Ayi Shemo & the Tale of the Cracked Mountain
Adventures of Attu & Rattu
‘Be kind to yourself and be wisely kind to yourself,’—the words of Khen Rinpoche echoed in Attu and Rattu’s ears all through the night, lingering even in their dreams.
The autumn sun beamed gently through the iron-meshed window, casting curious shapes onto the newspaper-plastered walls of their little room.
Attu peeked out from beneath his blanket and caught Rattu’s eager gaze. The moment their eyes met, Rattu’s tail began thumping wildly. ‘Did you have the same dream?’ asked Rattu, eyes wide.
“Yes, I did! It was quite intense... thinking about Khen Rinpoche meditating in that small, dark cave,” said Attu, still half-lost in dreamland.
“A...A...A...TU...TU...TU...TU...TUUUUU…”
A familiar singsong voice floated through the window and into their ears.
“There he is—our dearest and naughtiest Onga,” chuckled Ama la, already busy with the morning chores, softly humming her prayers & mantras.
“Come on now, wake up! I’m sure Onga has already planned a full day’s adventure for you two,” she called out, without turning from the kitchen stove.
Onga burst into the house in his usual get-up—a maroon half-sweater with nothing underneath, and a pair of once-white trousers now covered in the cheerful marks of mischief.
“You’re still in bed?!” he cried, eyes wide with mock horror. “We have an adventure to begin and... and…” He gasped, too excited to finish the sentence.
Rattu leapt to his feet, tail thumping furiously. ‘Yes! Let’s explore the day!’ he barked, already matching Onga’s energy.
“Alright, alright,” said Attu, rubbing his eyes. “But first, we need our favourite Dus Numbri biscuits and some tea.”
“Here they are,” said Ama la, appearing just in time with a steaming cup and a plate of biscuits—as though she’d known exactly what they were about to ask.
“The sun’s out bright today,” she added, glancing outside. “It’ll be warm, so play in the shade—and mind you, I don’t want to hear any complaints from the Gompa Road folks, do you hear?”
Attu and Rattu, joined by Onga, sat down to enjoy their biscuits and tea—quiet for now, but their eyes darted about, exchanging secret hints of the ideas already buzzing in their heads.
“Laso, Ama la! Please don’t worry—we’ll be good today and follow all the advice Khen Rinpoche gave us yesterday: ‘Be kind to yourself and be wisely kind to yourself’,” chuckled Attu, casting a playful glance at Rattu.
Rattu tilted his head, ears perked, wearing a puzzled look. ‘I think I know what you’re hinting at, Attu,’ he thought.
Onga, frowning with confusion, scratched his head. “‘Be kind to yourself’...? What does that even mean? I am always kind to myself,” he said with a cheeky smirk.
‘I know,’ added Rattu, grinning to himself. ‘We’ve all been very kind to ourselves indeed... especially during those naughty adventures across every corner of Gompa Road!’
“What’s the plan for today?” asked Attu, polishing off the last of his favourite biscuits.
“Oh yes! I almost forgot why I came,” interjected Onga, nearly leaping from his stool in excitement. “My Ama la wants both of you to visit our home today—she says she has some interesting stories for you!”
“Oh! Stories... perfect! This is going to be a great day again!” Attu was elated at the news. Rattu nearly sprang to his feet, but paused and looked at Ama la first, waiting for her unspoken permission.
“Seems like you’re all going to have a wonderful time at Shemo’s home today,” said Ama la, her voice warm but firm. “Onga, make sure the three of you go straight there—no wandering off on your wild adventures,” she added, eyes full of kindness and quiet affection for all of them.
“Yes, Ama Gako, I’ll make sure we go straight to my home. But… I think it’s not exactly a straight path—we have to go around the Gompa and follow the curved trail to get there,” said Onga, scratching his head with a confused look.
“That’s right, Onga. Just make sure you three don’t run into Shechen Lama—you know what’ll happen if you do, don’t you?” Ama la warned, her tone light but pointed.
At the mere mention of Shechen Lama, all three—Onga, Rattu, and Attu—suddenly sat upright, exchanging wide-eyed glances of dread.
“That’s right, Ama la. We’ll go straight to Ayi Shemo, listen to her story, and come back home,” promised Attu with a nod.
The trio quickly cleared away their tea and biscuit crumbs, dusted themselves off, and stepped out the door—ready for yet another hunt for a tale from the treasured storytellers of Gompa Road.
