They reached another
high valley pass where a huge river coursed eastwards. This was the famous
Panj, and 9001 nodded approvingly, as if she knew it well. There were more
caravans on this stretch of river heading up and down stream. They were of all
different sizes, shapes, colours, and types of dress. 9001 had never different
languages spoken before; only dialects. She was completely unable to understand
the other teams that passed by who called out greetings and salutations.
They followed the
river for a few days and passed breath-taking views and mountainous lakes. The
valley trek had taken a decidedly uphill slope for the first half of their
trip. After they crossed the pass before the river, the ground headed steadily
downhill. The trip was easier, and the river kept the valley they travelled in
green and fresh. The Panjshir valley, for all its comforts, was dry and dusty
where living was difficult. This valley was green and lush by comparison, even
though it was at a higher elevation and seemed much colder.
Ice and snow still
clung to the tops of the Hindu Kush to the south. To the north, the mountains
seemed lower and the caravan seemed to be heading that way. They stayed one
night on the shores of a large lake and ate tiny freshwater fishes. 9001 had
only seen fish before but never eaten one. They were delicious and crispy
outside from the fire but soft and juicy inside. The custom was to eat the
whole fish: head, tail and everything.
The next day, they
backtracked a two thousand steps and crossed at a narrow but shallow spot to
the other side. They continued north in the flats of a large valley that
descended from the mountains now directly behind them. They came upon another
large, flat river that flowed almost as slowly as the camels walked. The headed
north and east, crossing gentle tributaries that lazily flowed out of the
hills. At some points in the flat valley, the tributaries merely petered out in
fan-like tails that barely made contact with the river.
The men commented that
this was Ahura’s way of moving the rocks from the top of the mountain down to
the valley. 9001 wondered why Ahura would move rocks around, but couldn’t speak
to voice her suspicions.
After several more
days of easy trekking, they pushed out onto a much wider plain—almost a
plateau—that extended farther than the eye could see in any direction. It
reminded 9001 of her visit to Kabul, but the valley at Kabul was clearly
enclosed. This valley could not even be considered a valley, because the
mountains dropped away and disappeared in all directions. They did not stray
far from the river that descended in an alluvial fan, because the valley became
dry, dusty, and turned to sand. It was, in fact, the edge of a huge desert, the
men said.
They also said that
meant Kashgar was near.
The caravan stopped in
a small oasis near a pool where several other caravans were camped. As night
fell, a communal party and feast started up. The customs were different here,
and the caravanners caroused with a foul-selling drink they shared out of a
large barrel. This was the perfect opportunity for her to wait until midnight
and sneak away to separate from the group.
She walked with her
camel through the night, able to pick her way fairly easily in the easy terrain
under the fading light of the final quarter moon.
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