The morning air at Lake Manasarovar was crisp, almost unreal. The silver waters mirrored the first rays of the sun, and for a moment, Dilli forgot his doubts. He bowed to the lake, the holiest of waters, but even as he dipped his palms, a quiet question echoed in his heart: If this lake is pure, why does my mind remain so clouded?
From here began the journey to the base of Mount Kailash, a path pilgrims whispered about with reverence and fear. The trail wound upward through rocky terrain, barren stretches, and sudden bursts of icy wind. Dilli traveled with a small group of fellow seekers, each lost in their own prayers.
The Climb through Chiu Gompa and Darchen
The first stop was Chiu Gompa, the monastery perched like a silent guardian above Manasarovar. The monks blessed the travelers with butter lamps and murmured chants. Dilli bowed, but as incense curled around him, he thought of Chitti, the woman who once held his heart. Would she ever understand this longing of mine? Or would she laugh at my search for something unseen?
From Chiu Gompa, the group marched toward Darchen, the gateway village to Kailash. The dusty winds cut across his face, carrying the smell of yak dung fires. At night, in a cramped lodge, Dilli listened to fellow pilgrims share stories—one man walked to atone for a broken marriage, another sought health for his dying son. Their faith seemed so certain. Dilli wrapped his blanket tight and whispered into the cold:
"Shiva, are you here? Or am I just chasing shadows?"
The Parikrama Path
From Darchen, the parikrama (circumambulation) began. Every pilgrim took the path around the mountain, but Dilli's heart was set on reaching the very footstep of Kailash.
The path led first to the Tarboché flagpole, where multicolored prayer flags snapped wildly in the wind. Dilli tied a piece of cloth from his own shirt—a personal vow. Yet as he stepped forward, dizziness struck him. The thin air gnawed at his lungs, and every breath was a battle. Fear slithered into his mind: What if I fall here, nameless, unseen, while my parents wait in Atreyapuram, dreaming of my return?
The Trial of Dirapuk
By afternoon, he reached Dirapuk Monastery, facing the north face of Kailash. The mountain loomed like an eternal witness—white, serene, merciless. Here the dangers grew sharper.
Altitude sickness made his head throb like war drums.
Unstable terrain—icy patches hid beneath gravel, threatening each step.
Sudden snow flurries blinded his path.
One slip could mean the end. Yet he pressed on, driven by a voice inside that said, If you can touch His mountain, perhaps you'll touch truth itself.
That night, he lay in a tent. Others murmured prayers, but Dilli could only hear his own doubts:
"Is love a distraction from truth? Or is it the only truth? If my sweetheart stood beside me here, would Shiva's silence matter less?"
Toward Dolma La
The next morning brought the most dangerous part—the path toward Dolma La Pass, though Dilli aimed only for the footstep of Kailash before attempting the full circuit. The climb was brutal: sharp rocks, streams of glacial melt, and the ever-present risk of snow avalanches. Yaks stumbled on the slopes; even the seasoned guides looked wary.
At one point, Dilli slipped near a frozen stream, his ankle twisting painfully. He clung to a rock, gasping. In that moment, despair screamed within him: Why, Shiva, do you stay silent when I call? Why do I chase you when love and life already confuse me?
But then he looked up—Kailash's dark ridges cut across the sky, unmoved by storms, untouched by time. Something in that stillness steadied him. He forced himself up, limping, and continued.
The Foot of Kailash
Finally, after hours that felt like lifetimes, he reached a point where the path ended at a sheer wall of ice and rock—the foot of Kailash itself. No human could climb further; no rope or courage could pierce that sacred height.
Dilli knelt, tears stinging his eyes—not of clarity, but of surrender. He whispered:
"I do not understand love. I do not understand life. I do not even understand You. But here I am, at Your feet. Take me as I am."
The wind howled around him, yet in its roar, he felt a strange silence, as though the mountain itself acknowledged his broken, searching heart.