Diary from Shambhala
Fluffy snow was lying like caps on rough peaks of the Himalayas. It reflected the rising sun, that’s why I had to narrow my eyes, but this protective reaction of human organism couldn’t spoil the impression of the view opened from the board of a light private plane that I rented. “Let me go to the Himalayas” sing Russians, and it’s not just for no particular reason. These mountains had always fascinated and attracted brave travelers who came there in search of the country of Gods, Shambhala. Wonderful Shambhala. Where is it? Where is this paradise situated on this planet? How do we get there? My father had always dreamt of finding this magic country like all other adventure-searchers who tried to answer these questions. He lacked magic like most rich people who lead a boring, measured, planned life. That’s why he would constantly day-dream about far away mysterious countries. But Shambhala had always been his favourite. He thought he would be the one who would find it.
His study was full of books about Tibet, Nepal and other regions situated there. His table was piled with ancient maps of Tibet; paintings by famous and not famous painters depicting the Himalayas hung on the walls. There were statues of Tibetan gods on the mantelpiece. I will always remember the scent of Tibetan sticks he used to burn. A lot of people considered him to be insane, but tried to conceal this, being scared of his title and the position in English society.
Only my mother, an aristocrat from head to foot could reproach her husband aloud. As for me, I would listen to father’s stories about the magic country Shambhala with a great interest. In my heart I dreamt of going there too, even if not to Shambhala then to Tibet which I heard and knew much about.
So, six months ago my father equipped an expedition and went for the search of Shambhala. Mother was against it, but then she realized that only this expedition would calm her husband down. He paid for everything: tickets, visas, equipment. His colleagues from the university went to this expedition with him; moreover they had to hire a guide, one of the natives who spoke English. Father chose a Tibetan guy, whose grandfather, according to his words, had been to the sanctuary. The guide happened to have grandfather’s maps which the latter drew when he was in the mountains. Only four people in the group… But I couldn’t join them as I had to go to France to sign a very important and beneficial contract. We didn’t hear anything from my father for several months. My mom was going crazy. She would tell me to send another expedition to Tibet to look for her husband. Everybody considered him and his group to disappear. But a few days ago I got a call from Tibet and they told me they had found my father’s things in the mountains. Everything had been taken to Lhasa and I decided to go to Tibet to pick up the found things myself. It would be easier if they sent the things to England, but I wanted to kill two birds with one stone: to be on the mysterious Tibetan land and find something out about my father and his expedition.
***
We had been flying for more than an hour, but I wasn’t tired at all in spite of the fact that my trip had lasted for long already. Watching the Himalayan peaks I was thinking that my father might be somewhere there, lying in the snow. I wanted to believe that he was still alive, but this confidence was fading slowly.
At last the plane landed and I stepped on the rough soil, covered with hard grass. The Holy soil of Snow Country. Oh my! How I dreamt of getting here! Unfortunately I came here because of some tragic circumstances not for fun.
Having arrived in Lhasa, I went to the local museum where my father’s things had been delivered to. I saw discoloured backpacks, damped cameras and a thick diary in a leather cover, cracked because of the cold. My father’s diary. It was a miracle that the pages didn’t get soaked. It seemed as if someone from above wanted this book to be read.
I took all the things with me to the inn to check everything in a quiet environment. I sent my mother an email saying that I got here all right and I would stay in Tibet for a few days.
First of all I started reading my dad’s diary. It’s not like me to read diaries of other people, as well as their private letters. So, even considering my father to be a very close person to me, I started reading the diary from the day when the expedition began, skipping first pages with private writings. I was absorbed in reading and didn’t notice that lunch time came. I read while reading… After I had finished, I realized that everything that those who surrounded my father considered to be fantastic and crazy, was real. The only thing I can do is to publish my father’s diary to make people believe in impossible.
August 15, 2001
The first day of the expedition. The weather is wonderful. Lobsang is a great guide, he knows the area perfectly, he also has a great number of medicinal herbs with him. Unfortunately, it’s not physically possible for me to describe all our adventures in detail, so I will be writing about the most important events. After leaving Lhasa we went to Shigadze, and then to a tiny village at the foot of the Himalayas. We spent a night there. I want to get to the mountains as soon as possible. There was an opportunity of asking Lobsang about his granddad and I didn’t lose it. He told us that his granddad, just like me, had always dreamt of finding Shambhala all his life. He believed it must be hidden somewhere in the mountains. So he went to look for it. They hadn’t heard from him for months and the whole family decided that he had died walking in the mountains, but one night he came back. He didn’t remember how he got back, he would say that a mysterious man helped him. Lobsang’s grandfather would say that he had been to Shambhala and Gods let him go to bring this news to other people. He said he had been there, but he couldn’t remember anything specific. What was in Shambhala? What did Gods look like? What was happening there? He could give any answer to such questions. The only thing that the old man remembered was a tall tower with a gold dome. [according to the legend the Chintamani stone is situated there. This is a magic stone from the Oreon constellation]. Lobsang’s grandfather had a map that he had drawn himself with the instructions how to get to the place. He said he had left signs, arrows, on rocks which should be followed. It seemed that Gods considered that information to be enough to be given to people, so he died in his dream a few days later. Lobsang’s house suffered from the fire later. All grandfather’s things except for his maps burned. Lobsang knew that he must follow in his grandfather’s footsteps and go to Shambhala. He had been looking for this opportunity for a long time.
