We left the house around 8 am, later than we had planned the day before. We wanted to advance earlier, so as not to be caught on the way by the scorching mountain sun. Here, at an altitude of 2 kilometers, the atmosphere becomes less dense, and the body becomes vulnerable to burning ultraviolet light, let alone a high plateau, where we headed. But, fortunately, on this day the sun was covering the clouds, and it was cool enough in contrast to the hot days that had already stood a few weeks before. Lucky, I thought.
Straight from our house, the path went sharply up the stones, passing through a forest covered with tall and slender Himalayan cedars. Eyes constantly scanned the area between shrubs and boulders to find a suitable path. And ears listened to their surroundings, catching amazing trills of various birds in the mountains.
Unheated muscles ached a bit from a steep ascent, but soon we stepped onto a more gentle mountain dirt road, along which, grunting and sticking with tires, cars drove, leaving behind them dense clouds of dust in the air. The road led us to a small cafe where we wanted to drink local tea with milk. We decided not to rush too much and get the maximum pleasure from the climb, as there was still enough time.
There were five of us. I, the spouse, a young couple from America and our Indian friend Manoj. And all this motley company is located under an umbrella on the territory of a small mountain cafe. Around went mules, horses, cows and bulls. Animals drank from a small pool, located next to our table.
We drank tea, joked, laughed and moved on in a cheerful mood. The road was relatively flat. She rushed almost to the plateau itself, smoothly skirting the gorge. Therefore, the rise was not very difficult. Within 10 minutes of the journey, we were able to distinguish from the height our house and the small village in which it was located. The houses were located right on the slope. Both here and there between the squat stone buildings and miniature temples were scattered small rye fields and pastures for cattle. Due to the fact that the relief was tilted, the local people had to pull out small flat terraces for agricultural needs: pastures and fields were located as if on steps.
The view was very beautiful, despite the fact that clouds began to appear.
The last thing I wanted was that the storm, which happened here very often, would take us up to the plateau. The day before, I prudently read a couple of articles about what to do in a thunderstorm in the mountains. I learned that it is impossible to stay on the highest points, since the lightning can strike there, and it is better to camp below the slope. But we had no choice how to camp. The Triund Plateau, where we were heading, is a relatively flat elongated area at the very top of the mountain, formed by the encountered slopes. This site is also called ridge. And if the storm clouds will be above it, then the plateau will be a great place for lightning.
Having the experience of mountain hiking, I had to fall into bad weather high in the mountains. It would seem, why be afraid? But here in the Himalayas, storms are really violent, especially at night. Howls so that the chairs blows from the balcony, and from the voltage drop switches off the electricity.
Therefore, I anxiously peered into the frowning sky, not wanting to be upstairs in a tent in a storm.
But what to do, we must go further.
Tourists came to meet Triunda. Among them were both Europeans and Indians from other states, as well as representatives of the local Gaddi mountain tribe. Considering counter Indians, I could not help but imagine a picture of the residents of the former USSR from old school textbooks.
In the picture you could see the inhabitants of different republics, and each of them was in his national dress, had his own facial features, due to belonging to a particular ethnic group. It's amazing that all these people lived in the same country. Now in Russia you will not meet such a pronounced diversity of national dresses and traditions. Can not be said about India.
We meet the Sikhs of the Punjabs in their turbans of various colors. More light-skinned and modernly dressed Indians were most likely “metropolitan”, from Delhi or Mumbai. And local Gaddi, accustomed to constant ascents, quietly climbed the mountain without showing signs of fatigue, unlike tourists. These were men with skin wrinkled from the mountain sun in skullcaps and women in multi-colored shawls with gold earrings in their noses and ears.
And the most interesting thing is that different groups of Indians could speak different languages! I even learned the greetings in Punjabi and Hindi, intended for representatives of various nationalities of India, whom I met on the road.
Greeting almost every counter, not forgetting to look at his feet, we slowly climbed to the top Triund. This was my second trip there. From the last hike, I remembered a small gorge along the road in which that time there was snow: an unprecedented attraction for Indians. But this time he was not there because of the heat, which stood before. I was a little upset, as I hoped that our Indian friend Manoj could touch the snow for the first time in his life and would even take a photo with him. But okay, next time.
Beyond the gorge, a steeper ascent began to the plateau itself. The last and most intense moments of recovery. Caught in the rain, we stopped in the middle of take-off. A little away from the path, under a large boulder, there was a kind of small cave. There we sheltered from bad weather.
Despite the fact that we were a bit cold and tired, we had a great time under this big rock. It was cozy and dry. We laughed and joked a lot, it was a lot of fun! And when the rain stopped, we again moved up. And here we finally overcame the last steep section of the road and found ourselves on the Triund Plateau, open to all winds.
Behind us, far below, lies the valley of Kangra, and in front of us the panorama of the first snow-shining peaks of the greatest mountain range has opened.
Despite the height of 3 kilometers, which can seem impressive if you are in any other mountains, the Himalayas are just beginning at such a height!
There in the East there is nothing but mountains for more than two thousand kilometers! Mountains, mountains, mountains and snowy silence. Wow!
