by Vasudhendra
During dinner that night, his teammates were enthusiastically discussing the temperature. While one said it was minus ten degree Celsius, another argued it could be minus eight. Mohanaswamy was too jittery to participate in any of these discussions. David had served them noodles, but he couldn’t eat more than two mouthfuls. A throbbing headache and nausea was draining him out. ‘Oxygen levels are extremely low at this altitude, my child. Your body is struggling because it has not adapted to the changed atmosphere. But don’t worry. The body has immense power, it acclimatizes itself with all sorts of climatic conditions. But you must prepare your body by eating well. Without strength, how will you accomplish this uphill task?’ David gently tried persuading him to eat some more.
‘No, I just can’t bear to consume a single morsel…’ Mohanaswamy pushed his plate aside.
‘Then you must at least drink a glass of milk,’ David urged.
By the time he finished drinking the milk, he saw David with the cook and the porter, sitting around the fire, hogging the leftover noodles like they hadn’t eaten in days. Poverty is cruel. He pitied these Maasai men as he observed them polishing off whatever was left on the plates after the climbers had eaten. Unable to bear the unpleasant sight, he returned to his hut.
There were three huts, each one accommodating about twenty people on bunk beds. They had been served dinner as early as seven in the evening and were urged to sleep for a few hours before being woken up at midnight for the summit trek. Mohanaswamy could not sleep. He looked around. A young American couple slept cosily in a sleeping bag, snuggled into each other’s arms. An Italian gay couple fell silent after much squirming on the bed. In the far corner, an elderly couple from Denmark was fast asleep. A college student from England slept soundly on a bed on the other side. Their snoring filled the hut. There was absolutely no noise outside. No animals can live in Kilimanjaro as they cannot survive the extreme climatic conditions. Kilimanjaro is so lonely! It conceals the blazing fire in its womb while masquerading as a cold, icy mountain.
Mohanaswamy found himself pondering over his decision to climb the mountain. Why did I embark on this journey? Now I have landed in this strange land, surrounded by strangers. Why was I overwhelmingly driven by the word ‘Kilimanjaro’? Maybe I just wanted to escape from my mundane world. How delusional I’d been! Why was I so keen to summit Kilimanjaro even before I saw the Himalayas? Mohanaswamy tossed and turned on the bed. Soon it will be 11.30 and David will come to wake me up. I have to get up and go. I have to ascend the peak. There’s no escape. I’m helpless. I’m vulnerable. There is no way to avoid it. I have to keep going. Nothing ceases to move. Nothing reaches its destination. What the poet Kuvempu said is perhaps right.
They walked in the path of the light from the torches strapped to their foreheads. David took the lead and Mohanaswamy followed him, anxiety written all over his face. The two other boys did not want to come. They said they would stay back at the base and take care of Mohanaswamy’s luggage. Thwack … thwack … thwack … David hit the path with his stick as he marched ahead. Mohanaswamy followed the sound, placing his feet carefully in David’s wake. Even in real life there should have been someone to show me the path, guarding me through each and every step like this, Mohanaswamy thought. How could David negotiate the switchbacks so effortlessly in the dark? How did he know the slopes and bends so well? ‘Kilimanjaro is my home, my child. Here I can walk around anytime, even at night,’ David said with a laugh, almost as if he could read Mohanaswamy’s thoughts. He had climbed the mountain countless times.
With trekking poles in their hands, Mohanaswamy put one foot after the next making way through the sand and rock fragments. In some places, the rocks were capped with snow. Melting snow water mixed with sand filled the crevices between the rocks, emanating a strange smell. Stars filled the sky above. Mohanaswamy had not seen so many of them before. The air became thinner and oxygen levels dipped as they moved up. Mohanaswamy found himself gasping for breath and his thoughts strayed to philosophical musings yet again. When we are on the earth, we never realize the importance of oxygen. Abundance breeds contempt. Mohanaswamy felt that this extended to life, and we should never be easily available to anyone, lest we are taken for granted.
Air pressure decreased with each arduous step forward. Exhausted, Mohanaswamy sat down on the rocks every now and then, wishing time away. David would stop too, giving him water or peppermint.
