Even as a child, I was fascinated by Tibet, roof of the world, rich in folklore and abounding in mystics and seers. It has been my life's ambition to visit the place, inspired as I was by various travelogues of Lama Anagarika Govinda, Alexandra David-Neel, Sven Hedin. The golden Potala Palace in Lhasa, the forbidden city, the majestic Mount Kailas and the holy Mansarovar were beckoning me. My husband used to laugh it off, as he wondered how, I, a woman in my mid-forties, tiny and without much stamina, could stand the rigours of such an arduous journey.
During our holiday at Darjeeling, we suddenly decided to visit Gangtok. It was the mysterious Lama we met in a gompa (monastery) there, who made the suggestion, after reading my mind, that we could accompany him to Tibet clandestinely without valid papers and authority.
My husband, myself and Yengden, an interpreter, two servants, to carry our bedding and provisions, and of course the Lama, made up our party. We rode on horseback, intending to change over to yak-back after reaching the border. We followed a narrow path leading to the northern part of Sikkim. We halted for the night at a village, which was the last one near the high passes on the Tibetan border. Here we had our first taste of 'butter-tea' offered to us by the village folk. Butter-tea is prepared by adding rancid yak butter and salt in strong tea-liquor, and is taken piping hot to ward off the cold.
The horses were sent back and yaks were hired for the journey to Tibet. All through the night, we could hear the sounds of trumpets from the nearby gompa.
At dawn, we got up and continued our journey after drinking hot tea. Gradually the scenery began to change, vegetation becoming scarcer and scarcer. We were now steadily climbing up and we began to feel dizzy and exhausted. At last we were at the border passes with the mighty Himalayan snow-covered peaks before us. Here and there gurgling brooks and glaciers greeted us. It was an awe-inspiring scene. Suddenly, without warning, we were there - the huge Tibetan plateau, devoid of vegetation but bright - lay before us. Horizon and sky seemed to meet here.
Seeking some shelter before nightfall, we glimpsed the outlines of a monastery atop a cliff. Exhausted and sleepy, we reached the gompa, which surprisingly was run by a few nuns. The monastery was mostly in ruins, but in one room we found a veritable treasurehouse of ancient scrolls and images. Before a large golden statue of the sitting Buddha were copper bowls filled with water and grain, and also butter-lamps. "Aum mane padme hum" was being chanted by the nuns as they turned their prayer wheels.
Suddenly we found that the Lama was no longer with us. Yengden told us he had to go on a sudden secret mission, and henceforth we would be on our own. We grew apprehensive - how could we account for our presence in Tibet if caught by the authorities? The kind nuns meanwhile offered us tsampa (flour made of roasted barley) and butter-tea. The advised us to take rest for a couple of days and continue our journey disguised as Tibetan monks.
Two days later, we set off dressed as monks in togas (long robes) and caps. The extreme cold and the silence and solitude of the land held us in awe. Each one seemed to be wrapped in his own thoughts. We talked little and only when absolutely necessary. The stories about the gods and goddesses and demons recounted by the nuns had held us spellbound. We felt like trespassers on holy land.
"Take us to the holy Kailash and Mansarovar," we told the interpreter. "After that we shall be content to return to India."
"That means we must go westwards. I shall take you - if you can bear the rigours and the extreme cold there," said he.
As we proceeded further, the landscape became more and more stark. We had to stop every now and then. Provisions were running out.
At last we reached one of the high passes and suddenly we saw a shimmering blue lake.
"Here we are!" exclaimed Yengden. "That is Mansarovar. One the other side, you can see the Rakshas Tal (demon lake) and overlooking these two is Kailash."
Words cannot describe the splendour of the scene. We just stood there stunned by the beauty of the ice-domed mountain and the blue waters of the Mansarovar.
"Our mission is accomplished!" we exclaimed. "Now we can face whatever calamities that are in store for us."
As if on cue came the sound of gunshots from some distance away.
"Let us start the parikrama (circumambulation) of the Mansarovar," Yengden said.
My mind was full of thoughts of the shots we had just heard. Could they have come from the marauding brigands who roam the highlands? Could it be some illusion caused by some evil spirit inhabiting the Rakshas Tal? We had just finished our second circumambulation when a shot hit me right on my back and I fell down.
I woke up trembling in familiar surroundings - our holiday home in Darjeeling!
"Get up! It's 3 a.m. We have to get ready to go to Tiger Hill to see the sunrise," my husband said waking me up.
So it was all just a dream! My abiding interest in Tibet after reading several books had conjured up my dream. Alas Tibet! Shall I ever be able to visit you in reality?
© 2001 - 2002 Indira
