Book 2: Chapter 8: Part 3: The tracks of a lone wild yak in the mysterious valley.
The old man Dawa sat quietly through the night. He could feel the excitement, the tingling of expectation that he usually had, when the night led to the hunt in the morning. The nights in these upper Himalayas were unusually longish, seeing that they began at almost 4 pm in the evening and went on until 10 or 11 am in the upper hills. The Kang Renpoche areas and the Manasarovar Lake areas were more open and the dawn was at these areas much earlier.
The stone hut had been built quite strongly. The smaller rooms had been set up quite deep into the opening amongst the rocks and there were two longish passage-like rooms that turned into one another at sharp angles before the stone doorway. They would have to do something about that doorway, he thought. It would not do to keep piling up stones and boulders. The day was also dangerous if wandering leopards or bears would walk in. There was word of vagrant tigers, very rarely reported, but who could tell with these remote valleys. It almost seemed like the herd of the large wild yaks would be the least dangerous.
Dawa thought back of all the hunts that he had been on and the ages of tracking that he had done. He had been quite busy as a trapper in his young days, learning from his grandfather and father before him, and from the other elders in the region. Those had been really good days, he thought, remembering the feel of the fur, the sharpness of the hunt and the understanding of the small tricks that the animals would go into, while hiding themselves in these high mountains. It was different, each season, he remembered, and they would have to change their methods every time. The traps had been different for each season, and the location that they would choose for the same species would be different.
Perhaps all that knowledge would be useful tomorrow, he thought. He kept walking up and down the passages inside the stone hut. The last room had been given to their animals, and they had seemed to welcome the warmth and the glow of the fire. The mastiffs had made their own corner, and yet, they could keep a watch on Yeshe. They must be feeling very protective of their human owner. Dawa smiled and wondered if Yeshe knew that the mastiffs felt that they protected him, rather than the other way around.
The entire team had organised themselves around the fire in the room before the one for the animals. There were actually three small fires, with one kept aside in the northern corner, and this had been placed for allowing Sangye to conduct his prayers. The second fire was deeper in the ground, and there were many small boulders arranged inside. This fire was for cooking, and the warmth inside the arrangement of the boulders would stay within. The third fire was much larger, but spread out, to allow for the embers to remain warm.
Dawa kept feeling his right palm tingle and itch. He knew the feeling. It came the night before the hunt, and he wondered about it. What would it be out there, in the valleys? It seemed to be something quite special. He reorganised his supplies and equipment slowly through the night. He wanted to be ready for any eventuality. He removed some of his supplies and clothes and warm blankets from the packages that were to go on the yaks. The bag would have to be just heavy enough for him to carry it by himself.
He was ready for tomorrow. He had his bag, his woollens, food supplies, medicines and stock of candles and matches. Everyone continued sleeping. The excitement of the day and the struggle to construct the stone hut in rapid time had been tiring. They knew that they were secure inside the hut, and this had allowed for veterans like Sangye, Katishe and Satawa to lower their guard and sleep properly. They would not have done so, if they would have feared any wandering predator.
Dawa smiled at his thoughts of the day. The two priests had returned. This is what he delighted in, for being able to organise his own thoughts and take decisions for himself. If Brother Tameng or the monk from the Dirapuk monastery would have been with them, Dawa would have had to listen and obey their instructions. He had grown up with the knowledge that in this strange region of the Kang Renpoche, one should not question the mysterious manner of events.
He must have dozed off, he thought, waking up with a start. His right palm was itching very badly and he kept scratching it silently. The three fires in the room were glowing brightly. Old man Dawa kept watching the flames. They seemed to be talking to each other. A gust of cold air came down from one of the openings high up, and it sparked the large fire. The flames rose up in response, and Dawa looked at them, startled. He could see the image of the herd of the large wild yaks that had walked down the valley during the rainstorm. The image seemed to form within the flames, and the yaks were watching him, quietly.
Dawa looked around to see if anyone else was awake. None. They were all asleep. The flames had gone down again, and the image of the yaks was gone. It seemed like it was a message just meant for Dawa, he thought to himself. Well, yaks or no yaks, spirits or no spirits, at this age, when life had moved by him, over all these years, he was not going to go and get defeated by phantom yaks or for that matter, a herd of large wild yaks, if they indeed existed. He got up and went up to the doorway and picked out a stone to look outside.
