Hero or Skilled Servant? Tenzing Norgay After the Summit
Climber George Lowe ascended to meet them during their descent, carrying hot soup. When they arrived at camp, the expedition's radio operator broadcast their achievement worldwide. Though they had set out as ordinary individuals and came back as heroes to the globe, that status changed nothing—the two remained unpretentious and devoted their remaining years to serving the Himalayan people. — Jamling Tenzing Norgay After the Summit
From Namche Bazaar, a small town at Everest's base, the news that humanity had conquered Earth's highest peak was radioed all the way to London. Queen Elizabeth II received this joyful news on June 1, 1953, the eve of her coronation. Later that year, she knighted Hillary and John Hunt, the expedition leader. Tenzing, however, was not a Commonwealth citizen, so he got only the lesser George Medal of the British Empire. Even so, his standing as a hero worshipped by millions stayed intact.
Tenzing was utterly astonished by the sudden fame that came his way. “I had never been on television—hadn’t even seen a set before,” he said. People from Nepal, Tibet, and India all admired him. In Kathmandu, crowds surrounded him, shouting his name, hoisting him onto their shoulders, and throwing him into the air. Whispers moved through the streets with stories of his extraordinary three-lobed lungs and a heart beating twice as fast as an ordinary man’s. After he came down from Everest, two purses were readied for him, each intended to buy him a house.
His new post as school headmaster paid 850 rupees per month. Because the narrow, steep, winding roads of Darjeeling restricted the number of vehicles allowed on them, a trucking license was a profitable asset, so the authorities made an exception and gave him one. This brought in another 500 to 1,000 rupees monthly. For Sherpa standards, that was immense wealth; an ordinary porter earned 3 rupees a day, while a magistrate made 5 to 10.
The controversy began on May 29, when Tenzing and Hillary reached the summit. Their historic climb also triggered an endless debate: who actually got there first? That question was raised by outsiders—a public used to the belief that there must always be a single winner. Mountaineers, especially climbing partners like Tenzing and Hillary, seemed to have little interest in personal glory.
In his 1955 autobiography *Tiger of the Snows*, Norgay disclosed that Hillary was the fortunate one. Meanwhile, reporters had persistently posed the same question: "Between these two men, who deserves the glory of being the first to conquer Everest, and who was merely his follower?" Norgay’s account described the final moments: "Not far from the summit, Hillary and I stopped... I wasn’t thinking about 'first' or 'second.' I didn’t say to myself, 'There is a golden apple up there—I will push Hillary aside and take it for myself.' We moved slowly, steadily, and then we were there.
I followed when Hillary stepped up first. Now that the matter is settled, I am prepared to face judgment. Another controversy emerged upon Kathmandu's return to the world timeline: the British Queen knighted Hillary and Hunt, yet Norgay was given the George Medal for his expeditionary work. That inequality ignited strong protests from Nepalese nationalists.
Reports emerged that Indian Prime Minister Nehru had turned down a knighthood nomination for Norgay, intensifying the strain. Moreover, the unease over how Norgay was treated grew due to the absence of official acknowledgment—a concern heightened because mountaineering honors had long been dominated by proponents of white superiority.
Tenzing publicly disputed that characterization and became distant from Hunt and the other British members of the expedition. Hunt had told reporters that Tenzing was 'a fine climber within the limits of his experience,' a defensive comment implying Norgay lacked familiarity with European climbing techniques—an odd assertion about someone with more Everest experience than anyone alive. That phrasing only made matters worse.
He generally sought to remain uninvolved in disputes, but claims by Westerners that "with proper leadership, many Sherpas could have climbed Everest" cut him deeply, and not just once. When discussing such remarks, he would touch his chest and speak of "something black inside"—though only when his emotions were running high. In more relaxed and friendly moments, he seemed more at ease. "Friends climb mountains together," he said.
At a vantage point overlooking the Himalayas, Tenzing hoisted the flags of Britain, Nepal, India, and the United Nations. A New Dilemma. His hands made pained yet graceful gestures as he slowly, thoughtfully strung together the words, "You help me, I help you—it’s the same." He then added, "If I say I was first and Hillary second, or Hillary says he was first and I second— it’s no good. We were together all the way.
