BEYOND THE HIMALAYAS
CHAPTER TEN
Next day I did not feel so tired as I had thought I would be after the all-night sitting. In fact I felt very much wide awake, though we did nothing except just what it pleased us to do. In the afternoon I lay down and began to think of the Hermit of Ling-Shi-La. I closed my eyes and I saw a picturesque, peaceful lake set in green foliage, with trees farther up the mountainside. Around the lower parts of the mountain were tall rhododendron trees in full bloom, some pink, some white, some crimson. In the centre of the lake was an island, and on this island was a house of unusual and charming design surrounded with shrubs and flowers, the like of which I had never seen before.
Green palm trees were around the green lawn on which the house stood. I wondered to whom such a lovely place belonged when I saw the Hermit of Ling-Shi-La working among the flowers.
I felt someone near me and I opened my eyes, to find my friend by my side. I informed him: "I must have been travelling, for I have seen the most beautiful place secreted on an island in the middle of a lake, with trees and beautiful flowers all round it. As I wondered to whom the place belonged I saw the Hermit himself tending his flowers."
My friend replied: "You have just visited the Hermit. The place you saw is where he lives. It is away over the Tsang Po River in the beyond, country which is still an unexplored region of Tibet. He has the most beautiful place in the world and he attends to it all by himself. You have just experienced astral travelling, at which the Hermit is an adept. I will tell you the story about him.
"He was an abbot in the Ganden Monastery many years ago, and he taught philosophy and magic. He had been practising astral projection just as you were doing, when he discovered this lovely lake with an island in it. So he set out to find it. After many months he returned and said: 'I have found my home at last.' When he told the others where it was they said: 'But no one has ever been able to get into that valley because of the continuous hurricane that blows over the mountain pass; besides, there is no known path into it.'
"He replied: 'I have found a way in, and I shall build my hermitage there. There is no evidence of anyone being there in the physical, and only those who have mastered astral projection can enter, which suits me perfectly. I will now master the art of astral travel completely.' The secret passage into this valley is known only to the Hermit himself; no one yet has ever been there in the physical but himself."
"Well," I told my friend, "the Hermit said I was to stay with him for a while."
"Yes," came the reply, "and then you will truly learn to speak with the gods. I only hope I may have the privilege of coming with you."
Next morning lying on the table beside my couch was a thick parchment giving details about the way to the Hermitage, also advising me what I should take with me. On my friend's table was a similar copy. By some miraculous means these instructions had been apported during the night.
I said to my friend: "This is more mysterious than ever."
He replied: "A material object is very easily transported by those who know how. After certain development, one is able to contact the Yogi who have passed from the physical and who understand all about apporting. They do this work frequently in Tibet."
I said: "Then it appears that the Hermit can write down instructions and ask these Spirit Yogi to transport them?"
"Oh yes," he replied, "that is easy. You see, they know the secret of materialisation and dematerialisation. You have already heard that matter is but an invisible substance which can be made visible. All is mind - there is no such thing as matter. Matter is a name you have given to something that you see and feel, but the name of a thing is not the thing itself. The name merely becomes an idea in your mind and that is all you know about it. But, you see, the Hermit is a Master Yogi himself, and with the Spirit Yogi, both of them understanding vibrations of the various densities of substance that you call matter, can apport an article any distance."
"Now," he went on, "everything being a vibration in mind, and consciousness being the ruling factor, the Hermit consciously knows how to raise the vibration of material substance into its astral vibration and can hold it there, for he has already freed himself from the idea of the solidity of matter. The Yogi work with him and, by their combined efforts, that piece of parchment you see there with the writing on is raised in vibration, writing and all intact, and is held in that state while being transported through the ether; then it is materialised and you see it before you. There is no magic about it when you know how dematerialisation and materialisation are done."
"Yes," I remarked, "I have seen apporting at a seance of Mr. Bailey's in Sydney. In fact, I still have some of the apports in my possession."
"We shall hear more about it when we see the Hermit," said my friend. "He is considered to be as great as the great Malarepa himself."
"So," I said, "how soon can we start? You know I have not very much time, and time is flying now."
He replied: "We will start tomorrow."
"I am so glad you are coming with me," I confided to him, "I do really think I could not do it without you; besides, travelling alone is not much fun, especially in unexplored Tibet."
