A Prayer to Live: Surviving a White-Water Rafting Adventure

The country of Nepal holds a special place in my heart because my father, sister, and I nearly lost our lives there. It is one of the handful of times that I touched the veil to the other world, but through a prayer to God and a miracle granted, we did not die.

In 1996, at the time of our father-daughter trip, my sister, Lua, was 15 years old and I was just 18. Nepal holds many treasures and adventures. There are numerous temples and holy sites as well as hikes and rafting trips in the Himalayan foothills and mountains. After a few days of visiting the tourist attractions in the valley of Katmandu, we decided to take a trip out of the city to go white-water rafting on a mountain river.

We rode deep into the Himalayas to the starting point where we met three guides with the red raft, our food, and camping provisions. Kirin¹ —ray of light—was our guide and translator, he spoke enough English to teach us how to raft and to educate us about the history and culture of his homeland. Mana—spiritual powers—was our second guide; he was mute, so he spoke with a creative sign language that was all his own. Despite this, he was extremely talkative and very good at making himself understood. Finally, the third guide, Nadin—lord of rivers—was the water guide, who knew the river and had the most experience white-water rafting.

The first day went without a hitch. Our inflatable raft was easy to handle through the minor rapids and small drops in elevation. We were able to manage with simple paddle strokes.

That night we pulled the flat-bottom boat up on the shore to camp on a rock beach along the river. Our greatest concern was where to go to the bathroom in such a clear and open space with few trees or large rocks for privacy. We sat under the stars by a campfire and ate flatbread off a skillet. It was quiet so far from civilization. The only sound was the rushing water of the river along the banks.

The next morning, we piled back into the red raft and continued our journey downstream. There were signs that things were not as they should be. The guides argued and pointed at different boulders and outcrops. We asked about their animated discussions.

With hesitation, Kirin said that the river was flowing in unusual ways because the snow caps were melting and the rains had been more abundant. The water level was higher. Some rocks that were typically landmarks or obstacles were now submerged, while much larger rocks that had once towered over the river were causing new eddies and whirlpools. As naive novices, we did not think much of this observation.

The river had a way of lulling us into complacency. Since most of the route was a comfortable pace, with mild turbulence, through exquisite landscapes, it was easy to be distracted into daydreaming under the heat of the sun. However, suddenly we were confronted with a series of rapids that might include a waterfall a few feet high. This pattern of blissful floating downstream and panicked paddling made the adventure fun. Until it didn’t.

We hit small rapids and the raft flipped upside down.

I was underwater. All was black. Gurgling water rumbled my ears. I could not breathe. I did not know which way was up. I could not see. The roar of the river drowned out all other noises. I held my breath hoping, praying, waiting for the rapids to end and my head to find the surface.

My lifejacket pulled me in the right direction, but when I emerged, I was in the dark pocket underneath the boat. I gulped down air. I filled my lungs as much as possible. Then, my body was pulled under again and the water surrounded me on all sides.

I felt the air leave my lungs. I thought, Hold on. Hold your breath for a few more seconds.

My body was suspended in the loud darkness of the tumbling river. If I did not breathe soon, the picturesque scenes of Nepal would be my final memories.

My head broke through the surface of the water again. All was dark. I took in a deep breath of air. I appreciated the sweet breath of life. I filled my lungs just in case there were more turbulent waters ahead. Fortunately, the river had calmed down.

Lua’s voice broke the silence, “Rehema! Rehema! Where are you?”

I heard the desperation and fear in her voice. She thought she was alone on the river.

“Rehema! Where are you?” She thought the rest of us were dead.

“I’m here!” I shouted, but my voice was trapped under the boat. I knew that I needed to comfort my sister. At least if we were together, we could then figure out about what had happened to the others.

I struggled against my life jacket but eventually I managed to pop up outside in the bright sunshine next to my sister.

We cried with joy to see each other, but our pleasure was short-lived.

“Where is Dad?” I asked. We scanned the horizon, but we could not see him. Fortunately, Kirin was clinging to the raft, and Mana was floating with his head above water just a few yards ahead of us on the river. We could not see our dad, or Nadin.

I screamed, “Ya Allahu’l-Mustaghath!² Ya Allahu’l-Mustaghath! Ya Allahu’l-Mustaghath!”

Lua yelled at me, “You are not allowed to say that! That prayer is only to be said in times of great need.”

This was true. We had learned this prayer from our Aunt Diana. She had whispered it our ears and told us to say only this powerful prayer in an emergency.

“If not now, then when?” I asked.

We screamed in unison at the top of our lungs. “Ya Allahu’l-Mustaghath! Ya Allahu’l-Mustaghath! Ya Allahu’l-Mustaghath!” Our voices reverberated off the rocks that lined the canyon.

We screamed our prayer so loudly that we started laughing. We prayed so sincerely that we scared Kirin.

“What are you doing?” He yelled at us, scolding us for our screams and shrieks.

Before I could say that we were praying, several miracles happened. We saw my father floating a few boat lengths ahead. He tried to wave but had several things under his arms buoying his body. He was alive, though we were far from safe. The river flowed in different directions and at different speeds; my father floated back to us, or we caught up to him, and Mana was able to swim through the strong current over to the raft.

We kicked and pushed the boat into an inlet to catch our breaths, flip the boat, and all climb in. Miraculously, my father had collected all of the paddles that had been thrown out of our hands when we had turned upside down. They had drifted downstream and kept him stable through the rapids. When we all sat on the boat, we took account.

“Where is Nadin—”

“Don’t worry he is an excellent swimmer. He would have swum to shore.” Kirin said.

“Where is he?” I persisted.

“Don’t worry! He is nearby.” Kirin reassured us. “We will wait here. He will find us. In the meantime, let’s check our supplies.”

Kirin and Mana talked with hand signals and calls. They counted bags and paddles as well as ropes and supplies. They opened our sacks to see what had been destroyed with water. While they worked, we sat in shocked relief—grateful to be alive and to be together.

After several minutes, Kirin reported, “We are very lucky. The bags are dry. We have everything except a bucket that was not tied down.”

“But what about Nadin—“ I protested again.

On cue, Mana pointed to the top of the riverbank further downstream. There was Nadin scurrying barefoot over the boulders on the shore, holding a bucket. We all waved to him—happy to see he was alive and well.

When he boarded the boat, we gingerly made our way into the center of the river where the strong current carried us downstream. We knew that we must be brave through the remaining trip because the only way back to Kathmandu was by boat. High in the mountains there were few roads or cars that could pick us up and drive us back to the city. We were thankful that nothing more eventful happened on that white-water excursion in the Himalayas. We were grateful for God’s grace.

1. The tour guides’ names have been changed. [↩]
2. The Arabic phrase “Ya Allahu’l-Mustaghath,” has been translated as “O Thou God Who art invoked” or “He Who is invoked for help.” Like the phrase “Allah-u-Abha,” it can be said in times of great need to ask for aid and assistance. It can be chanted as mantra to beseech God for immediate help. From a memorandum dated 28 December 2001 from the Research Department to the Universal House of Justice [↩]

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Rehema Clarken

Dr. Rehema Clarken finds joy in daily meditation, chasing waterfalls, and playing with languages. Whether in her writing or her teaching, she is dedicated to making safe havens for nerdy creatives to thrive. Formerly, she was a high school principal in bustling Beijing. Now, she lives in rural Michigan where she teaches at Michigan Technological University and runs the Keweenaw Learning Center.