‘David, tell me, after this painstaking journey what do we get to see from the peak?’ Mohanaswamy asked.
‘Nothing, my child. It is the summit point of Kilimanjaro, Africa’s highest peak, that’s all.’
‘In our country, there will normally be a temple on top of the hill, so that after climbing with so much difficulty, people can have a vision of god. You people should also set up a temple there.’
David was silent for a while. Mohanaswamy gasped and wished he hadn’t asked the question. But David slowly said, ‘For us Kilimanjaro Mountain itself is the god. Why do we need another temple?’
David’s statements often left Mohanaswamy nonplussed. Whenever Mohanaswamy, by force of habit, drew comparisons between the customs and practices in India and those prevailing in the rest of the world, David would stun him with unexpected answers. A similar episode had taken place the previous day. When they started from Horombo Hut, the porter and the cook, followed them carrying Mohanaswamy’s fifteen kilo bag full of clothes and other essentials and another heavy bag with the cooking stove, some utensils and groceries. David carried Mohanaswamy’s small backpack containing dry food, water and coffee. They were to be paid a few dollars for their services, the lion’s share of which would go to David and the remaining small amount to be distributed evenly between the other two.
‘In our Himalayas, donkeys are used for carrying luggage. Why don’t you all do the same here? Why do you exert yourselves like this?’ Mohanaswamy asked.
‘In that case, we will have to spend half our wages on feeding the donkeys. What do we eat then?’ David had snubbed him with his instant response.
Mohanaswamy became silent. The image of the trio stuffing their faces with leftover food at the mess floated unbidden before his eyes and turned his stomach. Unfamiliar terrains lay bare our personal weaknesses and faults. That’s why that we must travel. Mountains allow us to transform ourselves, to face realities and admit our vulnerabilities. They kill our ego and make us humble, Mohanaswamy’s mind wandered.
That night, the porter and the cook came to collect their wages. Handing them the dollar bills, Mohanaswamy probed, ‘Why don’t you both become guides like David? You can also earn more like him.’
‘No English, no dollar … donkey, donkey…’ the porter said, braying and flapping his palms behind his ears. Mohanaswamy did not know whether to laugh or cry at this gesture. But the cook had a good belly laugh.
‘Get up, my child. Let’s start. We should be at the summit before sunrise,’ David alerted him. Mohanaswamy rose reluctantly and started dragging his feet. Before the sun’s rays begin to poke through the clouds and turn the spotlight on the pitfalls of my life, I must finish my journey up to the destination through this inky night. A hundred salutes to darkness!
Before beginning his summit bid, Mohanaswamy had bundled himself in multiple layers of clothing – three pairs of trousers, four shirts, a pullover, three pairs of socks and two pairs of gloves. He had wrapped a muffler around his face, worn a monkey cap on top and strapped a head lamp to his forehead. Buckling under the weight of his clothing, Mohanaswamy found it difficult to bend and put on his hiking boots. David helped him out by sitting at his feet and tying the laces. Strangely, David hadn’t put on so many layers of clothing – he just wore his jeans, a shirt, a pullover and a coat. He wore thick socks and no boots, only a pair of chappals.
‘Don’t you feel the need to protect yourself in warm clothes?’ Mohanaswamy asked him.
‘Kilimanjaro is like my mother. She will always protect me,’ David said, smil
ing.
Mohanaswamy had started the climb much before the others as he was not able to sleep. With each step, he felt dog-tired and dizzy, stricken by altitude sickness. Fear churned inside him as he sweated under the thick cover of clothes. He wanted to stop and sit back every five minutes, but David had begun to give serious instructions. He didn’t allow him to sit and instead urged him to relax for a few seconds while standing. Mohanaswamy gazed up at the last trail he would ascend and all he could see was a line of small bright headlights going up the mountain under the star-studded sky. It was as if an entire galaxy had descended on the earth. He looked back to see some hikers trailing behind him at a distance with lights attached to their foreheads.
‘Why did you come alone, my child? You should have brought a friend or companion along with you,’ David said.
