Ron Bhasin

I wanted to leave for Himachal in November 2023 for YMR’s teachings in Bir.

Still, my father was up to his old tricks of always going in the opposite direction, using force, persuasion, and rhetoric to exercise his control and dissuaded me from leaving for Himachal.

After two failed attempts to leave for Himachal, I set sail again on November 27.

I had booked a BlaBlaCar to reach Himachal.

This was my first time using BlaBlaCar, and I was anxious.

It was not easy to leave the house. The driver who had published the ride on BlaBlaCar was a woman. I feared that I was walking into a scam.

Here I was, on the highway with all my laptops and equipment. Was I going to be robbed and beaten by a highway robber gang?

If something like this would happen, my father would be delighted, “I told you not to go anywhere. Now look at what has happened to you.”

A deeply insecure man, he frequently used everything he could to make things happen his way and ended up ruining even the simplest of projects.

I stood on the highway, a little uneasy, and I could understand how Indian women felt daily.

I was talking to P then and told her I can now realize what women feel like on a road or highway.

She categorically denied my feelings. She said she had never felt fear as a woman. I didn’t think much about what she was saying because she was in a habit of saying the exact opposite thing of what someone said to her.

For example, if her friend told her, “I feel gloomy today. This rainy weather makes me gloomy,” she would reply, “This weather is cheerful. It excites me and makes me feel good.”

It was a habit. I observed it, and once, she confessed the same thing to me once.

Then Nour Khan, my BlaBlaCar driver, arrived, and I put my luggage in the car. She had a small kid and sat in the vehicle’s shotgun position. Apart from me, there was another passenger in the back. The guy who was driving the car and Nour knew each other well.

Thankfully, they didn’t turn out to be highway robbers or looters. They were going to Jahu, and from Jahu, I would have to take a bus to Rewalsar.

On the way, they stopped at Bilaspur to have Dham.

The Dham place fit the bill of the places I like, but my sugar was high, so I couldn’t eat anything.

After a while, we reached Jahu. The other passenger in my car accompanied me to the Jahu bus stand, where a bus going straight to Rewalsar awaited me.

I got a discounted ticket with my HRTC Smart Card. I only remember a little of the journey to Rewalsar. Except for the fact that I was eager not to miss Mandi and the road to Rewalsar.

When I reached Rewalsar bus stand, it was around 6:15 p.m.

I hopped on another bus, which went to the cave. I didn’t have any bookings.

It was late in the evening. The local bus passengers eyed me with curiosity. I always stand out in a crowd because of my peculiar appearance – tall red backpack, and long hair.

Many Indians confuse me for a Westerner. The police think that I am a stoner and I am always carrying a tola or two.

The local villagers were eager to help me. I told them I wanted to go to the P Guesthouse. They replied in the affirmative, but I couldn’t distinguish what they meant—yes or no. I told them about R-unha Guesthouse. I think they recognised it.

I reached the guesthouse. It was freezingly cold. The bahu showed me the room, and I said yes. This was the same guesthouse which was close to the cave.

I lived in this guesthouse when I came with S during my second visit to Rewalsar, probably on May 22, shortly after visiting for the first time.

If you have read the account, ‘First Trip to Rewalsar,’ you would know that this guesthouse is run by the uncle who owns a dhaba at the foot of the cave. I got some shrewd vibes from the bahu, but I was probably mistaken.

Night came, and I slept. It was a weird sleep, and I also had a vision. This vision was of geometric shapes and patterns and was quite intense; though I didn’t ascribe much importance to it.

At night, the moon was so powerful that it looked like a giant yellow strobe light in the sky. I took a picture in my sleep but couldn’t wake up early.

The next day, I took a break from work to be at the cave in peace. I woke up late, because it was a holiday, and went towards the cave.

This time, I discovered an additional secret cave of Guru Rinpoche. I decided that before I left the cave complex, I would do ten malas. 

I also visited another shrine with a Padmasambhava statue, probably Sakya, with a group of Tibetan pilgrims.

I thought I would only leave for Rewalsar if I completed my mala count.

I ended up doing them, and I could leave now.

I расked my stuff in a jiffy and was ready to catch the bus, which was scheduled to go around that time.