The sun had now climbed higher into the autumn sky, its golden rays soft and warm, filtering gently through the chortens and trees along Gompa Road. The three little wanderers—Attu, Rattu, and Onga—had just stepped out, rounding the curve past the old mani lhakhang. The crisp air carried the scent of pine and incense, and a faint echo of chanting could be heard from the monastery. Korgnyer Lama was busy preparing and cleaning the altar in the lhakhang.
As they tiptoed along the edge of the gompa’s circumambulation path, careful not to be spotted by Shechen Lama—who was known for his sharp eyes and even sharper words—they came across Ama Ñamo sweeping her front yard.
“Where are you three headed with those mischievous faces?” she asked, teasingly, her broom pausing mid-air.
“To Ayi Shemo’s house!” said Attu, “She has a story for us today!”
“Ah, so it's story day again,” smiled Ama Ñamo, “Be sure to listen well, she always hides a treasure inside her tales. Tell her I’ll stop by later too.”
They waved and carried on, reaching the modest little home just next door—Ayi Shemo’s place.
Ayi Shemo’s home sat quietly in the bend of the road, its low wooden door slightly ajar, welcoming. Inside, the scent of butter tea, juniper, and something sweet drifted gently through the air. Her house, though small and humble, was a world in itself—walls lined with old wooden shelves stacked with cloth-bound Buddhist texts, brass butter lamps, and a neatly arranged altar with statues of Buddha Shakyamuni and Guru Padmasambhava. Above them, hanging with careful pride, was a faded but vibrant thangka of King Gesar of Ling, the warrior-saint of Tibet.
Ayi Shemo herself emerged from the doorway, wiping her hands on her dark blue apron. She wore a traditional chupa, just like Ama la and Ama Ñamo, with her long grey hair tied back into a neat plait. Her face was soft with lines of kindness, her eyes bright as ever, and a warm smile stretched across her lips the moment she saw the trio.
“Well, well… here you all are 'The three great adventurers of Gompa Road!” she beamed. “Come in, come in—I have just made some desi and shapta, and a pot of fresh butter tea too. And after that, I have something special to share with you.”
Attu’s eyes lit up at the mention of sweets, Rattu’s tail thumped the floor, and Onga grinned from ear to ear. They rushed in, eager to begin their next adventure.
As they settled down on soft cushions laid neatly on the wooden floor, Ayi Shemo poured warm butter tea into small porcelain cups and passed around a plate of desi—sweet saffron rice with dry fruits. The room felt timeless, like a pocket of Tibet nestled quietly in the hills of Manali.
While Attu, Rattu, and Onga munched happily, Attu’s gaze wandered across the room and landed on the large thangka hanging just above the altar. “Ayi Shemo,” he said, pointing, “is that a painting of a warrior? He looks like a king… but also kind of magical.”
Ayi Shemo’s eyes sparkled. “Ah, you’ve noticed,” she said gently, lifting her tea. “That, my dear ones, is King Gesar—the legendary hero from Ling in Tibet, the place where I was born too. Some say he is not just a king but a tulku, a divine being who returned again and again to help people. And today, I’ll tell you a tale from his life… one that is not just about bravery, but also about doing the right thing simply because it is the right thing to do.”
Attu leaned in, holding his cup with both hands. Rattu curled beside him, eyes wide, and Onga had already stopped chewing, eager to hear what came next.
“Long ago,” Ayi Shemo began, her voice as steady as the prayer wheels outside, “King Gesar ruled the kingdom of Ling in Tibet. He was not like other kings. He rode wild horses, wielded magical weapons, and journeyed across worlds seen and unseen—not for power, but to protect the good and restore harmony.”
Attu’s eyes widened. “Just like Lord Ram in Ramayana, right? He also went to save Queen Sita and fought demons!”
Rattu gave a tiny thump of approval with his tail. ‘Yes! Like when we watched Ramayana on TV at Shaal Gaon every Sunday,’ he thought, remembering how the entire village would gather to watch the old black-and-white television flicker with epic tales of gods and kings.
Ayi Shemo smiled, pleased by the connection. “Very much like that, yes. These stories—of King Gesar and Lord Ram—teach us courage, truth, and compassion. And sometimes, my dear ones, these ancient stories travel farther than we expect.”
Attu leaned forward. “You mean like… all the way from Tibet to Manali?”
“Exactly,” said Ayi Shemo, her finger gently tracing the mountains drawn behind King Gesar in the thangka. “Let me tell you what happened… right here, near the place you call Bhaang.”
The painting shimmered slightly in the golden sunlight streaming through the small window. Ayi Shemo leaned in, her gentle voice almost a whisper. “This, my dears, is Ling Gésar Gyalpo—the warrior king from the snowy land of Tibet. He was not just a king, but a protector of the Dharma, born to defeat evil and restore harmony in troubled times.” She paused, brushing a speck of dust off the thangka’s edge. “They say he came riding on a wind horse, carrying not weapons of hate, but the strength of wisdom and the courage of compassion.”