August 16
Lobsang said he knew the mountains very well. He is leading us along deserted, tangled paths, following his granddad’s map. I am not sure we can trust it, but this map is the only thread that binds us with the mysterious place we are going to. We started going up the mountains. The weather is fine here, but the cold wind is blowing. We stayed for a night in a cave. Somebody has already been here before us – we found trash and burned tree branches.
August 17
I think about what I am going to do when I find Shambhala. I have an impression that if this happens and my dream becomes true, I won’t be able to come back. Why? I don’t know. Nobody ever came back from Shambhala. Except for Lobsang’s grandfather. But was he telling the truth? Probably the old man just became nuts, walking in the mountains and gave way to his sick imagination.
We continue our way in the mountains. Chris started coughing. He says there’s nothing wrong, probably the clear air is to blame. Indeed, the higher we go up, the harder we breathe.
August 18
We found a small deserted hut. The roof has nearly rotten through, but at least there’s a kind of roof… We decided to stay there to save strength. Plus Chris is feeling worse. Now he has a temperature. It’s not high, but I am worried anyway. I gave him some medicine and decided not to inject penicillin, because I don’t know what he got. I am afraid he has pneumonia.
I was sitting by the hut on the ledge and looking at stars. I remembered Mary and Eugene. I wonder how they are doing.
I was thinking about what life is. I think that life is a road. But the road ending for everybody the same. People are always in search of something. They are looking for something, going somewhere. They go along life. It’s easy to complete this way for some of them, but it’s full of holes, dangers and spokes which are put in their wheels. What does my way look like? What’s my road? Why am I going somewhere when I know that my road will end like the road of others?
It’s weird. I am not that old and I already have such thoughts. Probably I should blame the clear magic air of Tibet and the Himalayas, which gets into your soul and makes you be a philosopher. Of course I put down my thoughts not very understandably, but writing down one’s thoughts is not an easy task. You can think about thousands of things at once, they mix in your head, appear and disappear, but you understand them and you can make them out. When you try to write them down in a correct order, you can’t do a thing.
August 19
Chris is much worse. He has fever and a cough. Charlie and I are carrying his things to make his trip easier. I suggest that he should go back, but he is against that. I seriously suspect pneumonia. It’s good that I have medicines with me. I gave him penicillin and Lobsang brewed some medicinal herbs. He refused to tell me the name of this tea saying that this is his family secret. I didn’t insist – another nation, different stereotypes.
August 20
Chris died in his sleep. Lobsang said that such death is unworthy for Tibetans. A Tibetan must suffer a lot before dying to get to Heaven. We mourn Chris. One of us has left. Weak lungs, clear air and cold mountains are to blame. We left the body by the path. Lobsang said that the soil was too hard to bury the man. If we come back, we’ll take the body with us to the village. It will last out in snow and Tibetan cold climate. I hope that animals won’t eat him up. I can’t write anything more, my mood is not the best.
August 21
I was dying of cold at night! So was Charlie. Lobsang is used to being cold – it’s in Tibetans’ blood. My hands wouldn’t work when we were packing to continue our trip. I should say that Lobsang brews some wonderful tea. You drink it and you warm up immediately. Lobsang is a gift for travelers. We are very lucky with him.
But we don’t drink only Tibetan tea. I have English gin in my flask. It helps me and Charlie from the cold. Lobsang refuses drinking it, he prefers Tibetan national drinks.
We saw a small brook with clear water. Lobsang said we could drink the water.
August 22
It was one of the calmest evening so far. We sat by the fire talking. Lobsang told us a lot about Tibet and the mountains. He recalled his childhood when he flew kites. Actually this is one of the most popular games among Tibetan kids. Monks even built large ones and flew on them. There is a legend that Gods flew to Tibet on huge kites. Lobsang also told us about mysterious caves hidden in the mountains. They say that Gods’ things are stored there. And those Gods lived millions of years ago. Tibetan lamas and Dalai-Lama know where this caves are, but they keep this secret thoroughly.
All these Tibetan legends and stories are very interesting for me. I have benn interested in Tibet for years and I can’t help wondering how many amazing things this small nation knows. Few people believe in what Tibetans say, but if you lend an ear to all their legends and myths , you realize that you know everything about the world and its mysteries. You can find an explanation to any wonders of nature, which we, scientists, find inexplicable. You can tell the way Egyptian pyramids were built, if Atlantis ever existed and how it was destroyed, if Darwin was right, whether UFO’s are real or not… You feel proud for yourself and for your faith. Because you were able to believe... Faith is everything.
August 23
We are going up the mountains. Higher and higher. Lobsang says that if nothing is wrong, we’ll reach the road that supposedly leads to Shambhala.
