Teri Kang, Tang Chu, Tarina, Lunana, 1998

We climb up through boulder-slashed scars and cross a stream roaring over falls into misty pools surrounded with ice-crystaled brush. I pull out my beads and begin a walking meditation, Om Mani Padme Hung Hri! ice-encrusted rock. On the way from Laya, Wangye told me this was a sacred spring, home to a jealous, vengeful naga-serpent and warned me to never drink the water cold--only by boiling could drive out the serpent and keep the demon from striking one’s heart. This makes sense. In most areas of Bhutan, the water contains parasites and bacteria. Only in the high mountains, or at springs and headwaters, is it pure. So, folk adages about evil naga spirits are more than reasonable. But this water is pure. I fill my bottle and drink it half down in one long gulp. It burns my palate, shooting a throbbing “ice-cream” headache into my brain. A cold ball aches in the pit of my stomach and the icy feeling runs through my muscles and over my skin. I put on a wool shirt to soak up the chilling