Kailash-Mansarovar - The toughest time of my life.

My parents and I had planned a trip to the Mt Kailash and other areas in Tibet for the summer. It is said that Lord Shiva [Hindu mythology] resides in the Mt Kailash. Hence we had planned a ‘Kailash Parikrama’ (pilgrimage). We had also decided to go for the Mansarovar parikrama. The beauty of the Mansarovar is that it is the only glacial lake situated five kilometres above the sea level, and it has water which is sweet to taste, unlike other lakes and rivers of Ladakh and Tibet. It is said that the lake had been created by Lord Brahma, and it has many other religious stories. One which I can distinctly remember is that gods and goddesses use that lake for having their baths. It is regarded as a lake of sublime sensual pleasure. We had also planned to visit the Rakshas Tal, which is a lake, glorious and beautiful, but said to be unholy, because Ravana did penance in the vicinity. I’ve been to quite a few places around the world, but the one trip that has fascinated me the most, was this one, in 2007, our Kailash Mansarovar journey. Being an atheist, I thought this was quite daft, but now I know how wrong I was. What does an atheist, an amateur trekker gain from this trip? It’s not something you can wear, or something you can spend, but you can feel it. You can live with it. It makes for an unforgettable memory. You can cherish the experience. And lastly, you would like to go back there for more.
I’ll summarize my introduction with the following line that we were told before we left, “You can take a man out of Kailash-Mansarovar, but you cannot take Kailash-Mansarovar out of a man.”

Note: The following is a description of what surely was the most challenging period of my life. Two weeks that changed the person I was, and surely had an influence on the person I am today. It started on 29th May, 2007, and ended on 8th June, 2007. I know it was long back, but this was actually the first thing I’d planned to write about in my blog, before I’d even made one, but I was continuously putting it off, so now, as I start writing at 1:00 am, I am ready to put it out of my system. I’m using mum’s travelogue/journal as a guide, in which she used to note down the events of the day, every night.

29th May, 2007
We, my parents and I, started this journey somewhat inauspiciously, what with doubts in our minds, apprehensive about the risk factor involved. On the way to the airport, our car slipped on some oil on the road, and we spun 360 degrees first, and then we had another 180 degrees, but finally the driver steered us back on course. While this incident was taking place, Dad’s voice said “left…right..okay”, mom’s said, “Oww noo nooo aargh.. Shit!”, and I was totally mute. That made me feel all brave. How naïve of mum, I felt. We met the 20 other people that we were going with, exchanging hi’s and you-have-become-thin’s. We reached Nepalgunj airport. To be blunt, it was bullshit. Bus stops in Mumbai are more fashionable. In the group, now that I think about it, I found this energy, this weird enthusiasm, which was brilliant, we all told ourselved, “we’re bloody well going to reach the top of the mountain.”

30th May, 2007.
Woke up at 4:00 am, reached this mountain thing, from where we had to go to Hilsa. Nepalgunj to Hilsa was a brisk helicopter ride, and I was notably excited about the fact, since it would be my first time. We sat in, it wasn’t comfortable at all, but it was worth it. We kept gliding from right to left, and I felt distinctly pukish. The view was brilliant, the snow covered mountain were just seductive, as seen from the window! They seemed to hypnotise you, I’ve never been a man for the nature, but I’d be lying if I said that the sight did not take my breath away. The seductive mountains seemed to be telling us, “playing with me is a risk, but who are you kidding, after seeing this, you’re not going to be able to turn back.” We landed on the lower altitudes, where there was no snow, but the mountains had this barren look to it, which made me feel like some cool soldier, getting escorted from a helicopter, with a mountain to climb.. Man I’m weird!
From there it was a straight 3-4 kms from Hilsa to Tibet. It was awesome- the feeling that we were going to climb through one country to reach the other. The trek wasn’t a cakewalk by any stretch of imagination; it was continuously sleeps, which really sucks. There were no flat lands where the ankles could get some rest. I distinctly remember thinking of the line, ‘The fastest way to cross mountains is to go peak by peak, but for that you have to have long legs!’ Aditya, the guy 6 years older to me, the only other male kid, was with me, we were leading the charge, and it was fun, since this actually tested your physical fitness rather than your mental fitness. Don’t get me wrong, I am not boasting here, but though I was a chubby kid even then, I could always push myself physically, and both of us reached the top the first, with no one else in sight. We reached what we thought was the peak, the destination. We collapsed on the ground, and huffed and puffed for about five minutes. After replenishing the lost energy, I removed my shoes. Ah, the cool wind blowing against my hot and tired feet. It was such a relieving feeling. The steeper the mountains, the harder the climb, but better the view from the finishing line. How true!. I’d made it, and I had time over others, so I was proud. Thirty minutes later, we finally could see the rest of the group. They were still quite far, and we saw them sitting down, taking a break, apparently. After 2-3 minutes, they got up and reached where we were in another 5. They had broad smiles etched upon their faces, they were laughing and joking. I felt like an ass. My obsession to reach the top and do it fast meant I was only thinking about the destination. I was obsessed, and my obsession ended up spoiling the pleasure of the climb. It was evening now, and we still were waiting on that spot, for our luggage. It was getting cold and our luggage was making it’s way up the mountain courtesy some FAST Nepalese kids. We finally got it and we made our way to the hotel in Taklakot. This was the first sign of us being uncomfortable. Was a shit place, a pathetic excuse for a hotel. Our room had three beds, two bowls, and one thermos flask. The first bowl was for clean water to wash your face, and the second was for SPITTING after brushing your teeth. Sweet, eh?
In the men’s toilet, there were 4 people who had to shit, side by side, separated by a short wall, about two-three feet. So you had to bend well enough to ensure that the Chinese dude beside you isn’t ogling at your arse, but you could see the expression on the face of the two people left and right of you, so I had to keep my “ahh” expressions to a minimum. Uncomfortable shitting, that pisses DD off.  Anyway, about the toilet, the heavy shit pellets went through the HOLE, but the other lighter stuff floated above with your urine. So you were basically shitting on 10 people’s urine and shit, which your arse an inch apart from it, and you had three other dudes doing the same thing, right beside you. Fun? Not quite. Had a headache that night (could you blame me?), a crocin relieved me off my pain, and I was off to hit the sack, after a dinner of some hot khichdi, and lots of cold for dessert.