I want to note that many travellers who went to look for the City of Gods, considered it to be in Tian-Shan. But thanks to my research of a great number of myths, legends and tales, I can surely say that Shambhala is a country hidden in the Himalayas. It has a lot of names. Buddists call it Shambhala, Indians call it Kalapa, Russians call it Belovodye. But all of them believe in its existence.
Lobsang grandfather told him that Shambhala is situated in another dimension and only a spiritually prepared man can enter it. Shambhala must want to accept a person. But this doesn’t stop me. Probably Gods will take pity on me and let me come in their world. Surprisingly we go forward with a striking rapidity! In spite of Chris’ death which struck us, everything goes on swimmingly. Too suspiciously… I hope we’ll have success.
August 24
On our way we met a very weird monk. I wonder how he got there. The monk was very tall and absolutely bald. But the weirdest feature was his eyes. Large, blue, shrewd eyes. He seemed to be reading our thoughts. When we told him we were looking for Shambhala, he said he would take us there with pleasure, but he had got a mission which he must complete. When we parted and continued our trip, he hailed us and said: “Only deserved can find and enter Shambhala. Other won’t be able to do that. Only a believer can enter the sanctuary. Faith will bring you there. I know that only two of you will be able to do that if they believe in their abilities. The third one is doomed to fail.” Then he turned back and continued his trip. Who was he? He didn’t look like a common Tibetan. We felt calm in his presence, but we couldn’t say or ask anything extra. It was as if he had cast a spell on us. I am still thinking about his words. Who are these two people? Who will be able to reach Shambhala? And who is the third one? I am sure that the monk came from Shambhala. Lobsang and Charlie agree with me. Lobsang said that probably that man was one of Gods’ envoys. Now we don’t have any doubts about the existence of Shambhala. If only we could ask the monk about things!
August 25
A terrible day! Very terrible! The monk was right… When we were going along a narrow path which went along the edge of a steep rock, Charlie stumbled and fell down the abyss. His scream still fills my ears. I have known Charlie for long. He worked at the Archaeology department and we were friends. It is an irreplaceable loss not only for me and his family, but for the whole university too. Lobsang brewed some calming tea for me. I still can’t believe that Charlie doesn’t exist anymore. Our expedition is followed by an evil fate.
Now we know that we will find Shambhala if we believe in our abilities. But what are they??
Every night I dream about Eugene and Maria. They laugh at me and point at me with their fingers. They tease me. I know that in reality Eugene at least tries to believe me, when Maria denies all my ideas about Shambhala. But in spite of this, I miss them a lot, they are my family.
August 26
Lobsang woke me up this morning. He was very excited. He found a sign on the rock – an arrow pointing up. The guide is sure his granddad left this sign for him. We had to climb the mountain. Thank God it wasn’t that high. When we went up to the top, we found ourselves on a small semicircular ledge from where a wonderful view on Tibet opened. It was hard to see anything down, because of the height, but I took some pictures anyway.
We are going on a rough soil. It is getting warmer. Lobsang says that this is because of hot springs under the earth. It’s nice to sleep on warm soil.
August 27
There was a surprising event last night. I woke up because of a bright light, and first I thought that our trip was a dream and Maria came to wake me up and turned on the light. But in reality a shining ball flew above our camp. A UFO! I never denied the existence of extraterrestrial life and now I believed in it completely! But it seems to me that the spaceship was flying to Shambhala. Lobsang, who witnessed this “flying saucer” too, agrees. He said that Tibetans often see flying spheres above the mountains and local people believe that Gods fly there and look at them. I couldn’t fall asleep for a long time.
August 28
Why am I going anywhere? Who will explain it to me? Why haven’t I stayed in a warm cozy manor instead of walking in the mountains looking for something impossible to believe?
Mother…Father… You would probably be proud of me getting to know that your son has grown up like that. But maybe you would reproach me with leaving my family and going to another country to look for other gods…
August 29
The earth is getting warmer. We saw one of the springs. It spat boiled water and was wrapped up in steam. My whisky is coming to an end. Our expedition suffered too much for me not to drink the whole flask up. Lobsang says that Shambhala is not far. We saw another arrow made of stones on the road. It pointed to the north.
Actually it became very quiet. We can’t hear birds singing, we can’t hear animals… It seems as if everything had died out.
August 30
In the morning we found a secret passage n the rock. Lobsang was the first to tell me about that. There was a sign (a cross) which Lobsang’s grandfather made. It turned out that if you press on the cross, part of the rock slides to the right. What an amazing mechanism! I couldn’t find out how it worked though.
Through the passage we came up a small river. It is drawn on the grandfather’s map, but there is no river on mine, which I brought from England. I tried to find out where we are, but failed. As if we got into another dimension! Lobsang wasn’t surprised at all, just the opposite, he became glad that his grandfather was telling the truth. In spite of the love and respect for the old man, Lobsang evidently had some doubts, but now they disappeared.
