Kailash Kora
Pilgrimage
The sun scorches, and the altitude climbs ever higher. Along the winding mountain paths of the canyon, people move forward slowly—some bent over, struggling; some stumbling; some pale as death. What should have been a grand and magnificent pilgrimage procession seems, in this narrow, towering canyon, like a handful of sand scattered across the Pacific. Standing in the riverbed and looking up at the towering peaks, you suddenly realize just how infinitely vast this world is—and how small, by comparison, we humans truly are.
Indian Pilgrims
A group comes down the path toward us. Most are sitting atop horses, swaying unsteadily. Upon asking, we learn they are Indians who entered the mountains early that morning to begin their pilgrimage. After just half a day’s trek, many are suffering severe altitude sickness and have fallen ill. One pilgrim has slipped into a coma, barely clinging to life. Several porters carry him, lagging behind and waiting for rescue.
The Indian pilgrims’ reverence for Mount Kailash has deep historical roots. Kailash, which connects humans with the Buddha, also links Indians with their deities—Shiva and Brahma. For Hindus, Kailash is the gateway between the human and divine realms, and they revere it as the paradise of Shiva, their most powerful and supreme god of destruction. Jainism regards it as the highest mountain, believing their founder attained liberation here. Kailash holds within it the immortal spiritual legacies and moving miracles of various faiths—its indescribable yet deeply moving allure has drawn countless pilgrims for millennia.
For Indian pilgrims journeying to what they consider the “center of the world”—Mount Kailash—to worship Brahma, it often takes considerable effort and resources. Some even spend their entire life savings on a single pilgrimage. Their decision to embark on this journey can sometimes be a matter of life and death. The Ngari region has an average altitude of 4,500 meters, with year-round ice and snow. In warmer summer-like periods, the snow melts into rushing rivers, but sudden blizzards can isolate Ngari from the rest of the world overnight. The Indian pilgrims come from homelands of constant heat and altitudes of just a few hundred meters. To reach this ancient and eternal pilgrimage route, they must cross the Himalayas, traverse ice, snow, and gravel, enduring untold hardships and pain. Hindus devoutly believe that their mighty god Brahma and his consort reside on Mount Kailash, and that after death, their souls will dwell here forever.
In a way, without the unyielding determination of “as long as the heavens grant me breath, I will press forward,” Indian pilgrims would struggle to overcome the triple torment of high altitudes, treacherous paths, and altitude sickness. Yet these pilgrims are happy. The vast majority of Hindus cannot afford the expensive costs of worshipping the sacred mountain in their lifetime and can only offer sincere prayers and worship in the direction of the holy peak.
The Darchen Monastery campsite sits at an altitude of 5,100 meters—just 100 meters lower than the Everest Base Camp lodging area, making it the second-highest altitude hotel for tourists. After crossing the Lachu River, Tibetan pilgrims often choose to stay on the north bank at Darchen Monastery. The monastery guestrooms are completely bare; people spread out the bedding they’ve carried and sleep on the floor. Tourists or trekkers stay at the Xixiabangma Guesthouse area, located across the river from the monastery. Indian pilgrim groups often bring their own tents, along with Nepali cooks, employees, and Tibetan guides. Each day, the Nepali staff set up camp, prepare meals, and the pilgrims eat and rest inside the tents.
The tents of Tibetan pilgrims are scattered across from Xixiabangma, directly facing the majestic rear side of the sacred mountain. The entire tent area is just a few kilometers away in a straight line from the holy peak.
The Rear Side of the Sacred Mountain
The northern face of Mount Kailash resembles a colossal golden pagoda, as if cleaved by an axe. The sacred mountain looks down upon the surrounding peaks with an awe-inspiring presence that seems to shake the earth. It allows no obstructions—the towering mountains that once flanked it all step humbly aside. Compared to the front view seen from Tarchen, the rear of the sacred mountain stands even more imposingly, its height seemingly multiplied several times, like a war god descending. Before it, the once-spectacular world dims and loses its former glory. Gazing silently at the sacred mountain, one can’t help but wonder: what gives Mount Kailash the power to rule over nature, to be recognized as the “center of the world” by so many religions?
Then it suddenly dawns on me: Mount Kailash, the sacred mountain, serves as a mirror, revealing to all believers that good and evil, right and wrong, creation and destruction all coexist within every person. From the sacred mountain, humans see their own vices and virtues. It awakens our fears, stirs our compassion, and calls forth our sense of responsibility. The sacred mountain teaches us that only by understanding the full spectrum of life can we conquer evil.