We stood on a narrow plateau in comparison with the scale of the surrounding landscape. Front and rear abyss. Here over this strip under the endless sky and between the high mountains you feel like "on the perch", a little sparrow that sits on the telegraph wires and can be blown away by any gust of wind.
Due to the fact that the surface of the plateau was relatively flat and dotted with grasses and shrubs, it served as a grazing spot for local tribes. Among the imperturbable munching mountain goats, little goats were hopping, bouncing. In the other direction, the horses thundered and chewed the mules.
Bypassing the herds and the ubiquitous manure, we began to look for a suitable place for the camp, until several flat places were in sight, were near large boulders. There we are located. After a short rest, we went in search of firewood and water.
After some time, near our camp, there were already quite good supplies of water from a stream and a rather big stack of firewood. I looked at this dry tree with a sense of gratitude, knowing that it would become our source of heat on this cold Himalayan night. It seems to me that all of our company experienced a similar mood. Such feelings are very rarely experienced when in the city.
As we settled down our lodging for the night, the clouds cleared, and the setting sun began to illuminate the snowy peaks in the east. It was very beautiful: pink, purple hues of sunset spread on a steep snowy slope against the sky of a special contrasting, blue color, which can only be seen at sunset in clear weather.
The rain that caught us on the way up, nailed to the ground all the dust that rises here in the dry days. Therefore, the visibility was wonderful: the colors and outlines of mountains, trees and valleys in the west, plunging into darkness, were visible with amazing clarity.
When it was almost dark, we lit a fire next to a large stone, which very conveniently sheltered us from the wind and reflected the heat of the flame. It was very pleasant and comfortable to sit inside a small island of heat and light in the midst of the gathering around the cold and dark.
True, the feeling of anxiety associated with the possibility of a thunderstorm did not leave me. Within the city walls, such fears may seem confusing or even ridiculous. But when you find yourself in the mountains, the feeling of some kind of vulnerability, dependence on elements, from which sometimes there is no place to sharpen, intensifies. Here, on this narrow strip accessible to all winds, high above a precipice, this fear only blossomed.
Moreover, the wind began to grow. Something flashed in the west, on the horizon in the distance, and I noted to myself, not without alarm, that it could be lightning. I tried to relax, to turn my attention, but this did not help much at that moment: the pictures of a violent storm blowing the tents and striking stones with lightning did not leave my imagination.
When I approached the edge of the plateau, where our American friends went for a walk, I saw something that increased my anxiety. From the west came the thunderhead. Flashes of lightning flashed in the clouds, opening for short moments to our eyes the gray and gloomy insides of thunderstorm clouds.
It seemed to me that my alarm was not transmitted to my American friends. They seemed to enjoy this magnificent sight. I would also consider it beautiful if I was not afraid.
How many beautiful moments of life fear kills! How many happy moments he takes to oblivion meaningless and irrevocable! The loss of these moments would make sense if it were not so meaningless.
What is the point of being afraid? Often there is no point in this.
How many people live their precious years of life in fear that they will fall ill with a deadly disease or die from an accident. Day after day, they are worried and worried about the fact that so inevitably approaches them with each passing day. But since death is inevitable, why waste life and worry about what will happen?
We are all sitting in an invisible death row and we don’t know what the term is prepared for us, and how we will be executed. But why don't we spend this time with meaning and purpose, instead of shaking for fear of imminent demise?
In general, I thought, something needs to be done about it. I remembered how on the course on Buddhist meditation we were told that birth in the next life, including, depends on how you are dying in this life.
If you die in hatred and fear, then perhaps you are reborn somewhere in lower realities, in hell or in the realm of hungry ghosts. But if you perish with dignity, smile, acceptance and sympathy, then you are more likely to be born in more attractive spheres of life. These are, for example, the realms of gods or people.
Well, well, - I thought, - I don’t believe in it very strongly, nevertheless, there is some probability that this is true. And even if this is not true, then there is no point in dying in fear. Why not enjoy the last moments of life?
It turned out that both from the perspective of having life after death, and from the perspective of lack thereof, it is better to die with acceptance and dignity!
And at that moment I was seriously preparing to die. I began to talk about myself: what kind of death awaits me if it happens now on this mountain? A discharge with a capacity of millions of volts will pass through my body. Not such a bad death, fast enough. We must go to the fire and enjoy this night, this fire, these friends, instead of shaking with fear, - I decided. Especially if all this is fleeting and will soon disappear.
While I was going there, I realized that I had quite a big chance of staying alive that night. Why should I actually die? This is a popular tourist destination. Despite the constant storms, I did not hear that someone was killed by lightning strikes. Even if the lightning bolts here are of some kind of danger, it is not a fact that they fall into our or someone’s tent. And in general, - I remembered, - when bad weather comes from the valley, it usually does not reach the mountains, but dissipates on the way.
The thought of staying alive caused a rush of joy in me.
It was an amazing discovery! How the perspective changes, when instead of wanting to live and experience because of possible death, we prepare for the actual death and rejoice at the opportunity to live!