The sight outside startled him. It seemed bright out there, with very clear moonlight washing up the entire valley. He could see the valley slopes and the forests and the rocky walls extremely clearly. Old man Dawa went back inside the stone hut and woke up Sangye, and whispered to him, “Old nomad from Qinhai, listen quietly, and go back to sleep. I am going outside by myself, for its bright out there, with the moonlight. I will not go far, but do not stop me. I am taking my supplies and woollens with me. Relax and stay with the others.”
Dawa removed some of the stones near the opening and slid through sideways. Once outside, he walked around for some moments, getting the feel of the night. It did not seem to be extremely cold, and he knew he could survive this chill, quite easily. There was no wind, and the valley was totally drenched in white moonlight. He could see everyplace clearly. He went back to the stone wall doorway, and reaching inside, pulled out his haversack and supplies. He had also got a stout walking stick for himself, and to this stick, he tied a prayer flag. Turning back, he piled up the stones to close the opening in the doorway that he had made for himself.
Which way to go? Dawa thought, looking at the steep rock walls. There was actually no other way out, other than the sharp trail that led upwards to the opening outwards from the valley that they had noticed in the evening. What if, he thought, what if, what if he did not take the obvious way out of the valley? The others would definitely go through the opening and would take that trail. Was there another trail within this valley? Was there more to this boxed in area inside these mountains? He looked around, with this perspective, trying to imagine out trails that could stay hidden within the sharp walls and forest cover.
That one there, he thought. That had to be it. The western corner of the boxed in area, was covered with forests. He could not see inside the forests. If there was an opening that led out to another part of the valley, to another trail, those forests could easily hide such a path. The forests climbed up to quite a height at that corner. The walls of the mountain could also not actually make a corner, at that spot, he thought. There may be a path out there. He began to walk towards the forest area and looked down at the trail, startled.
The trail seemed quite easy to walk on, and was quite smooth. And yet, it could not be made out in contrast to the valley floor. But, in this moonlight, without searching for the trail, and just by keeping the western corner as a target, old man Dawa found that he could walk easily without any hassles. He had reached the forest line, and he looked back to the stone hut and the passage through the boulders that they had traveled out from. It was a straight line, downwards. This was indeed a natural trail. Looking downwards, with the moonlight striking down on the shiny stones on the valley floor, Dawa recognised the pattern on the dusty path, startled. It was definitely a trail, and it was indeed a wild yak trail. There it was, faint, but certainly to be seen. A clear footprint, a lone wild yak, an extremely large one. Alone. It had gone into the forest. Very recent.
The old man Dawa sat quietly through the night. He could feel the excitement, the tingling of expectation that he usually had, when the night led to the hunt in the morning. The nights in these upper Himalayas were unusually longish, seeing that they began at almost 4 pm in the evening and went on until 10 or 11 am in the upper hills. The Kang Renpoche areas and the Manasarovar Lake areas were more open and the dawn was at these areas much earlier.
The stone hut had been built quite strongly. The smaller rooms had been set up quite deep into the opening amongst the rocks and there were two longish passage-like rooms that turned into one another at sharp angles before the stone doorway. They would have to do something about that doorway, he thought. It would not do to keep piling up stones and boulders. The day was also dangerous if wandering leopards or bears would walk in. There was word of vagrant tigers, very rarely reported, but who could tell with these remote valleys. It almost seemed like the herd of the large wild yaks would be the least dangerous.
Dawa thought back of all the hunts that he had been on and the ages of tracking that he had done. He had been quite busy as a trapper in his young days, learning from his grandfather and father before him, and from the other elders in the region. Those had been really good days, he thought, remembering the feel of the fur, the sharpness of the hunt and the understanding of the small tricks that the animals would go into, while hiding themselves in these high mountains. It was different, each season, he remembered, and they would have to change their methods every time. The traps had been different for each season, and the location that they would choose for the same species would be different.
Perhaps all that knowledge would be useful tomorrow, he thought. He kept walking up and down the passages inside the stone hut. The last room had been given to their animals, and they had seemed to welcome the warmth and the glow of the fire. The mastiffs had made their own corner, and yet, they could keep a watch on Yeshe. They must be feeling very protective of their human owner. Dawa smiled and wondered if Yeshe knew that the mastiffs felt that they protected him, rather than the other way around.
The entire team had organised themselves around the fire in the room before the one for the animals. There were actually three small fires, with one kept aside in the northern corner, and this had been placed for allowing Sangye to conduct his prayers. The second fire was deeper in the ground, and there were many small boulders arranged inside. This fire was for cooking, and the warmth inside the arrangement of the boulders would stay within. The third fire was much larger, but spread out, to allow for the embers to remain warm.