I ended up hitchhiking a ride from a guy in a gypsy. The guy in the gypsy was delivering parcels on the way, a kind of local courier service that exists in Himachal.

Then, I got an alarming call from my sister.

My sister on my phone told me that she and Mom had been fighting a lot. Mom had been in Delhi for almost two months now.

My sister told me a lot of stories which pictured my mom in a negative light, but I knew they were all bullshit. My sister was the real villian. It is very hard to see the problem, when you are the problem.

My sister is super martial; she tends to fight with people and has a natural knack for triggering even the most calm person.

She triggered my mom so much that she took her bag and ran out of the house. Then, she took the metro and reached Kashmiri Gate to board the bus to Chandigarh.

All this was very unnerving for me.

I had just emerged from the serene cave environment, and it was too much to be hit by the vileness of Samsara square in the face.

I reached Rewalsar thanks to the kind Gypsy driver and went to the Gurdwara for a langar.

Then, I managed to book a room in the Nyingma Monastery, an excellent place to stay. (I learned about the stay at Nyingma Monastery from an Instagram acquaintance.)

If you have read about the first trip to Rewalsar, you will find that I ask people about a particular Khandro la near the start. 

I visited Rewalsar many times since my first visit and enquired about her every time I was in Rewalsar.

Now I was back in Rewalsar again, and this time, I was more at ease than ever before because I was alone.

Was this the time I was finally going to meet her?

I enquired about her at the K cafe as instructed by C jee.

She was in town. Hurray!

Asking local people, I gathered that you had to wake up at 4 a.m. and queue up to meet her.

I figured out the exact path and ensured it was correct by verifying the info from others.

Before this, I had never met an oracle, but I had seen them in videos and movies. I thought there would be some old lady who would talk in gibberish and make unintelligible noises.

Things couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

Yet again, reality would hit me like a truck out of the blue in full force.

The decisive moment came.

I woke up, even when it was a big struggle for me to wake up early.

Outside, it was pitch black. If you live in a mountain town, you know it is deserted at this hour.

After ruminating about going because I was sleepy and a bit late, I threw in the towel, locked my room, and slipped out.

I brewed some coffee before I left, but worried about getting late, I left it on the table.

Outside, I went towards the narrow alley towards the P statue.

I was still unsure about the exact location where she sat.

I reached a school, and as I passed through it, there was a clearing which reminded me of V’s house in Manikaran.

This was the scariest part of the whole journey. But it was the most exciting part, too. I heard whining and whooshing sounds in the dark as I entered the ground. I went onwards.

Soon, I came to a staircase, and I proceeded upwards. Then I passed through a gate and saw some Himachali youth in their trademark black caps sitting huddled together.

I asked them, “Khandrola? Khandrola?”

They said yes. I had arrived.

They asked me if I had come for pathri, and I replied with a nay.

Turned out most of them were suffering from pathri or gall or kidney stones.

I was not suffering from pathri, and I wanted to know if I could still see Khandrola.

I stood in the queue. Then I sat in the queue. Some of the patients were sleeping decked in shawls. Others played games or scrolled on Social Media.

I chatted with the guy in front of me. His name was Chhering, and he was from Manali.

Manali was my home in 2022, so I connected with him. Like me, he was coming for the first time as well. How did he decide to come here? There was a guy in his village who had a stone too. It was big, 10mm. Khandrola removed his stone. When he went back to the ultrasound guy, he grabbed his head, “Where did the stone go?”. I listened with wonder and anticipation.

I thought, what would I tell Khanarola if I had b.d. or d.? Or if I should tell her about my asthma problem? It had aggravated. I would sleep with an inhaler on my bed. I would often be breathless during the night and when it was cold.

Just a few months back, I was so breathless when I woke up in the morning that I walked/hitched around 2 miles to go up to a Chemist in a small Himachali village and bought an inhaler.

After waiting in a queue for a long time a desire took hold of me to go to my room and drink my coffee- which I had brewed before leaving.

So I told my new friend Chhering to protect my spot in the queue, and I would be back instantly. I told him to call me and exchanged phone numbers.

After a hurried coffee, I was back. An attractive lady in the queue was also suffering from a stone. She had come with her father.

