Manmohan Singh Kohli

Mt. Everest The Namche Conference

On 15 August, 1964 the ITB Police celebrated Independence Day at Rai. That day, due to a heavy monsoon downpour, the entire ITBP establishment, including our house, had been marooned. Water, at least a foot high, swirled in our living rooms. Pushpa, my wife, and I were sitting on table-tops. To get to the Grand Trunk road nearby, which was at a higher level and had escaped flooding, one had to wade through water, carrying clothes and shoes on or above the head.

Looking out of my window I saw a postman in his drab khaki uniform. He capered around the house hoping to find some way of getting in. Finally, he rolled up his trousers and stepped into the water. He had hardly gone a few yards when he retraced his steps towards the Grand Trunk Road. He took off his uniform, entered the water in his underclothes, carrying his mail bag, boots and trousers on his head. Crossing the moat, he came, or rather floated, to our door-step. He brought a big bundle of mail.

There were a few telegrams and many letters. I was busy opening and reading the letters. Pushpa picked out the telegrams. One in particular looked important to her. She read it aloud. It was from Chakravarty, Secretary of the Indian Mountaineering Foundation. It read, ‘See Sarin positively by 16 August’.

The next morning, I saw Sarin in the South Block of the Central Government Secretariat. As usual, he was half hidden behind heaps of official files. Several telephones, on his large table, kept ringing intermittently. Sarin was an important member of the Sponsoring Committee of the Indian Mountaineering Foundation. He was later its President. He was also the Member-Secretary of the Executive Council of the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute, Darjeeling, and had administered this institute from its inception in November, 1954. He had been devoted to the cause of mountaineering in this country for over a decade. Raising his head above the stack of papers, Sarin looked at me and said, “I am glad to say that the Sponsoring Committee has decided to offer you the leadership of the Third Everest Expedition. The third time, I hope, will be lucky. We must make it this time.”

Excitement gripped me. My thoughts raced to Everest. This time we had to reach the summit! I was already climbing up the mountains. The last camp had to be higher, higher than ever before. Meanwhile Sarin went on, “Kumar will be the Deputy Leader”.

I was too moved to speak. Suddenly, I found myself burdened with heavy responsibilities. I stood up a little dazed, shook hands with Sarin, thanked him and the Sponsoring Committee for reposing so much confidence in me and assured him that I would do my best.

I set up my headquarters in Delhi on 1 September, 1964. Kumar was already there. We got busy with our planning. The expedition was to leave for the mountain around mid-February. We had barely five and a half months to complete the preparations. And in that period, a special pre-Everest expedition had to be organised with the help of the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute, Darjeeling, to select a suitable team. I chose the 21,911 foot Rathong, an unclimbed peak in the Kanchenzonga range, for this. This was to last about five weeks. That left us just about four months for the gigantic organisational task. There were countless things to be done and thousands of loose ends to be tied up. A great deal had to be thought out in the limited time available.

The Rathong Expedition was to start around mid-October and the Everest team could not be selected till a month later, at the end of the Rathong expedition. Till then Kumar and I had to handle all the work and it was essential that we attended to some of the urgent and vital problems without any delay.

The Pre-Everest to Rathong attracted a large number of climbers. We assembled in Darjeeling on 13 October. The Pre-Everest run-up was exciting. Every one was keen to show his talent. At the end of the trip 11 members reached the top. How wonderful it would be, I thought , if we could put the same number on top of Everest! And why not? I had great hopes. If only the weather-gods would be kind.

We returned to Darjeeling on 11 November. Khera and Sarin arrived the following day. Two hours after their arrival, I was closeted with them in the Guest Room of HMI for a long session to finalise the selection of the team. On one of the two climbers, Balwant, whom I wanted desperately for the team, there was a heated discussion. Khera announced the principle of selection. Neither the leader nor the Sponsoring Committee would force a climber. Both would enjoy the veto power. I accepted the formula and soon the team was finalised.

The team of 1965 expedition led by M.S. Kohli.

The selected team, besides Kumar and myself, comprised Nawang Gombu, Gurdial Singh, Sonam Gyatso, C.P. Vohra, A.S. Cheema, Mulk Raj, Sonam Wangyal, H.P.S. Ahluwalia, H.V. Bahuguna, J.C. Joshi, H.C.S. Rawat, Ang Kami, and B.P. Singh. Lala Talang and Soares (later replaced by Chakravarty) were the two doctors. Gurucharan Bhangu and Balakrishnan were to look after the communications. To the 19-member team was added Lt Bhagirath Rana, the Nepal Government’s Liaison Officer.