Attu leaned forward, eyes wide, while Rattu settled quietly by the altar, his ears twitching with interest. Onga, who had been munching the delicacy Ayi Shemo had given them, suddenly stopped mid-bite. “Just like Ramayana!” he blurted, “Guru Gesar is like King Ram, and there must be a demon too, right?”
Ayi Shemo chuckled warmly. “Indeed, my clever Onga. In our story, there was a terrifying demon—one with two heads, like twin snakes—who once roamed the valleys beyond the mountains. He terrorised villagers, poisoned rivers, and blocked the sun with his dark clouds of anger.”
Rattu raised his head. ‘Sounds like that cracked mountain in Bhaang,’ he thought, also remembering the cool revitalising spring water thats flows between the cracks.
“Yes! That mountain in Bhaang—it is cracked down the middle, like something split it apart!” exclaimed Attu, snapping his fingers. “Remember, Rattu? We saw it once on our way to Solang Nala!”
“Ah, you’ve seen it too,” said Ayi Shemo with a knowing smile. “That crack in the mountain is no ordinary accident. Long ago, King Gesar journeyed all the way from Ling to this very region. His mission? To subdue a fearsome two-headed serpent that dwelled within the mountain itself. With a single strike of his enchanted whip, he split the peak—one head was buried deep in the rocks, the other carried away by the wind. And from the crack, a cool spring of medicinal water began to flow.”
Onga’s mouth hung open. “So it’s real?! Like, really really real?!”
“Real enough that you can still see the crack to this day,” said Ayi Shemo gently, refilling their cups with warm butter tea. “But that’s only half the tale…”
“Not far from that cracked mountain,” continued Ayi Shemo, her voice soft and deliberate, “there’s a small hillock by the River Beas. To many, it’s just a mound of earth. But in our tradition, that hillock is sacred—it was formed from the ashes of Queen Drukmo’s hearth fire. She cooked her meals there while being held captive by the demon who had stolen her away, just as Queen Sita was taken by King Ravana in your Ramayana.”
Attu gasped. “So Drukmo is like Queen Sita and King Gesar is like Lord Ram?”
Ayi Shemo chuckled. “Yes, the stories may come from different lands, but they speak of the same truths—of love, courage, and the will to do what is right.”
Rattu tilted his head. ‘Does that mean we’re part of the story too? If we remember it and tell it again?’ he wondered, a little shiver of awe in his fur.
“That’s why I tell you these tales,” said Ayi Shemo, her eyes sparkling beneath the folds of her faded chupa. “So that you remember where we come from. And so that you choose your actions with a heart full of intention.”
The three of them sat in silence for a moment, the golden light from the butter lamp flickering over the faces of Buddha, Guru Rinpoche, and the painted image of Ling Gesar on the thangka. Outside, the sounds of Manali—a distant honk, a child’s laughter, the soft flutter of prayer flags—drifted in like threads of another story.
Onga, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke. “So, when Gesar used his enchanted whip at the demon, he didn’t do it for revenge?”
Ayi Shemo shook her head gently. “He did it because it was the right thing to do. He acted with lhak-sam—with pure intention. No pride, no anger, just clarity and courage. That’s what makes a true hero.”
Attu leaned his head on Ayi Shemo’s shoulder, the story weaving itself into the soft warmth of her chupa. “It’s like what Khen Rinpoche said yesterday—intention first, then action, and only then comes the result.”
‘So even cracked mountains and old hillocks hold teachings,’ thought Rattu, curling up beside them. ‘You just need the right story to see it.’
Ayi Shemo stood up slowly, brushing crumbs from her apron, and walked to the kitchen. “Wait here, my dears,” she called over her shoulder. “You mustn’t leave without lunch. I’ve made thukpa and there’s still some bhatsa markhu left from this morning.”
Their eyes lit up. ‘Ayi Shemo, you’re the best!’ exclaimed Rattu on the sound of thukpa.
They ate with contentment, the warmth of the soup and sweetness of the treat somehow tasting even better after a story that stretched from Tibet to Bhaang. As they finished the last spoonful, Ayi Shemo handed each of them a small handmade pouch stitched from scraps of old chupa fabric. “Keep this safe. May it remind you that courage, when guided by intention, always finds the right path.”
Soon, they were on their feet again, waving goodbye as Ayi Shemo & Onga stood at her doorway, framed by the fluttering prayer flags and fading afternoon light.
