(This is chapter 2 of the Nicholas Roerich's book
Shambhala.)
TREASURE
OF THE SNOWS
(Note: Kanchenjunga is
the third highest mountain in the Himalayas and in the world.)
Throughout
Sikhim again thunder the huge trumpets! For all it is a great, a solemn day.
Let us go to the temple to see the Dances on the Great Day of Homage to
Kinchenjunga!
From
all parts of Sikhim many peoples gather in their strange and varied attire.
Here are the Sikhimese, in their short red garments, with their conical,
feathered hats; here are the sober Bhutanese, startlingly like the Basques or
Hungarians; here stand the red-turbaned people from Kham; you can see the small
round caps of the valiant Nepalese Gurkhas; the people of Lhassa, in their
Chinese-like long garments; the timid, quiet Lepchas, and many Sharpa people;
all types of Hill-men from all parts come to pay homage to the Five Treasures
of Kinchenjunga, which points the way to the Sacred City of Shambhala.
Trumpets
are roaring. The drums beat. The crowd shouts and whistles. Enters the
Protector of Sikhim, in a huge red and gold mask, with a short spear in his
hand. Around the fountain, from which the sacred water is drawn each morning,
the impressive Protector of Sikhim turns about in a slow benevolent dance,
completing his magic circles. Perhaps he is peering into the religious
situation of Sikhim. In each monastery in Sikhim, at the same hour, the same
sacred dance of the Protector is being performed. Finishing his role, the
Protector joins the picturesque file of musicians.
Again
sound the trumpets and the roar of the crowd. Then the Protectress emerges from
the temple. As a Kali or Dakini, with skulls adorning her head, in dark
garment, the deity outlines the same circle; after performing her invocation,
she also seats herself beside the Protector.
Again
the crowd shouts and cries. One by one the Protectors of the five Treasures of Kinchenjunga
emerge. They are ready to fight for the Holy Mountain, because in its caves,
all treasures are guarded for centuries. They are ready to guard the religion,
which is supported by the hermits, who send their benevolent blessings from
mountain depths. Radiant are the streamers on the garments of these Guardians.
They glisten as snows glowing in the rays of the sun. They are ready to fight.
They are armed with swords and protected with round shields. Begins the Dance
of the Warriors—reminiscent of the dances of the Comanchis of Arizona—the
swords are brandished in the air; guns are fired.
The
population of Sikhim may rejoice—beholding how the treasures of Kinchenjunga
are guarded! They may be proud—never yet has the rocky summit of this White
Mountain been conquered! Only exalted keepers of the Mysteries, high Devas,
know the path to its summit. The Guardians finish their dance; they divide into
two parties. In slow tread they march, intoning a long song; they boast and
bet. Each tells of his prowess: “I can catch fish without nets”—”I can ride
over the world without a horse”— “None can resist my sword”—”My shield is
strong.” And again follows the short dance of the warriors. They pass into the
temple. Both Protectors rise and again, after several encircling dances, enter
the low door. The performance is over.
Now
is the power of Kinchenjunga disclosed in another way. One sees bows and arrows
in the hands of the people. The old joy of Sikhim—the ancient art of archery,—
is to be demonstrated. Far off are the targets. But the hill-men still know the
noble art and the arrows shall reach the heart of the mark, as they shall reach
the hearts of Kinchenjunga’s enemies. The festival is over. The long giant
trumpets once again are carried into the temple; drums, gongs, clarinets and
cymbals are silent. The doors of the temple are closed. This is not Buddhism;
this is an Homage to Kinchenjunga.
And
when we see the beautiful snowy peak, we understand the spirit of the festival,
because veneration of beauty is the basis of this exalted feeling. The
hill-people feel beauty. They feel a sincere pride in possessing these
unrepeatable snowy peaks—the world giants, the clouds, the mist of the monsoon.
Are these not merely a superb curtain before the great Mystery beyond
Kinchenjunga?
Many
beautiful legends are connected with this mountain.
Beyond
Kinchenjunga are old menhirs of the great sun cult. Beyond Kinchenjunga is the
birthplace of the sacred Swastika, sign of fire. Now in the day of Agni Yoga,
the element of fire is again entering the spirit and all the treasures of earth
are revered. For the legends of heroes are dedicated not so much to the plains
as to the mountains!
