City of the Yeti Read online

  Narayan ran up and talked briefly with the monk in Nepali. Then we resumed our walk around the stupa accompanied by the monk and nun, this time in the correct direction.

  “Do monks and nuns study the same things?” Rachel asked.

  “Yes, very much so,” the nun answered. “History and philosophy, sacred texts, chants and prayers, along with traditional art, music, and dance. Someday I hope to become a teacher, or lama, like my friend here.”

  “How about a tour of the monastery?” the monk asked. Rachel and I agreed, and Narayan offered to tag along as chaperone.

  I was eager to ask about the Yeti, but decided to wait a while, out of politeness. I struggled to think of another topic. “How long have you lived at the monastery?” I asked the monk.

  “Since I was ten,” he replied, to my astonishment. “People can join as early as seven, and leave anytime they want.”

  Inside, we walked through several ornate halls, and saw monks involved in a variety of activities, from prayer to music-making. One chamber held a huge drum almost six feet wide. When struck, it literally shook the marble floors. An equally large gong sent a metallic splash rushing through the monastery, the echoes lasting a full minute.

  In a dedicated art room, a large, round sand painting lay in the middle of the floor. The monks had been adding tiny amounts of material by hand for weeks. Nearly ten feet across, it contained colorful depictions of Buddha nestled within complex geometrical patterns. As Rachel and I stood admiring the artwork, two monks with brooms entered the room and began sweeping the sand away. Shocked, we opened our mouths to protest.

  Our host rushed up behind us and whispered, “This is a ceremony to demonstrate that nothing is permanent.”

  They had certainly made their point. “So everything you do here is for religion?” I asked, still catching my breath.

  “Well, Buddhism is more of a philosophy than a religion, and it means the love of wisdom. Now, young man, tell me your reasons for visiting.”

  I described my father’s efforts, and our plans to explore wilderness areas of central Nepal. Then it was time for my personal reason. “Also, I want to find out everything I can about the Yeti, and see them, if possible.”

  The monk and nun exchanged glances, but didn’t laugh. Nor did Narayan; in fact, this time he was listening intently. However, Rachel muttered, “Daneeee!” under her breath, her face red with embarrassment.

  The monk reflected for a moment. “Why are you so interested in this legend?”

  “If the Yeti are real, I think they must be very smart to avoid capture.”

  “I would have to agree with you,” he said.

  Suddenly I remembered the history. “Do you suppose Buddha himself heard of the Yeti, just as Alexander the Great did?”

  “That’s quite possible. Nepal is the birthplace of Buddha, you know. He was born a prince named Siddhartha Gautama, in 563 BC, long before Alexander’s arrival.”

  “Surely a prince would know what’s happening in his own kingdom,” I said.

  “Well, young Siddhartha was so sheltered by his family that he didn’t hear of many legends. But as an adult, he found that wealth doesn’t guarantee happiness, and left to explore different philosophies of the day. After years of study and meditation, he discovered ‘the middle path’ and became the Buddha, or the Awakened One. He was dedicated to the well-being of all living creatures, which would have included the Yeti, if they existed at the time.”

  As we approached the exit gate, Narayan and Rachel stepped away with the nun for a final glimpse of some statues, leaving me alone with the monk. He studied my face as though he could read my mind. “You are very wise for your age, and I believe your search for the Yeti is a search for truth, not fame or fortune. That makes it similar to the goals of Buddhism.”

  He struggled to find his next words, and switched to a hushed voice. “If you travel west to Pokhara, visit the Mahendra monastery, and look for an elderly monk named Lama Dorje, who has lived there many years. I once studied under him. He claims to have seen the Yeti. The monastery is next to Mahendra Cave, which supposedly houses a demon that devours cattle and humans.”

  After all the vague comments I’d received, it was a shock to hear such specific information. I gazed at the others, wondering whether I should share any of this. Turning back to the monk, I began, “Does that mean the cave is where – ”

  But he was gone. A speck of orange cloth vanished around a corner down the hallway. How did he walk away so quickly, and so quietly?

