The Horse Lord

‘There isn’t any need for daggers as you fly among the zephyrs of the mountains. The horses are one with the wind, carrying you away, breaking all your plans’

As Aaron and I drove into Yuksam, the curiosity that built up inside me ever since the density of trees around us began to rise on the first climb after Siliguri, was finally set free. My whole life I dreamt of a place where trees swarmed the hills from foot to peak. The lazy town had a narrow winding road that passed through many hotels, taverns and vendors of all sorts. A few paddy fields lay behind the houses along the road, and among them stood a shelter for four grand prayer wheels that were always spinning in an enchanting way. The Sheriff of this town was living a dream; neither he nor his Deputy had the slightest clue of the meaning of worry. Along with all of this beauty, the ever assuring presence of prayer flags teasing the wind playfully made perfect sense.

We spent most of our finances and time on pork and beef preparations and copious amounts alcohol at a tavern named Norling- a dimly lit hole in the wall on the edge of the Yuksam market. The two ladies who ran the place served the most homely food with that secret ingredient you crave when away from your mother’s kitchen. A furry cat we named 'Joffrey' and the two furry white dogs occasionally quarreled over a stray piece of meat, I would carelessly forfeit . I was partial to the cozyness of this place because it would let me feel that I was living the stories of Middle Earth that I read as we travelled all the way up.

While my brother would photograph the frayed edges of the upholstery covers, the tilted head of the white dogs and Joffrey’s indifferent stares, I would find joy in Gnawang's company. He has mastered the trail to the mountain pass-Goechala more times than he could count. He would tell us tales of black bear raids, lost travelers, and phantom Sherpas. As he shared his stories the tales of Buddha and the evil demon Mara embroidered on a tapestry on its chalky blue walls seemed to come to life. As I became a part of thah old sofa I would lose my self in the clash of transparent cola bottles and  the sun’s rays that left the dusty floor a calming shade of maroon in its wake.

The evening before we were to begin the long walk towards the mountains, we entered an unusually crowded Norling, its bamboo roofed porch was owerflowing with a group of travelers who had just returned from their journey. Among them we found sitting in solitude, an old friend of Aaron’s, known as Sauvage (French for Savage) in our circle back in Bombay. Enchanted at the odds of this encounter, the two of them caught up on old times, of expeditions through the glens of Vaishnavi.

In the mean time I found myself washing down a plethora of beef and pork preparations with several glasses of locally brewed rice wine. After a while of being fixated on my meal, I looked up, and to my right I noticed a smiling Gnawang come into focus, he was holding up a glass of his favourite whiskey. It seemed as though he apparated right out of the walls.
This time, he came to me with a story of Dohna-a girl who was from the same village who lost her way one day as she went into the forest looking for a wild root to feed her sick horse. After week long search efforts proved futile, she was solemnly declared one among the wild.

Paying no heed to the villagers attempts to stop him, Baichung a local Sherpa left for the trail into the mountains to convey the loss of the girl to her brother who at the time was leagues away up in the mountains. Tenzing was the Yak Master who tended to the livestock that would haul supplies for groups that trekked up into the high pass. As he walked alone through the forest path, he couldn’t help but break down into tears, howling at the wind and trees for taking away the girl he loved.

He pushed himself along the trail for an entire day looking for the group Tenzing was travelling with. When he reached the caravan, they were descending into a place called Phedang. At the back of the agonizingly long line of trekekrs, among the herd of yak, he met an unassuming Tenzing. When Baichung broke the news to him Tenzing said nothing and just kept on going.

Baichung walked back with Tenzing, helping him guide the Yak down the winding slopes. The rest of the Sherpas and cooks who would sporadically break into song while running their errands, were exceptionally solemn that evening.

The group camped in an opening in the trees at Tshoka. Baichung and Tenzing, walked away from the campsite after their evening routines were through. The night was a cold one. It began to rain heavily, and in the cloud burst and the sound of the thunder’s loud clapping, the two of them stood at the edge of a narrow cliff, listening to the furiously flowing Phrek Chu in the valley below.

In the dark, they planted two tall wooden poles in the mud on either side of the cliff and they tied a pair of vertical white prayer flags for Dohna’s soul. As the flags began fishtailing in the wind for the first time, the two of them heard the sound of hooves knocking against the wet rocks behind them. As they peered to investigate, they got a glimpse of a tall white horse passing behind a moss covered fir bark. They stared in awe at its powerful vascular legs placed firmly in the damp soil, its white mane flowing in waves along the right side of its turgid neck. A thick lock of hair that draped the front of its head swayed to the side as it turned to look back at them. It stared back at the both of them, its glassy eyes glistening like stars in their torch light. In an instant the horse turned away and left, they followed it hoping it would lead them back to the camp, but in no time they lost the white horse to the forest. Tenzing looked at Baichung and with wide eyes he whispered, ‘Lung Ta.’-The Wind Horse.

