A Semi-Pilgrim's Prayer on a High Himalayan Trek

Tracing the path of countless pilgrims on a challenging monsoon hike to Gosainkunda Lake shed light on environmental and conservation concerns.

I knew that trekking to the mountainous region?of Nepal during the monsoon season was unwise. Not only would I miss out on the breathtaking scenery due to the rain and overcast weather, but the already difficult hike would be made even more strenuous by the muddy and slippery trails. In the days leading up to the expedition, the papers were packed with news reports detailing a surge in accidents caused by rain-triggered flash floods and landslides.

I nevertheless?accompanied? a group of researchers from the World Wildlife Fund (WWF) on a five-day journey to Rasuwa district. Our destination: Gosaikunda, a pristine lake in Langtang National Park. The term "Gosain" translates to "monk" and "kunda" signifies "pool." This endeavor aimed to explore the park's rich biodiversity within its Ramsar-designated protected area and witness ongoing conservation efforts across the entire park.

Our excursion was strategically timed for the revered Janai Purnima festival, observed during the full moon of August. This event draws tens of thousands of pilgrims from Nepal and India who converge for the popular religious fair near the lake, situated at an altitude of 4,380 meters above sea level. They come not only to participate but also to immerse themselves in the sacred waters.

According to the legend, Gosaikunda's origin is intertwined with the narrative of Lord Shiva's role in the Samundra Manthan, the churning of the ocean to retrieve the elixir of life known as Amrit. An outcome of this endeavor was the Halahala poison, which Lord Shiva consumed to save the world from its devastation. Subsequently, in need of respite from the poison's effects, he created Gosainkunda – a cold water sanctuary to quench his insatiable thirst and soothe the burning sensation.

However, prior to reaching Dhunche, situated 71 kilometers northwest of Kathmandu, foreboding signs loomed. Rain-induced landslides had obstructed the Pasang Lhamu Highway at multiple points, restricting our jeep's progress. This recurring tale unfolded annually during the rainy season, affecting the sole highway linking Kathmandu to Dhunche.

Thankfully, we encountered two sturdy porters who readily shouldered our sleeping bags, tents, trekking gear, and additional baggage. Pilgrims arriving on their bikes faced the dilemma of either sheltering their vehicles beneath makeshift bamboo coverings or incurring substantial fees to have porters navigate them past challenging landslides and water obstacles. Notably, even large buses and vans refrained from attempting the route.

They turned back. During the nearly two-hour trek across rugged ridges and desolate mountainsides, we encountered numerous landslides and swift-flowing streams—passing through these became a trial of one's faith. In the face of these challenges, several pilgrims cried out "Jai Sambho," seeking protection from Lord Shiva. A woman from Kathmandu nearly gasped for breath while narrating how she and her sisters had to sprint rapidly across the slippery mountainside, gripped by fear of being swept away by a landslide or sudden flash flood.?

However, it appeared that their adventure was only in its initial stages. Right after traversing the compromised section of the highway, we discovered that only a single dilapidated local bus and a tipper were available to transport hundreds of pilgrims to Dhunche.

Those who arrived early secured seats, swiftly filling the bus to capacity. Those who arrived later faced no alternative but to ascend onto the bus's rooftop. It was evident that the two vehicles fell short in accommodating the multitude of pilgrims bound for Dhunche. My concern also extended to the safety of the bus passengers, given the frequent bus accidents in Nepal's hilly regions—often attributed to overcrowding and reckless driving on perilous roads.?

Much to our pleasant surprise, a smoother journey awaited us as we were transported to Dhunche in another Land Cruiser dispatched to collect us. Just prior to our arrival in town, we made a brief pit stop at the Langtang National Park Office for a casual conversation with Bed Kumar Dhakal, the park's principal conservation officer, who was set to join us on the expedition. He shared that the annual fair at Gosainkunda had already commenced, with an estimated influx of 25,000 visitors anticipated by the time Janai Purnima arrived.

Dhakal said that the popularity of Gosainkunda as a spiritual site can sometimes lead to conservation efforts taking a backseat. He pointed out that the increasing number of Hindu and Buddhist pilgrims attending the fair in recent years has led to problems such as littering and open defecation near Tharpus, which are elongated makeshift camps run by locals to provide food and shelter to pilgrims along the religious trail.