I took a rubber raft so went down the stream. The water was flowing fast, so we had to try hard not to bump into sharp stones sticking out. Fortunately I knew how to operate the raft. At last we reached a small snowy island with a weird building – a temple made of white stone. It’s hard to call it a temple, as we didn’t find any murals or stands for scent sticks or anything that a Buddhist temple usually has. It was a large white tower standing on a small island. The base was made of bricks lain between two wooden laying. The top of the tower was thick and bent out making a kind of a cap peak along the perimeter. A golden dome crowned the centre of it. On the cap peak there were characters. The temple didn’t have any gate or doors. There was just an open entrance. Inside the temple were emerald-green lamps hung from wooden sticks on both sides of the entrance. They weren’t lit and we didn’t light them. Moreover, it was not understandable how to open the glass lampshade.
There was a thick candle standing on a wooden pedestal. It smelled nice, was about ten inches in diameter and eight inches in height. There were weird signs carved on the candle. I couldn’t tell what it was made from, it looked like wax, but I am not sure. It was emerald-green too. I have never seen such a beautiful tint. Unusual feelings filled me. I can’t describe what I felt entering the tower… A kind of delight and light… Lobsang felt the same. He sat on the wooden floor of the temple and started praying. I am sure that this building has some connection with Shambhala. Even my guide can’t tell what religion this temple belongs to. I tool the candle with me. Lobsang was trying to persuade me to leave it in the temple, but I didn’t yield to his persuasions. I have to bring some evidence of the existence of the unusual tower and the mystic river to England.
After a short rest we went on walking down the river. We flew through mystic gate built between two rocks. It consisted of two columns with a triangular roof on top. By the way, it was of the same emerald-green colour as the candle. So fascinating!
At last we reached another snowy shore. It wasn’t an island this time. Lobsang went to find some tree branches to make a fire. I was putting up a tent. He came back excited, he found the arch his granddad was talking about. It was in the rock, and was in the shape of the entrance to that mysterious temple on the island. But it wasn’t possible to enter it, because it was set into the stone. Suddenly we both felt tired…
It hard for me to write now. My hands don’t move. I want to sleep badly. Lobsang is sleeping already and I am still trying to find strength and finish the writing. Tomorrow we’ll try to find a way to open the arch in the rock…
These were the last lines in my father’s diary. I was wondering what happened afterwards. I wondered if they had entered Shambhala through that weird arch.
I was too excited and I went for a walk along the streets of Lhasa. Passing by the museum I thought I should thank the man who brought my dad’s things once again and try to ask him some more questions.
The director of the museum, a nice woman of Asian type, sympathised me with my dad’s disappреarance and said that the man who works in the museum archives took the things from the person who brought them. The woman was so nice; she took me to the archives and introduced me to the man who turned out to be a native Tibetan. When I asked him about the person who brought the things and gave them to him, the keeper of the archives said that the man was very tall, bald with large shrewd blue eyes. I was sure that it was the monk my dad and his expedition met on their way to Shambhala.
At night I had a weird dream. I can tell it again and again. In this dream there’s the answer to what happened to my father and his guide. The dream was so clear that I remember every small detail…
Sir James with his hand, weak of tiredness, was finishing the last lines in the diary. The last lines in his life. But he didn’t know that yet. Even if he had known that, he wouldn’t care.
Tomorrow we’ll try to find a way to open the arch in the rock…
At last tiredness won the battle over his body and he, falling on his back, fell asleep at once. Lobsang, a Tibetan, sir James’ guide was sleeping nearby.
The earth was covered with snow that was why the travellers were sleeping in sleeping bags in the tent.
Everything died down. No birds’ singing and animals’ sounds were heard. Even the poor vegetation, mostly shrubs sticking out the snow by the rock, were silently swinging in the wind, like some actors performing a difficult pantomime. It became dark, but something started glimmering in the dark. The arch in the rock. The entrance to Shambhala… The glimmering increased and a divine fire enveloping the entrance appeared on the threshold.
Lobsang gave a start and woke up. His dark eyes, in which one wouldn’t notice any tiredness, looked at the wonderful arch. Like hypnotized, the Tibetan stood up and went to the arch not noticing anything around him.
“Lobsang!” Sir James’ voice appeared in the air. He watched his guide walking to the burning entrance. Lobsang didn’t even look at his master.
The first flames of the white fire touched his body, and then the Tibetan was enveloped in flames completely. He disappeared in the fire. No scream, no moans of pain reached Sir James.
Now he was staring at the arch stunned by the bright white unreal fire.
“What’s going on?” asked the man. He stood up and walked to the entrance of the sanctuary. How strong was the wish to enter it and follow Lobsang! But how scary was the thought that he would have to go through the fire. “I must believe”, muttered Sir James, recalling the words of that weird monk. “Only my faith will bring me there”
Only faith.
He was approaching the arch.
Only faith.
Sir James screwed up his eyes and stepped into the fire.
A terrible scream spread over the Himalayas. The scream of fear and pain. It was floating in the air for some time, supported by the echo. As soon as it ceased, the fire melted. The entrance to the sanctuary closed. Now it was just an arch set into the rock, ready to accept a deserved or another victim, an unbeliever, who defiled the temple of Gods and stole the holy candle.
I woke up sweating…
September 2002 - January 2003
...We all must come through Fire.