Our long trek to the Base Camp, like the previous two, started from Jayanagar, a town on the Indo-Nepal border, on 26 February. Bathing in innumerable streams, and gently rubbing ourselves against the fragrant silk-cotton and flame-of-the-forest, we made our way through the terraced fields and forests. And then, the Sherpa districts of Solu and Khumbu with prayer flags, mani walls, gompas and chortens; all proclaiming Om mani padme hum, the Bhuddist prayer. The fierce winter was on its last legs and crisp-yellow grass, flowing water and swaying bushes welcomed us into a new world where time stands still. The heady chang and rakshi flowed eternally with which our Sherpas and porters drowned their sorrows.

Climbing up and down, and up again, rising higher after every plunge and enjoying cursory glimpses of the high mountains, we reached the famous and heavenly lamasery of Thyangboche on the seventeenth day of our march. In an atmosphere vibrant with the chanting of prayers, tolling of bells and with occasional blowing of a conch, we settled down in the colourful rest house for a short period of reorganisation and acclimatisation. We chose the adjacent slopes for our training climbs.

After four days’ rest at Thyangboche, our advance parties left for the Base Camp, reaching there on 22 March. We were now in the great amphitheatre of Everest with Pumori (23,409 feet), Lingtrense (21,969 feet), Khumbutse (21,782 feet), Changtse (24,777 feet) inside Tibet, the west shoulder of Everest itself, Nuptse rising into the sky in semicircular grandeur. We were on the Khumbu Glacier with its icy-blue lakes, its glistening smooth towers. Its gurgling streams rushed under the ice, its huge waves of frozen fury were curtained with incomparable hangings hugging its exciting course from Lobuje to this rubble-covered patch. Under the shadow of Khumbutse and Lho-La we set up our Base Camp.

A day’s rest and we were up on the icefall. The glittering smooth towers threatened to tumble down with fearful thunder, huge unshapely blocks rumbled and screeched and came shattering down at will. Frightening crevasses yawned, gulping tons of debris hungrily and closing in as fast.

It was a weird jungle of ice, phantoms playing their unearthly game. This was the first awesome taste of an entry to the sanctuary of Everest.

Although we had twice before been close to Everest, the ever-changing icefall was always a new challenge, always a new problem. Four days of hard work and we were on top of the ice fall. That was on 27 March, the earliest ever an expedition had got to the Western Cwm.

Beyond the bizarre labyrinth of the icefall, whose savage wilderness presented a constant danger to life, lay the gently rising and placid slopes of the Western Cwm, only to be disturbed by the peeling of avalanches from the steep slopes of Lhotse.

After about a week of ferrying loads up the icefall, we moved further to face the challenge of Lhotse Face, the second major hurdle on Everest. Directly ahead of the Western Cwm, at the end of a gentle slope and barely five miles from the top of the icefall, rises the steep face of Lhotse crowned with its 27,891 feet high rocky summit. On the right is the almost vertical Lhotse-Nuptse Wall. To the left is the South-west Shoulder of Everest. In between lies the Valley of Silence.

The good weather held on and our first ferry reached the South Col on 16 April. Two days later, another ferry of 16 repeated this performance. As usual, the South Col. ferries rummaged around the ‘highest junkyard in the world’. The luckier ones returned with hundreds of feet of cine film left by the Americans in 1963, as also oxygen regulators, strips of tent fabrics (which they used as scarves), and most surprising of all, Hari Dang’s wallet containing a couple of hundred rupees in Nepalese and Indian currencies, a leftover of the 1962 Indian Expedition!

We were now poised for the crucial phase. The morning of 20 April dawned bright and clear and our first summit party consisting of two pairs, Gombu and Cheema, Gyatso and Wangyal, supported by Gurdial and me moved up to the Advance Base. A team of 14 strong and selected Sherpas accompanied us. It was the first time in the history of Everest that a summit attempt was being launched so early in the season. If all went well, the summiters might reach the top on 27 April. The weather seemed fine and the Lhotse Face, usually wind-swept, with frenzied gusts of driving snow, looked serene and peaceful. There was no plume on Everest and our hopes were high.

On the morning of 27 April, we moved up from the Advance Base Camp (21,297 feet) to Camp IV (24,997 feet) and on the following day we went up to South Col (26,200 feet). As is usual with South Col, the winds were blowing furiously.

For Cheema and Wangyal, this was their first visit to this famous place. They spent almost two hours pitching tents in the strong gale. The old empty oxygen bottles came in handy for anchoring the guide ropes of the tents. The cold gusts of wind hit us in our faces and swayed us from side to side, rocking us and sending a chill across our spines. We soon crawled inside our tent with a sigh of relief. Guru, Dawa Norbu and myself were in one tent and the ‘four summiters’ in the other. The wind raged for the whole night and we hoped that the following day would be quiet.