I realized even more deeply the fact that fear basically unfolds under conditions of a certain uncertainty of expectations, probabilistic development of events. One has only to face fear, to accept the event that we fear, as there is much less room for fear!
In other words, a person who is afraid of flying on an airplane horrifies the probability of a catastrophe, which may be less than one ten thousandth of a percent! But if you try to accept the possibility that this flight will end in disaster, try to pull yourself together, and be ready to meet death with dignity, then this will significantly change the perspective. Attention will go from the sphere of "I can die" to the sphere of "I can stay alive", which changes everything very much! And the probability of staying alive is many times greater than the possibility of an unfavorable outcome if you are flying a plane. It is better to enjoy 99.9999% to stay alive than to panic because of 0.0001% die. But for this you need to prepare for death.
Looking at the flames and listening to the silence of the night, I recalled how my fear found its extreme expression in panic attacks, powerful and sudden attacks of fear and panic. Proceeding from this experience and from the experience of people communicating with this ailment, I can say that we all fear no longer events as such, but the very possibility or likelihood of the occurrence of these events.
And this is manifested in thoughts that begin with the words: "what if?"
"What if the plane crashes?"
"What if I get poisoned?"
"What if lightning strikes our tent?"
In my article on getting rid of fear, I wrote that we rarely think about the very subject of our fear. And we are not horrified by the situations themselves, but by their shadows flashing in our mind, our ideas about them. Even less than a shadow.
Therefore, I tried to get rid of this "and suddenly" and began to direct attention not to what might happen, but to what seemed to happen with 100% probability! If lightning strikes the tent, what then? We must be ready for this, and not die, trembling with fear! It is necessary to imagine for a moment that what we fear will surely happen morally prepared for it.
But this is not a way to actually meet death. This is a way to sober up the mind. You noticed how my thinking changed after I began to reflect on actual death, having ceased to scroll through all these “suddenly?” For many of you, my fear probably seemed ridiculous: not so many people are killed by lightning. Yes, and now he seems funny to me too.
But many of you know how fears can come from almost nothing! And our cunning and sometimes uncontrollable mind picks up the slightest spark of anxiety and makes a fire out of it like the wind that inflates a dying flame. And under the influence of this fear, we stop thinking soberly: we exaggerate the danger, do not notice any obvious facts, in other words, we are in illusion.
Only after I decided that I would die, I realized that, in fact, this should not necessarily happen. Many people go to the plateau, and clouds from the valley, as a rule, do not reach the mountains. I did not think about all this at the moment of fear!
The acceptance of death is really sobering and tearing down the veil of illusion.
And this is not just my observation. Tibetan meditation teachers say that reflecting on death "ground" the mind. And they recommend a little to meditate on death, in case the mind is constantly distracted.
Agree, really, idle thoughts about a friend who bought a new car will dissolve along with the realization of the finiteness of our existence.
Death is not what we want to think about. But, paradoxically, death meditation can save us from many fears, illusions and help us enjoy life more!
With these thoughts, I looked at the flames of the fire dancing in the cold wind and gradually relaxed, starting to enjoy the atmosphere of this night.
Sometimes I feel as if I am sitting on a restless, unpredictable horse. This horse is my mind. He can go quietly for a while, and then throw out such things, trying to throw me off, his rider.
Many people face problems of depression and panic attacks. They try to “cure” this by correcting the chemical balance, unleashing the knots of childhood injuries. Многие из них не догадываются, что к этим проблемам их привел их собственный ум, который беспокоиться, переживает, выдумывает нереалистичные сценарии, много фантазирует, зацикливается на каких-то вещах и не видит все остальное. Это и только это есть основная проблема нашего душевного страдания и его причина. Ошибочно думать, что эти недуги начинаются внезапно, появляясь в каком-то зрелом возрасте, как гром посреди ясного неба. У многих людей уже с детства живут со своим беспокойным умом, но из-за того, что он до какого-то периода жизни не проявляет себя в острой форме депрессии или панического расстройства, они его не замечают и не отдают себе отчет, что привычка беспокоиться продолжает развиваться, если с ней ничего не делать. И совершенно неверно «лечить» само обострение, необходимо работать с тем, что стоит за ним: наш ум!
В тот момент, сидя у костра, я даже испытывал благодарность своему беспокойному. Если человеку всегда дают спокойного, податливого жеребца, разве он сможет стать хорошим наездником? Разве у него получится изучить все повадки этого животного и разработать средства, чтобы их обуздать?
…
Луна стояла высоко в небе, освещая снег гор, зеленый ковер плато и лысую поверхность валунов, раскиданных вокруг. Ночью было так светло, что не было нужды даже пользоваться фонариком. Кое-где догорали костры. А на небе появились звезды. Ночь была очень ясной. Шторм, который шел с запада, так и не дошел до нас, растворившись по дороге к горам в чистом небе.
Позже Манодж признался мне, что тоже сильно боялся ненастья в горах и поэтому установил Шива Лингам на камне - неотъемлемый атрибут бога Шивы, который, по его мнению, оберегал нас. Ведь считается, что Гималаи - это жилище и владение этого бога! Что ж, у каждого свои методы обретения спокойствия.