  We headed outside and met Laxmi and Uncle Colin. On our way to the truck, I walked slowly, falling behind. Narayan also drifted back, and the two of us talked.

  “Any tips from the monk?” he asked.

  “I got the name of someone who’s seen the Yeti,” I said with pride.

  “Good. That’s the first step.”

  “But I may need your help, since I doubt my parents or Uncle Colin want to get involved.”

  “Just tell me how. Laxmi and I will be driving your family to Pokhara next week.”

  Perhaps Narayan was only humoring me, but for the first time I felt like I had a real partner for my quest.

  Chapter Four

  Our two-truck caravan struggled all day over unpaved, twisting roads, with hazards ranging from deep potholes to herds of sheep. Just as the sun was setting, we entered the broad Pokhara valley. I spotted the city itself at the far end, sprawled alongside a large lake that provided reflections of the nearby Himalaya. Jagged mountains lined the horizon to form the Annapurna range, and three of the world’s ten highest peaks lay within thirty miles. The valley was wrinkled with deep gorges and canyons, all cut by streams filled with an endless supply of snowmelt. We were in the true foothills now, and I could almost taste the snow.

  We arrived at a lakeshore lodge where residents from the capital – usually wealthy officials – came to relax for a week or two. Boating, fishing, hiking, and horseback riding were popular activities, and all on my father’s agenda. Over a late dinner of local dishes including lentils, rice, curry, and pickled vegetables, I worked to convince Dad that we should see the Mahendra monastery and cave. Narayan added his support. But little arm-twisting was needed; Dad was interested in caves, and had already taken me spelunking in India.

  The next day, a few of us drove to the outskirts of town, where the Gurkhas wanted to practice shooting a rifle they’d brought. With some coaching, I was able to hit cans and bottles set up on a distant rock. Dad proved to be a marksman, though he’d never participated in any hunting expedition that I knew of. Uncle Colin showed me how to fire his six-shot revolver, and I became pretty accurate with that weapon too. Simple target practice was fun, but the thought of aiming at a live animal, when I was searching for a rare creature, just didn’t feel right.

  On the second morning, Mom and Rachel headed into town with Laxmi as their guide, while Dad, Uncle Colin, Narayan and I drove to the monastery. Narayan had borrowed some miners’ helmets outfitted with carbide lamps, to allow for a thorough investigation of the cave. So far, I hadn’t shared my suspicion that it might be dangerous. Fortunately, Uncle Colin wore his revolver in a holster, and Narayan packed his kukri knife. It seemed like we were ready for almost anything.

  The ancient Mahendra monastery was located at the northern edge of Pokhara, and consisted of a few run-down buildings clustered around the base of a rocky hillside. Its gray exterior walls had been patched a thousand times in as many years. The grounds included a few acres of yellowed grass dotted with scraggly trees, all surrounded by a low stone fence. Rarely visited by tourists, the site housed a small staff; most monks preferred living at newer monasteries.

  A young apprentice-monk greeted us at the entrance, and Narayan asked for Lama Dorje. We were escorted down a long corridor to a small prayer room. Hints of incense hung in the air, and the
whole building was extremely quiet. Dorje was sitting in the middle of the room, cross-legged on a pillow, his eyes closed in meditation. A thin man in his seventies, his face was a sea of wrinkles, and his scalp looked stubbly rather than closely shaven. To me, he was the classic image of a wise old sage. We sat on the floor along one wall and waited, until finally the apprentice walked over and tapped Dorje gently on the shoulder.

  The lama’s eyes fluttered open, and his eyebrows rose slightly. He uttered several words, which Narayan interpreted. “Welcome. How may I help you today? A tour of the monastery, perhaps?” His weary tone suggested a lack of enthusiasm for entertaining guests.

  Dad replied, “Well, uh, sure. That sounds nice.”