Otherwise there won’t be any return…
(V. Sidorov "Brama’s Lotus")
Otherwise there won’t be any return…
(V. Sidorov "Brama’s Lotus")
Fluffy snow was lying like caps on rough peaks of the Himalayas. It reflected the rising sun, that’s why I had to narrow my eyes, but this protective reaction of human organism couldn’t spoil the impression of the view opened from the board of a light private plane that I rented. “Let me go to the Himalayas” sing Russians, and it’s not just for no particular reason. These mountains had always fascinated and attracted brave travelers who came there in search of the country of Gods, Shambhala. Wonderful Shambhala. Where is it? Where is this paradise situated on this planet? How do we get there? My father had always dreamt of finding this magic country like all other adventure-searchers who tried to answer these questions. He lacked magic like most rich people who lead a boring, measured, planned life. That’s why he would constantly day-dream about far away mysterious countries. But Shambhala had always been his favourite. He thought he would be the one who would find it.
His study was full of books about Tibet, Nepal and other regions situated there. His table was piled with ancient maps of Tibet; paintings by famous and not famous painters depicting the Himalayas hung on the walls. There were statues of Tibetan gods on the mantelpiece. I will always remember the scent of Tibetan sticks he used to burn. A lot of people considered him to be insane, but tried to conceal this, being scared of his title and the position in English society.
Only my mother, an aristocrat from head to foot could reproach her husband aloud. As for me, I would listen to father’s stories about the magic country Shambhala with a great interest. In my heart I dreamt of going there too, even if not to Shambhala then to Tibet which I heard and knew much about.
So, six months ago my father equipped an expedition and went for the search of Shambhala. Mother was against it, but then she realized that only this expedition would calm her husband down. He paid for everything: tickets, visas, equipment. His colleagues from the university went to this expedition with him; moreover they had to hire a guide, one of the natives who spoke English. Father chose a Tibetan guy, whose grandfather, according to his words, had been to the sanctuary. The guide happened to have grandfather’s maps which the latter drew when he was in the mountains. Only four people in the group… But I couldn’t join them as I had to go to France to sign a very important and beneficial contract. We didn’t hear anything from my father for several months. My mom was going crazy. She would tell me to send another expedition to Tibet to look for her husband. Everybody considered him and his group to disappear. But a few days ago I got a call from Tibet and they told me they had found my father’s things in the mountains. Everything had been taken to Lhasa and I decided to go to Tibet to pick up the found things myself. It would be easier if they sent the things to England, but I wanted to kill two birds with one stone: to be on the mysterious Tibetan land and find something out about my father and his expedition.
***
We had been flying for more than an hour, but I wasn’t tired at all in spite of the fact that my trip had lasted for long already. Watching the Himalayan peaks I was thinking that my father might be somewhere there, lying in the snow. I wanted to believe that he was still alive, but this confidence was fading slowly.
At last the plane landed and I stepped on the rough soil, covered with hard grass. The Holy soil of Snow Country. Oh my! How I dreamt of getting here! Unfortunately I came here because of some tragic circumstances not for fun.
Having arrived in Lhasa, I went to the local museum where my father’s things had been delivered to. I saw discoloured backpacks, damped cameras and a thick diary in a leather cover, cracked because of the cold. My father’s diary. It was a miracle that the pages didn’t get soaked. It seemed as if someone from above wanted this book to be read.
I took all the things with me to the inn to check everything in a quiet environment. I sent my mother an email saying that I got here all right and I would stay in Tibet for a few days.
First of all I started reading my dad’s diary. It’s not like me to read diaries of other people, as well as their private letters. So, even considering my father to be a very close person to me, I started reading the diary from the day when the expedition began, skipping first pages with private writings. I was absorbed in reading and didn’t notice that lunch time came. I read while reading… After I had finished, I realized that everything that those who surrounded my father considered to be fantastic and crazy, was real. The only thing I can do is to publish my father’s diary to make people believe in impossible.
August 15, 2001
The first day of the expedition. The weather is wonderful. Lobsang is a great guide, he knows the area perfectly, he also has a great number of medicinal herbs with him. Unfortunately, it’s not physically possible for me to describe all our adventures in detail, so I will be writing about the most important events. After leaving Lhasa we went to Shigadze, and then to a tiny village at the foot of the Himalayas. We spent a night there. I want to get to the mountains as soon as possible. There was an opportunity of asking Lobsang about his granddad and I didn’t lose it. He told us that his granddad, just like me, had always dreamt of finding Shambhala all his life. He believed it must be hidden somewhere in the mountains. So he went to look for it. They hadn’t heard from him for months and the whole family decided that he had died walking in the mountains, but one night he came back. He didn’t remember how he got back, he would say that a mysterious man helped him. Lobsang’s grandfather would say that he had been to Shambhala and Gods let him go to bring this news to other people. He said he had been there, but he couldn’t remember anything specific. What was in Shambhala? What did Gods look like? What was happening there? He could give any answer to such questions. The only thing that the old man remembered was a tall tower with a gold dome. [according to the legend the Chintamani stone is situated there. This is a magic stone from the Oreon constellation]. Lobsang’s grandfather had a map that he had drawn himself with the instructions how to get to the place. He said he had left signs, arrows, on rocks which should be followed. It seemed that Gods considered that information to be enough to be given to people, so he died in his dream a few days later. Lobsang’s house suffered from the fire later. All grandfather’s things except for his maps burned. Lobsang knew that he must follow in his grandfather’s footsteps and go to Shambhala. He had been looking for this opportunity for a long time.