The next day, Baichung woke early to find Tenzing’s sleeping bag empty. While the rest of the camp got ready to leave, Baichung and the rest of the Sherpas noticed that Tenzing hadn’t yet performed his morning duties of tending to the yak herd. They asked around the camp site but none could recall seeing him that morning.

Time was running short so Baichung fed the yak and tied the saddles to their backs and loaded the freight while the other Sherpas looked for any indication of where the Yak Master could have gone off to. They reached the white flags that were hoisted the night before, they now glistened in the sunlight as the wind breathed them to life. They looked towards the edge of the cliff and to their shock they noticed, Tenzing’s Kukri lying on  the rock still in its wooden sheath. The belt that he used to tie it to his waist was unhooked and when one of them picked it up, water poured out through the opening of the sheath. They called out to him repeatedly but no one responded.

They returned to the camp to tell Baichung what they just saw. Baichung in an impulse ran in the direction of the cliff crossing the grazing patches and rhododendron bushes like the wind. When he reached the cliff side he frantically looked around in the mud around the trees. The others were baffled at what he was investigating. As they gathered around Baichung, he used Tenzing’s kukri to point out a set of extraordinarily large horse hoof prints by the moss covered tree from the night before. He looked at the rest and with a pale look on his face he said, ‘Lung Ta!’

Tenzing was never found. When Baichung reached back he conveyed the news to Tenzing’s family, handing them his sheathed kukri. The misfortune broke the family’s heart leaving them in much distress. However, life always tends to catch up and return us to its normal state of motion.

The next day, surprisingly no hangover slowed me down. Our walk to Goechala had begun. As we moved along the forest trail I often found myself staring at the tall trees in awe, noticing the different shapes of leaves, the vines creeping in between branches binding the trees together as they drank out off the ever fertile soil. The magic of walking over such a variation in altitude over such a large distance presented me with a spectacle of ever changing flora and scores of solitary birds and reptiles that would dart about the trail obscuring themselves among the trees and rocks for fear of us getting to close. Before the first ascent began, we crossed the long bridge over the white waters of the Prek Chu. As I stared over the bridge into the rocky gorge I noticed a massive landslide to the right. In that moment among the coloured prayer flags tied to the suspension cables, I remembered the tale I heard the night before. I wondered what truth lay behind the mysterious disappearances, or whether they were just the words of a man who liked to tell stories like me. As Aaron and I stood on the middle of the bridge, we noticed the herd of horses climb onto its swaying floor. Walking behind them was a short but well built herdsman whistling and clicking at the herd, his jet black hair was long and straight. He tied it back into a neat pony tail that swayed behind him just like the horses' hairy tails. He had an angular face with a cut along his right eyebrow. His slit eyes, characteristic of his people didn’t bother to notice us standing in his way, the sheer determination with which he commanded his horses towards us was our cue to move on.

As we progressed gradually to campsites higher up the trail, we made new friends both with the other hikers and the Sherpas. Dawa, the young man who always seemed to be cheerful was our leader. His sure-footed stride and stamina in many ways inspired me to stay just as happy as him. The gloomy weather made it a difficult to do so at times.

Aaron and I were determined to the seize the tents with the best views at each of the campsites. As we consistently sprinted past the others, we’d run into Dawa calmly skipping from one boulder to the next. While we would rest with him waiting for the rest to catch up, he would share stories of the different friends he made on many of his trips. As I would catch my breath, I would listen to him keenly and in that I noticed how his happiness stemmed from his love for everyone and everything.

We would often encounter the mysterious Horse Master in his red football jersey, steadily leading his horses over switch backs and gradual slopes.

I asked Dawa, ‘What’s The Horse Master’s name?’

He replied with a smile, ‘Baichung’

In that moment, I wondered, what the odds were that this rugged looking person was the subject of Gnawang’s tale.

One night, Aaron woke me from a powerful slumber saying, ‘Dude, I need to pee. Come with me’

‘Nice!’ I responded and slid back into my yellow sleeping bag.

Under its thick cover I heard him unzip the tent and leave it. Just as I was turning to face the dream world, I felt him jump over me, determined to wake me up.