All
Teachers journeyed to the mountains. The highest knowledge, the most inspired
songs, the most superb sounds and colors, are created on the mountains. On the
highest mountains there is the Supreme. The highest mountains stand as
witnesses of the Great Reality. The spirit of prehistoric man already enjoyed
and understood the greatness of the mountains.
Whoever
beholds the Himalayas recalls the great meaning of Mount Meru. The Blessed
Buddha journeyed to the Himalayas for enlightenment. There, near the legendary
sacred Stupa, in the presence of all the gods, the Blessed One received his
Illumination. In truth, everything connected with the Himalayas reveals the
great symbol of Mount Meru, standing at the center of the world.
Hinduism
The
ancient people of wise India discerned in the splendor of the Himalayas the
smile of mighty Vishnu, who stands as an heroic, indefatigable warrior, armed
with discus, mace, war-trumpet and sword.
All
ten Avatars of Vishnu were consummated near the Himavat.
The
most remote and oldest of them is the Avatar Dagon, the man-fish, who saved the
forefathers of the earthly race, Manu. As far back as the time of the first
cataclysm, the flood, Burma remembers Dagon, and claims that the Dagoba
dedicated to him is more than three thousand years old.
Then
came the Tortoise—the pillar of heaven—which in the depths of the ocean of
space, assisted the great upheaval which endowed the earth with the radiant
goddess Lakshmi.
Then
came the ponderous earthly Boar.
Then
the inconquerable Narasimha, the man-lion, who saved Prahlada from the wrath of
his sinning father.
The
fifth Avatar, the dwarf Vamana, triumphed over another king, Bally, who like
Prahlada’s father tried to possess the throne of Vishnu.
The
sixth Avatar, bearing the name of Brahman, is the great warrior of Parasu Rama,
said in ancient scriptures to have annihilated the race of Kshatriyas.
The
seventh Avatar appeared as Rama, the mighty beneficent king of India, extolled
in the Ramayana.
The
eighth Avatar is Krishna, the sacred shepherd, whose teaching is glorified in the
all-embracing Bhagavad Gita.
The
ninth Avatar, the Blessed Buddha, is the great Avatar predicted by Vishnu, as
the triumph of wisdom and the destruction of demons and sinners by their own
karma.
Vishnu’s
tenth Avatar, not yet manifest, is the future Maitreya. A great horseman,
saviour of humanity, the Kalki Avatar, shall appear riding upon a white horse;
resplendent, with his triumphant sword in hand—he will restore the pure law of
righteousness and wise rule on earth.
The
advent of the resplendent day-goddess, Lakshmi, Vishnu’s bride, has ever
rejoiced the Indian heart, even as do the Himalayan summits. Vishnu’s second
Avatar, the blue Tortoise, aided in stirring up the great ocean of space,
indicated in the Mahabharata, the Ramayana and the Vishnu Purana. To restore to
the three regions of earth, air and heaven, their lost treasures, Vishnu
commanded the Devas, sons of heaven, sons of fire, to join the dark demoniac
Asuras in stirring the cosmic ocean, in order to create the sea of milk, or
Amrita, the heavenly nectar of life.
The
Devas, in glowing sheen, came to the edge of the sea, which moved as the
shining clouds of autumn. And with the help of the Great One, they uprooted the
holy mountain to serve as a churning-pole. The great serpent Ananpa offered
himself as a pole, and the mighty Vishnu, assuming the form of an immense
Tortoise, made a pivot for the pole. The Devas held the tail of the serpent and
the Asuras approached the head; and the great creative churning began. The
first creation of this tumultuous labor was the divine cow, the fountain of
milk, shown in the Vedas as the rain-cloud, which conquered the drought. Then
was manifested Varuni. Vishnu’s crystallized radiance.
After
came the Purijara, source of all-heavenly fruits. Afterward rose the moon and
was possessed by Siva. At this moment conflagration, destructive fumes, emitted
by this process, engulfed the earth and threatened the whole universe. Then
Brahma, the creator, arose and bid Siva manifest his power. Siva, for the sake
of all existing beings, swallowed the poison self-sacrificingly and became
Nilakanta the blue-throated. Then appeared Dhanivantari bearing the precious cup
of Amrita. Hark and rejoice!