Tenzing, once an obscure native of a little-known mountain tribe, was utterly transformed into a world-famous international hero. That achievement freed him from the grueling demands of mountain climbing and steered him toward a new line of work filled with contracts, publicity, and profit calculations. Although it paid better, this career carried its own stresses. He lacked training in public relations, as many celebrities do, and his halting English made matters worse. He adjusted to his altered circumstances with grace, even if the situation was not always to his taste.
Norgay later said that, had he anticipated the renown his Everest climb would bring, he would never have made the ascent. He became a symbol, yet he was unintentionally swept into controversies he neither understood nor cared about. At heart he remained a simple man who loved and understood an uncomplicated life. When the people around him grew accustomed to using one another for selfish ends, his peace of mind evaporated. To a certain extent, he was regarded as a prophet unappreciated in his own nation.
Welcomed by the leaders of countries across the globe and honored with awards, Tenzing had become, willingly or not, a global celebrity beyond any doubt. From that day onward, he stood as a symbol of Sherpa strength and their role in Himalayan mountaineering. He also understood all too well that public disagreement—whether he was a hero or merely a competent aide—only made his challenges more difficult. Endless invitations arrived, and he traveled by plane to deliver speeches around the world.
For 22 years, the newly established Himalayan Mountaineering Institute had him as its first Field Director. He called his spacious Darjeeling home "Ghang Lha," a surname of special significance connected to his origins. "It’s been a long journey...
In 1954, the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute was set up in Darjeeling, and Tenzing Norgay was named its first Field Training Director, a role he occupied for 22 years. His rented house in Darjeeling was turned into a compact museum featuring his equipment, trophies, and photographs, where he was on duty every day from 10 AM to 4:30 PM. His children. He had traveled from being a mountain laborer and pack-carrier to a man decorated with medals, ferried by aircraft, and fretting over income tax.
Tenzing Norgay Adventures, founded by Norgay in 1978 to organize Himalayan trekking expeditions, was taken over by his son in 2003. Norgay cut a striking figure—deeply tanned, immaculately groomed, with a warm smile and brilliant white teeth. His customary outfit was Alpine-style Western wear: a vivid silk scarf, a gray sweater, knee-length breeches, wool stockings, and heavy-soled Oxford shoes. In January 1975, chosen by Bhutan’s King Jigme Singye Wangchuck, Norgay led the first tourist group from the USA allowed into the country.
Norgay married three times over the course of his life. His first union was with Dawa Phuti, who died prematurely in 1944, leaving behind a son and two daughters. That son, Nima Dorje, tragically passed away at the age of four. Afterwards, Norgay married Ang Lahmu, a cousin of his late wife; although she had no biological children, she raised her two orphaned nieces and supported them until their weddings. In line with Sherpa tradition, Norgay then wed Dakku while Ang Lahmu was still alive. Dakku and Norgay had three sons and a daughter, with their daughter eventually marrying a lawyer. Their second son, Jamling Tenzing Norgay, later went on to follow in his father’s footsteps.
In 2003, Jamling and Peter Hillary, the son of Edmund Hillary, jointly reached the summit of Everest, which marked the 50th anniversary of their fathers' historic climb. Earlier, Jamling had stated to reporters, "I wanted to climb since I was 18, but my father refused. He said: ‘Why should you go to the mountains? I’ve already climbed for you. You don’t have to work there.’ His core belief was: ‘I climbed, earned money—all for you, to give you the best education and everything possible.’
One-fourth of all Everest climbers are Sherpas, yet they account for one-third of the mountain’s fatalities. Tenzing accomplished something more significant than simply surpassing his people’s renown: as the first to summit Everest, he also brought Sherpas worldwide acclaim for their bravery, climbing skill, and exceptional character. He later said of his Everest experience: "My mountain is not just dead rock and ice—she is warm, kind, and alive. Like a mother hen, with all other peaks as her chicks under wings.
On May 9, 1986, Norgay died of a cerebral hemorrhage in Darjeeling, West Bengal, aged 71. His remains were cremated at the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute, a place he often visited during his lifetime. Under pouring rain, the Buddhist ceremony saw Sir Edmund Hillary seated next to Tenzing’s widow Dakku, as thousands of mourners—both locals and climbers—came to pay their respects. Through dictation, he had published several books, providing a timeless narrative that unveiled the Himalayas' final unexplored era.
Translated from Aguo's blog, this article notes that the procession in his honor extended across several kilometers, and his story reaches beyond the summit itself.