  But for me, a tour wasn’t enough. A huge puzzle – neglected for centuries – was waiting to be solved. I felt a surge of confidence like never before. I had to speak up. “Lama Dorje, I was told that you’ve seen the Yeti. I’d like to know more about them.”

  An awkward silence followed, and I glanced around the room. My father’s eyes had never opened wider. Uncle Colin shook his head, as if I shouldn’t raise the topic. But Narayan smiled as he translated my comments; I think he was proud of me.

  However, self-doubt crept in immediately. Perhaps my request was too naive. Why would Dorje share such valuable information with a group of strangers, and foreigners at that? Also, my directness may have offended him, ruining my only chance of learning something from an actual witness.

  While I worried, Dorje watched me closely. Was there some mind-reading technique they taught monks around here? If so, then hopefully he could tell that I was serious.

  “Come closer,” Dorje said.

  I walked over and sat on a pillow directly in front of him. Narayan also moved closer to interpret. Dad remained stunned at my boldness. Uncle Colin seemed to be rolling his eyes, or maybe he was just examining the decorated ceiling.

  Dorje spoke matter-of-factly. “Tradition holds that a Yeti will show itself only to those who believe in it. What do you believe?”

  “I believe there’s something real behind the myth. I just want to know the truth.”

  He stared at me, and I tried not to stare back. Finally, he nodded slightly, as if he’d made a decision. With surprising agility, he rose and shuffled toward the back door, which led to a pasture where sheep were grazing. There, he strapped on a pair of old sandals, chatted with Narayan, and then waved for us to follow.

  Narayan could barely conceal his excitement. “Lama Dorje wants to show us something – in the cave!”

  Once outdoors, Dorje walked slowly but steadily toward the nearby hillside, accompanied by his apprentice. Narayan and I stayed close behind. Uncle Colin and Dad sprinted back to the truck to get the helmets. They returned with the weapons as well; these had not been permitted inside the monastery.

  As we approached the base of the cliff, I saw no signs of a cave until the land sloped downward to meet an oval-shaped opening about ten feet high. This allowed us to stroll up to the cave entrance. The apprentice produced two oil lamps and lit both. Narayan did the same for our carbide lamps, and we adjusted the helmet straps. Dorje then led the way, holding his lamp.

  I wondered whether these two monks, outfitted only in sandals and robes, were adequately prepared for spelunking. The rest of us were protected by thick cotton clothing, jackets, and hiking boots. However, this was their cave, so I assumed they knew what they were doing.

  At the entrance, I tugged on Uncle Colin’s sleeve and whispered a warning about the demon. He winked and said, “Sure, buddy. I’ll keep an eye out.” Clearly, he thought I was joking.

  The main passageway featured crooked walls but a nearly flat floor, typical of stream-cut caverns. Before long we reached a point where artificial light was necessary, and beyond which casual visitors rarely ventured. The small stream running alongside us vanished as the tunnel became smaller and more difficult to navigate. I was grateful for the helmet after bumping my head several times on the low ceiling.

  Soon I saw examples of the geological formations that made cave exploration so fun for me. Hundreds of thin, white stalactites dangled from the ceiling like soda straws, while thick, yellowish stalagmites jutted upward from the floor, reminding me of piled custard. Here and there, small brown bats huddled under a ledge, while pale salamanders skittered between shallow pools. The air was cool and humid, and the condensation from our breaths hovered all around.

  Narayan reached above his head and touched one of the stalactites. Dad and I yelled, “No!”

  He jerked his arm back, looking sheepish. “I was going to take just one for my son; there are so many.”

  Dad spoke for both of us. “Those things took many years – maybe thousands – to grow.” During our caving trips we’d often seen broken formations, usually damaged by humans. It was like finding the arms of a Michelangelo statue hammered off.

  The main path, still flat, was covered with a thin layer of well-packed mud, suggesting previous traffic. Occasionally, I thought I recognized the shape of a print, but there were too many overlapping tracks to be sure. Dorje, still leading the way despite his relatively dim light, turned and spoke. His voice was calm, as if announcing the time of day. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the demon that inhabits this cave. We are now approaching its lair.”