After
him came Lakshmi the effulgent, herself. Radiant, surrounded by her celestial
attendants, glowing as a lustrous chain of clouds. At the same time, the gray
rain clouds, the powerful elephants of heaven, poured water over her from
golden vessels. Amrita was manifested and the eternal battle over the treasure
of the universe began. The Devas and Asuras clashed in battle but the Asuras
were vanquished and driven to Batala, the gloomy recesses of earth. Again came
joy and happiness to the three worlds —the festival of gods and men.
As
you ascend the peaks of the Himalaya and look out over the cosmic ocean of
clouds below, you see the ramparts of endless rocky chains and the pearly
strings of cloudlets. Behind them march the gray elephants of heaven, the heavy
monsoon clouds. Is this not a cosmic picture which fills you with understanding
of some great creative manifestation? The mighty serpent in endless coils
sustains the milky way. The blue tortoise of heaven, and stars without number,
are as diamond treasures of a coming victory. You recall the huge mendangs in
the Sikhimese range, with their stone seats used by the great hermits for meditation
before sunrise; the great poet Milarepa knew the strength of the hour before
dawn, and in this awesome moment his spirit merged with the great spirit of the
world, in conscious unity.
Before
sunrise there comes a breeze, and the milky sea undulates. The shining Devas
have approached the tail of the serpent and the great stirring has begun! The
clouds collapse as the shattered walls of a prison. Verily, the luminous god
approaches! But what has occurred? The snows are red as blood. But the clouds collect
in an ominous mist and all which was erstwhile resplendent and beauteous
becomes dense, dark, shrouding the gore of the battle. Asuras and Devas
struggle; the poisonous fumes creep everywhere. Creation must perish! But Siva,
self-sacrificingly, has consumed the poison, which threatened the world’s
destruction—he, the great blue-throated. Lakshmi arises from darkness, bearing
the chalice of nectar. And before her radiant beauty all the evil spirits of
night disperse. A new cosmic energy is manifest in the world!
Where
can one have such joy as when the sun is upon the Himalayas; when the blue is
more intense than sapphires; when from the far distance, the glaciers glitter
as incomparable gems. All religions, all teachings, are synthesized in the
Himalayas. The virgin of dawn, the Ushas of the ancient Vedas, is possessed of
the same lofty virtues as the joyful Lakshmi. There can also be distinguished
the all-vanquishing power of Vishnu! Formerly he was Narayana, the cosmic being
in the depths of creation. Finally he is seen as the god of the sun and, at his
smile, out of the darkness, arises the great goddess of happiness.
And
may we not also notice this link between Lakshmi and Maya, mother of Buddha?
All great symbols, all heroes, seem to be brought close to the Himalayas as if
to the highest altar, where the human spirit comes closest to divinity. Are the
shining stars not nearer, when you are in the Himalayas? Are not the treasures
of earth evident in the Himalayas? A simple sardar in your caravan asks you:
-
“But
what is hidden beneath the mighty mountains? Why are the greatest plateaux just
in the Himalayas? Some treasures must be there!”
* * *
In
the foothills of the Himalayas are many caves and it is said that from these
caves, subterranean passages proceed far below Kinchenjunga. Some have even
seen the stone door which has never been opened, because the date has not
arrived. The deep passages proceed to the Splendid Valley. You can realize the
origin and reality of such legends, when you are acquainted with the
unsuspected formations in Himalayan nature, when you personally perceive how
closely together are glaciers and rich vegetation.
The
homage to Kinchenjunga from the simple people does not surprise you, because in
it you see not superstition, but a real page of poetic folk-lore. This
folk-reverence of natural beauties has its counterpart in the lofty heart of
the sensitive traveler who, enticed by the inexpressible beauties here, is
ever-ready to barter his city-life for the mountain peaks. For him, this
exalted feeling has much the same meaning as has the conquering dance of the
Guardian of the Mountains, and the bevy of archers who stand vigilant, ready to
guard the beauties of Kinchenjunga.
Hail
to unconquered Kinchenjunga!
Talai-Pho-Brang,
1928.
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