The wild flapping of tents went on ruthlessly and unabated till the next morning. There seemed no chance of our moving up that day. We waited for another day, spending most of our time lying inside the tents and imbibing lots of fluids. There were a few minutes of respite from winds and we were out rummaging through the ‘highest junkyard in the world’. We found some cheese and ovaltine tins at the 1963 American camp-site. The cheese had turned sour but the ovaltine came in handy.

The second night was also spent under the fury of strong winds. This continued till the morning. Any remaining desire and determination on our part to spend one more day at South Col was finally squashed by the 9.15 a.m. weather forecast announcing bad weather for the next three days. We considered it prudent to withdraw and were soon climbing down the slopes of Lhotse.

The winds continued to howl and roar for several days. The days of forced rest and long wait at last came to an end. The turmoil of winds, which blew in relentless fury and with no respite for almost three weeks, stopped on the morning of 14 May. Indications of fair weather were given in the weather forecast by All India Radio. The time had now come for us to move again.

Establishing the last camp was the crux of our Everest climb. The higher it could be set up on the summit ridge, the nearer one would be to success. I had long appreciated this fact after our 1960 and 1962 expeditions. I had taken particular pains to impress upon Phu Dorje, our assistant Sirdar, and other last camp Sherpas, the significance of this plan. We had shown them the photographs of the hump at about 28,000 feet. That was intended to be our site for the last camp. We had all scanned the ridge through binoculars from Camp IV and the South Col for the exact position of this hump and had made it amply clear to all. They all agreed to do their best.

Sixteenth May was chosen for our upward move. I announced the summit parties the day before. Instantly, the camp that had been restive for the last two weeks sprang into activity. Gombu and Cheema, as the first summit pair, started packing their gear. Sonam Gyatso and Sonam Wangyal, the second summit pair, held important discussions with ‘Brigadier’ Thondup, our cook, about menus suitable for their highest climb. C.P. Vohra and Ang Kami were to be the third summit pair. Rawat and Bahuguna the fourth and B.P. Singh and Ahluwalia the fifth.

There was no oxygen left for more parties and even the chances of a fourth and fifth pair would depend on how smoothly the first three parties succeeded in their mission.

The morning of the 16th dawned clear. The icefall glittered in the bright sunshine. I performed the ardaas before the departure of each summit team. One last look behind and Cheema and Gombu were off and up the icefall.

The next day, the two Sonams moved up. Warm send-offs after the ardaas were going to be a regular ritual. We knew, as soon as we finished seeing off the four summit parties, that they would have to get ready to receive and welcome those who had already gone up. Prayer flags were fluttering everywhere. Sonam Gyatso’s prayer wheel was majestically turning round on the red medical tent, telling us that all would be very well!

Owing to shortage of oxygen and because of the successful wireless contact of the Advance Base Camp with various camps, including the South Col, I dropped the original intention of going to the South Col as a ‘support’ and instead, thought it better to stay at the Advance Base Camp.

Gombu and Cheema moved up from the Advance Base Camp to Camp IV, from there to the South Col, reaching there on the 18th along with their supporting Sherpas led by Phu Dorje. The South Col was inhospitable as usual, but the winds were less furious than in April.

The flattened tents came to life again. Everything seemed to be in order except the 16 mm movie camera which had found the cold a little too much. Oxygen pressures were checked, food was made ready for the morrow and the summit party snuggled into sleeping bags for the night, with oxygen on. The Sherpas used oxygen too.

Cheema lay awake for some time, thinking of the unknown before him. Gombu was now an old hand at the game. He had already been to the summit and knew every inch of the way. He went over in his mind the entire anatomy of the summit ridge.

The next morning was calm, clear and bright. Taking advantage of the weather, they left early in the morning. There was loose powdery snow in the couloir above the South Col, and the summit party sank knee-deep. By and large, the going was good. The South Summit was visible. So was the hump below it. Nearer and nearer it came, till finally it loomed directly ahead. They continued ascending higher and higher and then they were on top of the hump. A little below it, taking shelter from the winds, ten men went into action to pitch a tent. After 90 minutes of huffing and puffing, a red two-man drawtite tent was erected. So here it was: a tent at no less a height than 27,930 feet, highest ever camp on the Everest. We received the news at the Advance Base Camp with great relief and joy.

Twentieth May, D-day, crept silently upon the two sleeping climbers at the last camp. They had slept well with oxygen but not before both of them had prayed. Gombu wondered whether he would do it again. With Cheema, everything was well. He looked forward to the morning.

