border, much of it over remote and rugged terrain. As for here, on rare occasions the Chinese not so politely shoo wayward souls back across the border, but usually interlopers are arrested. I know of three trekkers in the last year who were snatched up.”
In the driver’s seat, Ajay silently held up four fingers.
Karna said, “I stand corrected: four trekkers. All but one of them was eventually released. Have I got that right, Ajay?”
“Right.”
“Define ‘eventually,’ ” Remi said.
“A year or so. The one they kept has been missing for six years. The Chinese are keen on setting examples, you see. Letting an invader go too early would be bad form. Next thing you know, you’ve got hordes of Western agents disguised as trekkers flooding over the border.”
“Is that how they really see it?” asked Sam.
“Some in the government do. But I suspect it’s mostly for show. There are swaths along China’s southern border that are impossible to cover from the ground, so China is strict on what areas it can control. I have it on good authority”-Karna gave a comical jerk of his head toward Ajay-“that trekkers in northern India frequently slip across the border; in fact, there are tourism companies that specialize in it. Isn’t that right, Ajay?”
“Right, Mr. Karna.”
“Not to worry, Fargos. Ajay and I have been doing this together for years. Our GPS unit is perfectly calibrated, and we know this area intimately. We won’t be stumbling into the clutches of the Chinese Army, I can assure you.”
Another hour’s drive brought them to a gorge hemmed in by cliffs so deeply eroded they looked like tiered rows of massive anthills. Ahead was a castle-like structure that appeared to be partially embedded in the cliff. The ground floor’s outer walls were painted the same burnt red color they’d seen in Lo Monthang, while the upper two stories, stacked upon jutting horizontal beams, were progressively smaller and seemed hewn from the rock itself. Faded prayer flags strung between two of the conical roofs flapped in the breeze.
“Tarl Gompa,” Karna announced.
“We’ve heard that name several times,” Remi said, “but the definition seems . . . indefinable.”
“An accurate way of putting it. In one sense, gompas are fortifications of a sort-outposts for education and spiritual growth. In another sense, they are monasteries; in yet another, military posts. Much depends on the period of history involved and the people occupying the gompa.”
“How many of these are there?”
“In Nepal alone, over a hundred that I know of. Probably triple that number remain undiscovered. If you expand the area to Tibet and Bhutan, there are thousands.”
“Why are we stopping at this one?” asked Sam.
“Mostly out of respect. Wherever there are sacred caves, a council of elders is formed to watch over them. The caves here are not yet well known, and the elders are very protective of them. If we don’t pay the proper respect, we’ll find ourselves staring down the barrels of about a dozen rifles.”
They climbed out of the car. In Nepali, Karna called out toward the gompa, and a few moments later an elderly man in khaki pants and a bright blue parka stepped from the darkened doorway. His face was nut brown and deeply lined. From beneath wiry eyebrows he scrutinized his guests for several seconds before breaking into a wide smile.
“
Karnauer walked forward, and the two men embraced and then began talking in low tones. Karna gestured toward Sam and Remi, and they instinctively came forward.
Ajay stopped them: “Better if you wait here. Pushpa is a
Karna and Pushpa continued to talk for several minutes before the old man nodded and clapped Karna on both arms. Karna walked back to the Land Cruiser.
“Pushpa has given us permission to proceed. He will inform a local guide to meet us at the first caves.”
“Inform the guide how?” Remi asked. “I don’t see any-”
“By word of foot,” Karna replied.
He pointed to one of the rocky shark’s teeth atop the opposite cliff. There, a figure was standing. As they watched, Pushpa raised his arm and formed a sequence of shapes with his hand. The figure signaled back, then disappeared behind the cliff.
Karna said, “By the time we get there, all the locals will know to expect us and that we have permission.”
“In other words, no angry villagers with pitchforks.”
“Rifles,” Sam corrected.
Karna smiled reassuringly. “Neither. Shall we go?”
Leaving Tarl Gompa in their rearview mirror, they continued heading generally east, following the gorge for two miles, before emerging on a dry riverbed. A quarter mile away, across a bridge, a collection of gompa-like structures sat at the foot of another anthill cliff, this one several hundred feet high and stretching to the north and south as far as the eye could see.
Ajay guided the Land Cruiser over the river bottom to the bridge, then across. As they neared the village, the terrain changed from scree and boulders to a fine rusty brown sand. Ajay halted the vehicle beside a low stone wall on the village’s perimeter. They all climbed out into a brisk wind. Sand pelted their jackets.
“It’s got a bite to it, doesn’t it?” Karna said.
Sam and Remi, in the middle of pulling up their hoods, nodded back. Sam called over the rush, “We’re walking from here?”
“Yes. Into those.” Karna pointed toward the anthills. “Come on.” Karna led them through a gap in the wall and started down a stone-lined path. At the end of this path they found a thick hedgerow of scrub brush. He followed the hedge to the left, then through a natural pergola. They emerged in a small cobblestoned square centered around a bubbling fountain. Around the perimeter, planter boxes overflowed with red and purple flowers.
“They divert a bit of the river for irrigation, plumbing, and fountains,” Karna explained. “They love fountains.”
“It’s beautiful,” Remi said.
It took little imagination to see how Shangri-La legends began here, she thought. In the middle of some of the bleakest terrain she and Sam had ever encountered, they’d found a tiny oasis. The juxtaposition was pleasantly jarring.
Seated nearby on a wooden bench was a short middle-aged man in a plaid sweater-jacket and a baseball cap emblazoned with the Chicago Bears logo.
He raised a hand toward them and walked over. Karna and the man embraced and spoke for a bit before Karna turned to introduce Sam and Remi.
Karna said, “This is Pushpa.” Before they could ask, Karna added, “Yes, it’s more or less the same as the man at the gompa. To us, it sounds the exactly the same; to them, the inflection makes all the difference. Pushpa will lead us to the caves. We’ll take some tea with Pushpa, and then we’ll get down to business.”
29
Packs settled on their backs, they retraced their footsteps past the Land Cruiser, then followed Pushpa along the wall, first south, then east, around the village to the foot of the anthill cliffs.
“I suddenly feel very small,” Remi said over her shoulder to Sam.
“Very.”
Upon their first seeing the cliffs, both distance and the fantastical geology had combined to make them seem
