The Sanskrit word ”Mukti” (also Moksha) broadly translates as ‘salvation’. In Eastern religions and theological traditions with their implicit belief in reincarnation, salvation is understood rather differently to the way it is in Christianity, with its emphasis on hellfire and damnation. Salvation here means freedom from the otherwise eternal cycle of reincarnation, envisaged as a wheel called ‘samsara’. To be caught eternally in this endless cycle of death and rebirth is inevitably seen as a kind of hell, a process of eternal suffering that life as a human being on earth can involve. Depending upon the kinds of life one has led in the material world, one will accrue good or bad karma and this will govern the nature of one’s rebirth. Eventually it is believed possible that a soul (atma) which has become sufficiently enlightened, and purified of karmic debts, can finally escape this wheel to return to their spiritual home, being ‘God’, the Supreme, the Self.
In Hindu and some Buddhist traditions , there are places here on earth which can advance this process, shrines and temples dedicated to one deity or another, and undertaking pilgrimage to these with all the costs and hardships that such a journey might entail, will guarantee Mukti. In the northern Indian state of Uttarakhand, the sites of Yamunotri, Gangotri, Badrinath and Kedarnath are ancient sacred pilgrimage destinations of such a kind. In Nepal, Muktinath is another, attracting thousands of pilgrims annually.
I had visited three of the four Chota Char Dham sites towards the end of my year long stay in India last year in the month of October, concluding with a visit to the sublime ancient high altitude temple of Kedarnath, dedicated to Shiva. Arriving in Nepal, it seemed a given therefore that Muktinath, the famed ancient temple dedicated to Vishnu, would conclude my cycle of pilgrimage visits, and thence I set my sights.
Arriving into Nepal in mid June, it would entail a three month wait before this would be possible however, given the duration and severity of the annual monsoon which made any kind of distance travel a major undertaking. Permanently and densely clouded skies and heavy rains also meant that it would be weeks before the inspirational high snowcapped Himalayan peaks were visible, more than just an occasional fleeting, tantalising glimpse.
Muktinath is located in the remote province of Mustang, close to the border with Tibet, and at an altitude of some 3,800 m elevation, higher even than the Uttarakhand sites which all tend to be at around some 3,500 m and this can challenge the traveller with the penetrating cold and the effects of the altitude. Entering Mustang is like travelling to a different world, a country where ancient legends and daily reality can seem indistinguishable and where the age old traditions of life and beliefs in the cosmos are still very much alive.
Given the protracted Coronavirus restrictions still in operation over the summer had closed down domestic air traffic, certainly between Pokhara and the Mustang capital Jomsom, the only feasible way to get there was by jeep, a journey at best some eight hours in duration. The thought wasn’t a happy one, but given that all travel into the region had once entailed extended hikes of over a week’s duration before the construction of the road, then one couldn’t really complain. We have all become too used to the convenience of air travel. In days of old, up until not so very long ago in fact, pilgrimages inevitably involved the hardships of many weeks travelling; that always was part of the experience. When I had visited Kedarnath the previous year, there were helicopter shuttles operating between low Kedarnath and the high temple, otherwise only a hike of some 17 km would get you there, so I always felt I had been cheating rather to opt for the shuttle, even if it did mean that many more folk – the aged, infirm and very young, and people like myself who were on restricted schedules and unaccustomed to long distance hiking, were now able to reach the temple and achieve darshan than before.
I decided to travel on 1st October, which was the anniversary of my visit to Gangotri the previous year, and start of the cycle of visits that had concluded at Kedarnath. It seemed appropriate and auspicious. I hired a private vehicle as I couldn’t deal with the thought of being stuffed into the jeep with lots of other people. Preparing oneself for the goal, at least for me, generally entails ring fencing my solitude and privacy. Back in the summer, I had travelled up to Ghandruk, and despite having hired the vehicle privately, found myself hosting several people, family members of the person who had organised the jeep for me and their friends, and they had all talked loudly throughout the entire journey. When we had disembarked at Ghandruk and I had transferred to a pack horse, the lady of the guesthouse where I was to stay accompanying us had continued to talk loudly with the guide all the way to the final destination of Tadopani. For folk like me who need their peace and space, I had found it invasive and annoying and it had interfered with that sense of deep communion with the journey and then with the natural surroundings that for me always constitutes such a critical part of any such travel.
Peace and space apart, the journey up to Jomsom, regional capital of Mustang, was challenging enough. What passed for a road had been effectively destroyed in many places by the severity of the recent rains and there had been little opportunity to do more than clear the worst landslides to allow some passage of traffic. Everywhere the road merged with rivers pouring off the mountain slopes, or disappeared into sumps of mud, where vehicles lacking four wheel drive might sink irrevocably. The line of traffic our jeep became a part of regularly stalled as one or another vehicles became stuck and needed help to get out. 
Passengers were frequently forced to get out and walk a distance to save the vehicle weight. The endless lurching from one side to another along the uneven stony ground, bouncing painfully off the jeep side became hard to endure. Eventually we reached the higher altitudes, and the strange bleak landscape of Mustang greeted us, with the flat clay roofed stone built houses, apple orchards, the herds of long haired and horned goats blocking the roads, Buddhist monasteries with gilded turrets and red robed lamas, high cave shrines and tombs, and finally a sighting of my very first yaks.
Jomsom was still a good two two hour bone shaking drive further, but the end of this first stage was happily in sight.