a group of several large tents pitched near each other, serving food, snacks and tea. I entered one of the tents nearby, hoping to taste a little bit of the (in)famous Tibetan tea, that was supposed to be made of yak milk and salty. Inside the tent, an elderly woman wandered carrying a pitcher with tea near the front, while a few younger women were serving some food at the rear, and though it was dark inside, the general atmosphere was quite lively and animated. As it turned out, the tea on offer was without milk and mildly salted, but it was actually very good - for the conditions, it was just right: warm and soothing. It was still drizzling as I stepped out of the tent, and I quickly put on a pair of rain proof pants from my backpack and decided to ride on the horse briefly until the rain subsided. Our one long caravan that we begun with had now broken down into several groups of small convoys as we ventured further north along the western side of Mount Kailash. In under half an hour, we arrived near a famous monastery known as Chukku Gompa, a dark red structure that appeared to be almost carved into the sand-colored rocks on which it stood, across on the other side of the valley from our kora trail. Shortly thereafter, the rain stopped and I got off the horse. Over the next couple of hours, we walked over a couple of steep but short hills before descending slightly around a corner as the kora now turned due northeast from the northerly direction we were on before. The air got colder, and the rugged and ruddy landscape gradually turned slightly green, as we crossed a small stream trickling down from the hills. Upon crossing the stream, we came to point where we could see far on the right a gap in the hills hitherto blocking the full view of Mount Kailash. And farther on the left, a little further down in the valley was the village of Deraphuk, dotted with a just a few buildings including its namesake monastery. This would be our night stop for this, the first night of our parikrama. Even as we walked towards Deraphuk, down into the valley, our eyes for firmly focused in the opposite direction, where, behind a very large mass of lifting clouds, was the massive north face of Mount Kailash, which towered above the valley, like a giant standing above its shadow on the ground.

Groups of weary yatris began arriving at the two-storeyed white and red building that was the lodge, and waited to be alloted their rooms, and it was clear that only some lucky yatris were going to get the rooms with “the view” - a full and clear darshan of Mount Kailash right from outside their room, or even better in some cases, from inside their room. From our lodge at Deraphuk, situated at 16000 feet - located directly in front of the monastery of the same name built on a hillside overlooking the valley - we could get a complete view of the north face, through a nice, wide clearing in the hills, and in addition, this location offered the closest view of Mount Kailash on the entire parikrama, with the base of the mountain supposed to be around 5-6 kilometers from the top of the valley compared to the view of the south face, where the base was nearly twice as far from the viewpoint at Ashtapada. We were all tired and cold, but we happily stood along the corridor occupying strategic locations to take in the unfolding of the splendour of Kailash, as the clouds slowly cleared away, moving up like a screen rolling up before a grand play in a theater. And what a sight it was to behold! With the sun shining down from the west, Mount Kailash sparkled effulgently in what was possibly the most beautiful hour of our lives. After taking in this view, many of us went back to rest in the comfort and warmth of our rooms. But not the Swamijis. Following the lead of Br. Jagan Mitra -ji, the acharyas wasted no time in refreshing themselves, and instead set out on the climb toward the feet or Mount Kailash - all six kilometers of it. Having come to know about this a little too late, I decided to follow them without really hoping to try and catch up with them; in spite of my quick climb to the top of the hill overlooking the valley, they were already out of sight, and apparently well ahead of me.

So, I decided to sit down in prayer and meditation at the head of the scenic knoll with the full glory of Mount Kailash right there in front of me. The peak - which was otherwise mostly black - was almost entirely decorated with snow at the top, with several near-vertical streaks of white snow along the myriad wedges on the face of the mountain. As I first sat down, along with terrific exhilaration, I felt an uneasy nervousness, even a tinge of strange fear, for here I was sitting all alone in the presence of the divine form, trespassing and eavesdropping on a rare and esoteric experience - knowing not whether I was even allowed to be up here. But soon, the fear sunk into its peace as my self-focused thoughts slowly gave way to a deep contemplation on the Lord’s form.