31st May, 2007.

Fresh new day, clement weather, with the sun shining, the birds chirping, the scent of flowers, and a nice clean hot bath? NO! Had a blocked nose, inability to breathe, a strong urge of shitting, but not manifesting the desire due to knowledge of the lack of cleanliness of the toilet. None the less, we were extremely glad about the thought of getting out of that shithole. We were supposed to go to Mansarovar that day. We were lucky enough as we were going to be there during the full moon night, when they say, and I repeat, the beauty attracts Gods and Goddesses to come for a swim. We reached, and we were supposed to live in a tent-cum-hut thing. (You’d know what I’m on about if you’d see war movies.) It was beautiful. It was completely dark around, and the full moon shone brightly, illuminating everything around it. The lake, it seemed was blazing with some heavenly bright white light. The fortitude naturally came, when such beauty looks at you, you tend to forget the cold dry winds, and the headache. They say that even in the period of an hour, the lake changes colours. I could see it. It was like a Bollywood song, with the lake changing clothes within a second, and surely, the Mansarovar displays the best fashion show in the world! I’ve heard many people talk about the beauty of the Alps, the Pyramids, the Taj Mahal, and many other things, and at that point of time, it all seemed so menial, compared to the sight I was beholding. It was the first time, may I add, that I felt I finally knew what dear old Wordsworth was on about.
Sadly, I found out, that once you stop looking at the beautiful scene, the headache gets back at you, even stronger. I had a splitting headache, and I just wanted to cry. I was so depressed. There was no sufficient oxygen, we were informed about that, but we never knew it would make such a different, and with each breath I could somehow feel my head shouting, “I need more.. more!.” I was psychologically in a tough state. Didn’t know what to do. Even thinking about the oxygen levels made me feel breathless; I remember feeling like I’m going to pass out. People around me, our group, they were singing hymns about Shiva [who, they say, lives on the Mt. Kailash], and first I felt they were crazy, but then I knew that they had sensed that the ‘parikrama’ [pilgrimage], the challenge of climbing the mountain, was around 30 hours away. In the chill of the night, amidst the grandeur of the Mt. Kailash, and the splendour of the moonlit Mansarovar, and the pure beauty of the moon, and my splitting headache coupled with the depressing thoughts, I told myself, as I went off to sleep, “I’m going to complete that climb, whatever happens!” That said, I was scared. I feared what I would see ahead. This was supposed to be the easy part, I feared what was about to come. I kept telling myself that I was brave, and that courage is all about doing what you’re afraid to do. There’s no courage without fear. It’s about overcoming what you fear. With that thought, the ‘honey heavy dew of slumber’ was upon me, and it stuck my eyes shut.

1st June, 2007.

We were advised to rest for the whole day on bed, to get used to the Oxygen levels, and the acrimonious weather. Since this paragraph is comparatively deficient in words, I would like to share that acrimonious was one of the words I learnt from my partly torn pocket dictionary, after watching an episode of F.r.i.e.n.d.s where Joey is unable to use it effectively. 