Many pilgrims suffer from altitude sickness, cold, and lethargy as they hurry over the difficult mountain pass. To provide primary health services, the District Public Health Office, Dhakal informed that Himalayan Rescue Association, Nepal Red Cross Society, and the Nepali Army have set up several health camps along the way to Gosainkunda, staffed by doctors and stocked with the necessary medicines.

When we finally reached Dhunche in the evening driving through a dense fog, we found that the small town had already been conquered by pilgrims who spent the night here before setting out on the religious trek early the next day. Many of them were from Kathmandu, Bhaktapur, Kavre, Sindhupalchowk and neighboring districts. The pilgrims occupied hotels, lodges, and eateries, spilling out onto the narrow lanes of Dhunche town for a twilight stroll. Many engaged in activities such as capturing photographs, partaking in an evening walk, and enjoying a roadside documentary presentation showcasing the Gosainkunda fair, the surrounding terrain, and the diverse flora and fauna endemic to the national park. The place was buzzing with activity, more like a fish market than a quiet, sleepy little town tucked away in the foothills of the Himalayas. The stream of pilgrims coming to Dhunche continued late into the evening.

With so many devotees spending the night in Dhunche, rooms at the hotels and small lodges were in high demand and very expensive. Even if you were willing to pay a premium, there was no guarantee that you would get a room. Many pilgrims camped outside the hotels. Fortunately, we had booked our rooms in advance.

Before the evening meal, we paid a visit to the Langtang Area Conservation Concern Society, an NGO managed by spirited local youths dedicated to heightening awareness within the community about conservation and the consequences of climate change on the region. These young individuals were also engaged in impactful initiatives, including mobilizing the community and executing interventions at a grassroots level to safeguard high-altitude wetlands and lakes, such as Gosaikunda, within the national park.

We discovered that the society operated an eco-club, serving as an informative hub for visitors seeking knowledge about the Tamangs, the predominant residents of Rasuwa district, as well as insights into the park's flora and fauna. Additionally, the eco-club offered updates on ongoing conservation endeavors, particularly those aimed at protecting endangered species like the red panda and the snow leopard, executed as part of the Sacred Himalayan Landscape Project established by WWF. The group also ran a small library where tourists could get general information about Gosaikunda and the associated lakes in the park, books and journals about Langtang's biodiversity, the trekking map, and major conservation issues of the Ramsar site.

After a brief discussion with the youths, we were invited to have dinner with them at the small restaurant the society ran on the office premises. We had a great time over a sumptuous dinner and a lively discussion about fresh conservation issues in the area. I learned that a dozen or so volunteers from the group were heading to Gosainkunda the next day to collect the trash left by pilgrims en route to the holy lake, as part of the solid waste management program run by the group every year to make the Gosainkunda fair eco-friendly. The next day, I watched with disgust the Wai-Wai packets, biscuit wrappers, water bottles, and Red Bull cans that littered the entire length of the trail.

The long trek to Gosainkunda the next day was weighing on our minds, so we decided to call it a day early after dinner. I was exhausted after a day of excitement crossing the active landslides on the damaged highway, which was a thrilling prelude to the trek.

In ancient times, people would embark on a journey to the Himalayas after retiring from worldly affairs. The Himalayas are home to some of the most important Hindu pilgrimage sites, and people would travel there to seek spiritual enlightenment and purification. It is not known when people first started to go on a pilgrimage to Gosaikunda. However, according to history, the brave General Amar Singh Thapa, who led the Nepali forces on the western front during the Anglo-Nepal War (1814-1816), died on a pilgrimage to Gosainkunda after retiring from military service following Nepal's defeat at the hands of the British.

Seeing many elderly people setting out on the ancient pilgrimage route with walking sticks early the next morning made us realize that the idea of pilgrimage is still relevant today. The morning had offered a fantastic panorama of the rugged summits from the hotel's rooftop: Langtang Lirung (7,227m), Dorje Lakpa (6,996m), and in the far distance, the majestic Tibetan Himalayas.

The clouds were slowly cloaking the mountains, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. As we entered the upper tropical forest, keeping a South Korean mineral water plant and swollen Trishuli River to our left, a slight drizzle soon turned into rain. The stony path became slippery, especially downhill, making it difficult to walk. However, this did not affect the pace of the pilgrims and devotees, who marched swiftly in small clusters across small milky-white streams, over the wobbly Jhulunge Pul, and up the scary steps on the pine-covered hills shrouded by clouds. One misstep on these steps could send you plummeting down to the gushing river far below.

