After changing Rupees for Yuan at Kodari and cleared by the Chinese immigration at Khasa, we headed in a caravan of 13 jeeps for Nyalum, located at the altitude of 13,000 feet.
My own mini group in the jeep had an accounting professional from Kathmandu and a mother-son duo. I was treated to an amusing diversion by the constant bickering between the mother and the son during the monotonous journey.
On the trip, road repair works in the Khasa-Nyalum sector forced us to a long delay, and we could leave Khasa only at midnight. It was almost three in the morning when we reached Nyalum, covering just about 50 kilometers from the Nepal-Tibet border. Since Kathmandu to Nyalum was a leap of over 8,000 feet (2,500 meters), it was essential for travelers to acclimatize to its high altitude conditions. We therefore stayed one full day in Nyalum. Still, I started having problems of altitude sickness, including a fever that would return every night throughout the trip. Loss of appetite was another problem that I experienced throughout. I survived on soup and tea.
When we left Nyalum for Mansarovar, the climatic conditions grew harsher. Glaring sunlight coupled with icy cold wind blowing at high speed left us numb. There was no vegetation on this side of the Himalaya to break the speed of the wind which made protection from the onslaught of sand particles a difficult chore. From Nyalum to Mansarovar, hissing stormy cold and swirling dust reigned supreme.
After Nyalum, our next stop was Saga, a small town on the banks of a river that flows from west to east through Tibet before plunging into India as Brahmaputra. The next day, we stayed at a small place called Paryang. Wherever we stopped for lunch or dinner from Nyalum to Mansarovar, a depressing scene would visit us: surrounded as we were by beggars with utter wretchedness writ all over their faces. It was a sight we least expected because Tibet has been ruled for the last half century by Communist China, a country with a roaring economy for the last twenty five years.
On the fifth day, we had a glimpse of the holy lake Mansarovar. Just to see it from a distance was an awesome delight, an exhilarating experience. The holy dip the next morning brought forth a fresh joy, though the sharp rocks underneath precluded a relaxed bath in deeper waters. Another impressive scene presented itself when the Sherpas accompanying us started prostrating themselves on the lakeside as a completely natural exercise. What unquestioning devotion!
Once our relaxed travel by car ended at Mansarovar, the preparation began for the trekking part of our trip, namely the ‘parikrama’ (circumambulation), or ‘kora’ in Tibetan, of Mount Kailash. Those interested in the parikrama but afraid of the exertion from the trek could rent horses. Many did. I did it, too, though it was a trek of only two and a half days.
But the strenuous nature of the parikrama became obvious when on the second day, as we were walking the pass called Drolma La at the height of 5,600m (18,500 feet), we were told that people had died of lack of oxygen there. Fortunately, no such accident took place in our group. Later, however, we learned that one person from another group had indeed died the same day at the same spot.
I had heavenly sensations when, on the second morning of the trek, we started our journey. And there, on the right, was Mt. Kailash, the abode of Lord Shiva, shining in the early morning sun! Golden rays falling on the snowcapped peak produced hypnotic effects. For many moments, it felt as if the Lord would come down from the peak and embrace me.
In the reverie, I imagined that I would beg for deliverance from worldly worries and He would utter the famous words of “tathastu!” (So be it!).
The feeling came in a flash and passed away similarly. I did not know that, on our return, people in Kathmandu would ask me questions such as, did I have a ‘darshan’ of the Lord, or did I meet any ascetics on the way sitting cross-legged on a posture of deep meditation (tapasya). Nothing remotely related happened to me though I must confess that when I started on the trip, the desire for a darshan of the Lord must have been at the back of my mind. And yet, trained to think rationally all my life, I would be embarrassed to confess to such a desire. Isn’t expecting miracles foolish anyway?
Over the years, I have seen many who have deep devout faith in Lord Shiva. For Hindus, Shiva is one of the trinity −Brahma, Vishnu and Mahesh − the holders of the highest positions in the pantheon of gods.
I have not read much of history or culture, but as little as that I have tell us that Shiva, whom Hindus revere now, was probably a god of non-Aryan people initially. When the Aryans extended their stretch into India, they felt that some sort of inclusive strategy accommodating Him as an Aryan god was required.
Cultural historians argue that Lord Shiva generally gives blessings to Asuras (Ravan, Badansur, and Bhashmasur, for example), which creates troubles for Lord Indra and other Vedic gods. Thus, Shiva could not have been an Aryan god himself. Be that as it may, but Shiva is widely worshipped by Hindus.
I do, too. I go for a darshan of Lord Pashupatinath quite regularly, to make Him a witness to my own joys and sorrows, though not for making elaborate puja to Him. And, yes, faith needs no logic. Not only Hindus but Buddhists as well widely worship Lord Shiva, a proof of which I saw with my own eyes. During my parikrama of Kailash, I saw two Tibetan women prostrating themselves at every step. This kind of intense devotion surprises me no end.
After the trek, there was nothing to hold us in the desolate terrains of the Tibetan Plateau. The homeward journey was eventless, though. We hurried back a day earlier than planned. When we arrived at Khasa, the air felt normal, a bit heavier than we were breathing for the last ten days. There was no more the need to cover our ears with mufflers to escape the cold and the constant drone of hissing sounds. There was no need to wear a down jacket either, and it altogether felt like home.
(All photos by Bikash Karki/Republica)