2nd June, 2007.

Next morning we travelled again to reach Tarchen. Tarchen was…weird, and it had a dishevelled look to it. It seemed like it desperately wanted to develop into a city, but it did not have the resources to do so. There were many incomplete construction sites. The toilets were so dirty; I CANNOT express myself in words. People had started shitting from the entrance itself, so never found out where you were ACTUALLY meant to shit. I just shat somewhere, like a beast. Again, incomplete unsatisfying shitting + less Oxygen + a splitting headache + cold = Pissed off DD. The rooms had no electricity, and it felt like we were living in a very cold cave. Having Dad and Mum with their arms around me felt really gratifying.
In the evening, we were given the news that there were storms around the Mt. Kailash, and the weather was too disdainful to risk continuing with the trek. A nasty sadistic idiot in our group seemed to be particularly happy, which enraged mum and me, and mum was really disturbed, so I reassured her saying that we would mostly go because weather reports count for nothing usually. She poured her heart out on me, saying “we’ll go, and I know it! It is meant to be!” Her faith told her that the weather would be good enough to take us to Deraphuk, the next destination on our journey.

3rd June, 2007.

Fantastic weather. Clement skies, mum was right. Five people out of the 20 dropped out, and went back to Taklakot, since the weather was still scary enough, with the lack of Oxygen. The rest of us, we carried on to Teraphuk.

“Dhruv, you want to go up till Teraphuk by a bike?”
“No, why?”
“After Teraphuk, till the rest of the mountain ahead, you have to walk, no bikes.”
“Hmm, alright.”

As I sat on my bike, and Dad paid the guy, as I bid farewell to the 3 guys (Dad, mom and Aditya’s dad) who were walking to till the tents in Deraphuk, I began to feel the resentment. Newton and Shakespeare would have twisted in their graves. The former because I didn’t give a shit about momentum and it’s help ahead, and the latter because he once said, “To climb great mountains requires slow pace at first.” I convinced myself, saying that if I would take it easy here, and use the bike, I would be able to do the rest of the trek very easily. In 1 and a half hours I reached our tent, not tired at all, except for the headache, and a somewhat sore butt. The 12 of us sat in the tent. Mum and Dad hadn’t reached ofcourse. All of us were in the tent, and we lay down, with our eyes closed. About an hour passed, and my thoughts were killing me. Everyone got up and they started chatting. There I was, fake-laughing with the other people, while my parents were climbing their way up through snow and other obstacles and discomforts. My heart tried to reach for them, and I wished, I could go outside and apologise, by shouting “I’m sorry for being such a selfish twat!” I had never felt that guilty in my life. Two more hours passed. I began to get extremely worried. I asked the other people how much time they would take, I went outside and asked some local children how much time tourists usually take to climb the mountain, and I found I was still good for another hour. That hour went by. I was almost shivering. I went back in the tent, and just dug my head in the pillow. I was so frustrated with myself. I felt like shouting out the last five letters of the place I was at, at that moment. Why did I have to take that bike! Why couldn’t I just walk with my parents. If I’d do that I’d respect myself. A total of 6 hours went by. I was going mad. I kept asking everyone why they were taking so much time. I became really restless. It was eating me up. Depressing thoughts entered my brain. I was a prisoner of my own actions. After what seemed like an eternity, my parents were back. Dad was back, with a grin on his face, which bore a cut lip, which was no surprise taking cognizance of the fact that he was fittest person in the group. He came back as if it were just an hour in the gym. I looked at Mum…She wasn’t in the best of health from the last two days, and she certainly isn’t the strongest woman on the planet, she had her cut lips, puffy eyes, messy hair, standing up in front of, we just looked at each other for around 15 seconds, I did not know what to do, and finally we have each other tight hugs, and she broke down. It was a HUGE achievement for my mother, my weak little mother, she had just proved to everyone in the room how strong she was. The thing that you believe in always happens, and mum’s belief in her completing the climb made it happen. Now I’m going to write here what mom wrote in her Travelogue on the night of 2nd June. I hadn’t read her travelogue till now, so it’s a surprise for me.
Following is what she wrote, and I quote:
“I felt sad for Dhruv. He is too young for all this. He was worried for us to, and he almost crying. My heart broke when I saw him holding back his tears. When we just came, we were happy to see each other. Then I became emotional again. And I bawled and let it all out, the fatigue, the anxiety, the worry for Dhruv.”

