Kailash Mansarova: Soul Mountain

FAITH MOVES MOUNTAINS, they say. Last week in Tibet, the mystique and allure of Mount Kailash was pulling us through the rough Tibetan terrain as we climbed, with some help from the allotted ponies and their cheerful handlers, the 18,600-feet Dolma La Pass and then negotiated the steep descent for the next 6-7km on foot as part of the parikrama around Kailash Parvat, one of the most difficult pilgrimages in Hinduism.

This was the toughest part of the 21-day sojourn 51 of us embarked upon. Mount Kailash holds different significance for different people and faiths. Rising to 6,638 metres (21,778 feet) in the remote reaches of the Tibetan plateau, it is regarded as the spiritual axis of the world by multiple religions. Hindus believe Lord Shiva, the supreme ascetic and destroyer of evil, sits in eternal meditation atop the peak. In Jainism, it is known as Ashtapada, where the first Tirthankara, Rishabhadeva, is supposed to have attained moksha. Buddhists revere the moun­tain as the dwelling place of Demchok (Chakrasamvara), a wrathful manifestation of Buddha, while Bon, the indigenous Tibetan religion, considers it the seat of their founder, Tonpa Shenrab Miwoche. A parikrama around the mountain that has never been climbed, is the apogee of spiritual and religious achievement. Some Tibetans think it is the mythical Mount Meru, considered to be the cosmic mountain located at the exact centre of the universe. Some others refer to the majestic mountain as Axis Mundi, a Latin term denoting the place where heaven and earth meet.

None of these details were at the top of our mind when my spouse Neha and I decided to try our luck in the computerised lottery that the Ministry of External Affairs (MEA) conducted in May 2025. India and Chinese officials had agreed to resume the yatra through two routes, Nathu-La and Lipulekh after six years as part of confidence-building measures between the two neighbours, who are trying to repair their recent fraught relationship. But for us, the bigger motivation was personal. Having entered the 60s a couple of years ago and me having undergone two spine surger­ies in June 2022 and December 2024, I needed to test my physical fitness and men­tal strength. So did my wife Neha, who had last year started going on small treks and hikes. This would be the ultimate test, we thought, although we were not too hopeful of making the cut since thousands of people would apply and have more compelling religious and spiritual reasons to embark on this yatra.

But if the bulawa (summons) comes from God nothing can stop you from go­ing, believers say. And sure enough, on May 27, a short official mail from the MEA confirming our selection in the third batch scheduled to travel via Nathu-La, the pass between India and Tibet in Sikkim, came as one of those pleasant surprises you rarely experience.

Now began the scramble. As a media entrepreneur for the past decade, I had never dared to be away from work for more than a week at most. Here, we were required to spend 21 days travelling through Tibet. Will the organisation cope? Will I be suf­fering FOMO? Would we be able to adjust in a large group of pilgrims drawn from different regions and backgrounds? Several questions swirled in the mind. But Neha and I dug deep into our mental reserves and, like several instances in the past four decades, decided to take the plunge, not giving much thought to the consequences. Preparations began in right earnest.

Ticking items one by one on the indicative list helpfully prepared by the MEA, our gear came together. A box of medicines to meet the challenges of high-altitude peculiarities was put together. Warm but light jackets, hiking boots, walking sticks, warm caps, backpacks, small and big, dark glasses and high-quality sunscreen lotion to protect ourselves from the harsh, almost blinding sun rays, were packed. Light exercise and regular walks every day were now compulsory to get ready for the stern physical test that lay ahead.

The parikrama around Mount Kailash, traditionally a 52-kilometre circumambulation over three days, is believed to cleanse one of the sins of a lifetime. The crossing of Dolma La Pass at 18,600 feet is the most challenging and symbolic portion of the trek—it represents death and rebirth. Pilgrims leave behind old clothes, coins, and tokens at the summit, a symbolic shedding of ego, karma, and pain.

I was also keen to revisit Tibet after 19 years (in 2006, I was, as NDTV’s strategic affairs editor, part of a media team that travelled on the Qinghai-Tibet Railway from Lanzhou to Lhasa, facilitated by the Chinese authorities) and see for myself the changes that have taken place in the intervening two decades.

But wait, there were at least three hurdles to be overcome before we were allowed to cross over into Tibet: A thorough medical check-up at a private hospital; scrutiny of the reports by doctors of the Indo-Tibetan Border Police (ITBP) in Delhi and then, if you cleared both, a final call by ITBP doctors at the 15,000 feet Nathu-La Pass after four days of acclimatisation in two stages, at 12,000 and 14,500 feet, respectively, in Sikkim.

Two of the 50 selected yatris in the third batch, seem­ingly fit, were ruled out by the ITBP doctors in Delhi itself. One of the gentlemen, very eager and enthusiastic, in fact broke down on hearing the firm verdict by the doctors. It fell on some of the fellow yatris to console him. The rejections injected some apprehension among the members of the batch, drawn from diverse regions and backgrounds across India. On June 27, as we flew to Bagdogra, en route to Sikkim’s capital Gangtok, monsoon was in full flow. One night stay in Gangtok and we were off to 18th mile, a facility created by Sikkim Tourism Development Corporation (STDC) at 13,500 feet, the venue for the two-day first-stage acclimatisation. Ac­companying us were two Liaison Officers (LOs), a doctor and three cooks from ITBP.