"I am glad I am coming with you," he assured me. "We will not take much with us; we will travel light, for it is going to be a difficult journey. If it was easy, others would be there. It is, in fact, the most difficult place to reach. That is why the Hermit chose it."
On the following day we started; only the two of us, because of the difficulty in reaching the place and because others would not be welcome to the Sanctuary of Sanctuaries. We decided to pick up on the way what food we could, and the last part of the journey we left in the lap of the gods.
We struck out towards Gyantse in the early morning. A howling, freezing wind was blowing down from the Chomolhari, which was still covered with clouds. The country we were now passing through was barren and stony, yet I could see some yaks feeding, and I wondered what they were eating.
My friend pointed to the way the Everest expeditions take. "But we will keep to the trade route as far as the Gyantse," he said, "and then we will branch to the left till we reach the Tsang Po, the great Brahmaputra at Padong, where we will get a yak hide coracle." (He knows all about it already, I thought.)
We reached a place called Dochen that evening, and we went down to a lake of clear water. Beyond it was a magnificent range of mountains, covered with snow. We watched the fish which could be seen clearly in the still water.
"How long will it be still?" I wondered, for any moment a fierce storm might rise.
We fixed up our beds for the night and after supper we went out to watch the sun setting. The reflection in the lake was truly beautiful. The mountain range reflected itself in the calm surface. I took a picture with my small pocket camera and you could not tell the real from the reflection.
I was anxious to hear my friend speak again about the things we both loved so much, and I said:
"If this were America it would be artificialised in twelve months."
"Yes," he replied, "the majority of people know only the objective world, a world which formulates laws, regulations, creeds, and dogmas. They live in a world that is artificial and therefore they know only the artificial, so they want to change Nature also to their own standard of existence. They are caught up in their own creations and lose the creativeness of the Uncreated."
He was like Geshi Rimpoche now; he spoke slowly and distinctly, so that I should not miss the meaning of what he said:
"Life remains Itself," he continued, "no matter in what form It is expressing Itself. When this is understood fully the creativeness becomes a Reality in you. The form is this living Energy in manifestation. Pluck a flower and It is there, and in a handful of earth that you hold in your hand, It is there. Then the world is no longer a prison house, for the air, the sky, reveals Its Living Presence.
"Now, if what I am saying is to be of any value to you, you must experience this in a deeper state of consciousness. It must be a livingness that is not merely a mental formulation. This comes as you clear the mind of all hindrances, and it is done automatically as you see the false; then you will know that a mental formulation is not the Truth, and you will know also that if we make this merely an intellectual discussion you will miss the experience and transformation that must take place within.
"When you see that your mental formulations regarding matter are problematical you will cease to regard solidity as something to be carried, something to stumble over. When you realise that it is the manifestation of the Unmanifest you will free yourself from these mental formulations that limit you. You will know freedom in a free Universe where formerly there was to you nothing but limitations."
He stopped here for a minute, for he knew that an automatic change was taking place in my mind. Then he continued:
"You can reach that state of consciousness that enables the Creative Life to work with effortless spontaneity to achieve the perfection which It Itself is. You will realise that the 'One' Life is creating within you with effortless perfection as it is manifesting throughout the whole Universe, for there is no separation between the Life in you and me and the Life that is Universal in Its omnipresence, in Its omnipotence and in Its omniscience. Wherever there is perfection, there the Absolute has found release through the mind that has been freed from its own formulations. The Absolute has found release through Its own Creation. Only through your continual awareness can this be done, only through the silent awareness that is active does the Absolute function."
"So you see," he went on, "when the mind is freed from its own formulations, its beliefs, its ideas, there comes a silence beyond time, a silence in which you become conscious of the Reality of your Being. In this freedom there is the releasing of the Creative Energy, with a conscious directive Power that is unknown to the ordinary man.
"In great works, in industry, in the arts and crafts, in healing and in oratory, there is the hand of genius when you co-operate in freedom with Life's Creative Intelligence, and all look with amazement on what has been accomplished. This is the Creativeness within, being given free expression through the unconditioned mind. The Unmanifested - the Uncreated - the Absolute is released through the mind that has freed itself from its own conditioning."
He paused for a moment and then went on: "Understand this clearly. Man and not God made yesterday and tomorrow; you will notice that they are but formulations in your mind. Where is yesterday and where is tomorrow?"
