The Way to the Labyrinth by Alain Daniélou

Author:Alain Daniélou
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: New Directions
Published: 2017-11-28T19:32:24+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Encounters

Nicolas de Roerich was a well-known painter who had fled Russia during the revolution, escaping through Mongolia and Tibet, where he had lived for some time. His brilliantly colored paintings represented dramatic landscapes with monasteries perched on inaccessible rocks. His conception of art was romantic, melodramatic, and modern. There is a museum of his works in New York that would make an excellent background for a Tibetan tourist agency, if such a thing were possible. In the Himalayan town of Nagar he had bought the ancient palace of the Rajahs of Kulu, a superb construction made entirely of carved wood. Mrs. de Roerich was a kind of seer who published short pamphlets in which she described her dreams and visions.

One day I mysteriously received one of this lady’s works entitled Agni-Yoga with a letter from her saying that she had read some of my articles, had seen me in a dream, wished to meet me, and hoped that I would pay her a visit in Nagar. I accepted the invitation. Raymond promptly distorted the title of the book and irreverently called the lady “Yoni-gaga.” It was a perfect opportunity for us to visit the valley of Kangra, which is not far from the Kulu Valley and is famous for its school of miniatures. At the beginning of the century, unfortunately, an English Resident had burned thousands of miniatures he considered obscene from the Rajah’s collection. The few paintings that survived the massacre are considered the finest in India. Beyond Kangra, a narrow road winds up the valley towards Kulu, known for its fine apple orchards, then on to Nagar and Manali, from which a tiny mulepath climbs through the glaciers towards Ladakh. The road does not go through Nagar, which is perched on a hill across the river. On the day we had agreed upon, we parked our car and our trailer on the side of the road. Two Tibetan horses with splendid harnesses, finely worked blue leather saddles, and silver stirrups were awaiting us with their grooms, who were hired locally. We had to go down the plunging river bank, ford the river, and climb the equally steep opposite bank. As we entered the palace grounds, two young Tibetan guards wearing monks’ robes sounded their horns to announce our arrival.

Mrs. de Roerich was a stout, matronly lady who sported a wimple and a corset and wore her hair in a crown; she seemed to step right out of a novel of the early 1900s about the Russian Court. She received us with elegant graciousness, as though she were still in Saint Petersburg. Some time later, the painter made his entrance, wearing a Tibetan robe and the air of a prophet. His two sons, both in their late twenties, lived with them. The youngest, Svetoslav, a handsome and elegant youth, married a very wealthy Indian movie star a few years later and went to live with her in Bangalore, in southern India. The eldest son, Peter, with his pointed

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