Resham Firiri - By Nayana Gadkari

 I am the great seer, I am Om, I am the silent prayer, I am immovable, I am the Himalayas - Bhagavad Gita verse interpretation.

You see, the Himalayas, are not a mountain range. The Himalayas are an emotion. They are a vibe. They echo the very sound of the universe. And how do I know this, you ask? I had the good fortune of spending ten blissful days wandering and seeking those magnificent mountains, resplendent in their full monsoon glory. 

When I started penning my thoughts about my time in the place closest to the heavens, I wondered if I should write a day-by-day account. I decided against it. Because up there, close to "Shangri La" time isn't neatly broken down into twenty-four-hour segments. It's delineated by each mountain you climb, each valley you traverse, every dew-glistened flower you see, and ever so significantly, who you experience it with. 

The Annapurna Circuit Trek was the hardest thing I have ever done. Nothing has come close to the level of physical and mental fortitude it took to take on multi-day strenuous long hikes at oxygen-deprived altitudes. Strangely enough, though, one gets centered because of the pain. Each breath becomes precious, each step forward is cherished, and each drop of water is savored. This is gratitude at its most raw, unabashed. The Himalayas are vibrationally so pure that the heightened sense of consciousness due to physical pain turns transcendental. 

After our trek, I have pondered several times, what was the one thing I cherished most during this trip? Can one truly timebox Nirvana? Could I pick just one Stuppa, each symbolic of Buddha's enlightened mind, amongst the countless we saw dotted along the endless mountain tops? Or the prayer wheels with scrolls. Or was it the Gangapurna glacier that looked like a solid block of uncut diamond with sun rays hitting its top, creating pools of molten gold and gaudy plumes of feathery clouds. Or the behemoths of the Annapurna peaks with their own weather systems? Or the roaring one hundred and fifty kilometers long Marsyangdi River. Or those relentless thundering waterfalls cleansing, creating rainbows, imploring us to let go and let God.

Or was Nirvana the group meditation session at Chongkor Point during the acclimatization hike in Manang. It seemed as though the energies of the glacier converged with ours to create this swirling spire of radiant light that gushed through my entire being, morphing into a river of tears rolling down my face with wild abandon, and I didn't care. I wept in gratitude, I wept in awe, I wept in love. 

Or was it the endless lush green valleys set against the backdrop of mighty mountains with newly minted monsoon grass? Or the wild horses grazing gently alongside mooing cows and bleating goats and sheep. 

Oh, but how it changed as we got higher. Vegetation couldn't survive the lack of a life-giving atmosphere, so how dare we !!! But we dared, trusted, and climbed higher than the timberline on blind faith that our bodies could adapt. And where the body would fail, as it surely must, the mind would take over as it surely did...

One incredible thing was happening through all this: over 45 people of various abilities moved together as one organism. Yes, we were dotted all over the mountainside but fully invested in the other. We weren't physically roped together, but we had a golden thread of light looped through us all. We felt the same pain, the same joy, the same enlightenment. "Dal Bhat" became life-sustaining food. "Dimox" breaks were the butt of our jokes, quite literally! We were caked in mud, faces streaked with sunburns, and showers were ...wait, what showers? Each of us came undone to our very cellular level from whence we were born; we had no sense of "I," only a sense of "we." 

The steadfast support from our Nepalese guide friends was nothing short of divine. They moved in stealth mode, behind us, around us, carrying us, carrying for us, always ensuring every single one of us met the goal we had set for ourselves. They were the real heroes! We heard stories of their Everest climbs and how at least one of them was involved in a high-risk rescue of two mountaineers. They were the hand of God, and that is still a mighty understatement!

Just before our final brutal ascent to Thorong La Pass, we met a fellow traveler, guitarist, and wanderer, Bardan, a young kid with an old soul. That's when I first heard it...he played "Resham Firiri"...an old Nepalese trekking song. It had the most haunting notes filled with longing and promise and love and adventure. I will never know how music transcends language, and I want to remain intrigued forever. The song talks about "resham," silk fluttering in the wind, and how the poet couldn't decide between staying on top of the mountain top or flying to his lover. The lovers would forever wander the mountains together...I want that to be my lasting memory of the Himalayas. Of love and lovers. Of faith and hope. Of fortitude and resilience. 

Resham Firiri, Resham Firiri

Udera Jaau ki, danda maa Bhanjyang

Resham Firiri….!

Om Mani Padme Hum