The world mountaineering fraternity celebrates the 50th anniversary of the climb of Mount Everest by Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay. During this period, great achievements have been made by Indian climbers by climbing various peaks in the Himalayas. We have also had a very impressive record for our climb to Mount Everest. India launched its first Everest expedition in 1960 under the leadership of Brig. Gyan Singh. The second Everest expedition was launched in 1962 under the leadership of Major John Dias. Both the expedition failed due to adverse weather in the Everest region. India launched its 3rd Everest expedition under the leadership of Capt. M.S. Kohli in 1965 which brought tremendous glory to India. Fortunately I was a member of this expedition. The expedition was a thumping success and thereafter the Everest was closed for five years.
The history of man’s achievements records numerous instances where success has been snatched away from the jaws of failure. As I look back to the events of the last few days of our ascent to the summit, I cannot help wondering at the miracle which turned an imminent defeat into victory. Was it fate or divine intervention or sheer human persistence which took us to our goal which seemed to elude us?
The morning of 25th May dawned bright but chilly. The cold benumbede our spirits when Dorji, who brought us our morning tea, said, “Sahib, there has been a big avalanche over Camp III”. Forgetting the tea, Mohan and I rushed outside. What we saw was a frightful sight. The camp, with its colourful tents- luckily unoccupied at the time had been completely wiped out and nothing was visible except a huge expanse of white. But while there was no loss of life, we had lost something as precious. The cylinders of life sustaining oxygen had now been buried under the avalanche. And with them too, it seemed, were buried the hopes of our summit party reaching the top.
The leader Capt. M.S. Kohli had no option but to call off the final assault as without the oxygen it was doomed to failure. Could we search for the cylinders, we asked? Such a search seemed both pointless and hopeless as whoever heard of bottles being dug out from under a huge mass of snow? But if we were so keen about it, we might as well make the effort, he said. He gave us four Sherpas to assist with the search, and our Nepalese Liaison Officer Rana also accompanied us.
There was no trace whatever of the camp when we reached the site after a two-hour trek there was no recognizable landmark. It was all white barrenness. The avalanche had poured over our camp in a tide of whiteness. Everything had disappeared under the snow. Only the jet-black rocks of the Lhotse face protruded from the thick white blanket. The icy winds of the South Col howled at us without respite and lashed our faces. It was a massive avalanche, and we were lucky that we were not in camp when it struck. Without wasting much time, we organized ourselves and started digging in the hope that we might find some oxygen cylinders, if not the rest of the equipment. Doubt and determination kept up a running battle in my weary mind.
So we kept digging but there appeared to be no sign either of the equipment or the oxygen cylinders. It was tough going. Mind and body fought desperately to conquer fatigue and bitter cold, and to win the race against time. Towards late afternoon, after digging for six hourse, I was worn out and depressed. I glanced at the Sherpas. They too were downcast. We looked at each other without a word and continued digging. The minutes seemed like years but eventually time – that relentless enemy – entered our calculations. We would not go on like this much longer. And it was at this crucial stage that I happened to glance at the Sherpas once again. They were praying. And at the moment God seemed very near. I began to pray. “If not you, Oh God, who will help us?” I began digging again.
Suddenly my axe struck an oxygen cylinder.
My prayer had been answered and the miracle gave me a new life. A few more whacks through the thick snow and we soon located another and yet another. What a moment of supreme happiness! We now grinned happily at each other and began to dig feverishly with renewed vigour and hope, and one by one we dug up all the oxygen cylinders buried by the avalanche. Most experts on Everest would say this was a very rare bit of good luck, but as we believed then, and we believe now, this was a miracle in answer to our prayer which was simple, earnest and full of faith. At that moment, we were at the end of our tether and we literally left it all in God’s hands. It was at this stage that I felt a fierce determination flow back into me – nothing could stop us from reaching the summit.
It was at 5.00 am on 29th May 1965, when our climb to the Summit began. At the height of 28,000 ft. from the last camp, Phu Dorji and I were tied in one rope and started climbing with Rawat and Bahuguna following a few minutes later on the 2nd rope. Carrying approximately 70 pounds of load on our back made our going extremely difficult.