The winding trail then began to climb steadily. We were not very tired, as we had only been ascending for two hours. The rains had stopped after a brief shower, and the weather was cool. The first of the Tharpus then came into view, where we enjoyed warm cups of black tea. (We were told that one should avoid milk while trekking at high altitudes.)

With hundreds of pilgrims passing through these Tharpus every hour since the beginning of the fair a week ago, some wielding the Trishul and some wearing fake snakes around their necks to impersonate Lord Shiva, the owners were of course making good money selling tea and snacks. After a three-hour trek, we reached Deurali (2,625 m), where we had lunch at a small but very busy family-run hotel.

As we rapidly gained altitude, the thick mountain fog enveloped the open hillsides, obscuring all views. A few members of my team, who had come on the trek during peak tourist season (trekkers from all over the world flock to Langtang in early spring and autumn), regretted missing the spectacular views of Annapurna, Ganesh Himal, Dhaulagiri, and Langtang.

Further up the steep trail, we saw a group of young men from Kathmandu smoking marijuana from a chillum, shouting "Jai Sambho" every time they inhaled the smoke. We left them in their elevated state of consciousness (so to speak), and continued on our way. We were trudging up at a very slow pace, especially after lunch, and were now really starting to feel tired. It had been six hours since we started walking. A few of us shared jokes to help us forget about the fatigue for a while, but our conversations were not focused and jumped from one topic to another.

The Langtang National Park was in the news at the time after the badly decomposed body of a 23-year-old Belgian woman was found decapitated 50 meters below the trail, 10 days after she went missing. The police were investigating the case as a possible homicide. Another American woman in her early 20s went missing two years prior to this tragedy in the high Himalayas. Her family has not given up hope of finding her, but their search has so far been unsuccessful. The recent incidents have led the Nepal government to consider a ban on tourists trekking alone in the Himalayas. The government is considering making it mandatory for tourists to hire at least one porter or guide from a recognized agency.

One fellow trekker in my team said that although requiring tourists to hire a guide would ensure their safety on the trail, the isolated cases of disappearances and killings of trekkers would not tarnish Nepal's image as a trekker's paradise and one of the safest destinations for tourists from all over the world. (A trekking aficionado from the west recently wrote in an English-language national daily that the risks of traveling in Nepal do not compare to the level of violence in most other countries, including cities in the West. He argued that putting such an unwarranted emphasis on security in Nepal would make tourists misperceive that there is a real problem, and this would darken Nepal's image, possibly reducing the number of visitors.)

After a grueling four-hour walk from Deurali, we reached Sing Gompa (3,250 meters), another open hillside with a cheese production center. The yak cheese made in wood-fired ovens was simply delicious. There was also a dilapidated Buddhist temple and a few hotels and lodges. We had tea, biscuits, and cheese at Hotel Red Panda, a fine, cozy wooden lodge with attractively carved wooden windows.

It was one of the first lodges to open its doors to trekkers in the 1980s. Its owner, Subba Lama, a man in his late 60s, was very hospitable. He peppered our brief talks about tourism and development in the Langtang region with his own story of struggle against the odds in one of the most impoverished parts of Nepal to establish a well-run lodge on the trail.

Although some of us wanted to spend the night at Mr. Lama's lodge, as our legs were hurting and we wanted to call it a day, our trip organizer had already booked our rooms two hours away through a rain-soaked and slippery trail of subtropical forest.

When we reached Cholang Pati (3,560 meters), our resting place for the night, the fog had cleared and the sky was blue. We saw a great expanse of open valley opening up into beautiful alpine meadows and yak pastures. The tree line ended here, as the altitude was over 3,500 meters.

Most of the pilgrims spent the night in Cholang Pati before taking on the challenging Lauribina La pass (4,610 meters) the next morning. The teahouse-style lodges in the area were packed with pilgrims beyond their capacity, with the dining areas filled with people huddled around wood-burning stoves for warmth.

