Lord Shiva’s Sacred Abode in China

By Hema Kiruppalini

In August last year, I travelled to Mount Kailash. Also known as Gang Rinpoche in Tibetan, it is a sacred peak located along the Himalayan mastiff in the south-western part of China’s Tibet Autonomous Region (TAR). The austere landscape of the Tibetan plateau enchants with its vast expanses of desolate, undulating land, verdant valleys, and majestic snow-capped peak.

There is much to be said about the religious practices and esoteric belief systems associated with this sacred mountain. However, what was equally intriguing was journeying there and crossing an international boundary on foot vis-à-vis the Nepal-Tibet border. The sacred landscape juxtaposed against the realities of border controls draws attention to how this historic pilgrimage route (often referred to as the Kailash Mansarovar yatra), once a spiritual journey defined by un-demarcated territorial boundaries, has since evolved into structured nation-state entities.

This transformation speaks volumes about the intrinsic artificiality, yet unyielding influence, of nation-states in delineating territorial spaces in the high passes of the Himalayas. The entire border-crossing experience which unfolded against the backdrop of a sacred geography, sheds light on the complex undercurrents and intersections of geo-politics, religious tourism, transnational citizenship, mobility and identity whether in relation to traders, tourists or Tibetan exiles. The transnational mobility of individuals underscores the impact of global opportunities and its interconnectedness but at the same time, sheds light on the multifaceted challenges that ensue, with far-reaching socio-political, cultural and economic ramifications. Migration within the context of the trans-Himalayan region has been a longstanding focus of my research and in what follows, I reflect on the above themes vis-à-vis a visual ethnography and offer some insights from this unique journey.

Border crossing: Where Nepal ends and the Tibet Autonomous Region (TAR) begins

From Kathmandu, I travelled for a day by bus to Rasuwaghadi, a border town located at the northern edge of Nepal. The Rasuwaghadi-Kyirong border post was officially inaugurated in 2014 and serves as an important transnational corridor across the Himalayas via Tibet and Rasuwa, facilitating commercial trade, religious tourism and foreign aid between Nepal and China.

Driving to the border along a rugged terrain is an exciting and equally perilous journey, with falling rocks from cliffs on one side and unhinged roads overlooking the raw force of rapidly flowing rivers on the other side.

I spent the night at a lodge that was not only in close proximity to Tibet but also was very conveniently located right beside the Nepali immigration checkpoint.

The next morning, with much enthusiasm, I walked to the checkpoint at 9 am only to be politely greeted by the Nepali authorities with a request to return after approximately an hour as they had to have their essential morning ritual – a hearty plate of dal bhat (Nepali breakfast made up of rice and lentils).

Soon after having cleared the immigration at the Nepal border, I began my journey on foot towards Tibet. Notably, an unending line of trucks and lorries awaited entry into the TAR, highlighting the bustling economic activity at the border.

“Delete the Dalai Lama!”: Political sensitivities and the policing of religion in Tibet

It was frustrating but interesting to experience how the longstanding political sensitivities between Tibet and China, particularly the perceived threat of the Dalai Lama, plays out at the Chinese immigration. This coupled with the ongoing geo-political tensions between India and China, had noticeable implications for religious tourism from the global diaspora. Amid the backdrop of the COVID-19 pandemic, China very recently lifted the ban on foreigners entering Tibet. However, stringent regulations were imposed on Indian citizens as tourist visas were blocked. Foreigners like myself, a Singapore citizen, encountered newly introduced regulations such as the need to provide biometric details and being physically present to facilitate visa processing in Nepal.

Before crossing the border from Nepal to Tibet, we were advised by the local Nepali agency to refrain from displaying or expressing any political sympathy for the Dalai Lama during the zealously controlled Chinese immigration procedures and to avoid carrying material items like amulets, etc. “Nepal is a free country, and we have the freedom of religion here. But if you want to cross the border successfully, stay quiet and comply with whatever they ask,” he cautioned. Just a few days before, I bought a book from the Tibetan bookstore in Thamel. The book which featured a foreword and a prominent portrait of the Dalai Lama on the second page, led me to make the wise decision of leaving it behind in Kathmandu. The Tibetan population in Nepal comprises long-term refugees who have an established presence in Kathmandu and Pokhara, where refugee camps are also located. Sites like Boudhanath in Kathmandu, for example, are Tibetan enclaves.

Following a preliminary screening at the entrance of the Chinese immigration facility, each person underwent a thorough bag check, with instructions to empty the contents of their respective backpacks. Subsequently, everyone was required to surrender their mobile phones, unlock them, and endure with excruciating anticipation as the immigration officials scrolled through their photo galleries, meticulously inspecting for any images deemed impermissible. Upon my turn, the Chinese immigration officer took an inordinate amount of time scrutinising my phone. She eventually walked away with it to consult with another immigration officer, both casting suspicious glances in my direction. At that moment, thoughts raced through my mind, contemplating what I might possess that could be considered potentially incriminating for crossing the border into Tibet. After a considerable amount of time had elapsed, she approached me whilst motioning for a Tibetan translator to join in. With an elevated voice and gesticulating with much annoyance, she passed my phone to the translator and instructed him in Chinese to convey a message.