The wind was blowing at tremendous speed and there was not much foothold on Razor’s Edge. Lashed and buffeted by the wind, I found it difficult to keep my balance. We dug our ice axes in and tightened the ropes but the winds were merciless and kept lashing us while the cold penetrated to the very marrow of our bones. The going became tough and there were moments when I felt like giving up the struggle. The main ridge had now ended but our path was hardly less hazardous. As we took a turn to the right, we were faced on the felt with an unbroken wall of slate rocks. Pressed against the loose, black slates we clung to whatever hand hold or foot hold we could manage as we moved across like tiny flies against all that immensity. Below us was a straight fall of some 10,000 ft. into Tibet.
The nightmare of the black rocks finally ended and we entered the area of Yellow Band where the going was comparatively easier. But now another problem cropped up. I discovered that my oxygen pipe connected to the bladder of the oxygen bottle was leaking. One of the spies of my crampon had evidently punctured it. Binding it with a handkerchief did no good. Then my mind, working rapidly, found a solution. We tore a piece of adhesive tape off one of our film cartons and glued it over the puncture. The escape was effectively blocked. From then on I was careful to keep track of the long pipe so that it would not trail under the spiky crampon again.
Greatly relieved, we would now have continued the ascent but Phu Dorji spotted a lone figure which was trudging towards us up the rocky part of the path we had left behind. I thought of the Abominable Snowman but Dorji was more realistic. When the figure came nearer we discovered it was Rawat. Waving and panting, he reached us where we sat under the base of the South Summit after repairing the leaking pipe.
Rawat joined us as Bahugana found extremely difficult to climb as he felt unwell due to a rash developed previous night on his body and he could not sleep the whole night. He offered to stay back and allow Rawat to move on. Rawat joined us as the middle man on our rope and moved on. The rope was meant for two and it was against accepted theory to use it for three.
The winds shrieked and flayed us mercilessly. We dug our ice axes in and kept cutting steps but the higher we went the fiercer the wind blew. A raging thirst tormented me but my rope mates had their heads well down and were marching doggedly. I could not suggest a halt. With my companions I kept plodding on mechanically while an inner voice urged: “You can’t quit, you must keep going, you must succeed.”
Slowly and cautiously we negotiated the big boulders of the South Summit. We did not go over the top but took a traverse to the left about seventy feet below till we came across a narrow gully in the snow which we named India’s Den. This gully is on the main traverse from the South Col. to Hillary’s Chimney. We were quite relieved to see it as this was the only place sheltered from the high winds and had a small spot where we three could stand and sip some fruit juice. Beyond this point we wanted to be as light as possible. We left the fruit juice tin here and also the oxygen bottle each of oxygen left to take us to our destination and bring back to this point. We regulated the flow at two litres a minute.
The foremost thought now in my mind was whether we would be able to climb Hillary’s Chimney and come back to this place safely after achieving our goal, or would it prove an insurmountable obstacle and rob us of success when it seemed within our grasp. Descending vertically for about thirty five feet we came to some rocks and a narrow path that let us to the Chimney – an almost vertical obstacle between rock and snow cornice, which I had dreaded ever since I was selected for the expedition. Phu Dorji, who was ahead, tried climbing it but kept slipping. He would cut a step with the ice axe and gingerly place his foot on it but would slip all the same. His abortive attempts disheartened me but at last I saw him swing the ice axe into the wall on the top and it held there with the blade driven in fully. Helped thus, he slowly crossed the Chimney. He asked Rawat to come up another way, from the rock side. Rawat too slipped and had to be literally pulled up.
In fact, negotiating the Chimney proved to be a most hazardous affair. Since, I was at the rear of the rope and quite far away from Phu Dorji when he made his final attempt, I could not see the exact holds which he took. Rawat, not being able to push forward from the same place, had moved slowly to the left over a big boulder and thus ascended to the top of the Chimney.