I ventured to say: "I can see now that they exist only in the mind. For God is ever-present in the Now. Yesterday becomes a memory and tomorrow is but a hope; NOW is the only time."
"Splendid!" he exclaimed, "I was waiting for this. Now we can go further."
Then he said: "To live in the ever-present is freedom. For there cannot be any good or evil; no past or future, no success or failure, no health or ill-health. None of these opposites exists in the Presence that is eternally Present. They exist only in the mind that is caught up in opposites and is merely moving backwards and forwards from one to the other."
"Oh," I exclaimed, "I see now why people struggle."
"Yes, and their struggle is a further burden. The Christ, the only begotten Son of the Father, exists in the whole of humanity and does not age or die. When this is discovered through your awareness moment-to-moment the Eternal Christ is revealed."
" 'As ye know ME as I am, so shall ye be,' " I quoted.
"Yes," he said, "the same Christ today as was two thousand years ago. 'All power is given unto Me in Heaven and on earth.' "
"Now," I could not help saying, "everything has changed; the old ideas of limitation, of hell and the devil and other ideas, all have vanished."
"Yes, that falsehood exists only in the conditioned mind, but when all conditioning is dissolved away we will have the Truth that sets man free. No longer will there be differing creeds, antagonisms, conforming to a ritual or to a pattern, for no longer will there be a pattern to follow. To follow a pattern is to imitate, and imitation is not understanding. Not until man frees himself from his own conditioning can he find the Truth that sets him free."
"Yes," I remarked, "man is still eating of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Not until he finds out what he is doing will he cling to the Tree of Life, which alone is his salvation."
"Yes, that is so," my friend affirmed. "The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil grows out of man's own mind while the Tree of Salvation - Life - grows out of God, being eternal and ever-present, and it knows nothing of good and evil. Yet man is preaching good and evil, hell and the Devil, and so the blind lead the blind. Man must become aware of his oneness with the Ever-present and not be caught up in the struggle between good and evil, fear and faith, God and the Devil, and so forth.
"Reality is not something afar off. Reality is here and now, and when this is realised then will come peace - not as the world gives its peace, for that peace comes out of war and conflict, but the peace that is eternal and everpresent, coming only from God. Then our relationship will be one of happiness through understanding."
He paused reflectively and then continued: "With the personal self there is always pain and conflict in relationship. But when man discerns his illusions man will find the unlimited, the 'Beloved,' within himself. Then his affection will be free from attachment, free from possessiveness and glorious in Its expression, for he will know his neighbour to be himself. 'Whatsoever you do unto the least of these so you do unto Me.' "
Then silence enveloped us both, and, in that silence, transformation was taking place within. I was no longer the same person as when I met him. All the things that were preventing true expression were being dissolved. It was this transformation that I was experiencing at that moment. My happiness was incomparable. I was no longer seeking or searching in anxiety. I was freed from a burden that had weighed me down since I was a boy.
That night I slept the sleep of freedom. Can you imagine a truly free sleep? It has to be experienced to be understood.
The following morning we were up before sunrise, knowing that we had still many miles to do. We were on our way as the sun was rising. I have always been thrilled by the sunrise and sunset, and that morning everything looked to me so beautiful and peaceful. The sky was blue and a calm blanket of clouds was covering the valley. It was cold, yet no wind, though any time now it might rise and perhaps become a hurricane.
Both of us were now dressed in the robe of the lama. Many lamas were coming and going and, as we passed, we blessed each other according to custom. We were now free from the gazing eyes of others for we were dressed in that distinguished familiar garb of the highly-respected lama whom the people are taught to reverence.
My friend asked: "Do you think you could do a double distance today?"
"Yes," I answered, "I feel exceedingly strong now." (I was thin, having shed surplus flesh, and my muscles were like steel.)
"Yes," he said, "I can see that you have gained tremendous stamina."
"Well," I agreed, "you cannot be a weakling when travelling over these mountain passes, and I have become almost an expert."
We were travelling light, having left everything in Ok Valley. Just a few things we took in a haversack which we carried on our backs.
We passed along the lakeside where hundreds of yak and goats were having their morning meal. At the end of the lake we came to a river, and beyond it was a vast valley. Dotted here and there were large black tents, the tents of the nomads, who are like the Bedouins, a fearless good-looking type of people. Around them were their flocks of yaks and sheep.