Cheema got up at 3 a.m. and said ‘good morning’ to Gombu. Indeed, a good morning it was to be. After some hot coffee, and having put on all the necessary paraphernalia, including the crampons, the pair left at 5 a.m. They had already spoken to me at the Advance Base Camp on the wireless before starting.

Excitement surged through the whole expedition, both at the Advance Base Camp and the Base Camp. None of us had really slept well. We were eagerly waiting with our binoculars firmly focussed on the Summit Ridge.

The day was partially cloudy and a strong wind was blowing. There was soft snow on the ridge and both Gombu and Cheema went along, stamping their steps. At 7.30 a.m., they were directly below the South Summit. After a sip of coffee, they dumped their partially-used oxygen bottles for moving up again. At 8.10 a.m. they were at the South Summit, where they were seen from various observation posts on the Pumori Ridge. The other observation posts were at Camp IV and at the Advance Base Camp.

The summiters moving rapidly and without difficulty, reached the well-known Hillary Chimney and were seen above it. A few steps cut and there lay before them the final Summit Ridge.

Hearts thumping, not so much with exhaustion, they climbed up foot by foot on the last lap to success till they sighted the American flagpole pitched by James Whittaker and Nawang Gombu on 1 May, 1963.

Ten feet below the top, they stopped and undid their rucksacks. They took out the cameras and the various flags they had carried and then climbed together. The Indian Tricolour was on top of the world at 9.30 a.m. on that May day.

Both Cheema and Gombu had a tremendous sense of relief on having done a job well. Otherwise, there were no particular emotions. It was so difficult to think or feel anything at that altitude when the oxygen mask was off, they said later.

They stayed on the top for about 30 minutes. The view to the south and east was obscured by a cloud. But to the north, Rongbuk Glacier and Tibet were distinctly visible. Cheema planted some silver coins given to him by his mother. Gombu left a scarf given by his wife and a statue of Lord Buddha sent by Tenzing Norgay.

The descent started at 10.05 a.m. after a hearty handshake. A few rocks in their pockets from the summit formed their only souvenirs and, of course, the glorious memories of the ascent. The South Summit came at 10.45 a.m. The wind had now gathered momentum. Snow was being flung in their faces. Goggles had to be removed often to clear them of snow. At times it became so bad that Cheema had to crawl on all fours. Eyebrows and beards became snow-coated. Still they continued their march down.

Below the South Summit the dumped oxygen bottles came back into the rucksacks. The empty ones were discarded. Down they went in the fierce wind. It was 12.45 p.m. when they entered Camp VI. The visibility was so poor that they could not even see each other. The first thing they did was to warm themselves up and drink a lot of fluids. Next, they opened up the wireless set and flashed the good news to me.

It was 1 p.m. The news was also passed on to us from Camp IV where Guru was based. All of us were thrilled. Everyone danced on air-mattresses, embraced one another and jumped with joy. A message was flashed to Kathmandu and thence to New Delhi.

Sonam Gyatso and Sonam Wangyal had, in the meanwhile, moved to the South Col from Camp IV. Their ascent was uneventful. They could see Gombu and Cheema descending from Camp VI which they had left at 2 p.m.

Gombu and Cheema faced a terrifying blizzard as they came out of the tent. They decided to press on, however, and inched their way up the couloir where they were welcomed by both the Sonams. Cheema’s oxygen mask was damaged by the wind. Sonam Gyatso’s fur cap had been blown off his head.

All of them came slowly back to the tents at the South Col and the exhausted summit pair crept into the sleeping bags at 3.30 p.m. All had not gone so well as it might appear. They had their share of troubles. Cheema was snow-blinded, the price he was paying for having had to remove his goggles. Gombu had developed a sore throat. They had some food and juices and dropped off to sleep.

The weather turned bad that night. It snowed heavily over the Everest region. In fact, it snowed so heavily that the big, blue mess tent in the Base Camp collapsed under the weight of snow, pinning Kumar and Lala under the debris. They had to cut their way out of the fabric.

Next morning, in spite of the soft snow, Gombu and Cheema decided to come down to Camp IV. The route had been obliterated and they lost their way just short of the camp. After a search of about 15 to 20 minutes and shouting for someone to come out of the tents at Camp IV, they finally noticed moving figures on Lhotse and then made their way to Camp IV. They were warmly received by Vohra and Ang Kami, our third summit pair who had moved up from the Advance Base Camp.

Higher up, the drama of the two Sonams was being enacted. They had started early, at 8.25 a.m. Gyatso had a select band of three Sherpas with him. This was his third time on that ridge.

The 'weather had been fine during the night, but had rapidly deteriorated. It had become very windy and snowfall had started, notwithstanding the prayers of Sonam, who was a very pious man.