Ama Ñamo peeked out from her veranda as they passed. “Off to finish your round, are you?” she teased. “Don’t forget to dedicate your circumambulation for all sentient beings, hmm?”
“Yes, Ama Ñamo! just like the Bodhisattva Bee.” Attu & Rattu chorused as they made their way back around the gompa, a little slower now, their hearts full.
As they stepped out of the courtyard, the familiar scent of firewood and the faint clang of someone preparing the evening meal drifted through the air, guiding them back into view of Gompa Road. The sun had dipped gently behind the hills, casting long, sleepy shadows along the narrow lane they called home.
Ama la was waiting on the doorstep, arms folded, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. “So,” she said, eyebrows raised, “did you all get your dose of mischief or stories today?”
Attu ran forward and hugged her tightly. “Both, Ama la! But mostly stories—and courage!” he added with a grin. Rattu gave a happy bark, tail wagging in rhythmic bursts.
“Ayi Shemo told us the tale of King Gesar of Ling and the Cracked Mountain, Ama la. It’s all true! There’s even a hillock from Queen Drukmo’s fire ashes in Bhaang!” said Attu with excitement.
Ama la laughed softly, brushing hair from Attu’s forehead. “I see your minds have travelled far and wide today. Well, come in now, the world will wait till tomorrow.”
Later, as they curled under the same warm blanket, Attu whispered, “Rattu, maybe tomorrow we should go find that cracked mountain.”
‘Yes,’ Rattu replied, curling closer. ‘And maybe find our own way to be like King Gesar—with courage, good intention, and some biscuits.’
The light dimmed, the mountains stood watch, and the night carried the soft rhythm of stories still unfolding.
Glossary:
- Be kind to yourself – Encouragement to cultivate causes of happiness
- Be wisely kind to yourself – Encouragement to avoid causes of suffering
- Ayi (ཨ་ཡི) – A term of respect for a woman, similar to "aunt" or "mother," or it can be used as a general term for a woman of similar age to one's parents
- Dus Numbri: One of the oldest bakery in Manali
- Chuba (ཕྱུ་པ); Tibetan traditional Dress
- Gompa (དགོན་པ་) – Temple, Monastery
- Korgnyer (སྐོར་གཉེར་ ): A monk who looks after the temple or shrine.
- Thangka (ཐང་ཀ་): Intricately painted scrolls depicting deities, Buddhas, or spiritual stories, often used for meditation or teaching.
-Tulku (སྤྲུལ་སྐུ་) - A tulku is a realised teacher or spiritual master in Tibetan Buddhism who is believed to return again and again through different lifetimes to help others. Unlike ordinary rebirths, tulkus are intentionally reborn with the wish to continue serving sentient beings. Famous tulkus include the Dalai Lama and the Karmapa. In the story, King Gesar is described as a tulku—a magical and wise being who appears when the world needs someone to restore balance and compassion.
- Guru Padmasambahava (གུ་རུ་རིན་པོ་ཆེ།) – Another name for Guru Padmasambhava, one of the most revered figures in Tibetan Buddhism. Considered the "Second Buddha" in the Himalayan regions, he played a crucial role in establishing Buddhism in Tibet in the 8th century CE.
- Ama Ñamo (ཨ་མ་ན་མོ།) – Translates to "a young mother," likely in the Kham dialect of Tibet
- Gesar of Ling (གླིང་གེ་སར།): A legendary warrior-king from Tibetan folklore. Hailed as an enlightened protector of the Dharma, his epic tales are passed down through generations.
- Bhaang: A place a few kilometers away from Manali. Its a famous station for Indian army.
- Solang Nala: Another place away from Bhaang and Manali - famous in Manali for winter sports.
- Shaal Gaon: An Indian village in Manali where Attu and Rattu often go—famous for its Sunday Ramayana TV viewings.
- Circumambulation: A meditative practice of walking clockwise around a sacred object or space, often seen in Buddhist tradition.
- Karma: The Buddhist principle that every intention and action produces a corresponding effect—shaping one’s life and future.
- Thukpa: A Tibetan noodle soup made with vegetables, spices, and sometimes meat. Warm, comforting, and perfect for chilly mountain days.
- Bhatsa Markhu: A traditional Tibetan dessert of soft flour balls simmered in butter, sugar, and cheese. Rich, sweet, and usually made on special occasions.
- Dresi: A traditional Tibetan sweet saffron rice cooked with butter and dry fruits, often served during celebrations.
- Shapta: A spicy stir-fried Tibetan meat dish, usually made with buff, onions, and chillies.To read the intent behind this post, click here.