August 16
Lobsang said he knew the mountains very well. He is leading us along deserted, tangled paths, following his granddad’s map. I am not sure we can trust it, but this map is the only thread that binds us with the mysterious place we are going to. We started going up the mountains. The weather is fine here, but the cold wind is blowing. We stayed for a night in a cave. Somebody has already been here before us – we found trash and burned tree branches.
August 17
I think about what I am going to do when I find Shambhala. I have an impression that if this happens and my dream becomes true, I won’t be able to come back. Why? I don’t know. Nobody ever came back from Shambhala. Except for Lobsang’s grandfather. But was he telling the truth? Probably the old man just became nuts, walking in the mountains and gave way to his sick imagination.
We continue our way in the mountains. Chris started coughing. He says there’s nothing wrong, probably the clear air is to blame. Indeed, the higher we go up, the harder we breathe.
August 18
We found a small deserted hut. The roof has nearly rotten through, but at least there’s a kind of roof… We decided to stay there to save strength. Plus Chris is feeling worse. Now he has a temperature. It’s not high, but I am worried anyway. I gave him some medicine and decided not to inject penicillin, because I don’t know what he got. I am afraid he has pneumonia.
I was sitting by the hut on the ledge and looking at stars. I remembered Mary and Eugene. I wonder how they are doing.
I was thinking about what life is. I think that life is a road. But the road ending for everybody the same. People are always in search of something. They are looking for something, going somewhere. They go along life. It’s easy to complete this way for some of them, but it’s full of holes, dangers and spokes which are put in their wheels. What does my way look like? What’s my road? Why am I going somewhere when I know that my road will end like the road of others?
It’s weird. I am not that old and I already have such thoughts. Probably I should blame the clear magic air of Tibet and the Himalayas, which gets into your soul and makes you be a philosopher. Of course I put down my thoughts not very understandably, but writing down one’s thoughts is not an easy task. You can think about thousands of things at once, they mix in your head, appear and disappear, but you understand them and you can make them out. When you try to write them down in a correct order, you can’t do a thing.
August 19
Chris is much worse. He has fever and a cough. Charlie and I are carrying his things to make his trip easier. I suggest that he should go back, but he is against that. I seriously suspect pneumonia. It’s good that I have medicines with me. I gave him penicillin and Lobsang brewed some medicinal herbs. He refused to tell me the name of this tea saying that this is his family secret. I didn’t insist – another nation, different stereotypes.
August 20
Chris died in his sleep. Lobsang said that such death is unworthy for Tibetans. A Tibetan must suffer a lot before dying to get to Heaven. We mourn Chris. One of us has left. Weak lungs, clear air and cold mountains are to blame. We left the body by the path. Lobsang said that the soil was too hard to bury the man. If we come back, we’ll take the body with us to the village. It will last out in snow and Tibetan cold climate. I hope that animals won’t eat him up. I can’t write anything more, my mood is not the best.
August 21
I was dying of cold at night! So was Charlie. Lobsang is used to being cold – it’s in Tibetans’ blood. My hands wouldn’t work when we were packing to continue our trip. I should say that Lobsang brews some wonderful tea. You drink it and you warm up immediately. Lobsang is a gift for travelers. We are very lucky with him.
But we don’t drink only Tibetan tea. I have English gin in my flask. It helps me and Charlie from the cold. Lobsang refuses drinking it, he prefers Tibetan national drinks.
We saw a small brook with clear water. Lobsang said we could drink the water.
August 22
It was one of the calmest evening so far. We sat by the fire talking. Lobsang told us a lot about Tibet and the mountains. He recalled his childhood when he flew kites. Actually this is one of the most popular games among Tibetan kids. Monks even built large ones and flew on them. There is a legend that Gods flew to Tibet on huge kites. Lobsang also told us about mysterious caves hidden in the mountains. They say that Gods’ things are stored there. And those Gods lived millions of years ago. Tibetan lamas and Dalai-Lama know where this caves are, but they keep this secret thoroughly.
All these Tibetan legends and stories are very interesting for me. I have benn interested in Tibet for years and I can’t help wondering how many amazing things this small nation knows. Few people believe in what Tibetans say, but if you lend an ear to all their legends and myths , you realize that you know everything about the world and its mysteries. You can find an explanation to any wonders of nature, which we, scientists, find inexplicable. You can tell the way Egyptian pyramids were built, if Atlantis ever existed and how it was destroyed, if Darwin was right, whether UFO’s are real or not… You feel proud for yourself and for your faith. Because you were able to believe... Faith is everything.
August 23
We are going up the mountains. Higher and higher. Lobsang says that if nothing is wrong, we’ll reach the road that supposedly leads to Shambhala.