Once I allowed myself to get absorbed into an open-eyed meditation on the intricate beauty and majestic glory of Mount Kailash, there was a quiet joy and sacred peace inside - an ineffable fullness that swells up magically in one’s heart from such a close darshan of the Lord Kailash. Words such as “view” and “glimpse” fail miserably in their abiliity to describe the experience of directly “presence-ing” the full glory of the divine forms, which is why the Hindu tradition uses the word darshan to convey a significantly more profoundly spiritual meaning. To be able to set foot on such hallowed grounds around Mount Kailash is an extremely fortunate providence in itself, but yet, to get a clear and close darshan of the glorious form is a truly a great blessing. I sat there for half an hour, while the setting sun shone sparkled intermittently on the unconquerable summit of Mount Kailash - which resembled the hood of a snake - before I eventually got back up on my feet, prostrated and reluctantly started walking back down to the lodge. I felt a queer irony: even a brief darshan was sufficient to fill up my heart, yet, on the other hand, the very same heart was not fulfilled or satisfied, no matter how long of a darshan I had of the unfathomable magnetism of Mount Kailash.

The next morning got off to an unexpectedly auspicious start. Even as we were just waking up, in walked Br. Uddhav Chaitanya -ji, to bring to each one of us an atma-linga, a small stone from near the base of Kailash. It was an amazing gift, a quiet testimony to the love that the acharyas held for all the yatris.

No sooner had he left the room than a group of porters and guides - all of whom had slept in tents pitched just in front of the lodge - streamed into the room, trying to locate, prod and wake up their assigned yatris and get them to leave. Somehow, even though we woke up much later than planned, we quickly got refreshed and were out of our rooms by 7:30 am. My friendly Tibetan porter guided me up the hill ahead of the caravan, as all of us walked on foot up the slightly steep first half a kilometer up to a creek crossing over an improvised bridge made by cobbling together wooden logs. At this point, most yatris climbed onto horseback, getting ready for the tough next three hours climb up to a Dolma la Pass, at 18600 feet, the highest point of the parikrama. I decided to walk steadily and judiciously as far as I could, while preserving my energy and breathing gently, all the while making sure that the horse wasnt too far ahead or behind me, just in case!

After the first hour of ascent, the kora trail became significantly more rugged, with several steep stretches to climb and even sharper falls on the hillsides. After we navigated a turn at the top of the first hill we climbed, we come to a somewhat flatter area of green mounds proceeding directly eastward along the kora. Soon, we encountered a more challenging climb, the path laced with a lot more boulders and rocks, and each step became a conscious effort that involved breathing deeply and moving one foot at a time. A cloud cover and the chilly morning also made the walk a little difficult. Soon, I began to stop and pause to catch some breath while the horses and yak were going past me a lot more often. And when it appeared as if though the rocky top in the distance might be the famous Dolma la pass, I decided to quit being a hero and called for the horse somewhere just under 18000 ft. But as I would found out, riding horse back up these rugged trails was not the best treatment for chronic back and neck troubles, and I quickly cut my hopes that the top of the trail was anywhere near, as turn after winding turn up these zig-zag paths only lead to more turns on the trail. But the vistas were stunning, the atmosphere was serene and heavenly. As we moved along, the air had become significantly thin and I had to drink warm water from the thermos flask a lot more frequently. Many yatris began inhaling the camphor balls that they had packed specifically for this purpose - inhaling the strong sweet, crisp scent at higher altitudes does allow for more effortless breathing by clearing the nasal passage. A fascinating observation on this stretch was how the local Tibetans - even little kids - would wink vigorously at every passing yatri whose eyes were not wide open or whom they suspected of not being fully alert on their horse, sometimes even a few times continuously until you winked back in return or opened your eyes wider. By doing this, they ensured that no one was passing out or going unconscious from the shortage of oxygen supply at the very final stretches of the climb to the Dolma la pass. Finally, after a long hike over three-hours, we arrived near the top of Dolma la pass, marked with an assortment of prayer flags and other religious items at the heady maximum height of 18600 feet on the kora. After stopping here briefly to catch some breath - or to actually run out of it, given the altititude - and enjoying the ecstatic feeling of making it to the highest point of our lives, all of us were advised to get off our high horses, quite literally.

