When the off-road vehicle climbed over the last mountain ridge and Mount Kailash finally revealed its true form through the sea of clouds, my hands gripping the steering wheel tightened involuntarily. This 6,656-meter-high quadrangular pyramidal snow-capped mountain, with its summit snow shimmering coldly under the sun, bears a natural swastika pattern on its southern slope—formed by vertical ice grooves and horizontal rock layers. Faintly visible amid the swirling clouds and mist, it looks like a mysterious token bestowed by the sacred mountain upon the world. This was the destination I had yearned for three long years, and also the center of the world in the hearts of countless believers: Mount Kailash.
Upon arriving in Darchen, a town perched at an altitude of 4,675 meters, we reached the starting point of the kora, as well as the gateway to the sacred mountain’s realm. Prayer flags lining the road fluttered loudly in the wind, and colorful mani stone piles rose waist-high. Pilgrims dressed in Tibetan robes gathered in small groups at Prayer Flag Square, spinning prayer wheels nonstop and chanting the Six-Syllable Mantra under their breaths. The air was thick with the scents of butter and highland barley, and the sounds of prayers in various languages echoed in my ears. Weariness from the long journey melted away in an instant, leaving me immersed in a solemn and tranquil atmosphere.
Our local guide told us that this place is a sacred site revered by four major religions: Tibetan Buddhism, Hinduism, Jainism, and Bon. Over thousands of years, legends surrounding the sacred mountain have become an integral part of the faith’s foundation. According to the oldest tales, Mount Kailash was once a flat plain. An eminent monk from India once tried to drag the mountain to his homeland with a rope, but a fairy appeared and danced gracefully, lulling him into forgetting his mission. Just then, Sakyamuni passed by. Struck by the abundant spiritual energy here, he stepped onto each of the mountain’s four sides, leaving his sacred footprints, and ordered four mountain gods to guard it. Since then, the sacred mountain has stood firmly on the Ali Plateau forevermore.
In Tibetan Buddhism, it is the incarnation of Mount Sumeru, with the Palace of Supreme Bliss atop its peak and 500 arhats practicing asceticism in caves on its slopes. Hindu believers firmly hold that it is the abode of Lord Shiva, who sits in the Kailasa Palace on the summit, governing the universe’s destruction and rebirth. For the Bon religion, it is the center of the nine heavens—the landing place where Tonpa Shenrab, the religion’s founder, descended from the sky—and every flower and blade of grass at its foot is inhabited by deities. Precisely for this reason, no human has ever set foot on its summit, preserving its pure sanctity intact.
On the first day of the kora, we set off from Darchen and walked along a gravel path toward Zhire Temple. The initial stretch was relatively gentle. Purple wildflowers of unknown names dotted the meadows along the way; occasionally, we spotted Tibetan gazelles grazing with their heads bowed and heard the cries of golden eagles hovering overhead. As the altitude climbed steadily, my breath quickened, and I had to stop to rest every few steps. Just as I gasped for air to catch my rhythm, a group of pilgrims performing full-body prostrations came into view ahead.
Wrapped in thick Tibetan robes, they pressed their palms together above their heads, knelt down to touch the ground with their foreheads, and left clear marks on the earth when they stood up. Repeating this ritual step after step, they advanced slowly toward the sacred mountain. The guide explained that many of them had embarked on this journey from their hometowns hundreds of kilometers away, trekking on foot for months to reach here, and then completing the kora in this most devout manner of full prostrations. Their perseverance deeply touched me, offering a vivid, tangible understanding of the word “faith.”
The second day was the toughest leg of the kora. We had to cross Drolma La Pass, which stands at 5,648 meters above sea level—the highest point of the entire route. We set off at 5 a.m., relying on the dim glow of headlamps to light our way. The temperature in the mountains plummeted below zero degrees Celsius, and the biting cold wind slashed at our faces like a knife. The path beneath our feet was covered with a thin layer of ice, requiring extreme caution with every step. The higher we climbed, the thinner the air became. Symptoms of altitude sickness—chest tightness and splitting headaches—attacked repeatedly, and I thought about giving up several times.