Having passed the American site at 12.30 p.m., they went on, only to realise, to their dismay, that they had lost their route. Prodding in the knee-deep snow and wiping the snowflakes from their eyes, they finally heard Da Norbu shouting; ‘Here it is’. They had found the camp.

Ang Dawa had suffered frostbite in three of his fingertips. Gunden was snow-blinded. Da Norbu was terribly exhausted. Sonam himself had suffered what looked like an ultraviolet burn, later to be diagnosed as frostbite, on the left side of his back. Of the two air mattresses in Camp VI, one was punctured and rendered useless. Wangyal slept on it. Sonam tossed in his sleeping bag, due to pain. Both did not sleep well that night.

The Base Camp was now decorated. Banners made on the spot from marking flags were fluttering colourfully on all tents. A big procession went up to the Crampon Point to receive the heroes. Cheema’s famous Bhangra (Punjabi dance) followed, with active participation of Kumar and others, to the chant of taka naka taka dhin. Thus ended the saga of the first summit pair, physically, that is. But it would remain in mountaineering history, always; as Gombu’s ‘double’.

The Sonams, the second summit team, left Camp VI at 6.45 a.m. on 22 May. The weather had improved considerably but they were going slow because of Sonam Gyatso’s pain. The South Summit was reached at 10.20 a.m. They plodded on and finally stood on the top at 12.30 p.m. It had taken them six hours from the last camp. This pair, in contrast to the first one, had been clearly seen stepping on the summit by Kumar from the Pumori Ridge. We thus knew of their success almost as soon as they reached the top. The Sonams performed the summit ritual. They hoisted flags. Sonam Gyatso placed a scarf, a statue each of Lord Krishna and Lord Buddha and some sweets on the top. Wangyal left a ring and a prayer flag. They had a clear view all round.

At 1.15 p.m. they left the summit. By the time they reached the chimney, their oxygen had run out. From the South Summit downwards they went without oxygen. Progress was naturally very poor, what with no oxygen and Sonam Gyatso’s pain. They retrieved a bottle of oxygen at the South Summit and continued slowly on their way back. At last, at 6 p.m. they finally staggered into Camp VI, ready to drop, through sheer fatigue and exhaustion.

Vohra and Ang Kami could not move up to the South Col from Camp IV, due to fresh snow that day. The Sonams had not been seen or heard of till as late as 3 p.m. We were naturally getting anxious. Vohra and Ang Kami got on to the wireless and tried to contact Camp VI. They failed. They scanned the summit ridge. They could not see the second pair. We were all praying for their safety. Finally, at about 6 p.m. came the voice of Wangyal on the walkie-talkie. He confirmed the second party’s success. He also assured us that both of them were just fine. Thank God!

Things moved like clockwork after that. Vohra had a slight sore throat. Otherwise both members of the third party were fit. Fried chicken, rice and juices formed the summiters’ dinner. For them, the night passed blissfully. The weather gods, who had been rough with the Sonams, smiled on them and they started on their climb at 6 a.m. on a bright morning. Vohra mentioned in his dairy: “While I was climbing the rocks, my oxygen ran out. I had to climb about five metres without oxygen. It was a revelation.”

The two were on their upward move. To their joy and relief they saw both the Sonams coming down the ridge. Looking exhausted, the Sonams explained the final climb to Vohra and Kami, and went down to the South Col.

The third summit party reached Camp VI at 10 a.m. It was early in the day. The South Summit looked near and it was tempting to start for the top right away. The view was breathtaking. The Sherpas dumped half-full oxygen bottles at Camp VI and went down to the South Col without oxygen.

Twenty fourth May was to be a glorious day. Both Vohra and Ang Kami got up at 1.30 a.m. Both, however, decided it was too early yet and promptly dropped off to sleep. At 4 a.m. they were up again, heating juices and packing rucksacks. They left at 5 a.m. They had a fine day. The wind had died down and they continued their journey up, sometimes wading in soft snow, sometimes trudging on rock. At 9 a.m., they were on top of the South Summit.

They passed the Rock Chimney and stood on the summit at 10.45 a.m. Vohra had carried a movie camera and he set about taking shots, while Ang Kami tied flags to the pole. Their return to the last camp was uneventful except that, at the Rock Chimney, Vohra slipped and lost his ice axe. This slowed down progress. In addition, Vohra’s oxygen supply ran out and he had to descend without oxygen for some time. His feet began to get cold. Ang Kami complained of the same trouble. They reached Camp VI at 4.15 p.m. The sun had passed over the ridge and both decided to stay there. They had been sighted by Kumar through binoculars. Now they got on to the walkie-talkie and confirmed the news. Meanwhile both Sonams had reached the Base Camp that day.

