Kang Yatse II (6,250 m) & Dzo Jongo East (6,220 m) - Twin 6K meters summits:

At the outset, I start with pranams to Sringeri Jagadguru  Sannidhanams  His Holiness Jagadguru Sankaracharya  Sri Sri Sri Bharathi Theertha Mahaswamigal and Jagadguru Sankaracharya His holiness Sri Sri Sri Vidhu Shekhara Bharathi swamigal  of Sringeri Saradha Peetham for everyone’s welfare & continued prosperity.

yā te rudra śivā tanūr aghorā'pāpakāśinī |

tayā nas tanuvā śantamayā giriśantābhicākaśīhi ||

"O Rudra! Reveal to us Your serene and auspicious form. O Dweller of the Mountains, look upon us with grace."

Standing amidst the timeless silence of the Markha Valley, with the snow-clad face of Kang Yatse II slowly emerging through drifting clouds, this prayer from the Śrī Rudram found a profound meaning. For a fleeting moment, the mountains ceased to be summits waiting to be climbed; they became a divine sanctuary where every ridge, every glacier and every gust of icy wind whispered the presence of Lord Shiva.

Conquering a mountain is perhaps the greatest myth ever told. We are merely blessed with the opportunity to stand in its sacred presence.

Nature has always been my greatest teacher.

The Humble Bee has neither fear nor competition

Among its countless lessons, one has remained with me through every expedition—the humble bee. The bee has neither fear nor competition. It never doubts its wings, nor worries who may take away its honey. It simply continues to fly, flower after flower, believing in Nature's abundance and in the quiet strength of its own wings.

Every mountain I have climbed has reaffirmed this timeless truth. Summits are rarely earned by the strongest or the fastest; they belong to those who quietly trust themselves, remain steadfast through uncertainty, and keep moving forward with unwavering faith.

Little did I know that the Himalayas were about to test that belief more profoundly than ever before.

Shanthi Stupa - Leh

Mahaparinirvana Buddha

The journey begins

Two days in Leh were devoted entirely to acclimatization. At over 11,500 feet, acclimatization is not merely a physiological necessity—it is where Patience introduces itself, long before the mountains do. The Himalayas have never rewarded haste.

Our day of rest led us to the serene Shanti Stupa, overlooking Leh in tranquil silence. There, one beholds the majestic Mahāparinirvāṇa Buddha resting in eternal peace—not as a symbol of mortal silence, but as the complete liberation from suffering, attachment and the endless cycle of birth and rebirth.

"The mountains teach us to climb higher; the Buddha teaches us to let go. Somewhere between the two we begin to understand liberation from bondage—and therein lies true freedom."

Standing before the Mahāparinirvāṇa Buddha, I realised that every expedition is, in many ways, an exercise in letting go—of fear, ego, expectations and certainty. Physical strength may carry us upwards, but inner stillness carries us much farther.

River crossings - Swollen by relentless rains

Ruins of Hankar fort

Into the Heart of the Markha Valley

Leaving Leh behind, our expedition gradually unfolded through Sara, Markha, Thachungtse, and eventually to Kang Yatse II Base Camp. With every passing day, civilisation quietly receded while the Himalayas asserted their timeless authority.

Along the trail stood the weathered remains of Hankar Fort, a silent sentinel overlooking the valley. Once a strategic outpost guarding sections of the ancient Silk Route, it watched over caravans carrying silk, salt, pashmina wool and precious stones between Ladakh, Tibet and Central Asia. Today, its crumbling walls remind us that kingdoms inevitably surrender to time, while the mountains remain eternal.

River crossings became daily reminders of humility. Swollen by relentless rain and glacial melt, the streams were in full spate, transforming seemingly ordinary crossings into treacherous passages where every step demanded complete concentration. Prayer flags fluttered endlessly across the valley, carrying the timeless chant:

Lush green of Markha Valley

Guru Padmasambhava

Om Mani Padme Hum

Closely associated with Guru Padmasambhava, the revered master who established Vajrayāna Buddhism across the Himalayas, the mantra seemed to dissolve effortlessly into the mountain wind itself. Whether whispered by pilgrims or carried across lonely passes, it imbued the entire valley with a quiet spirituality that words could scarcely describe.

When Nature Takes Charge......

By the time we reached Kang Yatse II Base Camp, the mountains had begun writing their own story.

Relentless rain battered our tents while fierce winds howled relentlessly through camp, threatening to deracinate not merely our shelters but also our carefully nurtured hopes of a summit. What had appeared to be a promising weather window now stood on the brink of complete omnishambles.

Every conversation inevitably returned to one simple question.

Would the mountain permit us to climb?

There comes a moment on every expedition when one experiences anagnorisis—the sudden realisation that we are insignificant before the forces of nature. Mountains neither negotiate nor compromise. They simply exist, utterly indifferent to our ambitions.

Several expedition teams waited together at Base Camp, staring aimlessly at the same indifferent sky. The clouds concealed far more than they revealed. The Stoicism reflected on every face spoke louder than words. We had trained. We had prepared. We had travelled thousands of kilometres.

Now everything belonged to the mountain. As we stood before those colossal walls of snow and stone, another thought quietly emerged.

Kany Yatse peak 1 and Kany Yatse Peak 2

Were the mountains asking us to become less eloquent and more silent? Perhaps some truths are simply too profound for language. Perhaps the Himalayas were teaching us that reverence is expressed not through words, but through silence. In that silence lay the quiet wisdom of Amor Fati—to love not merely the summit, but the uncertainty, the storm, the waiting, and the mountain exactly as it chose to reveal itself.