  I glanced back at Uncle Colin and pointed to his holster. He acknowledged with a nod, but didn’t remove his gun. I hoped for our sake he was a fast draw.

  Chapter Five

  Motioning for us to stop, Lama Dorje gave a description of the demon. “If you look carefully, you’ll see how the path ahead begins to slope downward. The tilt is so gradual that most hikers don’t notice, especially in the reduced light. It also becomes very slippery. Eventually most explorers fall and begin sliding, unable to stop due to the smooth sidewalls that lack any handholds. Very quickly, they meet their fate.”

  Those of us wearing helmets lit up the passageway. Four beams cut through the black void like long, thin, ghostly fingers. Within a few yards of our position we saw an edge, and beyond that, an even blacker abyss. The slope fed the helpless slider into a large pit. Dorje backed up to reveal a small, parallel tunnel that allowed us to approach the pit safely. Then we directed our lights downward. Thirty feet below lay a number of human and animal skeletons.

  “This,” he said, “accounts for people who have died mysteriously over the years: a simple fall. Currently, we control access to the cave entrance, and warn visitors about the hazard.”

  While the slide and pit were interesting, I was disappointed at the absence of a monster. Uncle Colin walked up to me, patted his sidearm, and said, “I guess we won’t be needing this.” His smirk was visible even in the low lighting.

  Dorje trudged onward through the narrow side passage. The path swelled up and down like a roller coaster, while curving sharply from side to side. I was sweating, and my knees ached. Every few steps, someone stumbled – everyone except for the lama, who now resumed his role as tour guide. “Soon we will reach the rear of the cave, which offers the most interesting sights.”

  After moving at a snail’s pace for several minutes, I heard shuffling noises ahead that were definitely not coming from our group. The sounds were approaching rapidly, yet Dorje seemed unconcerned. I turned to Narayan, directly behind me, and pointed to his knife, gesturing for him to unsheathe it. He returned a puzzled look.

  Suddenly, patches of brown and gray fur smashed up against us, as creatures of some sort darted past, fighting their way through what little space remained in the tight passageway. Within seconds everything was calm again. It happened so fast, and our beams of lights were so narrow, that the exact size and shape of our attackers was unclear. I checked my clothing for tears or bite marks, and saw nothing. Could this have been a group of small Yeti?

  The apprentice, at the rear of the procession, yel
led something, and Narayan interpreted. “It was just a family of Tibetan wolves. They sometimes use this cave. We scared them more than they scared us!” I seriously doubted that.

  Finally we entered an enormous chamber forty feet high – a huge relief after the long, claustrophobic route. Elaborate, colorful cave formations grew everywhere, providing a cathedral-like atmosphere. Massive stalagmites and stalactites met to form thick, majestic columns. Curtain-like sheets of white rock, streaked with orange from traces of iron, hung along the slanted ceiling. At the back, a small waterfall fell from the ceiling, providing a mist that cooled our skin. The rock walls amplified the splashing water to generate a soothing background sound.

  Dorje waved for us to gather around, and then began another lecture. “I will now tell you a story that is well known at Mahendra monastery. In 1885, a man with little knowledge of Buddhism showed up and asked to join. He was a soldier running from guilt, and also from recognition. There had just been a bloody coup in the capital, where the ruling family was massacred, and this man had played a role in the killing. Nevertheless, the monks took him in and tried to teach him their ways. But it was difficult for all.”

  Dorje set down his lamp. Sufficient light came from our helmets, but strange shadows now crossed his face.

  “One summer day, this soldier-monk, as I shall call him, rode off on horseback into the upper valleys, claiming he needed time alone to think. No one was terribly worried, since he had extensive survival skills. After three months he returned, confused and wrapped in animal hides. He could not remember what had happened during his time away. Over the next year he remained a troubled soul, and often wandered into this cave for solitude, spending days at a time.”