Prayers for Peace at the Top of the World

Minkiani Pass

I’m not sure that my legs would have carried me up the steep incline had I not had three weeks of daily walking in this hilly rocky region. My fourth visit here, it’s inconceivable that I’d never hiked further than the small waterfall here in Bhagsu.

My friends planned a spur of the moment trek, mostly in my honor, attending to every detail, including buying the ingredients for a delicious meal that was prepared by Pappu, and a special vegetarian one for me.

We motorcycled until reaching the edge of the pass, proceeding to hike up at a pretty brisk pace for the next two hours. Manu had warned me that about midway there would be a pretty precipitous climb, a craggy rock gradient that had my heart racing beyond that of my legs. I stopped several times, looking out at the spectacular view, giving myself a few seconds to catch my breath before continuing on.

My friends made the trek look like a walk in the park, but they reminded me that they have lived in these mountains all of their lives. And, as I told them, I’m just a city girl.

With the treacherous rocky terrain, where one false move could have sent me over the edge, I kept my eyes primarily focused on the path right in front of me, which is how I came to notice the myriad of heart shaped rocks of various contours and sizes, most of them too large to pocket. While it’s fairly typical for me to see heart shapes in nature, especially in rocks (I have a collection of a few dozen at home) I had never seen this many in one place.

Our hike took us through a dense forest of lush evergreens with pockets of modest homes tucked away in the rolling hillsides. As we passed a young woman who was washing laundry - behind her a snowy peak jutting straight out of the earth - I wondered how it would be to live there, out in the middle of nowhere, with the backdrop of majestic mountains.

Manu told me that a very powerful Hindu temple was at the top of the pass, where purportedly, prayers made there get answered. Upon hearing that, my mind started entertaining possible requests I could make. The health and safety of family and friends seemed wise choices.

Sweet relief swept over me when we reached the top to a breathtaking panoramic view of snow-covered mountains and the temple adorned with marigold flower garlands. It felt like we were standing at the top of the world, the expanse of the azure blue sky opening into the ethers of nothingness.

Pappu, Manu, Sanjeev and Aju took off their shoes and went straight to the temple, asking me to join them inside. As soon as I sat down on the cool cement floor I knew what prayers I would send up in the spiraling smoke of the incense fashioned into the shape of a cone.

A quiet rapture filled the dimly lit sanctuary as we smudged the smoke of our incense over the deities. Having never paid my respects in a Hindu temple before now, I took my cues by watching what my friends were doing. Manu dabbed each of our foreheads with the ochre colored powder signifying that we had visited the temple. Afterwards, he gave us each a handful of Prasad, a mixture of sweet puffed rice, golden raisins and slices of coconut.

I don’t subscribe to Hinduism (nor any brand of religion) so am not familiar with it’s rituals, though I had no qualms about worshipping with my friends. Prayer is universal; it belongs to all religions, though does not need the structure of any to be practiced.

In a quiet moment of morning yoga I pray, meditate, visualize. My prayer today was going to be no different. I would pray for peace in my heart. Peace on earth. Something that I have been wishing for since a young girl, blowing dandelion fairies into the wind and finding lone stars in the night sky.

It was then, when I started visualizing my prayer for peace that I realized that the heart shaped rocks were messages of what to pray for. The prayer was there, scattered all along the path. And then afterwards, appearing in the shape of a cloud lazily floating above the highest mountain peak.

After worship we got to work preparing food, cutting vegetables, shelling peas, and slicing apples for appetizers. While the food was cooking I ventured away from camp to take photographs, mesmerized by the view and the sense of awe that it provoked.

 We weren’t alone atop Minkiani, a 7000 ft. Pass. A group of men were busily chipping away at large boulders with pick axes and hammers. There were also a few families that came to pay their homage at the temple. Two young boys, who knew that there was a foreigner amongst our group, came down to the area where we were sitting to feed me Prasad, smiling proudly at their deed.

After eating, we sat talking and taking photos in the midday sun. In an instant, a massive cloud cover sent the guys scrambling to clean up so that we could start working our way back down the mountain. They knew the signs of possible impending weather changes, so wasted no time in washing the dishes and packing things up.

Our descent was slower, everyone tired from the arduous climb up. We met several school children on the path, as well as Shepard’s with their herds of sheep, and some grazing cows. We met the darkness just as we returned to where the motorcycles were parked, good timing since not even the abundant night stars could’ve shined brightly enough to light our way home.

From Bhagsu, India - December 2006