Pilgrim’s Progress: Kailash Yatra IV

Mount Kailash North Face. 

The Door of Death and Rebirth 

(aka the Beginning of the Parikrama) 

The day of the great walk—the Parikrama—had finally arrived. The morning was perfectly crisp and clear, and the mood in our group was surprisingly upbeat. We had a collective, slightly alarming, resolve: not a single person had opted for a pony or a porter. It seemed we had all decided this strenuous, high-altitude hike was simply going to happen, one way or another. Unfortunately, just as I'd been laid low, another member, Vinoda, too had developed a nasty case of nausea and headaches. Thankfully, she had her own personal care team: her husband, and a highly capable aunt. She though said she had felt fine since arriving in Darchen. 

We set out on time for the starting point: Yam Dwar. The place was a total circus, less a quiet pilgrimage gateway and more a vibrant, boisterous fair. The cacophony was mostly thanks to the ponies and their bells, pony minders and their very colourful costumes, though the pilgrims certainly added to the noise. Since we weren't in the market for steeds or Sherpas, we flew through the formalities and started our walk before noon, passing through the chorten/stupa. (Legend has it that crossing this door of Yama, the Lord of Hell, grants you a spiritual rebirth. I was just hoping it would grant me enough lung capacity for the next 16 km).

The True Beginning: Yam Dwar

A Veteran's Optimism

The first day requires a walk of about 16 km to the resting spot in Zuthulphuk. What sounds reasonable on paper becomes a marathon at this altitude, and we'd be gaining over two thousand feet by the time we stopped. My aim was to reach the rest stop by sundown, and my own doubts about finishing the Parikrama had happily melted away in the warm, welcome sun.

Miles to go….

As we started, I voiced my immediate reservations about a few of our group members making it without aid. Rambabu, a veteran on his fourth trip, simply scoffed. “Don’t worry,” he said, with the unflappable confidence of a man who packed his own yak repellent, “The first day is easy. They’ll all do it in time.” Given his experience, I accepted his wisdom and tucked away my inner cynic for the moment.

Our path ran along a river, essentially winding through a massive valley. It was initially crowded—a consequence of planning our yatra to coincide with the full moon - just like a few thousand others. Apparently, we weren't the only eager beavers who thought a massive, sacred high-altitude hike was a great idea.

By the rivers of….

Beauty and the Bhulakkad

The path itself wasn't overly difficult; the gradient was gentle, though the lack of vegetation gave the landscape a stark, humbling beauty. But with waterfalls, gentle light, monasteries, and mountains that seemed to change colour as the sun moved, there was plenty to keep the eyes busy.

Our first official stop came at the two-kilometre mark: a couple of makeshift shops selling tea and snacks. I took a brief, necessary break for a cup of tea, and, more importantly, a chance to remember how to breathe.

A kilometre or so after the break, the mountains looked especially photo-worthy. I reached for my camera... and found nothing but air. I immediately knew. I had casually set it on the bench while having tea and then happily forgotten it and walked off. This wasn't just a minor lapse; it was an annual tradition for me. Over the years, cameras, passports, and even entire backpacks have been left in a trail across Belgium, Luxembourg, Malaysia, and what felt like half the continent. 

A pony and its minder

I half-walked, half-sprinted back. My friends, seeing me suddenly bolt, worried I was suffering an altitude-induced breakdown. When I confessed the real reason, they generously offered to join me, which I refused. I didn't want to double their distance just because I was, shall we say, geographically challenged when it came to personal belongings.

I arrived back at the shop, fully expecting to be poorer and camera-less. But there it was: my camera, sitting untouched on the bench. I thanked my lucky stars and silently attributed it to the goodness of Mount Kailash, a place where people were apparently too spiritually focused to bother with eyeing others’ belongings. Gratefully, I rushed back to rejoin my friends, who were walking slowly and casting watchful glances over their shoulders for me.

Play of light and shadow. Notice the waterfall?

The Plodding and the Prostrating

Because of my unscheduled dash, I’d assumed everyone would be miles ahead. Not so. My earlier doubts resurfaced immediately. Some group members were already flagging. One lady surrendered her bags, requiring someone else to become her impromptu porter. Soon enough, Sanjay and Rambabu were designated shepherd duty, taking responsibility for the laggards and waving the rest of us ahead.

I realised the more breaks I took, the harder it became to find my pace again. So, I adopted a strategy of plodding slowly when exhausted, rather than stopping completely.

Vistas along the way

Chorten made by pilgrims along the river bank

Somewhere along the way, we got our first close-up view of the Kailash South Face. Prayer flags fluttered proudly, turning every vantage point into an instant photo session. I even overcame my deep-seated diffidence and asked people to snap a few pictures of me—a minor miracle in itself.

Flags flutter at the south face of Mt Kailash

As time passed, the speed slowed to a painful crawl. Yet, I plodded on, taking inspiration from the local Tibetans performing their 'Kora' (Parikrama) by fully prostrating after every three steps. Watching men and women of all ages carry out this maddening, powerful display of faith was truly humbling.

A Rendezvous with Awe

After nearly six hours of huffing, puffing, and generally thinking I might have arrived at the door of the netherworld, I reached the end of the day's journey. The splendid North Face of Kailash was now visible in all its glory. I climbed up towards the base, a place called 'Charan Sparsh' (Touching the Feet of the Lord).

Awe-inspiring North face of Mt Kailash

The feeling that overcame me was unlike anything I'd experienced. I grew deeply emotional; sobs and tears of pure joy surged from within. I stayed, gazing at the majestic, snow-covered mountain, feeling a profound sense of awe. 

I eventually made my way down, feeling utterly ravenous—lunch had been a concept, not a reality, and my water bottle was bone dry.

An Act of Kindness 

I faced my first small crisis. I entered the only visible hotel right next to a line of shops and parking but couldn't locate our group leader. Worse, I had no Yuans to buy water or tea. I tried to entice the stall owner with Indian Rupees and even Dollars, but the reply was a gentle but firm no. In the end, the kind man took pity on me and handed me a bottle of water, free of cost, refusing my insistence to accept money. Soon after, another group’s helpers offered me tea and biscuits. It was a potent reminder that kindness is what truly runs the world, and we so often forget to pay it 

Yours truly. Before scaling down to the resting place  

It wasn't long before Sridhar appeared. He  had learnt that another of our group member - Joginder - had also reached. It was from Joginder that we learned the hotel I was waiting at wasn't our actual resting place—we had to move further down!

A stroke of coincidence meant Joginder and Sridhar were roomies for the trip. They also shared one peculiar quirk: they didn't seem to know that the human voice has a lower setting than a full-throated bellow. They addressed every single piece of information, no matter how personal, to the entire valley.

We finally walked down to our actual tents and waited over more tea. Soon, Srihari, his wife, Venkat, Sanjay, and the Murthy couple all made it. That left five more of our original group still out there. We rested inside our tents and prayed they would make it before darkness descended.

(To be Continued...)