Again, that night it was bliss to sleep with the three of us giving each other tight hugs, so it was really cosy. Keeping people cosy by his hug is one thing DD can do very well! But later that night, it was hell. I woke up a zillion times, what with nightmares and the splitting headache. I had one dream about us already on the top of Mt. Kailash, and I had many other dreams which I cannot remember. I couldn’t get much sleep that night.

4th June, 2007.

Next morning, ALL the people from our group said that they were heading back to Taklakot, and that going ahead till Dolma La Pass wouldn’t be practical. All, that is, except my parents. My parents asked me what I wanted to do. I replied, though maybe not as stubbornly as I should have, “I’m coming with you.”
My parents said, “No, you’ll be safe and better with Aditya and the others, you’ll have fun, you’re too young for this, you aren’t even feeling well, you didn’t get sleep. Go get yourself some oxygen, you’ll feel better.” I did not say anything. I JUST AGREED.
Now, I quote what my mom wrote that night in her travelogue..

“Dhruv, who has been living in luxury, has to face all this. It was decided that from our group me and my husband would go ahead. No one else. I looked at Dhruv. He wasn’t keeping well. We told him to stay back. I felt sad and guilty. Maybe I had kept him behind because I knew he would be my weakness. I sat with him for some time minutes before the rest of our group descended down. He told me not to worry about him and to take care. I wanted to cry again.”

It wasn’t that I was her weakness; it was just that I was a loser.

5th, 6th June, 2007.

I won’t even try explaining what I went through for these three days. There my parents were, risking their lives in the cold snowy mountains, and there I was, pretending to have fun with the other people who gave up. The worst thing was, there was no one I could share my feelings with, the general talk from the group about the whole giving up issue was, ‘not worth it.’ Sour grapes, in my opinion. I lay down on the bed, playing cards with the others, and feeling like I was dying a slow death.

7th June, 2007.

7th June, my parents came back. They had a huge smile on their faces. Oh their faces, cut lips, it was almost like their faces were made of ice, and with one gust of wind they would blow away. I ran out of the hotel at Taklakot and gave my parents a hug. Mum went into my room, and we sat there. We said nothing; we just sat near each other. It was the first time after a passionate moment that mum did not cry. There is a picture that captures this very moment. Dad came in, trying again, but this time without good results, to make it look as if he was just back after an hour in the gym. I’ve always been proud of my parents, but till date I haven’t ever felt that proud, as I felt when I saw my parents back with their faces almost in tatters. It must have taken a lot from them, especially from mum, who, as I said, already wasn’t her fittest. Dad entered the room and we sat there, no one said anything, I popped in a “are you okay?”, and they replied in the affirmative. We sat there for around 20 minutes, saying nothing. That is one silence I will always cherish in my life, I could sit there for the whole day. My depressing thoughts vanished, and my feelings of being a loser were overshadowed by my feeling of pride for my parents.

8th, 9th June, 2007.

These were days meant for relaxation. We went to the Pashupathinath temple, where I spent my time avoiding, dodging, and wincing at the sight of fat pigeons. We reached Kathmandu, where it was nice and hot, we were sweating and it was really uncomfortable, and as we walked through the streets of Kathmandu, the only thing we wanted was a cool drink, a thing which brought smiles on the 20 faces from Mumbai, who had been through low temperatures they probably wouldn’t see in a lifetime. We were staying at a nice Hotel in Nepal for two days, and on 9th we were back home.

Kailash-Mansarovar – After-Effects.

It’s hard to fail, but it’s worse to never have tried. Even if I really wasn’t up to the task of completing the parikrama, I had the choice between two evils, going back like a loser, or making my parents send me back and take the mental pressure off me and shove it on them. I chose them both. Confucius (I loved reading his quotes) said, “be not ashamed of mistakes and this make them crimes.” I accept mine, though I still think my mistake is a crime. The worst thing that can be stuck in your memory, in my opinion is, ‘what if…’ I’ve been tormented by this for a long time, and I’ve had enough, I’d made up my mind about this, and I’ll now type it - I’m surely going to finish that ‘parikrama’ before I die. It’s an obsession. I hope its right after my 12th standard. I don’t care whether I complete it or not, but I don’t want to be a loser who never tried. This whole thing, it’s the one and only regret I have till now. Before I die, I want to be a person who could proudly say, ‘I have no regrets’. With a smile on my face, trembling fingers and sore eyes (which I expect you, reader, to have too) I end this note, repeating what I said at the start, “You can take a man out of Kailash-Mansarovar, but you cannot take Kailash-Mansarovar out of a man.”

PS- I have some beautiful pictures of this trip, I’ll add them as soon as I locate the exact position of my bloody pendrive. Cheers! :)