I slept in the next morning until nearly 6:30! I packed after my breakfast and prepared for my short walk to Kagbeni; Himalay suggested I stop there. As I was about to leave, Himalay pulled me aside. "Before we leave town, you should come for a one more hike with me."
"Ok." I said and we were off. We climbed up the hill behind town, randomly heading up.
"Sorry, I can never remember where this is."
"Where are we going?"
"We are going to a cave, where a special man lives." We walked higher then finally Himalay found his way. "Ah, there is his rock."
As I approached the rock, I saw there was a sheet hanging over it, around the rock was a small fence made of stacked stones and pot plants were growing out of place in this barren landscape.
"Bambalay! Baba! Bambalay!" Himalay yelled to the cave.
There was no answer. Himalay walked to the door, which was merely a soiled sheet. "Baba!"
Finally a groan rumbled out from behind the sheet.
"He's here, we woke him up. Just wait a minute."
A minute later, the sheet moved to the side and a small skinny man way striking oriental features emerged from the darkness. He had a wiry beard and mustache that were both the same length. Wrapped around his head was a mass of dreadlocks, nearly as large as his head. He stood barefoot, wearing a light shirt and shorts, depite the freezing temperatures.
"Aaron, this is a baba, the mountain rasta." Himalay announced with glee.
In the hills of Tibet, India and Nepal, there are Hindu monks, followers of Shiva who vowed a life of celibacy and poverty and live in solitude, smoking hash, drinking alcohol, while trying to reach enlightenment through extensive meditation and wandering.
"We woke him during a 108 hour sleep." said Himalaya. "Not sleep, but deep thinking, meditation.
The baba grabbed a blanket from his cave and placed it on the ground, beckoning us to sit. He then took a close look into my eyes, then grabbed my wrist for a few seconds. Then he spoke to Himalay.
"Baba says you find comfort by writing and reading."
"Where are you from?" the baba asked in slow careful English.
"I come from the United States, Minnesota."
"Ok, American." He placed his hands on both Himalaya and my shoulders and looked at us both closely with deep grunt-like breathing. He then asked Himalay a question an;d listened to the answer only to say something right back.
"He says I shouldn't have charged you since I learn from you." This seemed an odd statement. Himalaya then switched to guide mode. "He vowed no sex and this gives him much power. He can lift 100kg with his dick."
"200" the baba corrected.
"He can lift 200kg with his dick."
"Wow!" I said, unsure what to think of that statement as I simultaneous tried to censor and imagine such a feat at the same time.
"A dutch guy once came here and made a documentary film about it."
The baba sat there, self-assured, but modest. I think I'd still choose sex myself, given the lack of any practical applications to lifting great weights with my penis. The baba did have an unmistakable power about him. He was a man whose amazingly kind soul was on his outside. The sun had yet to reach our point in the hill and sat shivering. Once he noticed, he grabbed my cold hands in his, which were firey hot in the chilly temperatures to warm me up. His presence was soothing and he had so much wisdom emminating from him. When he opened his mouth to speak, I had to listen, even though I had no clue what he was saying. There was such importance to his words.
"Do you have breathe medicine?" Himalay translated. "The baba is shy about his breathe when around white bodies."
Such importance to his words.
"No, it's ok, I don't notice this breath at all." In truth, I did notice, but it didn't really bother me.
"The baba want to know if you want to smoke a chillum."
How does one turn down such an offer from the wise, stoned holy sage of the Himalaya? He broke up a chunk of hash from his pocket, probably made by him, heating it up with tiny matches pulled from the same pocket. After that was done, he broke up a cigarette and mixed tobacco into the hash with his right hand. From inside his tiny cave, he grabbed the chillum, a large clay pipe, then filled the pipe with his mixture. There was a chunk of gauze that he wrapped the mouth hole with as a filter before he smoked.
"Do you know how to smoke a chillum?" Himalaya asked.
I hesitated a moment before saying, "You breathe in?"
"No, you cup it in your hands, but don't put your mouth on the pipe."
The baba lit the pipe and breathed, leaning back a little as he inhaled, then blew out an improbable amount of smoke that obscured his face. Then he took the pipe and offered it to me. I went to grab it, but Himalay stopped me.
"The baba wants you to smoke from his hands."
I put my lips in the man's dirty hands and inhaled the smoke from the chillum. My exhale was not so graceful, ending in a coughing fit. He looked at me satisfied then handed the pipe Himalaya. We smoked and talked while watching the sun slowly creep its way to the cave.
"Why does he live in a cave." I asked, loosened by the smoke.
"Look and see. He is the richest man in the world."
From the cave, the horizon was painted by the continuous peaks of the great Himalaya. A hill perfectly covered the village below, leaving only the natural beauty of the mountains. He was a rich man to live in such a place.
The baba grinned, then unwrapped the head dressing holding his bursting dreads. Unraveled, the dreadlocks were as long as the baba; the threw them onto Himalay's shoulder to rest and keep them off the ground, the took another big rip from the pipe.
The sun had yet to hit us, still, and I was freezing. My legs were falling asleep, crossed on the hard rock floor and I had to pee. Just as I was about to stand and excuse myself, the baba seemed to sense my intentions and threw his hair onto me and laughed. I guess I wasn't able to leave until the giant pipe was finished.
He grabbed a dread and started talking while Himalay translated. "He's been growing his dreadlocks for 22 years. This one," he pointed to the dread in the baba's hand, "he made after walking to Mt. Kailash. Every dread is made after a journey or an important event in his life."
He placed another dread in my hand. I felt the woven memories with my fingertips, wondering what this one meant to the 65 year old man. Eventually, he threw his dreads onto Himalay and I was able to excuse myself to a nearby rock.
When I came back, the two were deep in conversation, seemingly about me. I was curious of their talk, it seemed important, but Himalay did not translate. Finally, they included me.
"Your mantra is Om, of Shiva," said the baba.
Himalay then rolled up his sleeve, showing a tattoo of Om. "You know om? This is my mantra too."
"You will live 80 years, at sixty, you will explore."
I thought I was exploring now. Good to hear I have more travel in my future.
After a few more minutes, Himalay told me it was time to leave; he had to catch a bus. I left the baba alms and bid him farewell. Himalay and I walked back to town and I left Himalay at the bus station. We exchanged contact info and I headed to Kagbeni.
It was only a three hour walk through many cute villages. Jharkot was a particularly beautiful Tibetan village. I was pleased to see that Mustang was completely different from Manang. My fear was that I'd see the same thing going back down the next valley, my fears were unrealized. The Mustang Valley was wide open, with an arid landscape and large carved canyons. It looked like the southwest USA. The villages were genuinely Tibetan, unlike the Manang.
At noon, a strong continuous wind picked up and blasted me in the face with dust for the last hour. I met an Australian couple, but our conversation was nothing but wooshing. In Kagbeni, I walked around, even venturing a little up the hill across the river, until the wind got stronger and forced my retreat back to the hostels.
That night, I did the unthinkable, I broke my 12 day dal bhat streak. The menu had an item I had to try, Mustang Mush Soup. It was a delicious soup, made from a creamy garlicly broth with potatoes and local wild mushrooms. The flavor was fantastic, but it failed to provide the sustinence of dal bhat, even with my short day. I sure learned my lesson.
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