‘If that isn’t a bad joke,’ Masters said, ‘you’d better explain exactly what you mean.’
Rodini smiled at him. ‘Think it through. You’re driving Indian-registered four-by-fours. You all have India visas in your passports — forged India visas, I know, but they’re pretty good quality — and you’re carrying Inner Line permits plus about a dozen photocopies each. The simplest way to get you into India is to claim that you were already in it, but somehow you got lost and crossed into Pakistani territory.
‘When we get to the border I’ll berate the Indians for allowing a bunch of Americans to cross into Pakistan so easily. I will also tell them that we’ve interrogated you, so if one or two of you can rough each other up a bit — fake some bruises and maybe a cut or two — that would add realism. My guess is that they’ll be so embarrassed that they’ll just check your papers, shout at you, and then let you go. And if they decide not to, for some reason, then I can claim that I’ve just received instructions to re-arrest you all for further questioning.’
Masters nodded slowly. There was a kind of simple genius about Rodini’s suggestion that he had to applaud. He’d known all along that trying to sneak across the border was going to be difficult and dangerous, but simply driving to a checkpoint and claiming to have crossed into Pakistan in error eliminated that problem. And Rodini was quite correct — they had all the papers and documentation they needed to be in the Nubra Valley area so, as long as Rodini’s forgers had done their work, the Indians should have no reason to detain them.
‘You have good relations with the Indian troops?’ he asked.
‘Good enough,’ Rodini replied. ‘There are occasional skirmishes, but most of the time nothing happens in the border area, so we do talk to each other, that kind of thing. Before we actually attempt to cross the border I’ll call one of the senior Indian Army officers and explain that we’ve arrested a group of trespassers, just to gauge his reaction.’
‘Won’t he want to report it, tell his superiors what’s going on?’
‘I doubt it. If he admits that two jeep-loads of American tourists managed to sneak across the border in his sector, and on his watch, only to be captured and returned by Pakistani troops, it’s going to look as if he and his men have been negligent. The last thing he’ll want to do is tell anyone about it.’
Rodini smiled at Masters. ‘Time to get going,’ he said. ‘Next stop, the Indian border.’
55
‘You know, I can see why people come here,’ Bronson said, gazing through the windscreen at the expanse of the Nubra Valley. ‘At this altitude, in this kind of terrain, you just don’t expect to see anything like this.’
The broad floodplain stretched out in front of them, flat and comparatively level, but despite the altitude — the valley was about 10,000 feet above sea level — much of it was a carpet of vegetation, vivid green patches that contrasted sharply with the grey-brown of the mountain slopes that bordered it on both sides. Pinpricks of colour, yellows and pinks and reds, marked the positions of wild roses, and darker grey-green patches delineated clumps of lavender, waiting for the heat of August to come before they started to flower.
And it wasn’t just the different colours. There was a huge contrast between the plain itself and the mountains, which seemed to rise almost vertically from the edge of the level ground. No foothills, no gentle slopes rising up to meet the mountains. In some ways it reminded Bronson of the Norwegian fjords, where the steep sides of the peaks plunge straight down into the icy waters.
‘This valley has the best climate in the whole of Ladakh,’ Angela said, ‘and, as you can see, it’s well cultivated and very fertile. As I told you before, in the ancient language of this area, it was known as Ldumra, meaning the “Valley of Flowers”. There’s even a theory that this area was the source of the story of the original Garden of Eden.’
‘Well, you can see why,’ Bronson said. ‘For somebody flogging their way along the paths that lead here, seeing nothing but rocks and mountains, and then suddenly being confronted by this sight. I mean, why wouldn’t they think they’d found a kind of paradise?’
‘But actually, this valley has been quite well-travelled over the centuries. It’s only in modern times that it’s been turned into a kind of dead end because of the disputes between India and Pakistan, and of course with China. We’re not that far from the Chinese border right now. But originally, this was a part of the so-called Silk Route or Silk Road, that ran from the capital of the old Chinese Empire — Chang’an, which is now called Xi-an — to several different locations around the Mediterranean, like Alexandria and Istanbul, and elsewhere.’
A large brown animal moved among a clump of bushes off to one side of the road they were following.
‘What was that?’ Bronson asked, catching just a fleeting glimpse of it before switching his attention back to the road.
‘It’s a Bactrian Camel. That’s the kind with two humps,’ Angela replied, swivelling round in her seat to look at it more closely.
‘A camel? I wouldn’t have thought you’d find camels at this altitude.’
‘They’re hardy beasts, well equipped to endure harsh conditions — whether it’s very hot or very cold. In fact, about the only animals you’re likely to find up here are camels and goats.’
On the opposite side of the river, above a reasonably large settlement surrounded by apricot plantations, a strangely modern-looking building was set into the hillside. It was square and mainly white in colour, but with some parts of it painted red, brown and yellow, and with tall and thin flags fluttering from its roof. It looked almost like a block of flats.
‘What’s that over there?’ Bronson asked.
Angela looked down at her notes and the map. ‘The last place we drove through was called Khalsar, but that was just a small hamlet, so that must be Diskit village. It’s one of the bigger settlements in this region. It’s got a few hotels and guest houses, and even a handful of shops.’
‘I meant that building on the side of the hill.’ Bronson took one hand off the wheel and pointed to his left.
Angela checked the map again. ‘Oh, that’s Diskit Gompa. It’s the oldest and biggest monastery in the whole of the Nubra Valley. It’s about three hundred and fifty years old.’
‘So the word gompa means “monastery”?’
‘Yes,’ Angela said. ‘I think most of the villages here have one, though some have fallen out of use as the population’s moved around in the area. Many of them seem to have the same kind of construction — the square corners, flat roofs and square or tall thin windows are typical, and they can be quite colourful. And the monks that live in them are pretty colourful as well — they usually wear dark red robes and sometimes golden headdresses.’
‘What about the flags?’
‘They have prayers written on them. I think the wind whipping past the flags is supposed to send the message in the prayer straight to Buddha.’
They drove through Sumur and carried on, heading north and occasionally catching sight of the river on their left-hand side.
‘Right,’ Angela said, as they saw a scattering of buildings on either side of the road ahead of them. ‘That should be Panamik up ahead. We need to check out the condition of the road at the north end of the village.’
‘What are you looking for?’
‘Roadblocks,’ Angela said simply. ‘Non-locals aren’t allowed to go any further north than Panamik, and the place we need to get to is quite a way beyond it, so we’ll have to either try to talk our way through or drive back and then go cross-country to get around the patrols.’
‘And if we’re stopped out in the bundu?’ Bronson asked.
‘We’re stupid foreigners. We’ll say we got lost and didn’t realize where we were.’