We met Mr. Vishnu as planned, next to the scooter he’d secured for the day. Unlocking the tandem seat, he removed the only helmet and fitted it securely. We asked for one as well. To which Mr. Vishnu replied, “No need to worry.”
Pa had some concern but I told him the Pokhara traffic is nothing like that of Kathmandu. And surely a man who trekked the Annapurnas for most of thirty years would transport us safely into the nearby foothills.
It was a little rough at first, a close call with a taxi unsettling. But Mr. Vishnu assured us it was the other gentleman’s fault promising, nevertheless, that he’d exercise greater caution as we proceeded.
Soon we were making the climb, a series of hairpin turns offering excellent views of the valley below.
A few times, without prompting from Pa, I suggested we slow down for the oncoming traffic. Mr. Vishnu assured us, “I will go slower.”
There being no value in recounting the remainder of the journey, suffice it to say we arrived safely in Kaskikot, the village of Mr. Vishnu’s birth. A lovely place and off the radar of the casual tourist, Mr. Vishnu suggested we relax before beginning the climb.
A revered landmark in Kaskikot is “the tree,”
reputed by village elders to be 2,000 years old. Mr. Vishnu has no reason to doubt their veracity but Pa was skeptical. No matter its age, it’s very impressive.
Next we stopped at a little place well known to Mr. Vishnu.
The proprietor is a good friend
and his wife, without question, makes the best coffee around.
In no particular hurry, though the cool of the morning was escaping us, we purchased a bottle of water and Nepali bread then paid our bill.
Walking the short distance to the trail’s beginning, Pa and I assumed it would be a dirt path. Nothing of the kind. The walkway up was of stone, constructed with meticulous precision over many decades. “My father and grandfather often labored on it at the end of each trekking season.”
We stopped at a small temple
where Mr. Vishnu uttered the obligatory prayer,
and at the home of a niece,
her son nearby.
We passed the dwelling of a good friend,
and another where relatives live.
As noon approached, our paced slowed,
village and valley growing distant.
Finally arriving at our destination,
Mr. Vishnu was greeted by his very good friend,
the keeper of the Kalika Temple. Before proceeding, it was required that the sutra of the goddess be read.
We then removed our shoes
and followed the keeper to the upper level, Annapurna not far off.
The bell was struck
signaling entry into the first of two rooms,
no photos allowed inside. Only the keeper could enter the inner room where the Hindu goddess Kali lives and the eternal flame is tended.
Once outside, the blessing of Kali was bestowed upon Mr. Vishnu,
then Pa and me.
In our mind’s eye, we imagined her present.
Before descending, Mr. Vishnu identified from left to right the mountains of the Annapurna range,
then insisted a photo be taken to document our visit.
Not far from the Kalika Temple is a smaller temple rarely visited. Sharing bread and water,
Mr. Vishnu explained that the faithful believe Kali to be the ultimate manifestation of Shakti, the primordial cosmic energy.
“She’s the divine protector who bestows moksha: self-realization and self-knowledge. Many pilgrims visit from India, Pakistan and throughout Nepal to receive her blessing. The same blessing you received from Kali.”
Mr. Vishnu, courageous man of the Annapurnas, then lowered his voice:
“Mr. Frederick, I must tell you how very sorry I am. This morning my heart was pounding. I was afraid. It was the first time I had a tall man on the back of a scooter. It was difficult. I hope you will forgive me.”
How could we not and we told him so. But then we made a suggestion:
“A few miles before arriving at Kaskikot there was the mountain end of the Annapurna cable car. Perhaps it would be best if we returned that way. Would you mind?”
Mr. Vishnu smiled his wonderful smile: “A very wise suggestion Mr. Frederick.”
Descending, often as difficult as the going up, Mr. Vishnu would gently take my hand.
Back in Kaskikot, we visited the home where Mr. Vishnu was born,
vacant since his father’s death. He hopes to restore it some day and live there in old age with his wife.
Again on the scooter, it was a slow and easy ride to Sarangkot and the cable car. Once there, we exchanged hugs and talked briefly about dinner with his family.
It may happen, or may not, but we will never forget Mr. Vishnu,
a very dear man.
The give and the take,
the easy in and out
the casual exchange,
the this for that,
our easy speech.
But inwardly I said,
What has made me
will be given back,
what I have loved
was loved because it was not me,
but changed me,
even as it left me,
and you who leave me now
show mercy in your going
by stirring the memory
of your first arrival . . .
David Whyte, Pilgrim
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