Rawat and Bahuguna, B.P. Singh and Ahluwalia, forming the fourth and fifth summit parties respectively, moved up. In view of the short climbing period which was almost coming to a close, it was decided that both these pairs should push up together and attempt the peak on the twenty-fourth. But on the following day winds, once again, reigned supreme. Dried snow swept over the mountain, making visibility poor.

The third summit party, then at Camp IV, could not move up to the South Col and accordingly the fourth party had to stay put at the Advance Base Camp. A special weather forecast that evening indicated adverse weather conditions on Everest from the afternoon of the twenty-fourth to the afternoon of the twenty-seventh. That necessitated further postponement. It was thus decided to send the party up on the twenty-sixth for an attempt on the twenty-ninth.

A summit party of four needed at least 25 bottles of oxygen and we had just about that number left. If only the first three parties returned without any accident and if no party spent an extra night at the South Col or the last camp, the oxygen would be just about enough. An all-out effort was, therefore, made to secure each available bottle for this party. Out of the remnants of various expeditions around the Base Camp, one full oxygen bottle was retrieved. Of the four oxygen bottles kept at the Advance Base Camp for medical purposes, two were released to the fourth party. It was also planned to pick up some half-filled bottles lying at the American Base Camp.

On the morning of 25 May, a huge ice avalanche from the Lhotse Face swept over the unoccupied Camp III, burying the tents and equipment eight to ten feet deep and twelve precious oxygen bottles. That also buried the chances of the last summit pair. Ahluwalia, B.P. Singh and Bahuguna, with their support Sherpas, spent the whole day probing the avalanche. Fortunately, towards late afternoon, they succeeded in digging out the twelve oxygen bottles. There was jubilation all around. The third summit pair that day returned to the South Col and reported the latest position regarding oxygen bottles at the Col. We now had about 30 bottles, sufficient for not only four but five persons to attempt the peak.

I decided to include Phu Dorje in the summit team. In view of the excellent work done by the Sherpas, I thought it fit to include one of the them in the summit party. Phu Dorje, who had led the support party carrying loads to the highest camp on Everest, deserved this honour more than anyone else. Phu Dorje was at that time at the Base Camp. He was asked to make the South Col in two days and join the summit party on the twenty-seventh. Phu Dorje declined the offer. However, Guru succeeded in persuading him to agree.

On the morning of 26 May, the fourth summit party, with their Sherpas, left for Camp IV. They were in high spirits and made Camp III in good time. A short distance up the Lhotse Face, B.P. Singh suddenly developed some heart strain and, finding it difficult to continue, returned to the Advance Base Camp. The others carried on to Camp IV and the next day to the South Col. Phu Dorje had in the meanwhile come up to the Advance Base Camp and made the South Col on the following day.

True to the weather forecast, the morning of 28 May dawned bright and clear. Ahluwalia and Phu Dorje on one rope, Rawat and Bahuguna on the other, accompanied by seven Sherpas, moved up to the last camp. They carried an extra Indian Ordnance Factories’ light-weight tent and two sets of sleeping bags and air-mattresses. Ahluwalia was doing some cine photography en route. They moved fast and were soon at the South-East Ridge, the 1962 Indian camp, then the site of the American camp. They had a short rest, some coffee and Phu Dorje bagged an extra bottle of oxygen from the American camp. Soon they were at the last camp.

With the help of Sherpas, they levelled a platform for another tent. Walkie-talkie contact was established in the afternoon. They were informed that the weather was likely to deteriorate in the afternoon of 29 May and they were advised to leave early next morning.

Next morning was clear throughout and calm. They were all up around 3 a.m. melting snow and preparing liquid food. At 5.30 a.m. they were on their way. Unfortunately, Bahuguna had developed an itch all over his body and had to spend a miserable night. He now discovered that he was unable to go as fast as Rawat. Feeling that Rawat’s chances might also go down, he detached himself from the rope and asked him to carry on. Bahuguna descended to the South Col and the same day to Camp IV, where Dr. Chakravarty was staying in support.

Rawat continued alone for a while but later he roped up with Phu Dorje and Ahluwalia. They dropped one bottle each just below the South Summit, and at 8.45 a.m. they were on the South Summit. While going down the 299 feet descent from the South Summit, they had a glimpse of the summit hump and the Indian flag fluttering. They felt excited and rushed on to the Chimney and soon were above it. Footsteps of previous parties were still there. When they were just a few feet below the summit, they walked arm-in-arm and reached the summit together. It was 10.15 a.m. The Indian flag was fluttering and they saw various other mementoes left by previous summit parties.