At this moment, our guide shared the legend of the duel between Milarepa and Naro Bonchung. Long ago, the Bon religion dominated the Gangdise region. After the great Tibetan Buddhist master Milarepa attained enlightenment through rigorous practice, he made a bet with Naro Bonchung, a prominent Bon master: they would race around and then climb the mountain to determine who would be the “Lord of the Sacred Mountain.” The two circled the mountain in opposite directions and met exactly at Drolma La Pass. After a stalemate, they competed in climbing to the summit. Naro Bonchung struggled upward, standing on a ceremonial drum, but Milarepa reached the peak in an instant as the morning sun rose over the horizon. Overwhelmed with shame, Naro Bonchung fell from the mountain, carving a deep gash on the southern slope of the sacred mountain—a mark that remains clearly visible to this day.
“The path we are walking now is where the two masters met back then,” the guide said, pointing to the ground beneath our feet. “Later, Milarepa allowed the Bon religion to practice on Benri Mountain to the east, which laid the foundation for the current pattern of harmonious coexistence among different faiths.” After hearing this story, I looked at the pilgrims pressing forward through wind and snow around me, and suddenly understood more deeply: this kora route carries not only piety but also thousands of years of cultural tolerance.
An elderly Tibetan grandmother traveling with our group noticed my distress. She pulled a piece of dried yak meat from her robe and handed it to me, speaking in broken Mandarin: “Walk slowly. The sacred mountain will bless you.” Her smile was as warm as the sun, filling me with the courage to carry on. When I finally struggled to the top of Drolma La Pass, the breathtaking scenery before me made all my fatigue vanish without a trace. A sea of clouds spread out beneath my feet, with a continuous range of snow-capped mountains looming faintly through the mist. The main peak of Mount Kailash stood majestically in the center of the clouds, like an awe-inspiring king.
The mani stone piles at the pass were draped with prayer flags, their vibrant colors fluttering in the wind, as if conveying the pilgrims’ wishes to the sacred mountain. Following the local custom, I picked up a stone and placed it on a mani pile, closing my eyes to offer a silent prayer. At that moment, all the restlessness in my heart was smoothed away, leaving only profound reverence for nature and a newfound insight into life. The guide said that those who are destined can hear the sound of wooden clappers coming from the summit here—a signal that the arhats practicing on the mountainside are gathering for their lunch. Centuries ago, when the renowned Bengali monk Atisha traveled to Tibet to propagate Buddhism, he once heard this sacred sound at this very spot.
The downhill journey was relatively easy. Along the way, we passed streams fed by glacial meltwater, their crystal-clear waters gurgling and nourishing the mountain meadows and vegetation. When we passed Zutrul Phuk Monastery, we stopped to rest for a while. The monks in the monastery served us steaming butter tea, which warmed my entire body from head to toe as soon as I took a sip. The monastery walls were adorned with exquisite murals depicting legends related to the sacred mountain, allowing us to feel the profound depth of its religious and cultural heritage.
On the afternoon of the third day, we finally returned to Darchen, completing this 52-kilometer kora journey. Looking back at Mount Kailash, it had once again vanished into the sea of clouds, as if it had never appeared at all—but it had left an indelible mark on my heart. Some people say that circumambulating the mountain is not about conquering it; it is about encountering a better version of oneself. During this journey, I not only marveled at the magnificent scenery of the plateau but also was deeply moved by the pilgrims’ devotion, gaining a profound understanding of the power of faith behind the sacred mountain’s legends.
On the day I left Ngari, I gazed once more in the direction of Mount Kailash. This “precious snow-capped mountain” (the Tibetan meaning of “Kailash” is “treasure of snow”) not only gives birth to four great rivers—the Karnali, Indus, Sutlej, and Brahmaputra—legend says these are the milk of the gods, nurturing the lands of South and Southeast Asia—but also guides countless people to find inner peace with its sanctity and solemnity.
If you also yearn for a spiritual journey, why not embark on a trip to Mount Kailash? Here, you will realize that some scenery should not just be seen with your eyes, but felt deeply with your heart; some journeys are not just physical treks, but spiritual baptisms. Those legends passed down through thousands of years, and those figures pressing forward through wind and snow, all tell the same truth: the sacred mountain never speaks, yet it has already answered all questions about faith and life. May everyone who comes here find their own answers amid the vastness of heaven, earth, and faith.