The Mystery of the Kailash Trail

Book One and Two Bharat Bhushan

The Mystery of the Kailash Trail

Book One and Two Bharat Bhushan
Pre-publication draft manuscript This is not a publication

This draft copy is being distributed to invite comments and suggestions

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Being uploaded or distributed for guidance and suggestions in developing the story

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means, electronics or mechanical including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. This is not a publication. This is a pre-publication draft manuscript of a proposed book and is being distributed for editing, comments, critics and suggestions. The distribution is within a limited group of experts, resource persons, people who are familiar with the Kailash region in Tibet, the aspects of the pilgrimage in the various religions and those who are interested in the aspects of development of a story. Those who receive this pre-publication draft manuscript may forward it those who may be able to contribute to the editing and development of the story. There will be errors, mistakes and contextual wrongs galore. Please do not hesitate to point them out and inform the author at bharatbhushan@yahoo.com

About the book

The oldest mystery known to the Oriental World. It is said that nobody dares to venture out to walk on the Kailash Mountain. And it is also said that those who walked up the mountain, never returned. In all these centuries, they have gone within, never to return.

About the author

Bharat Bhushan Environment Scientist, Ornithologist. Birder, Birdwatcher, Teacher, Trainer. Eclectic and Serendipitous Vagrant Traveller. On land, through books, inside the internet, and deep within the mind.

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, rockclimbing, 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

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.

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 mothers 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 sons 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,

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.

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-ofVijay, 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.

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.

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 minivillage 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

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

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-sothin 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.

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

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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.

***

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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.

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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 policemans 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 Shenshes 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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

20

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.

21

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 Maharajs 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.

***

22

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

23

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

24

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 Yeshes 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.

25

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, Yeshes 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 Yeshes 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. Yeshes 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, Yeshes mother had begun to keep ducks in one of the stone houses to

26

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 helpers family at Darchen. Yeshes parents paid the woman with good money and she would not be tempted

27

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 years 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

28

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 pilgrims 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

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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 hours 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 pilgrims 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

30

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

31

monk, Master Rinchen, spoke in agreement, Yes. I have seen it happen three times earlier. Its 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 mountains 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

32

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

33

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.

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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 twentyfive 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

35

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 blackcoloured 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

36

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 Tamangs 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,

37

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.

38

***

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.

39

Brother Tameng bowed in respect. He could understand the need to restrain ones 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 Masters 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

40

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

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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 monasterys 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

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circle of stones. He pulled at the young monks 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 Tamengs 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.

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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

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valley and on to higher ground. Do not look away from the circle of stones. Brother Tameng nodded in the dark night, and tapped Dawas 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 Dawas 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

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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 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

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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

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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 Tamengs 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

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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.

***

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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.

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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

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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

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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?

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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He came up to Norbus 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, Whats 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

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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

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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.

***

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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 Tserings 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 Luos 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. Luos wife began preparing the extra-sweet tea and Tsampa separately for the local Tibetans. One of the boys began to heat up the earlier nights leftover yak meat soup and potatoes in a separate bowl in the adjoining tent. The pilgrim groups knew about Luos separation of vegetarian and non-vegetarian food and accordingly began to move about.

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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,

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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.

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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 evenings 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 thats why I speak to you in Hindi and not in Gujarati. Is that ok? I spoke with my

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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. Its 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

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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 schools 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

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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 buildings 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.

***

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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 pilgrims 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

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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 Yeshes parents managed. Sangye could see Yeshes 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. Yeshes 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

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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.

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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 Yeshes 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

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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

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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. Its a clear trail. Thats a yaks 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

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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,

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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

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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.

***

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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, Yeshes 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

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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

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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

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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 horsemans 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.

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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?

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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. Thats 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.

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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

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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. Its 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. Norbus 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

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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 Norbus 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 Yeshes 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 Norbus 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 days trail from Dirapuk to Drolma La Pass and

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then down to Zitalpuk and to Darchen. He ran to the pilgrim groups 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? Yeshes 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 Yeshes father. He rushed to welcome them, bowing low.

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Sangye asked for Yeshes 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 Sangyes 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. Yeshes 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. Yeshes 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 Yeshes 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 Norbus 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. Yeshes 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.

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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 days 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 days 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 Masters 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 whats 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. Yeshes 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. Yeshes 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.

***

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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 Sangyes 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 Yeshes 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. Yeshes 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 Yeshes 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 Norbus 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 Yeshes 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.

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?

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The monk spoke again to Sardar Amarpal Singh upon Shenshes insistence. He conveyed the policemans 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.

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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 Shenshes help for nobody would help wandering pilgrims from the groups from India. It was about one night, and what could one nights 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 aweinspiring 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.

***

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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 yakboys at Choku gompa watched Brother Tameng curiously. They could realize that something was going on. These guides and yak-boys along with some horseboys 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?

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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 Masters 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

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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.

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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

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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 Vijays 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

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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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.

***

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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.

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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.

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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. Thats 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 Yeshes 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 Yeshes

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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.

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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inside Brother Tamengs 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.

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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

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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.

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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 Rinchens 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 Yeshes parents eatery and made the yaks and horses comfortable in the sheds. Yeshes 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. Yeshes 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 naivet 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 nonexistent. 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 Sangyes 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. Yeshes 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 Yeshes 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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Sangyes 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.

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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

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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 smallenclosed room with a million mirrors. Yeshe and Satawa rushed around inside the shelter getting the animals loaded up and entered the space

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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. Thats 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 bikes 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.

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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 tourleader 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 Amarpals 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. Norbus 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. Norbus 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. Sangyes 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 Sangyes 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 Dawas 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

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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 Yeshes 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 passagelike 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 trekkers 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 sludgesort 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 lions mouth or the bed of water. Yeshe asked, But, isnt 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.

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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

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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 nonBuddhist 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 Gompas 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 KlaChu 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 inbetween 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. Thats 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

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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?

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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 Norbus 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 Yeshes parents. The monk from Dirapuk took some time in explaining the run of events. Yeshes 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

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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. Norbus 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 monks 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 Lions 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

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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.

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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 Norbus 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. Norbus 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

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eatery was more comfortable than the one at Shiquanhe. This was an actual brick and mortar building, and warmer than Luo Tserings 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. Norbus 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, Norbus parents had exclaimed happily and were pointing towards the Yamdwar, Yamas 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. Norbus 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

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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 Norbus two yaks, while his mother fed his mastiff with some fresh meat broth. Norbus 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

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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 Norbus 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,

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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 Tserings 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 Lions 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 Lions 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 Norbus 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 Norbus parents. They would be paid for the material

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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 Norbus mother, anxiously. Brother Tameng smiled and said that it would not be without him. He had promised Master Rinchen and he would similarly promise Norbus 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. Norbus father went out to collect some animals boys to be sent to Dirapuk, while Norbus mother Hariram Maharaj busied themselves with placing necessities to be packed up. All equipment, food supplies would be covered with thick plastic sheets, and and the and and

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would be covered once again, after they were loaded on to the yaks and horses. Norbus father had gathered up four yaks and two horses. Two yak-boys and one horseboy 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. Norbus 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 Norbus 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. Norbus 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 Norbus 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 Norbus 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 yakboy 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 Norbus parents, to their surprise, the senior monk of Chiu Gompa and Vijay explained that they needed two horses to ride up to Gyangdrak Gompa. Norbus 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. Norbus 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, Norbus 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 Norbus 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 northwest 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.

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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

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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. Its 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

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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

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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 blanketlike 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

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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 thats 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. Its 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 Yeshes 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 Norbus 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.

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