Major H.P.S. Ahluwalia and Phu Dorje, standing atop Mount Everest on 29 May, 1965.

Ahluwalia took some pictures. To their great disappointment, the ‘huge’ cine camera, carried by the trio all the way to the summit, refused to function. Ahluwalia placed his wrist-watch and a photograph of Guru Nanak on the summit. Rawat placed an image of Goddess Durga, and Phu Dorje placed a silver locket containing the Dalai Lama’s photograph.

On 31 May, all of us were at last down at the Base Camp. There were celebrations throughout the night and on the following day, we left contented and thankful to Providence for the wonderful luck we had.

On 1 June, we started our return march full of excitement. Many of us were out of our sleeping bags quite early, making the most of the last morning at the Base Camp.

At Thengboche we were received by the Incarnate Lama with great affection. The President of the Indian Mountaineering Foundation, S.S. Khera, along with V.N. Chakrapani of All India Radio and a cameraman of the Films Division had arrived there to meet us. We were greatly moved by his gesture.

We selected eight Sherpas to accompany us to Delhi. Those who were to make the trip to Delhi were our Sherpa Sirdar, Ang Tshering, Assistant Sherpa Sirdar, Phu Dorje, the pig-tailed Nawang Hilla with a girlish face, Ang Tshering II, Tashi, Dawa Norbu I, Ang Dawa IV and Ang Nima. All of them had carried loads to the last camp, and Phu Dorje had carried himself to the peak.

On 19 June, when we had reached Banepa, we were given a fond reception by the officers of the Indian Embassy and the Indian citizens of Kathmandu. My wife Pushpa along with Suloo Telang, and Sita Gombu, Mrs. Gyatso and Sonam Gyatso’s father had arrived there to meet us. After a warm reception by the citizens of Banepa when welcome addresses were presented by many local organisations, we were taken to Kathmandu in a triumphant procession, and were received by our Ambassador, Shriman Narayan.

On reaching Kathmandu, we came to know that while Khera had come to meet us, Sarin had done another exciting thing. After a lot of efforts with the Nepalese and Chinese governments, he had gone on a special flight using Air Force aircraft AN-12. On 9 June, Sarin and Situ Malik flew over Everest. Spending over 45 minutes in doing the overpicture from all angles during one of the runs, they noticed two huge lakes on the south-eastern side near the base, their blue water presenting a strange contrast to the higher, white, snow-covered slopes of the massif. After eight fly pasts over the summit, it was decided to add just one more to match the figure ‘9’, the number of climbers who had reached the summit.

Our stay in the Nepalese capital was full of parties, including a reception by the Indian ambassador where we had the honour of meeting His Majesty the King of Nepal. Phu Dorje proudly presented to the King the Nepalese Flag which he had hoisted on the summit of the Everest. The Indo-Nepal Friendship Association held a big reception at which a gold and silver replica of the Pashupati Nath Temple was presented to us and souvenirs were given to every member of the team.

During a dinner at the house of M Ramunny, Chief of the Indian Aid Mission in Nepal, our ambassador received an important message from New Delhi which was read out to all of us immediately. Some of the highest awards of our country were announced by the Government of India. Padma Bhushan was to be given to Sonam, Gombu and me. Both Sonam and Gombu had received Padma Shri before. Other members of the team, who had reached the summit, and Kumar were to get Padma Shri. I wished the remaining members of the team could also be included in this list, but perhaps it was already a very large number. I was sad and hurt that other expedition members were left out. I kept quiet then but made up my mind to take it up in Delhi.

Everest team on its arrival at the airport.

There was a large crowd of officials, friends, relations and others at the Palam airport to receive us on our return home. Gulzari Lal Nanda, the then Acting Prime Minister (Prime Minister Shastri was abroad); Y.B. Chavan, Defence Minister; a.m. Thomas, Minister for Defence Production; Bhakt Darshan, Deputy Education Minister and H.C. Sarin, on behalf of the IMF, honoured us with their presence at the airport.

The reception at the airport over, the motorcade made straight for the Shanti Vana to pay floral tributes to Jawaharlal Nehru who loved the mountains passionately. The next visit was to the Prithviraj Road Cemetery where the members stood in silence by the side of the grave of John Dias placing wreaths and some garlands from their necks on the tombstone of the great mountaineer who had led the Second Indian expedition and who shared the honour and the credit which our successful expedition had received.

In one of the evening receptions in New Delhi, Dr. Ram Subhag Singh, Indian Minister of State for Railways, was the Chief Guest. He announced something for the Everest team during his speech. After a lot of reluctance I told him that perhaps the Railways could offer complementary passages for the entire team to tour various parts of India from where we had received invitations from the chief ministers. He agreed. This announcement was published in the newspapers the following morning.

