Shangri-La

Chapter One

It's been quite a few years since I began to look into mythology as a major topic of research, and I'd found quite a few interesting things and parallels between different cultures. 

However, there was one thing in particular that interested me about the distant lands of Asia and the Himalayan mountains: the mythos surrounding Shangri-La, and likewise, Shambhala. I had theorized that these two places were in fact one and the same, and had traced a path through various texts and stories to finally triangulate its position to be somewhere in the Himalayan mountain range.

Over a very short amount of time, I hurriedly gathered my resources, equipment, and charts, and set off on a journey that would take me through the unforgiving environment within those mountains. 

I had reason to believe that there was a promising area at the head of the Arun River where it drains the glacial slopes of the mountains. It seemed appropriate according to my research, so I set out shortly after arriving in the country, intent on making my discovery as quickly as possible and finally satiating my curiosity.

However, after a certain point, my guide absolutely refused to take me any farther, and was insistent on retreating back down the slopes. He wouldn't explain why. Needless to say, I was far too hard-headed to listen, and, upon his turning a blind corner ahead of me on the way down the mountain, I turned around and high-tailed it back upward.

I'm honestly wondering if I should have listened.

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I stare at my map in concentration, trying to get a read on where in the world I was. I cursed myself for not brushing up on my navigation skills, and fiddled about with the instruments until I was quite thoroughly confused.

But I was determined. This was the culmination of my research, and there was no way I was going to be defeated by a big pile of rocks. 

Or at least, that's what I thought.

"Well, at least the weather's nice," I commented to myself as I look out over the vista before me. 

The clouds were thin and wispy, and the sunlight was warm despite the altitude. I continued on my way, following the landscape and my compass, actually quite enjoying myself despite being unsure of my location.

Over the next few hours, I steadily make progress upward, carefully watching the stones underfoot and choosing less difficult pathways to proceed. I was a bit concerned of losing my direction, but I always managed to be able to find a sort of path that lead in the direction I wanted to go. 

Later, as I emerged onto an outside ledge from the narrow valleys I'd been travelling, I began to worry.

The sky had become clouded, and the wind was picking up.

I knew that weather can change drastically in mountains, and indeed it already seemed to be doing so, so I immediately began to search for a sheltered area where I'd be able to set up camp and ride out the weather. I quickly glanced at my map and compass and set off toward another wide slope around the outside of the mountain face; it looked like there should be a small sheltered ridge nearby.

As I traveled, the wind grew increasingly fierce, and I found myself clinging to the rock face in alarm. Large white snowflakes blew past at incredible speeds, settling quickly on the ground and decreasing visibility by the second. I inched forward, trying to make the next landing, and hoping that it was the area I'd seen on the map.

As I gained the ridge, I was relieved, and crouched down for a moment to regain my composure and balance, as the wind was lessened here a bit. But as I stood, I felt the bottom of my stomach drop out as I looked over a barely sheltered, open-air clearing.