At this juncture, I was utterly befuddled about the unfolding situation. The translator, appearing somewhat helpless, communicated with me in Hindi urging me to “delete” something. I interrupted, requesting if he could communicate in Nepali instead as my proficiency in Hindi was limited. The Chinese authority presented me with images I had captured in Kathmandu, random street photography. She proceeded to zoom into the streets, inspecting the shops that lined them, and magnified an absolutely inconspicuous image within one of the shops—that of the Dalai Lama. “Ask her to delete the image of the Dalai Lama now,” she commanded the translator in Chinese who then conveyed her stern instructions to me in Hindi. In addition to this, I was required to delete several other entirely innocuous images before they proceeded to access my trash folder to permanently erase the pictures.

The Tibet Autonomous Region (TAR) remains squarely under the control of Beijing, with very limited autonomy. Following the exile of Tibet's leader, His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama, from Lhasa to Dharamshala in India in 1959, Tibetans experienced a loss of governance that subsequently led to the formation of a global diaspora with transnational networks in South Asia, particularly in India and Nepal, as well as in other parts of the West.

While Tibetans have managed to preserve their culture, language, and religious traditions which came under severe onslaught during the Cultural Revolution, the survival of Tibetan Buddhist traditions and customs in contemporary Tibet faces challenges.

Some locals gingerly whispered to me: “Do not mention ‘Tibet nation’ here” and echoed the stark disparity in travel freedom—Chinese citizens travel freely abroad and in Tibet while stringent restrictions apply to Tibetans. Restrictions in mobility and intensified security and policing, especially in protest-prone areas with incidents of self-immolation have significantly impacted Tibetans in the TAR.

Thus, although Tibet is exalted as a sacred centre for various religious groups this, in turn, has had an impact on pilgrimage tourism as travellers as well as border citizens are subject to various restrictions and regulations mandated by the Chinese authorities.

Tashi delek!: Significance of the Kailash kora

Mount Kailash (approximately 6,638m) and the nearby Lake Mansarovar (approximately 4,590m) have, historically, been a major pilgrimage destination for Hindus, Buddhists, Bons and Jains. Associated with Mount Meru, the axis mundi (or centre of the world) and the source of four major Asian rivers (the Indus, Sutlej, Brahmaputra, and Karnali), the sacred texts have various other names for Mount Kailash like “Precious Jewel of Snow”, “Abode of the Adiyogi”; “Abode of the Sky Goddess”, etc.

For Hindus, Mount Kailash is the abode of Lord Shiva; for Tibetan Buddhists, it is the dwelling site of Demchog (Chakrasamvara); for Bonpos, the peak is revered as a nine-storey swastika mountain that is the seat of spiritual energy; for Jains, it is believed to be the place where the first Tirthankara attained enlightenment. Given the immense religious and spiritual significance associated with Mount Kailash, it is considered a sacrilege to scale the peak; instead pilgrims complete an approximately 52 km long circumambulation—known as parikrama (in Sanskrit) or kora (in Tibetan)—around the mountain.

Typically, Hindus would trek the undulating rocky glacial trail in a clockwise direction while Bonpos circumambulate in an anti-clockwise direction. Pilgrims would exchange auspicious greetings with tashi delek (Tibetan expression to welcome someone or convey best wishes). Along the way, scores of Tibetan Buddhists engage in the profound practice of full-body prostrations, which means that the entire circumambulation can take up to a month to complete, a significant feat considering it would typically only take three days to trek on foot.

On my return journey to Kathmandu, I stopped for lunch at one of the lodges at the Rasuwa border. A conversation with a gentleman ensued and he inquired about my origin and how I came to speak Nepali. Upon mentioning Singapore, he responded in Malay and shared his past experience working at Sentosa in the service industry. With a friendly gesture, he advised me to go inside the lodge as it was about to rain, saying “hujan hujan, masuk dalam!” [“rain rain, go inside!” in Malay]. Another Nepali chap who overheard this conversation chimed in to say that he was waiting for his work visa to travel to Malaysia, thus enacting the contemporary significance of labour mobility to Malaysia where there are approximately half a million migrant workers. This anecdote reveals that in border areas, the transnational life worlds of its people are not only defined by neighbouring regions but extend beyond the remit of South Asia, and this, in effect, exemplifies what scholars have aptly described as the “continuously shifting interaction of places and mobility” .

Exploring the Nepal-Tibet border against a sacred landscape unveils a fascinating intersection between religious tradition, geopolitical realities and trans-border citizenship. This visual ethnography captures not only the physical journey across neighbouring borders but also the intangible layers of social, cultural, religious, and political dynamics that shape the narratives of those traversing this region and beyond. Another trekking experience in Nepal offered a distinctive perspective of transnational migration through the lens of soldiering and revealed connections beyond the confines of South Asia. Within the context of foreign military service, this expedition offered insights into the influence of global mobility and the impact of diasporic engagement on individuals and communities. 

... (to be continued)

Featured photos, unless stated otherwise, are courtesy of Hema Kiruppalini. All rights reserved.

The views expressed in this forum are those of the individual authors and do not represent the views of the Asia Research Institute, National University of Singapore, or the institutions to which the authors are attached.