Mohanaswamy did not reply. He turned his head and saw the flashlights slowly approaching him. In a while, they would all move past him. He would be left behind. Well, it was he who was depleted of energy, not them. It was he who came to this unknown world all alone, not them. They were also exhausted like him but not devoid of hope. They also walked in the dark like him but unlike him, they did not suffer from crippling feelings of loneliness.
‘Water…’ he pleaded. David came a few steps back and poured hot water from the flask into a cup. They both took a few sips. Then Mohanaswamy began vomiting. He threw up whatever little noodles he had eaten for dinner. He sank to the ground, almost on the verge of tears. David came rushing and caressed his back. ‘Take care, my child, relax.’
Three separate lights came near them. It was the pair from Italy and their guide. ‘What happened?’ they asked. One of the couple advised him to have a piece of chocolate. ‘Honey, please give him a chocolate,’ the guy told his partner who promptly fished out a candy from his waist pouch and handed it to Mohanaswamy. ‘Hakunamatata,’ they said before leaving, a Swahili phrase which they had picked during the expedition, which roughly meant ‘don’t worry’. Other flashlights joined them soon, leaving Mohanaswamy where he was. Nobody waits for anybody. Everyone has their own path and destination.
‘Be fast, my child, we still have to climb one thousand metres. We don’t have much time,’ David urged him. Dead on his feet, Mohanaswamy staggered on. The chocolate tasted bitter in his mouth after those bouts of vomiting and nausea.
‘If you want to be a successful trekker you must bear one thing in mind, my child. Come what may, never back off. Never allow negative thoughts to waver your mind. Never consider descending before reaching your destination. No matter how tired you are, compose yourself and keep going. It is not enough to have a strong body. You must have a strong mind as well. Patience and perseverance. And one more thing, go steady, step by step. No need to show the zeal of a runner vying for a gold medal. We must respect the mountain we are climbing. Don’t ever think that you are going to conquer the mountain. Remember, if you show arrogance, you will be invoking the wrath the mountain. We humans cannot survive the fury of the nature.’
David had said these words to an Aussie who had given up the hike halfway through. In the beginning, that pretentious man had a smug smile on his face and was always in the vanguard, showing off his muscles, cracking jokes, dancing and singing to impress the team, especially the women. He behaved as though he was sure he would be the first one to land at the summit. But by the time they reached Horombo Hut, he ran out of steam. Sleepless and breathless, he had an unbearable headache and vomited vehemently. He got cold feet at the sight of the mountain and finally did a vanishing act before everyone else woke up next the morning. But strangely, the couple from Denmark who were in their sixties, had successfully covered the distance so far, continuing confidently with a slow and steady pace.
By the time they reached Gilman’s Point, oxygen levels had dipped drastically. Many more hikers walked past Mohanaswamy. As he trudged upward through the frigid air, Mohanaswamy’s body began giving up. Once or twice he even toyed with the idea of going back, but decided against it. No, I will not give up. And yet, it makes no difference in whichever direction I go, backwards or forward. If I go back there will be no one waiting for me. And even if I go forward, there will be no one for me. But keeping the foot forward makes some sense at least. I have already embarked on this journey. If I finish it successfully, I can be happy with the thought that I did not accept defeat. I have suffered enough defeats in life. I don’t want one more.
Gilman’s Point is said to have received its name after a mountaineer called Gilman, who was the first to scale it. Overjoyed by his success, he declared that it was the topmost point of Kilimanjaro. However, his joy was short-lived as another hiker proved that Uhru Peak was the topmost peak. So far we have believed in it, but something else may come up in the future and belie our notion. We don’t know what the future has in store for anyone, Mohanaswamy mused.
At Gilman’s Point, Mohanaswamy insisted that he would lie down and take rest for ten minutes. But David did not concede. ‘Better not, my child. Lying down will only make matters worse. You shouldn’t sleep at such high altitude. Due to low oxygen you may die in your sleep. Keep walking, we have almost reached Uhru Peak. Now it’s just a matter of two to three hours, that’s all. Look there, the eastern horizon is already crimson,’ he said, pointing to the sky.