Dawa kept feeling his right palm tingle and itch. He knew the feeling. It came the night before the hunt, and he wondered about it. What would it be out there, in the valleys? It seemed to be something quite special. He reorganised his supplies and equipment slowly through the night. He wanted to be ready for any eventuality. He removed some of his supplies and clothes and warm blankets from the packages that were to go on the yaks. The bag would have to be just heavy enough for him to carry it by himself.
He was ready for tomorrow. He had his bag, his woollens, food supplies, medicines and stock of candles and matches. Everyone continued sleeping. The excitement of the day and the struggle to construct the stone hut in rapid time had been tiring. They knew that they were secure inside the hut, and this had allowed for veterans like Sangye, Katishe and Satawa to lower their guard and sleep properly. They would not have done so, if they would have feared any wandering predator.
Dawa smiled at his thoughts of the day. The two priests had returned. This is what he delighted in, for being able to organise his own thoughts and take decisions for himself. If Brother Tameng or the monk from the Dirapuk monastery would have been with them, Dawa would have had to listen and obey their instructions. He had grown up with the knowledge that in this strange region of the Kang Renpoche, one should not question the mysterious manner of events.
He must have dozed off, he thought, waking up with a start. His right palm was itching very badly and he kept scratching it silently. The three fires in the room were glowing brightly. Old man Dawa kept watching the flames. They seemed to be talking to each other. A gust of cold air came down from one of the openings high up, and it sparked the large fire. The flames rose up in response, and Dawa looked at them, startled. He could see the image of the herd of the large wild yaks that had walked down the valley during the rainstorm. The image seemed to form within the flames, and the yaks were watching him, quietly.
Dawa looked around to see if anyone else was awake. None. They were all asleep. The flames had gone down again, and the image of the yaks was gone. It seemed like it was a message just meant for Dawa, he thought to himself. Well, yaks or no yaks, spirits or no spirits, at this age, when life had moved by him, over all these years, he was not going to go and get defeated by phantom yaks or for that matter, a herd of large wild yaks, if they indeed existed. He got up and went up to the doorway and picked out a stone to look outside.
The sight outside startled him. It seemed bright out there, with very clear moonlight washing up the entire valley. He could see the valley slopes and the forests and the rocky walls extremely clearly. Old man Dawa went back inside the stone hut and woke up Sangye, and whispered to him, “Old nomad from Qinhai, listen quietly, and go back to sleep. I am going outside by myself, for its bright out there, with the moonlight. I will not go far, but do not stop me. I am taking my supplies and woollens with me. Relax and stay with the others.”
Dawa removed some of the stones near the opening and slid through sideways. Once outside, he walked around for some moments, getting the feel of the night. It did not seem to be extremely cold, and he knew he could survive this chill, quite easily. There was no wind, and the valley was totally drenched in white moonlight. He could see everyplace clearly. He went back to the stone wall doorway, and reaching inside, pulled out his haversack and supplies. He had also got a stout walking stick for himself, and to this stick, he tied a prayer flag. Turning back, he piled up the stones to close the opening in the doorway that he had made for himself.
Which way to go? Dawa thought, looking at the steep rock walls. There was actually no other way out, other than the sharp trail that led upwards to the opening outwards from the valley that they had noticed in the evening. What if, he thought, what if, what if he did not take the obvious way out of the valley? The others would definitely go through the opening and would take that trail. Was there another trail within this valley? Was there more to this boxed in area inside these mountains? He looked around, with this perspective, trying to imagine out trails that could stay hidden within the sharp walls and forest cover.
That one there, he thought. That had to be it. The western corner of the boxed in area, was covered with forests. He could not see inside the forests. If there was an opening that led out to another part of the valley, to another trail, those forests could easily hide such a path. The forests climbed up to quite a height at that corner. The walls of the mountain could also not actually make a corner, at that spot, he thought. There may be a path out there. He began to walk towards the forest area and looked down at the trail, startled.
The trail seemed quite easy to walk on, and was quite smooth. And yet, it could not be made out in contrast to the valley floor. But, in this moonlight, without searching for the trail, and just by keeping the western corner as a target, old man Dawa found that he could walk easily without any hassles. He had reached the forest line, and he looked back to the stone hut and the passage through the boulders that they had traveled out from. It was a straight line, downwards. This was indeed a natural trail. Looking downwards, with the moonlight striking down on the shiny stones on the valley floor, Dawa recognised the pattern on the dusty path, startled. It was definitely a trail, and it was indeed a wild yak trail. There it was, faint, but certainly to be seen. A clear footprint, a lone wild yak, an extremely large one. Alone. It had gone into the forest. Very recent.
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