That’s because, the narrow path down from Dolma la is laden with four-foot boulders, acute turns and unstable rocks, and this combination usually results in the complete loss of trust and cooperation between man and horse, which could lead to potentially disastrous consequences. The challenge of navigating several hundred feet of descent in such difficult terrain at such a breathlessly-high altitude in the midst of an endless traffic of horses, yak and people is not one for the light hearted. But the scenic views from these remote corners of the kora are no less stunning than others, especially near the Gauri Kund, which is a small greenish pond of ice and water, that sits about a hundred feet below the trail. A little further down, we come to the very steep and slippery stretch of the trail that will take us down to a rest stop area in the valley below. Some of us that made it down relatively quickly to the rest area waited for a few hours keeping track of the slow progress of others climbing down using binoculars and tending to the exhausted ones that were arriving. It is nothing short of a miracle that all of us - whether old, sick or hiking-averse - made it to the bottom in one piece, in reasonably good time and without any major accidents. After partaking of the packed lunch and resting on the grassy plateau, the caravan resumed its journey well past noon, crossing over thin creeks that flowed under towering peaks, marching to the soothingly heavenly sound of gushing water, in gentle rain and cold breeze, under dark clouds and open skies, with creaking limbs and and heaving lungs, until around three hours and six or seven kilometers later, the last of us arrived at Zuthulphuk, at an altitude of around 16500. Sadly however, Mount Kailash was not visible during much of this stretch.

The Zuthulphuk monastery - which was the site of the legendary encounter and contest between Milarepa and Naro Bonchung, the founder of the Bon faith of Central Asia - was ledged in the hills above the mud-house - where most of us spent the night, with the exception of a dozen men who slept in the tent just outside. Unperturbed by frigid temperatures that would have frozen a volcano, howling winds that threatened to blow the roofs off their heads and wild dogs that were determined to bark all night long outside their tents, these brave, exhausted and just really, sleepy men, shamelessly snored all the way until the sun rose again in the eastern sky.

After breakfast, on the third and final morning of the parikrama, the contingent assembled on the vast field at Zuthulphuk at around 7:30 am, eager to set off and finish walking or riding the remaining handful of kilometers. Walking on relative flat trails with a modest sprinkling of green shrubbery, along edges of small hills and canyon walls overlooking the Zhong Chu river flowing south to Darchen, the first of us arrived at the top edge of an overlook on the far-south eastern side of Mount Kailash in under three hours. Going past another group of pilgrims ahead of us, we spot the familiar faces of the drivers and the local guides who were waiting for us, wearing broad smiles and offering a warm embrace. It is hard to capture the entire gamut of emotions that run through one’s heart at a time like this. There was elation on completing the kora, but also a slight tinge of sadness that the kora was now complete, and perhaps, an intuitive sense of knowing that this meant only one thing: in the hours and days to come, we were going to go further and further away from Mount Kailash.

These were moments filled with a poignant - if sudden - realization of the sheer magnitude of spiritual meaning to life that remained to be discovered or rediscovered, and gratitude for the culmination of an unknown promise that was kept to us or sincere wish that was granted. But mostly, there were smiles and tears on our faces, songs and prayers on our lips and a renewed spark of faith and joy in our hearts.

Yes, there were miles left to be traveled, flights remaining to be taken, families and friends to go back to, phone calls and emails to be answered and self-important jobs and missions to accomplish - all, in our own lives.

But, it didn’t matter then and it didn’t matter there.

At least for a moment, the Self in all of us sprung out in a united celebration of something much, much bigger than our own small lives.

Unfettered by the narrow and hardened chains of our own petty minds and bodies, ever so briefly did it feel, like what was being celebrated here was not “my” completion of the Kailash parikrama, but truly the ideal of the completion of the Kailash parikrama itself, as such - in all its obvious profundity or inconceivable simplicity - at once, of a higher spirit and consciousness to which we all aspired to and connected to in that expansive-hearted celebration. It was that ideal that cut the chains that bound us to our lives, and verily, became the only bond between us.

For even long after the physical yatra is complete, the spiritual journey that we have embarked on is one in which we are still arriving. Yet, in that brief nothingness of that moment - pregnant with gratitude for the blessing and faith we were celebrating - lay ahead the ideal and the path for us to explore, seek and expand beyond our own lives.