When we reached the floor of the valley these nomads came to welcome us, and my friend (who was a Geshi) blessed them. We partook of some food with them as is the custom. Everywhere, when we came across a village or a company of nomads, we were made more than welcome, and if we stayed under their roof for a night that place was hallowed.
My friend said to me: "These people, the nomads, wander all over Tibet; they live in these yak hair tents, which as you see, are large and black. They are black because of the smoke that comes from their fires, which more often than not are made from yak dung and dry grass and are lit inside the tent."
"But might it not burn the tent down?"
"No, you see it is in the centre, and they sleep around it."
My friend said that we were on a long journey and we must be on our way, so the head nomad or chief brought out some clear liquid, which looked like water to me. When I drank it I thought I was on fire! It was spirit made from maize and barley. I felt the glow to my fingertips, and I said to my friend: "I think we should take some of that stuff along with us."
"No," he replied, "there will be plenty of it along the way, and it is not advisable to have too much when you are not accustomed to it."
I thought to myself that it was better than some whisky I knew of, and I could not help laughing at the memory of my father. When he was offered whisky, the usual thing is to take water with it, but when the water was brought to him he would say: "There is enough water in it already."
There is another story of a Scot who went to see the doctor. When the doctor had examined him he said: "My advice to you, Mr. McPherson, is to give up drinking whisky." Mr. McPherson got up, and, as he was going out the door, the doctor called him back and said: "Mr. McPherson, you have forgotten something." "No, I don't think so," said McPherson. "Oh, yes, you have forgotten my fee of three guineas for my advice." "Oh," exclaimed McPherson, "but 'am no' taking your advice."
These black tents were the only shelter the nomads had, summer and winter. The clothes they wore were woven by themselves from yak hair and wool, and some wore only a sheep-skin with the wool to the inside. All their garments were covered with thick grease. When they get a new garment they grease it up with rancid yak butter and they use the same thing on their bodies; you can thus imagine what their clothes looked like, for at no time do they use water except for drinking.
Their meat is usually dried meat, dried in the sun similar to the
biltong that is so popular in South Africa. Strips of the dried
meat are hung up inside the tent.
The nomads grow peas, and corn and barley, and with their large
herds of yak, sheep, goats, donkeys and a number of shaggy
Tibetan ponies, it made a picture I would not have liked to miss.
The following day we reached the town of Gyantse, which is surrounded by mountains on all sides. Beyond the town we could see the monastery on the mountain slope surrounded by a great wall on all sides. At the top, at the right-hand side, was a huge wall where the holy carpet is hung for a few hours once a year. This carpet took eleven years to make, so I was told. It measures approximately one hundred feet by one hundred feet, with a huge picture of the Buddha in the centre.
My friend, being well known to the Geshi of the Gyantse Monastery, told him of our sojourn, and we were made welcome; we stayed there for the night. This monastery is similar to all the monasteries with the exception that in the centre was a huge chorten or shrine (60 feet high) depicting the five elements, earth, water, air, fire, and ether. The top portion of this chorten was plated with solid gold.
In the morning just as the sun rose the lamas were chanting Om Mani Padme Hum and we were given the blessing of the Buddha for a safe journey, for it was from here that we should soon be leaving civilisation behind. The track to the right led to Lhasa and the track to the left led to Shigatse, these being the normal trade routes. The route we were going to take was over the Yung Pass, nearly 18,000 feet above sea level, and this area was mostly uninhabited.
So we set off with many blessings and were each given a prayer-flag called tungha. As we went down the valley we could still hear the lamas chanting and the boom of the great gongs and the sound of the chonghas. It would seem that we were being given a farewell by over 2,000 lamas.
We crossed the Yung Pass about midday, and a howling blizzard was blowing on the pass. In some parts the snow was several feet deep, and in the narrow path and other parts we were up to our waists in the deep snow. It was hard going and if I had not had previous experience it would have been impossible. I could see why so many had perished in these passes.
On the other side of the pass we reached a small village which is known by the name of Yakpeo. We were made welcome in one of the best of these peasants' houses.