I being in the corner could hardly see him moving up but tried to follow him. Not realising that I had gone too far left, when I stepped over the big boulder, it started rocking. I knew that with a little more pressure on it, the boulder would fall down along with ;me and I might possibly also bring down the other two climbers, in which case nobody would be able to stop us during a fall of 8,000ft. I must have wasted at least fifteen minutes or more trying to push myself forward. From that point I could not see either Phu Dorji or Rawat nor attract their attention by shouting. I could only signal to them by pulling the rope twice which meant that I was in trouble and that they should anchor themselves and make preparations to pull me up. While tugging at the rope I nearly hit my back, with the oxygen cylinder. If this had happened, the oxygen would have leaked out and I would have been left stranded.
We now found ourselves perched on an ice platform. From here the slope slackened gradually and there was rock to the left and snow to the right. We followed the path between the two. The climbing was not steep now. There were only humps of rocks and snow and often a mixture of both. Breathing, which had never been easy, became even more difficult. We would take a deep breath but it would shorten into a hiccup and we gasped for breath. Would the ascent never end? Each step now was a totally exhausting effort. Time and again I wondered if our quest was worth this terrible ordeal. But each time mind over rules matter and I found myself taking yet another step, cutting the ice if need be or merely climbing into steps already made by my rope partners.
The humps undulated endlessly. Sometimes there would be only rock, sometimes a snowy rock or a shoulder of snow. I kept asking myself how much longer and how much farther. May be it was far off; may be we would have to turn back without reaching it. On every climb one is assailed by these doubts, and there comes a time the mind and body on the sheer bliss of going downhill again. I was in such a state. Yet, another part in me urged me to go on. It couldn’t be more than a few feet now – perhaps fifty or even less. But the slope let on and on. Heavens, was there no end? And then, suddenly, there was an end – no more little humps, only a white little dome curving slightly above us. Incredible! It was the summit of Everest.
Yes, we were there. Linking arms, we climbed the last few feet together. The tricolour planted by our first summit party was flying, tattered but jaunty. There were other flags too and some souvenirs and offerings left by the summit parties which had come before us.
From this point, there was a sheer drop and I looked into space. It was freezing, may be 30 degrees below zero, but suddenly the wind dropped, and I remembers thinking: this is a special gift from the goddess Mother of the Earth. We took a long, wheeling look from the highest point in the world. There were Makalu and Lhotse, Nuptse and Kanchenjunga looming on the horizon, and many other peaks, all far below us – in a maze of rock and snowfluted ice falls plunging into glaciers and glaciers thrusting into valleys.
We gazed north towards the Tibetan plateau, and south towards the plains of India. The roof of the Thyangboche monastery glistened in the distance, an upturned mirror, floating as it were on the opal mists of morning. The view was unforgettable.
Maj. HPS Ahluwalia
Of all the emotions which surged through me as I stood on the summit of Everest, looking over miles of panorama below us, the dominant one I think was humility. The physical in me seemed to say, “Thank God”, it’s all over.” However, instead of being jubilant, there was a tinge of sadness. Was it because I had already done the “ultimate” in climbing and there would be nothing higher to climb and all roads hereafter would lead down.
By climbing the summit of Everest you are overwhelmed by a deep sense of joy and thankfulness. It is a joy which lasts a lifetime. The experience changes you completely. The man who has been to the mountains is never the same again. He gains immensely from the mountains. He becomes conscious of his own smallness and loneliness in this immeasurable universe.
As I look back at life after climbing Everest I cannot help remarking about the other Summit - the Summit of the mind – no less formidable and no easier to climb.
Each man carries within himself his own mountain which he must climb to attain a fuller knowledge of himself. The mind has its mountains and cliffs, fearful, sheer unfathomed. The physical act of climbing a mountain has a kinship with the ascent of that inward, spiritual mountain which every man has to climb sometime or the other. Whether the mountain you climb is physical or spiritual, the climb will change you. It will teach you much about yourself and the world.
![hps](javascript:openWin("http://www.sikhspectrum.com/images/hps_a.jpg"))
![](javascript:openWin("http://www.sikhspectrum.com/052004/images/everest.jpg"))
![](javascript:openWin("http://www.sikhspectrum.com/052004/images/hps.jpg"))