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“How do you stay trim?” Sam said.
“Lots of hiking. Not to mention the cold and the altitude. You burn calories at a massive rate here. If I don’t consume at least five thousand a day, I start shedding weight.”
“Perhaps you should start a fitness boot camp,” Remi suggested.
“There’s a thought,” Karna said, standing up. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Right! Ten minutes until departure. Ajay will meet us at the gate!”
True to his word, Karna was ushering them out the door a few minutes later, and soon they were in the Land Cruiser heading southeast toward the foothills. Two miles out of the city, as they topped a crest, the landscape began to change dramatically. The rolling hills steepened, and their outline grew more jagged. The soil slowly morphed from grayish to an olive brown, and what little scrub brush dotted the terrain grew even more sparse. The Land Cruiser began jostling from side to side as Ajay navigated the now boulder-strewn tract. Soon Sam and Remi’s ears began popping.
From the front seat Karna said, “There are two cases of bottled water in the cargo boot. Make sure to stay hydrated. The higher we go, the more fluid you’ll need.”
Sam grabbed two pairs of bottles, handed one to Remi and two to Karna in the front seat, then asked Karna, “How far from the Tibetan border are we?”
“Seven miles or so. Try to remember: along with most of the rest of the world, we may think of it as the Tibetan border, but the Chinese do not. It’s a distinction they zealously enforce. The official name may be the Tibet Autonomous Region, but as far as Beijing is concerned it’s all China. In fact, if you keep a sharp eye out, you’ll begin to see outposts on the ridges. We may even encounter a patrol or two.”
“A patrol?” Sam repeated. “As in, the Chinese Army?”
“Yes. Both ground units and aircraft routinely wander into Mustang, and not by accident. They know Nepal can do nothing but lodge a formal complaint, which means nothing to the Chinese.”
“And what happens if someone strays over their side of the border? A lost trekker, for example.”
“Depends on the place. Between here and the northern tip of Myanmar there are almost two thousand miles of 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 o
f 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.”