I want to note that many travellers who went to look for the City of Gods, considered it to be in Tian-Shan. But thanks to my research of a great number of myths, legends and tales, I can surely say that Shambhala is a country hidden in the Himalayas. It has a lot of names. Buddists call it Shambhala, Indians call it Kalapa, Russians call it Belovodye. But all of them believe in its existence.
Lobsang grandfather told him that Shambhala is situated in another dimension and only a spiritually prepared man can enter it. Shambhala must want to accept a person. But this doesn’t stop me. Probably Gods will take pity on me and let me come in their world. Surprisingly we go forward with a striking rapidity! In spite of Chris’ death which struck us, everything goes on swimmingly. Too suspiciously… I hope we’ll have success.
August 24
On our way we met a very weird monk. I wonder how he got there. The monk was very tall and absolutely bald. But the weirdest feature was his eyes. Large, blue, shrewd eyes. He seemed to be reading our thoughts. When we told him we were looking for Shambhala, he said he would take us there with pleasure, but he had got a mission which he must complete. When we parted and continued our trip, he hailed us and said: “Only deserved can find and enter Shambhala. Other won’t be able to do that. Only a believer can enter the sanctuary. Faith will bring you there. I know that only two of you will be able to do that if they believe in their abilities. The third one is doomed to fail.” Then he turned back and continued his trip. Who was he? He didn’t look like a common Tibetan. We felt calm in his presence, but we couldn’t say or ask anything extra. It was as if he had cast a spell on us. I am still thinking about his words. Who are these two people? Who will be able to reach Shambhala? And who is the third one? I am sure that the monk came from Shambhala. Lobsang and Charlie agree with me. Lobsang said that probably that man was one of Gods’ envoys. Now we don’t have any doubts about the existence of Shambhala. If only we could ask the monk about things!
August 25
A terrible day! Very terrible! The monk was right… When we were going along a narrow path which went along the edge of a steep rock, Charlie stumbled and fell down the abyss. His scream still fills my ears. I have known Charlie for long. He worked at the Archaeology department and we were friends. It is an irreplaceable loss not only for me and his family, but for the whole university too. Lobsang brewed some calming tea for me. I still can’t believe that Charlie doesn’t exist anymore. Our expedition is followed by an evil fate.
Now we know that we will find Shambhala if we believe in our abilities. But what are they??
Every night I dream about Eugene and Maria. They laugh at me and point at me with their fingers. They tease me. I know that in reality Eugene at least tries to believe me, when Maria denies all my ideas about Shambhala. But in spite of this, I miss them a lot, they are my family.
August 26
Lobsang woke me up this morning. He was very excited. He found a sign on the rock – an arrow pointing up. The guide is sure his granddad left this sign for him. We had to climb the mountain. Thank God it wasn’t that high. When we went up to the top, we found ourselves on a small semicircular ledge from where a wonderful view on Tibet opened. It was hard to see anything down, because of the height, but I took some pictures anyway.
We are going on a rough soil. It is getting warmer. Lobsang says that this is because of hot springs under the earth. It’s nice to sleep on warm soil.
August 27
There was a surprising event last night. I woke up because of a bright light, and first I thought that our trip was a dream and Maria came to wake me up and turned on the light. But in reality a shining ball flew above our camp. A UFO! I never denied the existence of extraterrestrial life and now I believed in it completely! But it seems to me that the spaceship was flying to Shambhala. Lobsang, who witnessed this “flying saucer” too, agrees. He said that Tibetans often see flying spheres above the mountains and local people believe that Gods fly there and look at them. I couldn’t fall asleep for a long time.
August 28
Why am I going anywhere? Who will explain it to me? Why haven’t I stayed in a warm cozy manor instead of walking in the mountains looking for something impossible to believe?
Mother…Father… You would probably be proud of me getting to know that your son has grown up like that. But maybe you would reproach me with leaving my family and going to another country to look for other gods…
August 29
The earth is getting warmer. We saw one of the springs. It spat boiled water and was wrapped up in steam. My whisky is coming to an end. Our expedition suffered too much for me not to drink the whole flask up. Lobsang says that Shambhala is not far. We saw another arrow made of stones on the road. It pointed to the north.
Actually it became very quiet. We can’t hear birds singing, we can’t hear animals… It seems as if everything had died out.
August 30
In the morning we found a secret passage n the rock. Lobsang was the first to tell me about that. There was a sign (a cross) which Lobsang’s grandfather made. It turned out that if you press on the cross, part of the rock slides to the right. What an amazing mechanism! I couldn’t find out how it worked though.
Through the passage we came up a small river. It is drawn on the grandfather’s map, but there is no river on mine, which I brought from England. I tried to find out where we are, but failed. As if we got into another dimension! Lobsang wasn’t surprised at all, just the opposite, he became glad that his grandfather was telling the truth. In spite of the love and respect for the old man, Lobsang evidently had some doubts, but now they disappeared.