That morning, I remember, I suddenly received a phone call from the Cabinet Minister of Railways, S.K. Patil, inviting the expedition members and their wives to have a cup of tea with him in his office. During this reception he asked my wife Pushpa: “I hope the ladies are happy about their husbands going on a one-month special tour of India.” My wife promptly replied, “How do you expect us to be happy when we have already endured separation from husbands for four long months?”

Patil got the hint and in his speech announced that the three special trains carrying members of the Everest team would also include the ladies.

Three days after our stay in Delhi, Sarin wanted me to come to his office. He wanted to give me some happy news. He informed me that, for the first time in the history of India, 11 members of the Everest team, comprising the leader, the deputy leader and nine summiteers, would be given the Arjuna Award, the highest honour conferred on the sportsmen. Instead of being happy I was shocked. I opened my heart to Sarin. I told him that after 11 awards of Padma Bhushan and Padma Shree, announced in Kathmandu, I had almost decided not to accept them. Khera had persuaded me that this would mean disrespect to the President of India since the announcement had already been made. The awards should not be turned down. On the other hand, I felt very strongly that our exceptional success on Everest was due to the hard work of every one of the members and, therefore, every one should have been awarded. Now that the Arjuna Awards had been announced, I insisted that I would not accept the award unless every team member could be included.

Sarin felt it would not be possible to give 20 awards in one particular sport. S.N. Ghosh was then the Education Secretary and we both rushed to his office. In the meanwhile, the press release concerning the Arjuna Awards was withheld for the time being. Our meeting went on for several hours. At the end, a happy compromise formula was worked out to which we all agreed. Instead of 11 awards there would be only one award and that would be for the entire Everest team. The award would be presented by the Prime Minister and each and every member of the team would be considered ‘Arjuna Awardee’. In the history of the Arjuna Award this was the only exception when the entire team had been honoured.

Much later, after the several moments of pride and triumph, my wife Pushpa was to tell me the story of the ‘lizard’ which had given her the shivers while I was away making preparations for the 1965 Indian Everest Expedition. She said she was alone at home when a creepy little, moth-eater lizard fell from the roof on her shoulder, spreading a frightening sensation all over her body, before slipping down and slinking away. A little later one lizard fell on her head. She was scared and depressed, she thought it was an ill omen. She went pale and was extremely worried about my safety. She had read in a magazine that if a lizard falls on one’s shoulder, it may portend the death of a close relative. If it falls on the head, there will be a certain death.

Summoning courage, she narrated the story to my father. He was the wise one about these things and all matters religious and spiritual. He smiled and reassured her. He told her that she had not really understood the true import of the omen. It was in fact a very good omen. The real interpretation of the ‘lizard’ omen was that “My son Mohan, your husband, will be victorious and will come home in crowning glory”. Pushpa recovered from the shock but not fully. The next day my father brought her a book where what he said was written in black and white. This made her feel normal. How right he proved to be. The ‘Lizard’ story now was a much retold family legend.

At the end of the expedition I felt overwhelmingly grateful to God. It was He who made it all possible. I was only an instrument of destiny. India’s magnificent Everest success placed her on the world map of mountaineering. She emerged the fourth nation in the world to climb the Everest. I received tons of mail from all over the world. One letter, I do not know how it reached me, had an interesting address on the cover, ‘Commander Kohli, Mount Everest, India’.

K.C. Pant, Secretary General of the Congress Party in Parliament, invited me to address Parliament Members of both houses in the Central Hall on 8 September. Leaders of all political parties, who normally fight each other, were united in their praise for my colleagues and I. Chief Ministers of almost all states invited the entire team to visit their states and attend receptions. Taking advantage of the free passes issued by the Ministry of Railways we accepted their invitations and proceeded on Bharat Darshan. With our wives along, including a number of new brides, it was one of the most enjoyable tours. At Kolkata, where like Australians, the Bengalis are most sports-loving people in the world, there was over a two kilometre long queue of admirers garlanding me and presenting gifts. The pile of garlands, I recall with humility and pride, exceeded my height.

Mountaineering in India received a big boost. The number of Indian expeditions to the Himalayas, usually about two or three, rose to 15 per year. My head bent with gratitude to God for including it in my Himalayan destiny.

Our 1965 Everest team was a unique family. All of us got along very well with one another. I cannot recall even one incident of friction amongst us. Each and every member of the team deserved to be given credit for maintaining such extraordinary cordiality throughout the two months of our expedition.

Copyright©2003 Mohan Singh Kohli. About the author