Kailāsa Parikramā – Yātrā to the Centre of the Universe

As the bus of about 20 yātrī-s was winding its way across the stunning mountain landscapes of the Himalayas in Tibet-China, this melodious song rang through the speakers — Shiva sama rahe mujhme aur mein shunya ho raha hoon. “Śiva abides in me, whole and still — and I am dissolving into emptiness.”

People asked – Should we carry oxygen cylinders? How many? What if one becomes breathless? What if one’s oxygen levels drop to below 70? The ahankara always abounds with questions!

The Kailāsa Outer Parikramā is 52 kilometres of sacred ground, walked over three days around the mountain that the Vedas call the Meru, the axis of all manifestation, the still point around which the cosmos turns.

While the Śiva Purāṇa speaks extensively of the significance of the the 12 Jyotirliṅga-s, their glories, their stories and the importance of their darśana, there is no similar mention of undertaking a parikramā of Kailāsa. Infact, of the 7 sections of Śiva Purāṇa, one full section is called Kailāsa Saṃhitā which has Śiva and Pārvatī in dialogue and covers topics including Sannyāsa, Śiva worship, Advaita, the understanding of Praṇava etc.

Vāyu Purāṇa, Skanda Purāṇa and even the Itihāsa-s speak of the glory and beauty of Kailāsa – the sacred abode on earth of Śiva–Pārvatī. And so we embarked on this yātrā.

Day One — We stayed in Darchen for the night and travelled by vehicle for 6 kms to reach Yama Dvār, the Gate of Death, which is a temple like structure that one crosses through. From there the trail goes northward for another 12 kms through the Lha Chu Valley. Along the way one gets close views of the north face of Kailāsa, Nandi Parvat, and Mt. Arawat. Altitude reaches up to 5,210 m (17910 feet). This is largely a gradual ascent — the gentlest day of the three. Night halt at Dirapuk guesthouse in front of Kailāsa.

After walking for the first 3 hours alongside the horse and getting exhausted, the horse helped me for the next few hours and we reached the most glorious, magnificent North face of Kailāsa. I have had the darśana of the 12 Jyotirliṅga-s and many Śakti Pīṭha-s and places of consecrated vortexes of Śakti but Kailāsa and the pulsating of the being that one experiences there is unlike anywhere else in the world. The magnetic compasses don’t work there.

Such is his enveloping presence. Such is his fullness. Such is his Śakti.

Amidst the strong gusts of wind and the dropping temperature, I spent hours gazing and trying to take him all in but it just did not feel enough – as the Hindi song goes – Dil abhi bhaara nahi. The heart still longed for more.

It was difficult to sleep that night. The blood pressure was way too high (190/90) and the oxygen levels were barely holding up (82-85) and there was a buzz in the whole system not to mention the growing chest congestion. Sometimes it felt uncomfortable but Tapasyā was about changing one’s relationship with discomfort. There was much sweetness and love in that discomfort, here as close as possible to Śiva’s abode that it all felt fine. Almost exhilarating.

Day Two — Some of the group members for a host of reasons decided to return which then left about 18 of us to proceed. This was the most difficult day as we had to cover a distance of 22 kilometres from Dirapuk, ascending 736 metres to Dolma La Pass at 5,630 metres (18500 feet). In Tibetan Buddhism, “Dolma” refers to Tara (Goddess of Compassion). In Hinduism, the name is associated with Goddess Pārvatī and it is here where she did intense Tapasyā to unite with Śiva. 

Some part of the journey was done with the horse until the horseman pointed out Dolma La pass from a distance.

Tears welled up in my eyes. This kept happening every few hours since day 1. All I can say is that I felt Śiva–Śakti deep in my whole being, not just till my bones but to the bone marrow. And tears were an expression of that fullness of being.

Dolma La pass and the surrounding trails were heavily draped in thousands of colorful prayer flags – blue, white, red, green and yellow carrying heartfelt wishes, blessings and prayers of the pilgrims across. As the leading up to Saga Dawa festival, the biggest celebration by the Tibetans of the birth, life and Nirvana of Gautam Buddha, one could see Tibetans everywhere. Many of them doing one sāṣṭāṅga praṇām after another. Here I was, looking for a foothold during descent as the terrain is very uneven with different rocks, large and small amidst loose gravel while some Tibetans were looking for some headspace so that they could offer their praṇām. Such was their tapas and śraddhā that it was truly inspiring and embarrassing, at the same time. Some others walked with oxygen cylinders slowly pacing themselves while others just effortlessly ran down the rocks. Surely qualification for this parikramā was a ‘Tibetan body’, I thought.

Many pilgrims were seen leaving some personal belongings and even posting pictures on the rocks to signify letting go of the past and cleansing lifetime of pāpa-s. This place is considered the most challenging section of the pilgrimage, symbolizing death, rebirth, and spiritual renewal.

Just ahead of Dolma La pass lies the sacred, often frozen, turquoise-green glacial lake of Gauri Kuṇḍa where Pārvatī bathed and Gaṇeśa was born of her being. His presence was so palpable.

The descent was difficult and can only be done by foot. Only in the last couple of the total hours the horse could help to take me to Zhuthulpuk, the Cave of Miracles – (9-12 hours) to a monastery turned guesthouse for the night. I learnt later that there were only three of us who would proceed to day 3 as the others had decided to return.

Luckily we had heated beds which was such a blessing in the night amidst howling chilly winds and dropping temperature.