So close, the sacred mountain seems to speak to us. At its feet, time seems to cease to exist, for the mountain itself is proof of eternity’s reality. Every groove, every glacier tongue, even every piece of granite on its surface is time layered upon time, stretching from an endless past into an infinite future. The exposed black rock folds and crystal-clear ice wrinkles interlace densely, forming a black-and-white stepped pattern—a celestial ladder leading humanity to heaven. When all of this reveals itself truthfully, every soul feels a profound shock.
As the last rays of sunlight burn away and wild winds howl through the open sky, pilgrims and tourists sit quietly in tent teahouses, sipping tea and warming themselves by the fire. The air is filled with the sound of Buddhist chants. In this frigid high-altitude zone at 5,100 meters, without the warmth of the sun, human strength becomes as fragile as a candle in the wind. In the silent valley tent area, everyone, having endured a day of hardship, feels fulfilled and reinvigorated. In the cradle of the sacred mountain, our thoughts cease, and the whirlpool of life’s years seems to stand still. Finally, we can peacefully spend a tranquil night.
Prostration
Dawn breaks. The ancient pilgrimage path, frosted with overnight snow, has been trodden by passing devotees into a glowing “jade belt.” The winding path ascends toward the Drolma La Pass—the highest point along the kora.
Drolma La Pass, also known as Tara Pass, begins at Darchen Monastery (5,100 meters) and climbs 700 meters in just 5 kilometers. The air grows even thinner, causing even the highly altitude-resistant Tibetans to suffer from altitude sickness, headaches, or even fainting. It is a challenge for both pilgrims and tourists. The path snakes upward, always on the right side of Mount Kailash. Looking up from the base of the pass, the blinding snow and ice sting the eyes. The sacred mountain is too dazzling to gaze upon directly. Strong mountain winds whip the long prayer flags strung between poles, making them snap and flap loudly. This section of the path is exceptionally steep and arduous—even Tibetan pilgrims must frequently pause to catch their breath. Several resolute figures struggle to their feet, steady themselves, kick out a hollow in the snow, take three steps forward, raise their hands, then bow toward the embrace of the earth... The sharp sound of their glove soles scraping against ice and frozen ground echoes through the valley. Their figures rise and fall—one step at a time, each movement painstakingly difficult. They pant heavily, yet their motions remain determined and precise. Covering the 58-kilometer outer circuit of the sacred mountain, a full prostration kora takes 10 to 15 days. Devout pilgrims inscribe the most generous and tragic poetry of their pilgrimage journey with their very bodies.
At 11:30 a.m., the extremely cold pass finally comes into view. It’s quite crowded. Beside the massive prayer flag cluster, Buddhists kneel toward the sacred mountain. Lamas sit on the ground, swaying as they chant scriptures. Hindu devotees set up altars, burn incense, and recite Vedic hymns. Colorful paper sheets printed with scriptures flutter through the air like snowflakes. Looking down from Drolma La Pass, nestled among the gray-white glacial valleys, the only green lake is said to be where the Hindu nymph Uma Devi performed her ritual cleansing.
Every year, pilgrims continue to pass away here. Foreign traveler accounts from the early 19th century mention monks who fell ill during the journey being abandoned by their companions. This is something I find hard to understand about the pilgrimage. When we make our way to the sacred mountain, aren’t we seeking an endless spring of life, a compassionate world, rejecting indifference and avoiding corruption? Why then do we hear of companions being left behind in such dire straits?
Perhaps the religions of the plateau teach more about the responsibilities one must bear when facing harsh realities, rather than relying on the pity of others. Maybe this is the reluctant choice made under the stark contrast between human strength and the forces of nature. In the wilderness, deserts, and snowy mountains beyond the reach of machinery and technology, without external support, humans remain as fragile and small as ever.
The descent is even more difficult. The snow is knee-deep, and I have to grip the rocks along the path carefully to avoid rolling downhill. The 18-kilometer stretch from the foot of Drolma La to Tarchen offers no scenery—the path is flat, offering neither motivation nor an end in sight. I trudge forward, nearly in despair, but the Tibetan kora pilgrims continually pass me by. Some look weary yet joyful; others move heavily but show no signs of pain. For pilgrims, the kora is the most valuable part of a lifetime of spiritual practice—some of the purest, happiest moments of their lives. For them, the kora is like nurturing a flower—the focus is on its roots. Tourists like me come for the bloom—the beautiful flower—but overlook its roots and leaves.
When the starting point, Tarchen, appears mirage-like on the horizon, my kora journey nears its end. The dignified and gentle front face of Mount Kailash emerges on the edge of the sky. The sacred mountain’s front side is serene, like the Buddha, radiating a compassionate and forgiving warmth.
“Even if the sacred mountain does not possess the divine power to forgive sins, it at least grants those who cross it enduring patience.” I think to myself—on this endless kora of life, I will walk forward with a heart full of happiness, and reach the heavenly end.