‘You are worried that I may die, right? Well, I am not scared of death, David. But I must sleep right now,’ Mohanaswamy insisted and lied down on the rim of a rock, trying to nap. But soon he experienced a chilly fear rising from his navel and spreading through his body. Will this be the last time I sleep? It will be impossible for David to carry my body down. So he will probably push my body off the mountain and quietly walk down home. What will my friends and acquaintances think of me if they hear the news? Will they smirk at my defeat? Will they make fun of me?
Mohanaswamy’s chest felt tighter. He instantly ran out of breath, breaking out in cold sweat. His heart raced fast as though it would blast. Death is cruel. The very thought of it is nerve-raking. He stoop up. ‘Come on, David, let’s keep moving,’ Mohanaswamy asserted, taking the lead this time. David simply smiled, he had seen many such people over the years. One must take off all masks in this difficult terrain of Kilimanjaro, one must steer clear of all ego, it is only then that the mountain will embrace them with open arms.
And finally, they made it to the summit.
Yes, they were there, at the summit, feeling on top of the world. The crowd erupted with whoops and cheers of excitement, relieved to be standing and breathing at Africa’s highest point, after a long and strenuous journey.
The sun beamed through the sky, spreading light everywhere and warming their spirits. Now, no more torturous climbing. No more exertion. No more worries. Mohanaswamy felt as if he had just escaped from the jaws of death. A signboard read: ‘You are now at the Uhru Peak, the highest point in Africa’. David leapt towards the board and standing there he frantically waved to Mohanaswamy, ‘Come on, hurry up!’
A teary-eyed Mohanaswamy walked slowly, dragging his feet. On approaching the summit he couldn’t control his emotions. He hugged David and broke down. He sank and wept out loud, unmindful of the presence of so many strangers. David felt sorry for him, he was used to seeing people celebrating at the peak, not crying. Climbers hugged one another in jubilation, posing for photos in the backdrop of the alpine scenery. But this sadness was unusual. David caressed Mohanaswamy’s back. Mohanaswamy’s grief was compounded by the affectionate touch. For how many more days will I conceal this fire inside me, Kilimanjaro? I have no capacity to hold it back like you. You are a huge mountain. I am a mere mortal. I don’t want this pain, I don’t want this humiliation. I cannot keep these feelings bottled up, I just cannot … Mohanaswamy sobbed as his own words and thoughts tormented him.
‘Why are you crying like this, my child? It is not good for your health.’
‘I am tired, David, I’m fed up. Tell me how long can I face this world alone? I am tired of putti
ng up a lone fight.’
‘Don’t be scared of anything, my child. If you fear life, you will be miserable. You may have had a larger share of woes in life but you must bring forth the capacity to absorb everything. You must have the patience and believe that better days are ahead. Happiness and grief are mere illusions. Nothing stays on, nothing is permanent.’
‘They say happiness will be enhanced when it is shared and similarly, grief will subside. But what should I do when there is no one whom I can call my own? With whom shall I share my emotions?’
‘Tell me, who is our own and who is not? If we lay down strict rules for ourselves, we will end up feeling lonely. Sometimes those we meet during our journey can be our own. Now, stop crying. I will take you to a spectacular view.’
Wiping his tears, Mohanaswamy followed David who took him to the edge of a cliff. The vast plains stretched as far as the eyes could see, plains with their sandy soils and snowy layers. It was paradise. It was as if he was seeing the opulent, cosmic form of god. Mohanaswamy was awestruck. ‘God, you are impossible to view because of your limitless form. My vision is too feeble to behold this vast, unalloyed beauty. You are the universe and I am a mere creature in it. Having seen these infinite and formidable landscapes, I can no longer be egoistic, I can no longer be vainglorious. You are my saviour. I will never ever question your existence. Now I realize none of my woes are big enough to brood over. None of my achievements are big enough to boast about. My struggles may at the most bring a smile to your lips. I am a mere particle of your breath!’ he said feverishly, overcome with his emotions.
At the Marangu Gate, the main entry point to Kilimajaro, the trekkers’ cheers rose to the sky. Happy and proud to have made it to the summit, they all had come back to the same point from where they had begun their momentous journey exactly six days ago.