I took a rubber raft so went down the stream. The water was flowing fast, so we had to try hard not to bump into sharp stones sticking out. Fortunately I knew how to operate the raft. At last we reached a small snowy island with a weird building – a temple made of white stone. It’s hard to call it a temple, as we didn’t find any murals or stands for scent sticks or anything that a Buddhist temple usually has. It was a large white tower standing on a small island. The base was made of bricks lain between two wooden laying. The top of the tower was thick and bent out making a kind of a cap peak along the perimeter. A golden dome crowned the centre of it. On the cap peak there were characters. The temple didn’t have any gate or doors. There was just an open entrance. Inside the temple were emerald-green lamps hung from wooden sticks on both sides of the entrance. They weren’t lit and we didn’t light them. Moreover, it was not understandable how to open the glass lampshade.
There was a thick candle standing on a wooden pedestal. It smelled nice, was about ten inches in diameter and eight inches in height. There were weird signs carved on the candle. I couldn’t tell what it was made from, it looked like wax, but I am not sure. It was emerald-green too. I have never seen such a beautiful tint. Unusual feelings filled me. I can’t describe what I felt entering the tower… A kind of delight and light… Lobsang felt the same. He sat on the wooden floor of the temple and started praying. I am sure that this building has some connection with Shambhala. Even my guide can’t tell what religion this temple belongs to. I tool the candle with me. Lobsang was trying to persuade me to leave it in the temple, but I didn’t yield to his persuasions. I have to bring some evidence of the existence of the unusual tower and the mystic river to England.
After a short rest we went on walking down the river. We flew through mystic gate built between two rocks. It consisted of two columns with a triangular roof on top. By the way, it was of the same emerald-green colour as the candle. So fascinating!
At last we reached another snowy shore. It wasn’t an island this time. Lobsang went to find some tree branches to make a fire. I was putting up a tent. He came back excited, he found the arch his granddad was talking about. It was in the rock, and was in the shape of the entrance to that mysterious temple on the island. But it wasn’t possible to enter it, because it was set into the stone. Suddenly we both felt tired…
It hard for me to write now. My hands don’t move. I want to sleep badly. Lobsang is sleeping already and I am still trying to find strength and finish the writing. Tomorrow we’ll try to find a way to open the arch in the rock…
These were the last lines in my father’s diary. I was wondering what happened afterwards. I wondered if they had entered Shambhala through that weird arch.
I was too excited and I went for a walk along the streets of Lhasa. Passing by the museum I thought I should thank the man who brought my dad’s things once again and try to ask him some more questions.
The director of the museum, a nice woman of Asian type, sympathised me with my dad’s disappреarance and said that the man who works in the museum archives took the things from the person who brought them. The woman was so nice; she took me to the archives and introduced me to the man who turned out to be a native Tibetan. When I asked him about the person who brought the things and gave them to him, the keeper of the archives said that the man was very tall, bald with large shrewd blue eyes. I was sure that it was the monk my dad and his expedition met on their way to Shambhala.
At night I had a weird dream. I can tell it again and again. In this dream there’s the answer to what happened to my father and his guide. The dream was so clear that I remember every small detail…
Sir James with his hand, weak of tiredness, was finishing the last lines in the diary. The last lines in his life. But he didn’t know that yet. Even if he had known that, he wouldn’t care.
Tomorrow we’ll try to find a way to open the arch in the rock…
At last tiredness won the battle over his body and he, falling on his back, fell asleep at once. Lobsang, a Tibetan, sir James’ guide was sleeping nearby.
The earth was covered with snow that was why the travellers were sleeping in sleeping bags in the tent.
Everything died down. No birds’ singing and animals’ sounds were heard. Even the poor vegetation, mostly shrubs sticking out the snow by the rock, were silently swinging in the wind, like some actors performing a difficult pantomime. It became dark, but something started glimmering in the dark. The arch in the rock. The entrance to Shambhala… The glimmering increased and a divine fire enveloping the entrance appeared on the threshold.
Lobsang gave a start and woke up. His dark eyes, in which one wouldn’t notice any tiredness, looked at the wonderful arch. Like hypnotized, the Tibetan stood up and went to the arch not noticing anything around him.
“Lobsang!” Sir James’ voice appeared in the air. He watched his guide walking to the burning entrance. Lobsang didn’t even look at his master.
The first flames of the white fire touched his body, and then the Tibetan was enveloped in flames completely. He disappeared in the fire. No scream, no moans of pain reached Sir James.
Now he was staring at the arch stunned by the bright white unreal fire.
“What’s going on?” asked the man. He stood up and walked to the entrance of the sanctuary. How strong was the wish to enter it and follow Lobsang! But how scary was the thought that he would have to go through the fire. “I must believe”, muttered Sir James, recalling the words of that weird monk. “Only my faith will bring me there”
Only faith.
He was approaching the arch.
Only faith.
Sir James screwed up his eyes and stepped into the fire.
A terrible scream spread over the Himalayas. The scream of fear and pain. It was floating in the air for some time, supported by the echo. As soon as it ceased, the fire melted. The entrance to the sanctuary closed. Now it was just an arch set into the rock, ready to accept a deserved or another victim, an unbeliever, who defiled the temple of Gods and stole the holy candle.
I woke up sweating…
September 2002 - January 2003