Team @ Kang Yatse II summit

Our team @ Kang Yatse Base camp

Summit Push — Kang Yatse II

At 1:00 AM, beneath a moonless Himalayan sky, we stepped out of Base Camp.

The biting cold welcomed us immediately. Every breath became precious. Every step demanded greater effort than the last. Ice axes, crampons and rope teams became extensions of ourselves as we steadily climbed through darkness towards dawn.

Hours later, after negotiating steep snow slopes and exposed sections, we stood atop Kang Yatse II (6,250 metres) at 10:39 AM.

There were no triumphant roars. Only gratitude and silence. The very silence we had encountered at Base Camp. There is a tendency to believe that summits are destinations and the Himalayas quietly correct that illusion.

Every summit is merely another point from which one sees farther—both across the mountains and within oneself

Safety Before Summit

Our Chief Guide, a seasoned Ladakhi mountaineer and among the finest professionals I have climbed with, shared a simple mantra that perfectly captures Himalayan mountaineering.

"Anyone can take you to the summit. You pay me for bringing you safely back to Base Camp."

Those words proved prophetic.

As the morning sun softened the snowpack, firm ice rapidly transformed into deep, unconsolidated snow. During our descent, I suddenly plunged nearly four feet into soft snow and became completely immobilised.

For nearly fifteen minutes, movement was impossible.

The instinct is always to rush towards someone in difficulty. Yet on a glacier, haste can be dangerous. Members of a rope team survive through discipline rather than impulse. Following calm, step-by-step instructions from our guide, I slowly extricated myself using my ice axe, carefully redistributing my weight until I was free. Had others rushed forward, the fragile snow bridge might easily have collapsed further.

Mountaineering has never been about taking risks. It is about managing them wisely.

Team @ Dzo Jongo base camp

Forty-Four Hours and Thirty Minutes

Most climbers would have celebrated, but we packed.

The next day we were on our way to Dzo Jongo Base Camp, preparing for another summit.

From standing atop Kang Yatse II to standing atop Dzo Jongo East, only forty-four hours and thirty minutes would pass.

The number itself is not what makes the achievement memorable and what those forty-four and a half hours demanded were.

Endurance, Discipline, Patience, Humility.

Complete trust in the mountains—and in one another.

Team @ Dzo Jongo summit

Dzo Jongo summit

The approach to Dzo Jongo East is often underestimated. It deserves much greater respect. Its challenges are every bit as demanding as Kang Yatse II, particularly when attempted immediately after another 6,000-metre summit.

At 10:30 PM, we once again disappeared into the Himalayan darkness from Dzo Jongo basecamp. The wind had become colder. Every sinew had already been tested, stretched and asked for maximum accommodation.

Yet the mind remained quietly resolute. At 07:19 AM, the next day we stood atop Dzo Jongo East (6,220 metres).

Two summits - The twin Himalayan giants.

Summit to summit—Forty-Four Hours and Thirty Minutes.

Preparation Meets Opportunity

People often congratulate the summit and few witness the months that quietly built it. This journey had begun nearly eight months earlier. It was shaped through endurance runs, repeated climbs of the Nandi Hills steps carrying a loaded backpack, long strength sessions, yoga for flexibility and balance, demanding treks including Kilimanjaro, Gaumukh–Tapovan and Kumara Parvatha, and countless disciplined choices made long before setting foot in Ladakh.

As Seneca wisely observed,

"Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity."

The Himalayas merely presented the opportunity and preparation had already done the rest.

Gratitude

A heartfelt thank you to the exceptional teams at Boots & Crampons and Trek Nomads, whose planning and execution were flawless from beginning to end. My sincere gratitude to our Trek Leader Skalzang Rigzin, whose unwavering commitment to safety inspired complete confidence throughout the expedition.

His philosophy remains one of the finest lessons I have learnt in the mountains: "Anyone can take you to the summit. You pay me for bringing you safely back to Base Camp."

My heartfelt thanks also to Romil Barthwal, whose encouragement and mental preparation gave me the confidence to attempt Dzo Jongo instead of stopping after Kang Yatse II.

Success in the mountains is never an individual achievement. It is always shared. Countless well wishers and family pray for your success and safe return!!

A proud moment

Walking Home

after the successful summits, crossing Kongmaru La (5,200 metres) on our return towards Chokdo, the towering peaks gradually disappeared behind us. Yet something within refused to leave.

There is a beautiful Greek word—Pleroma—meaning fullness, a state where nothing more is needed.

Somewhere between the chanting of Om Mani Padme Hum, the serenity of the Mahāparinirvāṇa Buddha, the prayer of the Śrī Rudram, the silence of Kang Yatse and the fierce winds of Dzo Jongo, I experienced a fleeting glimpse of that fullness. 

The pulchritude of the Himalayas cannot truly be captured by photographs, it can only be experienced.

Like Odysseus, one eventually discovers that every outward journey is, in truth, a journey home—to a quieter, humbler version of oneself.

The bee never stopped believing in its wings, The Buddha reminded us to let go, Lord Shiva revealed His serene presence amidst the mountains.

The Himalayas asked only for humility and perhaps that was the real expedition all along.

As I packed away my boots, one question quietly echoed through my mind.

Is this where the journey ends?

Or...

Is this simply another beginning?

Only time—and the mountains—will answer and i could hear their whispers!!

All human wisdom is contained in these two words, 'wait and hope'

for the mountain does not ask whether you are worthy of its summit. It asks whether you are humble enough to receive its grace.