The ground part of the house was used to shelter the animals, yaks, donkeys, poultry. The loft above in which we slept had a stove in the middle. It was a unique experience. Everybody, male and female, slept on the floor together. The donkeys neighed all night and you could hear the yaks chewing the cud. In the far corner of the loft was a square hole in the floor where these peasants sat to relieve themselves. The droppings fell into the muck below and were trampled in by the yaks and donkeys. How I wished then that I had plugs for my nose and ears to keep out smell and noise; and it was not surprising that next morning I said to my friend that I would rather sleep in the open in future. No huts were provided for travellers in this out-of-the-way part of the country, as nobody used to pass in this direction.
I was glad to be on my way again, for I had not yet the power to make myself oblivious to these conditions. We crossed several rivers on the way, some of them rushing with great rapidity towards the great Tsang Po, with ice and snow mixed with the water. At parts there were shallows, and at these we crossed. By now I had become accustomed to the wet and the cold; this was an everyday occurrence, and only the strongest could survive. But the anticipation of being with the great sage of Ling-Shi-La was sufficient to carry me on my way rejoicing.
The following day we reached the great Tsang Po, otherwise called the great Brahmaputra, the oldest and holiest river in the world. We were on the steep mountainside, and far below was the Tsang Po, the one river I wanted to see, as it contained the ice and snow coming from the great Himalayas through the ages past. This river was about a quarter of a mile wide, and the noise of the roaring water was terrific as it rushed through the gorges. It was dangerous going, for a false step would send us hurtling into the deep roaring water below.
Eventually we reached the bed of the river, the sides of which were covered with wild flowers, and on the slopes were wild roses, rhododendron bushes and wild poppies in rare profusion, hardly ever looked upon by human eyes.
I said to my friend: "This alone is worth coming to see."
We had not spoken for hours. We did not have the opportunity to do so, as we had to travel in Indian fashion most of the way, because of the dangerous going.
We camped on the side of the river for the night, as it was getting late, and it would be impossible to travel in the dark. Besides, Padong was still some miles away. There we would cross the Tsang Po - how, I did not know. Anyway I was content to leave it at that.
While searching around, my friend came upon a cave, and to our surprise a solitary man was there. My friend asked him: "How long have you been here?"
He replied: "Twenty-five years, today." It was a coincidence that we should arrive on that very day.
"What does he live on?" I inquired.
"Oh, fish and various roots he knows of," my friend replied. "There is good fishing in the Tsang Po."
This man recognised my friend as one of the living Masters and wanted to follow us. He was a fine-looking man, one of the nomads who had by some means struck upon the science of the occult. My friend was struck by his bearing and his obvious sincerity. He told him that it was impossible for us to take him with us as we were on a special mission.
Then my friend asked: "What have you accomplished in your twenty-five years?"
He replied: "I can walk across the Tsang Po."
"Is that all?"
"Yes."
"Well," said my friend, "what a waste of time!"
Then he told the man something of what I myself had learned in the short time I had been with him. This made the devotee all the more keen; he seemed to have made up his mind that soon he would be ready to come to my friend, who nodded in assent of this desire and said: "When you are really ready I will come for you. My sanctuary is at Zamsar, away beyond Lhasa by the Kya Chu River. One day you will find the pearl of great price, my son."
We left him there staring after us, for in his heart was the impelling desire to know the Truth. I looked back and gave him a wave; and we went on our way.
How everything was provided for us in the way of food and shelter amazed me, but my friend had absolute faith. I had often doubted, but he never. I used to say to myself: "I wish I had your faith, I could move mountains." At times he would get my thought and he would say: "You will." These two words rang in my ears, for at that moment I knew why he was the Master of every situation.
We rested about a mile farther down the river for the night. we had fish for supper, also for breakfast next day. How my friend managed to get the food I do not know to this day; I felt I could not ask him.
We were now only five miles from Padong, and we reached it in four hours after we had set out. The going was hard and dangerous, and one mile in just over three-quarters of an hour was slow work for us who could do about twenty miles in a day.
Few people had passed this way. In some places there was no track at all. I wondered how we were to cross the Tsang Po and said so to my friend, and he replied: "All has been provided!" Perhaps he was disappointed with me for my lack of faith. But my faith grew stronger, as one event after another proved that all was provided. There seemed to be an Intelligence behind all things, great and small, even the smallest detail was taken care of, and I gradually reached the state of mind in which I knew that this was so and eventually I had the assurance too. I knew there was an Intelligence that ruled the Universe and that the same Intelligence was ruling us also, and being perfect in Itself I knew that no detail would be missing. This has been with me ever since.