However, those who could not afford the exorbitant prices of the lodges had no choice but to brave the cold weather and sleep inside the many similar-looking Tharpus, which had only plastic tents above them and thick mats below. It was sad to see hundreds of pilgrims sleeping in such appalling conditions inside the Tharpus. The owners were trying to cram as many people as possible into the Tharpus, even though it was dangerous and unhealthy. At the health camp run by the Nepali Army nearby, there were about half a dozen people receiving treatment for symptoms that were closely related to altitude sickness, such as dizziness, vomiting, lethargy, and lack of appetite.

Our lodge was also swarmed by pilgrims, including a few shamans who were easily recognizable by their distinctive garb and paraphernalia, such as drums for singing and dancing during the annual full moon festival. The meal was the same as we had for lunch: rice, lentils, potato and bean curry, and achar (pickles). Before that we had a warm garlic soup, which is believed to help the body cope with altitude sickness. As there were not enough rooms at the lodge, some of us had to go sleep in the attic. But we didn’t mind that as we were extremely tired and slipped inside our sleeping bag and immediately fell asleep. I was woken up once in the night when I heard moans of a person staying at the lodge being carried to a lower altitude after suffering from altitude sickness.

The next morning, I was woken up by the hustle and noise of pilgrims getting ready to set out on the most grueling uphill trek on the entire trail, where there is a high risk of altitude sickness. Some pilgrims, mostly elderly, were riding horses led by their owners until Buddha Mandir (4,097 meters), from where the narrow trail widens out. The trees had disappeared, and the few remaining bushes gave way to alpine meadows and barren slopes. Walking through the mist on the steep trail, which was full of rocks and boulders, sapped whatever energy we had regained after a long night's rest. But the slow progress of the pilgrims continued.

The only respite was the magnificent view of the mountain range whenever we stopped to catch our breath and regain our composure, and looked back to gauge the altitude we had gained. As is always the case, my friends from my team couldn't help but compare this difficult uphill climb to the one described by the Nepali writer Taran Nath Sharma in his famous travelogue "Ghanghasya Ko Ukalo Katda".

The sun was shining brightly when we reached Buddha Temple after three hours that felt like an eternity. There was a small stupa and a Hindu temple there, where pilgrims took some rest before continuing on their journey. Devotees who were returning from Gosainkunda told us that we had passed the most difficult part of the trail and that we were only an hour or two away from our destination. Along the barren slopes, we saw that pilgrims had made Shiva lingas (phallus-shaped structures) by stacking stones on top of each other as an offering to the god.

After crossing the most difficult portion of the trek, I was eager to reach Gosainkunda as soon as possible. However, the sun was soon enveloped by fog and it started to drizzle, making the trail slippery. Although the trail was not steep, it was narrow and only one pilgrim could pass through at a time. In some places, there were massive stony cliffs that required careful footing. After several ups and downs, we saw the first of the milky white waterfalls that turned into ravines that formed the Trishuli River. The river flowed with a loud rumbling sound, and after a few more bends, we reached Bhairab Kunda, another holy lake nestled among craggy peaks.

Soon, we set foot on Gosainkunda. The drizzle had turned into a heavy downpour, forcing us to unfurl our umbrellas. However, the rain cleared the fog to reveal the full splendor and beauty of the azure glacial lake. A small, milky waterfall that flowed down into Gosainkunda was at a higher point and was the best spot to see the lake. There was a small Shiva shrine smeared red by the vermillion of the devotees constantly milling around it. The priest performed pujas, managed the offerings of the pilgrims, and gave them prasad. After filling up their bottles with the sacred water from the waterfall, some devout even claimed that they saw patterns of Shiva lying in the water!

Meanwhile, devotees gathered in the Shiva Temple after taking a holy dip in the lake. My team and I mustered up the courage to take a full-body dip in the sacred icy-cold water, not so much to wash away our sins as to test our own stupidity.

The biggest act of faith was not only to see the religious and spiritual value of Gosainkunda, but also the immense ecological diversity that the still lakes here have helped sustain in the Langtang National Park. Each lake is connected by small waterfalls, like how everything in this world and the universe at large is connected. The water spills and flows down to one lower down before turning into streams, just like how our actions have a ripple effect that can impact others and the environment.

However, the pilgrims' careless littering, use of disposable materials, camping in sensitive areas, making fires, and overcrowding are causing environmental damage. I hope that they will open their eyes to this truth after they have finished praying.

Satyam Shivam Sundaram!