Have you heard of the Taktsang Monastery in Bhutan? Perched precariously on the edge of a cliff over 3,000 feet above the Paro valley, the Taktsang Monastery, also known as the Tiger’s Nest, is one of the most iconic landmarks in Bhutan. With its rich history and spiritual significance, the monastery is said to have been the meditation site of Guru Padmasambhava, the revered figure who introduced Buddhism to Bhutan in the 8th century. Legend has it that the Guru flew to the location on the back of a tigress, lending the monastery its famed name. Today, reaching this sacred site remains a test of physical endurance and mental perseverance—a challenge even for the physically fit, with steep, rugged trails winding through dense forests and rocky terrain.
The journey to Taktsang Monastery calls for those seeking not only breathtaking views but also a deeper connection to self-determination and spirituality. I embarked on such a trek, inspired by an indelible picture of the monastery found on the internet. Little did I imagine that what began as a fleeting vision would soon culminate in an arduous, unforgettable experience etched into memory. An avid admirer of Jim Corbett’s writings, particularly his accounts of challenges in the Himalayan terrain, my experience echoes Corbett’s poetic descriptions of endurance and reward.
The idea of visiting the monastery first took hold when I saw a picture of the monastery on the internet, which instantly captivated me. I never imagined in my wildest dreams that in a short while from then, I would be visiting and standing at that very place, specifically the quaint town of Paro nestled in a picturesque valley surrounded by lush mountains. Conversations with locals only emphasized the challenge ahead. The replies I received were less than encouraging. ‘The climb would be stiff, and the destination tough to reach, if not impossible, for a city dweller like you,’ they said. A hotel girl summed it up succinctly, ‘For us who are used to mountains, there is no problem. However, for you city dwellers who spend most of their time sitting on chairs, the climb could be tough!’
Undeterred by the forewarnings, I accepted the challenge. On the designated day, my car driver dropped me at the foot of the hill, with instructions to return in six hours. Although ponies were available to carry visitors up the trail, I was determined to undertake the journey on foot—for the climb, I believed, was an integral part of the experience.
Looking up at the monastery clinging to the distant cliff, doubt crept in for the first time. Was this a task too ambitious to achieve? Nonetheless, the decision had been made. Gazing up at the monastery, which seemed impossibly distant, I wondered if I had bitten off more than I could chew. The narrow path sloped upward gradually at first, winding through gnarled tree trunks and ground strewn with pine cones. Soon, the path became rougher, and steeper, with sharp bends, rocks, and boulders. Birds chirped cheerily in the cool mountain air, and a drizzle began, adding to the atmospheric beauty of the climb.
Small stone cairns dotted the trail—delicate stacks left by earlier climbers as silent tributes to the trek’s challenge. I started with an optimistic spring in MY step, but it quickly turned to heavy panting. My heart pounded loudly in the stillness, sweat soaking through my clothes. As the trail grew relentless, a group of ponies trotted past, ferrying other visitors to the monastery. An elderly Korean man riding a pony commented sympathetically that it was all for enlightenment—though he did not clarify whether enlightenment favored the climbers or the riders. Just as I briefly considered grabbing a pony’s tail for support, one of the ponies cocked its tail, leaving behind a steaming gift on the trail—a timely reminder of the humility required for such endeavors.
The valley below shrank into a miniature landscape as the climb stretched into its second hour. A passing Bhutanese youth offered an estimate of the distance remaining: “About halfway more.” The words felt more dispiriting than helpful. At that moment, I made a conscious decision to forget the destination and focus only on the next few steps. The climb became a deeply personal test of endurance, where doubts loomed large but were swiftly banished.
Hours into the ascent, the sound of prayer chants wafted down from above—a soothing melody that acted as both a balm and a beacon. Through a break in the towering cypress trees, the first clear view of the monastery appeared, its white walls and golden roofs gleaming against the rugged cliffside. With renewed determination, I pushed forward.
At last, the summit was reached. A sense of elation eclipsed the exhaustion as I approached the monastery, where security personnel recorded my details and collected my camera. Inside, I found myself seated among monks draped in crimson robes, just in time for the closing moments of a prayer. The Head Lama presided, bestowing blessings with the Vajra—a ceremonial symbol—placed firmly upon each visitor’s head. The atmosphere was one of reverence, warmth, and serenity.
After the prayer, devotees offered me biscuits and a cup of hot tea, which felt like manna after the grueling climb. All the aches and doubts of the journey dissolved into a profound sense of accomplishment and gratitude. As I reflected on the monastery’s construction—built on the edge of a cliff with materials hauled up by devoted hands, I felt humbled by the sheer dedication and faith that such a feat demanded.
The descent was far quicker, taking about an hour and a half. The car driver who came to collect me observed my hobbling gait with quiet amusement, likening it to a weary soldier returning from battle. Indeed, it was a battle of sorts—not just with the physical challenge, but also with the inner voice that had, at times, urged retreat.
This experience at Taktsang Monastery was a reminder of the timeless connection between effort and reward, between suffering and fulfillment. It brought to mind a passage from Jim Corbett’s Man-Eating Leopard of Rudraprayag:
“The road in front of you, which has been trodden by the feet of millions of pilgrims like you, is excessively steep and incredibly rough; and you, whose lungs have never breathed air above sea level, who have never climbed anything higher than the roof of your house, and whose feet have never trodden anything harder than yielding sand will suffer greatly. Times there will be, a-many, when gasping for breath, you toil up the face of the steep mountains on feet torn and bleeding by passage over rough rocks, sharp shale, and frozen ground, when you will question whether the prospective reward you seek is worth the present price you are paying in suffering; but being a good Hindu, you will toil on, comforting yourself with the thought that merit is not gained without suffering, and the greater the suffering in this world, the greater the reward in the next.”
In Corbett’s words lies the essence of any journey that demands perseverance—whether for spiritual merit, physical achievement, or self-discovery. The climb to Taktsang Monastery mirrors this truth: the suffering may be great, but the reward is far greater.
About: Namachivayam
Namachivayam is an Electrical and Electronics Engineer with close to three decades of field experience in various industries both within India and abroad. Presently, he conducts technical training courses for engineering professionals in industries on topics of installation, erection, commissioning, maintenance of equipment, energy conservation, cost reduction and safety sharing his knowledge and experience.
He also conducts and coordinates programs for school children on topics of environment, waste management, safety, and heritage. He contributes to resolving of various civic issues in his locality through interaction with civic authorities.
He has a passion for travel, nature, wildlife, history, reading, writing, painting, photography, architecture, and social work. He writes articles on his experiences and anecdotes in life, sharing them among his friends’ circles.
Namachivayam can be contacted on cnamoin@yahoo.com