He said in an eager whisper, ‘The moon is out! Don’t miss this.’

Indeed I didn’t want to miss a chance like this. So I scrambled for the tent door upsetting the peacefully settled droplets of dew and rain. As I looked out, I saw that the storm had long since passed and the moon had risen high over the mountains in the east. It showered the hills in its glorious silver light. We noticed the high peaks several thousand meters above us covered in snow now glowing in all their majesty. I secretly hoped the giants noticed the two of us staring at them, in that silent moment of silk.

We were staring at it for while when we noticed stressed voices coming from the wooden kitchen cabin behind the tents. A lamp was lit and in its light, we noticed through the stained window the group of Sherpas assembled together. We approached the cabin to investigate the situation and as our faces poppen into the door frame, Dawa came up to us and politely asked us to leave.

As  we turned, I noticed Baichung lying on the floor of the cabin, he was shirtless, which was curious in this weather.

Dawa said, ‘He’s having a fever, he’ll be all right, you both should sleep. Go on now!’

We didn’t argue.

The next morning we decided not to share what happened to the rest of our lot. When I met Dawa further on the trail that day, I shared with him the story Gnawang had told me.

After a moment's silence I asked him.‘Is  The Horse Master the same Baichung?’

He smiled at me and denied that the story was in any way true.

I noticed a certain oddity in his familiar smile. I didn’t believe him.

As we moved further on, we passed in an out of the forests where the tall fir trees covered in moss looked like sinister silhouettes of slender misshaped giants. They were frozen in their place, cursed by spells of their foes. One in particular stood still, holding an unfortunate man he snatched from the trail below.
One morning as I stood on the top of a hill at Dzongri, I noticed the edges of the forest line and wondered what it was like to be the last tree on the edge of a dry shrub ridden climb to the tips of the earth.

As we walked on, life presented itself to me, more mysterious than ever before. Lost purple flowers hiding in the dry grass, unearthly looking moss covering large boulders, pairs of prussian blue mountain birds showing off their plumes in the sun, and forgotten lakes frozen for ever surrounded by tall hills. My whole pattern of life in Bombay proved redundant before the endless expanse of life happily thriving on the top of the world.

High up in the Thansing valley through the gloomy evenings we awaited the morning’s promise of relief. Beyond the invasion of the clouds, a spectacle of a deep blue sky flying over the snow covered rock fingers of the sleeping giants waited to present its self.

One night when all were asleep I lay awake wondering if The Wind Horse had anything to do with the curious disappearances and Baichung’s illness. Over Aaron’s lion like snores I heard footsteps, and the casual sound of horses grunting, not too far from our tent. Half hoping to see Lung Ta, I gently opened the tent door to peep out. What I saw in the moonlight was far more relieving, it was The Horse Master was calmly tying two horses from his heard together by the neck a long rope.

In a hurry I retreated back into the tent to get my warm coat for fear of losing a chance to interrogate Baichung. I nearly woke up Aaron in my haste. It was a cold nigh: the dew was frozen on the tent’s top and the mud below my boots was as hard as stone. I couldn’t feel my toes and fingers but that hardly bothered me as I was on the way to finding an anawer.
I walked up to where Baichung was standing. Seemingly deep in his thoughts, he didn’t notice me approach. As I stood right in front of him, he looked straight at me. ‘Lung Ta took the both of them away. He’s up to no good’, he said shaking his fists frantically.

Surreal as it seemed, I stood in the moonlight clueless, wondering if I was dreaming or not.

In an impulse I said with much resolve, ‘Then we must find Lung Ta and ask him to return them to us.’

‘We can’t do that they don’t belong in this world anymore.’ he said.

‘After she was lost, Dohna visited me every night in my dreams. In eachother's company, we feel like children once again. We run through the fields and play the fool with stray chickens. We are tending to the horses, and while they graze in the meadows, we talk about the things we see and do when we are apart. As the sun sets across the valley and as the day comes to an end, we return the horses back to the stable. As we are about to part ways, I notice a grand white horse walking towards us. It is Lung Ta the horse who’s soul no one can break. She turns around and looks at him and says, “I’ve been waiting for you” and as she walks to its side. It bows lower down and she climbs on to his smooth back. As the horse gets back on all fours and turns to walk away, she turns back and says to me, ‘Meet me by the pass, I’ll wait for you’. 
It’s been the same dream each night, till one night when the horse didn’t come to meet her by the stable. She seemed worried and lost and didn’t know what to do. She walked away saying, “He’s gone wild again and will be up to some sinister mischief. I can’t call out to him from where I am now, he won’t listen to me. I have to go on my own now. If you find him, please bring him back to me. You know where to find me.”’

