Shambhala: A Journey to Inner Peace

Set against the breathtaking backdrop of the Nepalese Himalayas, Shambhala follows Pema, a pregnant woman on her journey — not just to find her missing husband, but to seek inner peace.

Sense of Wander: ★★★★☆

In Shambhala, newly pregnant Pema journeys through the Nepalese Himalayas to find her missing husband.

*For those who haven’t watched the film, this article contains spoilers!

Shambhala, directed by Min Bahadur Bham, is set in a polyandrous village in the Nepalese Himalayas, where it’s common for a woman to have multiple husbands. At the centre of the story is Pema, a spirited young lady married ito three brothers: Tashi, Karma and Dawa.

But it’s clear that Pema’s heart belongs to Tashi, the eldest. Karma, the second brother, is a devoted monk, spending most of his time in the monastery, while Dawa, the youngest, is so much younger that he could be mistaken for her son.

Life unfolds as usual until Tashi, after returning from a long trade trip to Lhasa, goes missing. The newly pregnant Pema grows anxious, wondering what might have happened — until she hears the rumors. Whispers spread through the village claim that she had an affair with Dawa’s schoolteacher, Ram Sir, and that the child she carries is his. Whether or not the rumors are true, most villagers, including Dawa, believe them. Unable to face the shame, Tashi chooses exile over confrontation, abandoning Pema to face the village alone — with a child growing inside her.

Pema is with her husband, Tashi, as he carves the names of Pema, Karma, and Dawa into the stone as a token of remembrance.

Determined to prove her loyalty and clear her name, Pema sets out to find him. Karma, though reluctant at first, joins her — not out of love but duty, at the request of the Rinpoche. After all, Pema is his wife too.

As they journey together, Karma struggles to step out of his monastic life and into the world — a transition that feels as foreign to him as learning to ride a horse. Yet, as the miles pass, their bond deepens in ways neither of them could have anticipated. Unlike Tashi, Karma never asks whose child she carries. He simply sees Pema — the woman before him, weary yet unyielding. Unable to see her suffering any longer, he pleads her to stop searching for Tashi altogether, offering to care for her and the baby himself.

But fate pulls Karma back. News of the Rinpoche’s passing calls him to return to the monastery, leaving Pema to continue on her own. She presses forward, but misfortune follows. First, she loses her belongings. Then comes the hardest loss — Namkha, the horse she shared a special bond with. Left to fend herself in the biting cold, she’s now truly alone. Meanwhile, the vastness of the snow-covered Himalayas blends into the colourless sky, mirroring the emptiness that surrounds her.

I hold my breath — can she endure the cold, the hunger, and the weight of the life quietly brewing within her? With nothing left — not even Namkha, a symbol of her strength — what will keep her going? But perhaps this is the moment, stripped of everything, when her journey truly begins.

In Tibetan Buddhism, Shambhala is often described as a mystical kingdom accessible only to those ready to awaken. While Pema sets out to find her missing husband, what she is really searching for is something far greater: herself, her truth, and the peace she has long been denied.

Tashi’s brother, Karma, abandons his monastic life to join Pema in her search for Tashi.

The bond between Pema and Karma grows overtime.

The journey is grueling. Hunger and exhaustion weigh on her, and soon, she begins bleeding. I can’t help but wonder — will she lose her baby too?

Seeking shelter in a cave, she stumbles upon something unexpected — stone carvings left by Tashi. The camera pans from one etched word to the next: Pema. Family. Love. Ram. Hatred. Each one is a fragment of his turmoil, as if carving them into stone is his way of grieving, of wrestling with emotions too complex to express otherwise.

In this moment, I can’t help but reflect on how much of human suffering, including Tashi’s, is self-inflicted. Had he chosen to return, to face Pema instead of running away, the so-called “problems” might not have been problems at all.

Back in the village, when Tashi does return, he asks Pema to abort the baby, regardless of whether it’s his. He claims to love her, but his love is clouded by pride and selfishness. In contrast, Karma’s love is quiet and steady — free of doubt or ego. He never asks whose child she carries. To him, only one thing matters: Pema.

Tashi’s demand reminds me of the Hindu epic Ramayana, where King Rama sends Sita on exile due to doubt over her purity. Even when they reunite, he asks her to prove herself by stepping into the fire. Like Rama, Tashi lets distrust dictate his actions. And once the seed of doubt takes root, it’ll never go away.

As the story comes to an end, Pema stands before the villagers, with bow in her hand, preparing for an archery test — a trial meant to prove her loyalty.

As Pema searches for her missing husband, she’s also on a journey to find herself and inner peace.

We never see whether Pema passes the archery test. Instead, the camera shifts to Karma, who cradles a baby — likely Pema’s — by a snow-covered riverbank. I can’t help but recall Rinpoche’s last words: I am always present, just in different forms. Could the child be his reincarnation? If so, everything has come full circle.

And what of Shambhala? Perhaps it was never a destination, but a journey to be experienced. For Pema, it was a journey she had to take — one of loss, endurance, and transformation.

While I don’t believe suffering is necessary for spiritual awakening, I do believe that hardship can be a catalyst. Sometimes, it’s only when we lose the important things in life that we begin to find ourselves — leading us to wisdom and, hopefully, to a state of inner peace.