Therefore I do not plan but leave it to the Intelligence; everything works out a thousand times better than if I had planned it myself. When I did plan I found I had to continue replanning. I then realised that when I planned, things did not turn out anything like when the Intelligence that knows the how of all things was leading me. It was a case of "Lead, Kindly Light, lead Thou me on. I do not want to see, one step enough for me, lead Thou me on." The words of the Master came so often to me, "What I see the Father do I do likewise," which means action with faith knowing that a perfect Intelligence is guiding every move even to the smallest detail.
When we reached Padong I could see no means by which we could cross the Tsang Po, for here it was well over a quarter of a mile wide. My friend said: "Sit down here!" He was silent for a few minutes, and then he said: "We will have a coracle here in a few minutes."
No sooner had he said this than a Tibetan carrying a coracle over his head came out from nowhere.
(A coracle is a boat, or a kind of boat, made of bamboo covered with yak skin tightly sewn together and spread over the bamboo sticks which makes it into a sort of square boat three feet deep and about five feet wide, and seven feet in length. The amount that these contraptions carry is amazing. Another type of boat they use is the log of a tree with all the inside cut out; the bottom is then flattened, and the result is an excellent canoe.)
At this place the river is smooth, like a sheet of glass; there was only a slight ripple caused by the gentle breeze that was blowing. My friend went up to the man with the coracle and said: "Will you take us across the river to the other side?"
"Yes," answered the man, "the Hermit of Ling-Shi-La told me you would be here today, and I was just coming with the coracle when I saw you. My name is Pede Dong." My friend asked no further questions.
We got into the coracle and away we went, Pede Dong paddling for all he was worth, for though the water was smooth it was silently but swiftly flowing, the current being strong. We reached the other side about half-a-mile down the river.
These coracles are light and are of various sizes; some are as much as 10 feet long by 8 feet wide and can be carried easily on the head and back; they weigh only about 85 lb. to 95 lb.
Now we were on virgin soil, a part of Tibet which had not yet been explored, yet there were numbers of yaks, goats and sheep. The nomads were there with their great mastiff dogs to protect the flocks from the snow leopards and the wolves which at night come down to devour what they can find. These fierce mastiffs attack and kill these marauders.
These dogs would not hesitate to attack a stranger and destroy him. So we kept one eye open. Eventually we got on to a track which would take us over a high pass. Pede Dong told us it was 19,000 feet above sea level and that the winds were so strong that no living soul had ever crossed it, except the Hermit himself who lived beyond in the valley, a valley which was said to be the most beautiful in all Tibet.
My friend took the lead, as he always did, this time with a determined look; he knew what was in front of us.
He turned round to me and said: "You know that legends are told about such places as these. Some of them are true, some are just legends, but I think there is some truth in the legend about this pass."
"Look!" he exclaimed. And there on top of the pass we could see the snow whirling up into the sky as the hurricane wind tore into it. If I had been by myself I would never have tackled the journey but I knew that the faith of my friend would overcome all obstacles.
With steady steps and strong wills we trudged on, climbing, climbing, climbing, I wondered how much more. We had left the woodline now and were in the
open, and as we entered the snows the wind blew fiercer and fiercer. I
thought: "Will we ever reach the top of this pass alive?"
We had to pick our way, as there was no real path to guide us, just a goat
track here and there; one goat track would lead one way and one another,
but my friend always picked the right one.
The snow was extremely deep, but the surface was hard with the continual freezing, and it held fast. I wondered, should the crust break, how far I would sink into the snow beneath me. Like Peter on the water, I was wondering. My friend must have caught my thought, for he said: "The snow is like a rock under your feet!"
The wind by this time was terrific; it was forced up between the mountains on each side which formed a funnel through which it gained momentum. As one gust followed another it was just as if a gigantic force was pushing the wind through the gap that separated the towering snow-clad mountains on each side. The sight was certainly glorious but it was an awe-inspiring one. The great glaciers, those rivers of ice, could be seen forcing their way down the mountainside, crunching their way to the valley below.