Day Three — The last day covered 8 km from Zhuthulpuk to Chongdo, followed by a 4 km drive back to Darchen. It is a pleasant descent through the valley. Chongdo is the official ending point of the Kora/parikramā. Some Tibetans had gathered and were having a quiet celebration.

I did a praṇām and curled up in a fetal position for a while, sobbing away. It was the completion of a phase of sādhanā – the blessings of Śiva as Dakṣiṇāmūrti and all guru-s, the 12 Jyotirliṅga darśana-s, the Puraścaraṇa of the mantra, the giving of mantra dīkṣā, the teaching of Śrī Rudram and so many other Śiva–Śakti texts, the daily chants of Rudram and so on.

It was a return to the centre of the universe.

It was a coming full circle of the circle of life that has no beginning nor ending.

It was the completion of a parikramā – where Śiva – Śakti had yet again established themselves as the centre of my universe

And yet — if I am honest — I did not do the parikramā.

My legs moved, yes. My breath laboured, yes. My heart did beat while being on fire. But somewhere in that thin Tibetan air, the boundaries of the one who was doing the walking began to loosen. The doer was being quietly undone. What the Māṇḍūkya calls prapañca upaśama — the stilling of the world of appearances was not happening in a meditation hall. It was happening on a mountain path, one breath at a time, one step at a time.

The path was Śiva.

Every stone underfoot, every gust of wind at Dolma La, every loose gravel, every moving cloud — it was His sṛṣṭi, His creation, it was His terrain, His design, His invitation to surrender.

The viśvarūpa was rock and wind and altitude and ache.

The destination was Śiva.

Not Chongdo, not Darchen, not the triumphant return to base — but the recognition that is always there somewhere between ascent and descent: there is nowhere to arrive because He has never been absent.

The parikramā does not bring one closer to Kailāsa. It reveals that one never stood apart from it. The distance that one had created seamlessly dissolved.

The palpitations were Śiva. That racing heart at altitude, that tightening in the chest, that moment of not knowing whether the body would hold — even that shivering was spanda, the pulse of movement moving through this borrowed frame.

The labored breath is Śiva. And when the breath falters, even the faltering is His.

And the devotee? The devotee was Śiva.

Śivo’ham – I am Śiva, as Ādi Śaṅkarācāry  declared in Nirvāṇa Ṣaṭkam was not a declaration of spiritual achievement, but a simple, stunning fact that remained when everything else had been stripped away by altitude and exhaustion and grace.

There was no separate one circling Him.

Grace did the parikramā. Śakti carried what I could not.

Śiva simply watched and embraced, as he had watched thousands of pilgrims before — unmoved, unchanging, wholly himself.

Nirvikāra. Niṣkriya. Nitya. Without modification, without action, eternal.

The parikramā was a living teaching on how life itself is meant to be walked.

You can only ever take the next step. In the Lha Chu Valley on day 1, thinking about Dolma La on day 2 is not preparation, it is disrespecting the present.

The path asks for everything you have, and it asks for it now, in this step, on this stone, with this breath. It is so freeing to focus on the present.

The pass is not the point — the walking is. Dolma La pass, the highest section lasts perhaps an hour. The parikramā is 52 kilometres. If the pass is all that matters, then one has to rethink. This is the perennial confusion of saṃsāra — the belief that life is in the destinations, the achievements, the crossings.

The real is not waiting at the highest pass. I, the limitless being am the unchanging witness of every single step.

Effort is yours — completion belongs to Him. No pilgrim standing in Darchen can truthfully say, – I did this. Too much moved that cannot be moved by personal will.

The weather held, or it did not. The body cooperated, or it did not. A fellow yātrī appeared with a steadying hand at precisely the right moment.

Karmaṇi evādhikāras te mā phaleṣu kadācana. Your choice lies in your step. The outcome of completion, the weather, the path is not in your jurisdiction. The offering is complete, utterly and perfectly complete, the moment it leaves your hands or rather your feet, lovingly offered to Śiva.

The offering and the offerer dissolve. The pilgrim sets out with a clear sense of the plan and arrangement: I am here, Kailāsa is there, I am circling Him in devotion.

Subject, object, action — the familiar grammatical structure of the ahaṅkāra intact. But Kailāsa is not interested in that grammar. Can the ahaṅkāra ever be separate from Śiva?

Somewhere on Day Two, somewhere in the dissolving boundary between the last effort before Dolma La and the first surrender of the descent, the sentence loses its subject.

The jīva that set out so earnestly from Darchen begins to recognise itself as a wave that has been trying, all this time, to circumambulate the ocean.

Śivo’ham

This is what Kailāsa does. It does not reward the strong or applaud the devout.

Kailāsa does not negotiate with ambition nor makes concessions for sincerity.

He simply is — sat, pure being, fullness.

He is prior to all predication and he waits, with the patience of the eternal, for the pilgrim to stop performing the pilgrimage and simply become it.

The way was Śiva. The destination was Śiva.

The struggle was Śiva. The silence after the struggle was Śiva.

The one who set out from Darchen full of self and intention — she too, step by step, breath by laboured breath, was being returned to the One she had never, in truth, departed from.

Shiva sama rahe mujhme aur mein shunya ho raha hoon.
Śiva abides in me, whole and still — and I am dissolving into emptiness (fullness).
Śivo’ham. Śivo’ham. Śivo’ham

(This yatra was made possible by the superb organisation of Yatra-India and their stellar team – https://yatra-india.com/ )