After a while, the light in the small room behind which everyone was queuing, lit up. There was a significant separation between the real and the metaphysical at the boundary of the room.

I could hear the sounds of puja coming from the room. C Ji had told me that Khandrola prayed to the spirit of the lake, who then entered her. When the spirit entered her, her voice became very shrill.

This process happened while I was in the queue, and then people began to enter.

Soon, it was my turn next. I stood outside the door. I could hear slurping sounds as if someone was sucking something with a straw. It was all quite unbelievable. But I suspended my disbelief, and decided to go and see what happens with an open mind.

Now, it was my turn. Chherring and I were ushered in together. I saw Khandrola for the first time.

She was a majestic sight to behold. She was decked in the traditional Tibetan dress of an oracle.

She wore an elegant headdress and a chest plate, which Chokyiji told me was made of silver and was from where the spirit entered her body.

She wore blue clothes and in her hand held a metal implement to suck out the ailing things from a patient’s body. The straw resembled an old stethoscope from the 19th century.

Chherring lifted his shirt, and she sucked out the stone from his kidney or bile duct wherever it was.

You could hear the stone rolling in the pipe as it entered, and then it reached her mouth. She then put it on a piece of paper. It was a pile of stone. I couldn’t see deception of any kind.

Now, it was my turn. I sat before her.

Here she was in all her glory and majesty. She was not what I had imagined.

She was fully aware and conscious.

People used to take water bottles with them when they visited Khandro la. She used to recite specific mantras for people who gave them and then she used to blow or spit into the bottles. The patients would then drink this water a little everyday till their next visit to her.

I purchased two small 200 ml bottles with me on the way up after having my coffee.

After wrapping up my affairs in Rewalsar, carrying two one-litre bottles would be a pain while travelling.

I offered a khatak to her. She asked me what problem I had. So I said I had a mental health problem, and I had diabetes.

She said it was getting better.

Then she checked my pulse Tibetan style. She checked left and right both. Then she said this is your last life as a human.

Still, I was in a state of semi-disbelief and semi-belief. Then she read my pulse again and again.

There was a photo of Dudjom Rinpoche on the wall. I pointed it out to him. She told me I should meet his grandson DJKR and his brother in Bhutan.

She asked me if I was Hindu. I said I was a Sikh.

To my surprise, She knew who Sikhs were.

I wouldn’t expect a lady who speaks only Tibetan to know who the Sikhs were. Then, she started praising the Sikhs, saying they were excellent people. She said Sikhs are the best.

She said so because Sikhs earn a lot of merit by feeding so many people. When I told her I was mentally ill. She asked me if I was sad a lot. Then I said earlier that I used to be miserable, but now I am not so tragic.

She said I should meet Garab Rinpoche in Bhutan.

She told me to donate rice, sugar, etc., to a Gurdwara.

She said some people are fake Sikhs.

She also told me many times that you have an excellent heart.

She also told me that my nerves were strong. She asked me two or three times if I examined my mind repeatedly.

I took it to mean if I examined the root of the mind again and again.

I said I tried. She asked me if I was single or married.

I said I was single.

She said it was better to stay single if I wanted to practice.

Then she took out her Chod drum and tossed rice onto it to read my Mo.

She tossed it two times, and complex patterns formed. After the two tossings, she told me two things I had forgotten. Then she threw it the last time, and a perfect equilateral triangle was formed with three rice grains.

Then she told me to stand up and raise my shirt to reveal my chest. I opened my buttons. She sucked out somethings from my chest.

She sucked something from my chest and then Also spat back in her characteristic fashion. At that time, I didn’t understand what she was doing.

Finally, it was my turn to leave. She said, “You and I have a karmic connection from our previous lives. We are related.”

She told me, “Come to meet me again.”

I told the girl who was translating to thank her.

Then I came down.

After a while, I realised that she had wholly sucked out asthma from my body. She had seen that I was afflicted with asthma. And she pulled it out. Now, I could feel the fresh air filling my lungs.

And whenever I thought about her, the fresh air in my lungs seemed to increase, and the reinvigorated cells began to tingle with life and action again.

After meeting her, I felt joyful, straightforward and elated. And I indeed felt a connection with her.

This ends the first account of meeting Khandrola.