For a while we took shelter in a sort of cave by the way, and watched the awe-inspiring scene, when we heard a thunderous noise. We looked up, and lo! a gigantic avalanche of snow and ice was tearing everything before it. Millions of tons of snow and ice thundered down the face of the mountain into the deep ravine where other avalanches had gone before.
"A sight for the gods alone," I said, "for no one could ever pass this way."
My friend did not answer; I did not think that he was worried - I knew him better than that. At last he said: "Let us go on."
We had reached two-thirds of the way to the top of the pass when he stopped. "Look!" he exclaimed, and there we could see the Hermit about two hundred feet below us on the rock face. We could hear him calling us not to go further up but to climb down on to the face of the rock and on the right side, and there we would find no wind blowing. We did so and reached a ledge that ran along the mountainside for about two hundred yards. Then we saw the valley below: a more gorgeous sight I have never seen.
Away in the distance was a lake, in the middle of which there was an island, and on that island was a house, exactly as I had seen it in my reverie. The valley was pale green, covered with a carpet of wild flowers of varying colours; the lake also looked a pale green, reflecting the valley and the snowcapped mountains surrounding it. Lower down, the mountains were covered with wild roses and rhododendron bushes in full bloom.
"What a wonderful sight!" I said to my friend, "the Hermit has the loveliest place in all the world, and no one has seen it but himself."
Here and there I could see wild yaks and wild donkeys grazing peacefully in the valley, and I was eager to get farther down when we again heard the Hermit's voice this time calling: "Be careful and be patient, and watch for falling rocks above you. The goats sometimes dislodge a rock which sends an avalanche of rocks down the mountainside. You are protected and all will be well."
I knew then that all would be well. We got down easily now to where the Hermit was. There was rejoicing at our meeting in the flesh.
I said: "How is it that there is no wind here?" and he replied: "Look at the formation of the rocks; do you see those great rocks jutting out above you?" I looked up and saw great jutting rocks.
"The wind," he explained, "is deflected above these and leaves this area free; that is why no living soul has crossed that pass, and this is the only way, my secret way, into my valley."
"What about the other side?" I asked.
"That is even more difficult to enter," he replied.
"All the valley to yourself! How wonderful!"
"The time," he said, "will come when the valley will be populated; people will eventually find their way here. At present it is hallowed ground. Heaven and earth here are joined together. Only spiritual beings and those who can travel in the astral have access, and I may tell you there are many."
We wended our way down together, and the rest of the way was easy.
We reached the edge of the lake, and the beauty was unsurpassable.
The foliage was even more beautiful than I first thought. The
over-all shade was a soft pale mossy green and by the side of the
lake was a coracle. We got into it and the Hermit paddled us across
to his island sanctuary.
Never shall I forget the sight. Natural foliage filled the area, right
up to the edge of the natural green grass lawns, which some sheep
and goats kept short by eating lusciously. Then came palm trees
which seemed to have been planted and specially cared for. I could
see that they were of the same species that studded the natural foliage.
The Hermit said that these grew from slips which he had planted and, as they grew, he tended them so as to make them into a regular formation. At the foot of the palms were wild flowers and large Chinese poppies of a very delicate blue, and in the centre of all this beauty was built a charming house of stones neatly fitted together. The roof was constructed from bamboo covered with thatch made from palm leaves, and inside was a beautifully clean floor made from fine sandstone taken from the rock nearby. The furniture was made of bamboo and grass worked into exquisite designs.
There were also cooking utensils which he had brought over from Gyantse on his many trips in and out of his sanctuary. The couches were made of bamboo with grass knitted tightly into various designs. As I sat on one I said: "This is comfort personified."
He built the fire of dry wood gathered from the island and with the use of a piece of flint and a piece of steel he lit dry leaves and blew them into a blaze. Then he laid the wood upon it and in a few minutes there was a lovely, comforting fire.
I said: "You are a very self-contained person!"
"Yes," he explained, "but my work takes me all over the world. Just as you saw me in Ok Valley so I travel everywhere, healing and influencing minds towards peace and happiness. You will learn much of that here with me, my son."
His long grey hair and beard and his deep set eyes shining brilliantly with intelligence gave him a dignity of bearing seldom possessed by any living person. His look contained the wisdom of the ages. He stood over six feet, and he gave one the feeling of a mental as well as a physical giant. I said to myself: "This is truly the wisest man in all Asia."
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