The main challenge in high altitude is of breathlessness and rising blood pressure. There is only one treatment for both symptoms: spending as much time as possible at the height, resting and not exerting yourself initially. And that’s exactly what we did for two days, getting to know each other, some enthusiastic folks singing bhajans, most of us eating meals together and gently moving about trying to find a spot where mobile phones could catch even the faintest of signals.

The last two days were spent at Sherathang, close to Nathu-La, making final preparations and doing the last medical checks. On the early morning of July 2, there were immigration formali­ties followed by a small tea party hosted by the Army post at Nathu-La and we lined up to board Chinese buses across the gate that separates the two territories. Stern-looking and unsmiling Chinese officials directed us to three different buses. And so, we set off for a part adventure, part spiritual journey in Tibet.

AS WE STARTED descending into the Chumbi Valley, heading to Yatung or Yadong, a border town with immigration and Customs facilities, Rinchin, our official English-speaking Tibetan guide, an­nounced: “No photos, no videos until I tell you.” Collective oohs and aahs filled the bus as the reality of China-controlled Tibet became apparent. The Chumbi Valley, after all, was a sensitive military area, especially after the India-China standoff in 2017 at Doklam on the tri-junction between India, Tibet and Bhutan. The Chinese military has strengthened its deployment in the area, and they don’t want us to record anything, I thought to myself. But one can always observe and record in the mind’s eye.

Yatung, an old trading centre, turned out to be a sleek bor­der town. Immigration and Customs were done without any major incident (although all phones were checked thoroughly, presumably for images of videos or photos of the Dalai Lama, who is persona non grata in China). All of us had been forewarned about this possibility. So most of us had taken ‘clean’ phones with new connections, leaving behind our original handsets and laptops in Nathu-La.

First stop: Kangma, a military town. We were housed in what looked like a military transit hotel. First shock: No step­ping out of the hotel. Second shock: Toilets are old Indian-style. Many in our group were worried. But it was a question of one night, so we coped. Next day, we had an early morning depar­ture after breakfast for our next stop Lazi, some 300km away. A packed lunch was already loaded on the buses. Fifteen minutes outside Kangma, we got our first glimpse of the Brahmaputra. The landscape was spectacular, the air clean but hardly any population as our buses made way to the destinations. A couple of washroom breaks, a halt for lunch and the reality beneath the beauty hit hard. The washrooms were dirty, stinking and unfit to be used so everyone, including ladies, had to answer nature’s call in the open. Innovative methods like lining up umbrellas to form an opaque wall for ladies were adopted.

In Lazi town, the hotel was sleek with small mercies— could walk around town a bit. There was nothing much to see though except many hardware shops and some V-Mart-type department stores. Sunset on the Tibetan plateau in the summer is not before 9.30PM. So the day seemed too long.

Dinner over, packed for early departure the next day, we hit the sack. That was the routine for the next two days, with minor variations.

A word about infrastructure. The roads were smooth and flat with concrete at places, easy on the body even when we travelled 500km a day. Solar-powered mobile towers ensured seamless con­nectivity throughout the journey, even atop the Dolma La Pass!

Darchen, the nearest town before the arduous part of the journey began, was the next halt. Yam Dwar, also known as the “Gateway of the God of Death”, marked the starting point for the parikrama. Here pilgrims symbolically leave behind world­ly attachments and begin their spiritual journey around the sacred Mount Kailash. Ponies, a pony handler and a porter were allotted to each yatri. A three-hour trek, partly on horseback, partly on foot through Mackenna’s Gold-type terrain brought us to Deraphuk, the closest we got to the imposing mountain. The snow had melted, the smooth, pitch-black surface of the Kailash Parvat dominated the area. A good night’s rest in a dormitory-style facility (with open-air toilets thrown in) and we were ready for the hardest part of the journey: climbing to the top of Dolma La.

Seven hours later, having asked our porter to fetch water from Gauri Kund (Ganesh was supposed to have been born here), we descended with great effort from 18,600 feet to about 12,000 feet and reached Zhutulphuk, the last stop before heading back to Darchen to complete the parikrama around Kailash.

The buses picked us up. And we headed to Mansarovar, the lake that gives birth to four major rivers—Indus, Brahmaputra, Sutlej and Karnali. The lake was serene; chang­ing colour by the hour. Since we were staying there for two nights, our team’s more religiously inclined folks performed a havan and did puja. We collected the holy water in small bottles, sealed them and simply absorbed the silence before the long, three-day return journey by the same route was to begin the next day.

Reflecting on the two weeks of detox in Tibet as we reen­tered India via Nathu-La, I couldn’t help but conclude that the Kailash Mansarovar Yatra is the best adventure-cum-religious trip one could undertake, thanks to the recent thaw between India and China. Hopefully, the bonhomie will last even as other aspects of the relationship remain uncertain.

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