He began to walk towards the Juniper bushes by the river. With his Kukri, he cut up a large amount of the shrub and set it on fire, in the moonlight the fragrant smoke spread around us with a ghostly glow. After the fire’s strength peaked, he started to chant in the language of the mountains. When he was done, there was a moment of normalcy before the horses started to get restless, digging into the hard earth with their seasoned hooves. Before I could breathe the cold air again, a defening silence overcame my ears and I suddenly could hear all my thoughts screaming back at me. My eyes were sealed shut and my gloved hands instinctively covered my ears in an attempt to block out the noise.

Slowly the sound of the raging river was audible again. As I opened my eyes, I beheld in awe the glorious sight of The Lord of all Horses, Lung Ta standing right in front of us. With a huff, he commanded a bow from us. I obliged.

Baichung didn’t have much concern for courtesy, he approached it without caution. The determined Horse Master caressed Lung Ta from head to tail. the Horse Lord, however showed no sign of caution. He climbed onto Lung Ta’s back. With his right palm gently placed on the horses neck, his left firmly held the horses mane. He said to me, ‘Get onto the brown horse and follow me into the mountains. Hold on to its mane firmly and it won’t let you fall.’

I did as I was told and we slowly galloped up into the mountains with the moon shining over us. I was mesmerized at the sight of Lung Ta’s hairy tail moving as one with Baichung’s long black locks. He commanded The Wind Horse as though he was his own. Both my horse and the one without a rider were tied to each other and the two humbly followed the Horse Lord. Confident that I need not bother where the horses were taking me, I gazed at the clear night sky and lost myself among the lonely stars. After hours of ascending and descending along rocky hill sides, we reached the bed of a seemingly endless dried up lake. The snow peaks we saw from the forest below were now looking down at us as we passed by their rocky feet. They looked back at me in surprise as I asked them if they were comfortable up there in their perpetual labyrinth.

In no time we crossed the lake bed and straight ahead we could see the three white knuckles of the Kanchendzonga glowing a pearl white against the starry black sky. In the silence of the night the hooves of the horses echoed off the tall walls of rock causing countless clicks that seemed alien in contrast with the loneliness of the high valley.
As we climbed higher we reached a precarious snow covered ridge with a fall into blackness on one side and on the other, a canyon covered in snow, in the middle of which lay a lonely frozen lake. ‘Somewhat symbolic of the balance between Ying and Yang this is’. I thought to myself.

By the time the sun had begun to send its ambient light to defeat the darkness yet again, I noticed Baichung stop and then jump off Lung Ta when I approached him he calmly said to me, ‘We’ve reached.’

We stood by our horses waiting for the day’s first light to present what was promised to us. As we waited, I drifted into a calm sleep leaning against a large black boulder. I woke to the touch of a warm hand on my cheek. When I opened my eyes I saw the reason why Baichung’s love was so powerful that it blurred the lines of the world of the living and the world of the free. It brought back not only Lung Ta but also his beloved.

No matter how hard I try I can never remember what she looked like. All I can say is that her beauty and presence was greater than words could describe. I saw Baichung hold Dohna’s hand as she knelt by my side. As I stood back up with her, she placed her left palm on Lung Ta’s side and patted him affectionately and gazing into his eyes she said, ‘Don’t leave me again. This is your world. You are the horse of who rides the endless breeze. Let me ride it with you.’
In what seemed as affirmation, the horse calmly brushed his head against her left cheek. She held Baichung’s hand one last time and as she stared deep into his eyes, she said, ‘You are The Master of all Horses, that is why Lung Ta came to you. I knew he would. He will come to you again should you need to see me once more. You know where to find me. I’ll wait for you I promise.’

Baichung spoke no words, and expressed no feeling as he got back on to his own horse, leaving Dohna and Lung Ta behind.

We reached back to the camp site early that morning before the rest woke up, the sun had just begun to shower us in its warmth again, melting the frozen earth and warming our frigid bodies. The yellow tents glistened in the sunlight, the horses and yak roamed free and The Horse Master for the first time since I met him, smiled at the beauty of the day. In the distance, prayer flags tied to a pole waved out their message of hope. In the light of day, riding the wind, Dohna and the Horse Lord returned to carry the prayers to heaven to be answered.