Tother Hand, Chapter 8, part 2

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.

Tother Hand, Chapter 8 part 1

Chapter Eight

The next morning she took the camel with her to carry only essential items: some blankets, a piece of the _khana_ for shelter, and food. While she was unloading all the other non-essential items, she uncovered a swarm of baby spiders running amok inside a small ball of silk about 4 centimetres across. She said a silent blessing for her spider friend’s offspring and placed them in a brush near the yurt.

She walked for two days as quickly and rapidly as she could, from very first light until well into dark. She stayed with the old grandmother on the first night, but the second night proved hard to find a friendly yurt or any lights from fires nearby to sleep next to. Fortunately, it was nearing the full moon, so she was able to gather a few pieces of wood and setup the _khana_ and blankets as a small, one-person yurt.

She started the fire by striking her father’s slag false blade against a stone.

Her father said: So the blade does have iron in it.

9001 started and cried out in fear. Then she collapsed on her haunches in front of the fire.

Her father said: I did not mean to startle you.

She asked: Are you not dead yet? Where is your _fravashi_?

He said: I am closer. As you progress in your new mission, I sense the truth approaching. Ahura is guiding you, which means that I am nearing my battle in the afterlife as well.

She asked: Are you afraid?

He said: No. I was not afraid to die. And I am not afraid to leave. I know that you have great talent. I have chosen you as my daughter, which is a blessing that many parents do not have.

She asked: Who was that woman, the Masked One? She seemed familiar.

He did not answer for a long time, so she made up the fire so that it would last a few hours and faced the opening of her mini-yurt toward the warmth.

Finally, as she was drifting off, he said suddenly: I do not know. I was distracted by some visions I do not understand. The Elders know about us, I am sure of it.

She nodded wearily and fell asleep.

The next morning, she packed up and left early. It was easy to rise in the pre-dawn cold because the quarters were so cramped and heat was scarce from the embers. She was nearly delirious from exhaustion and sleep deprivation. That could account for her father’s appearance, she reasoned, but then put it out of her mind.

After an hour of walking along the Panjshir, she spotted the tail end of a caravan, literally. She was able to catch up and merely followed along. A few of the men seemed to notice her but paid no attention. They thought she was a boy who had gotten separated from a caravan or was even part of this caravan. The colours on her father’s _patu_ and _lungee_ were been generic enough that they did not elicit any response. 9001 covered her mouth to prevent her from talking or accidentally forming feminine mouth shapes. She set her jaw instead and held her head erect.

As the caravan proceeded north, the valley the ground grew moderately steeper and the river ran thinner and faster on their right. On the third day, they passed over the ridge of a small mountain pass as they turned their right, away from the Panjshir River. They descended into a different valley with a small lake and stopped for one day to replenish supplies.

They moved on for a few more through a much steeper set of mountains on either side of the valley, finally ending at a higher lake that was even larger. The lake was so large that 9001 had never seen so much water. It was so wide from where the caravan approached that she could not see the opposite shore, if there was one at all.

Here they turned more easterly to follow a separate valley away from the lake to follow a valley range that did not have any rivers running through it. At the camps, 9001 had heard the men refer to the range on their right as the Hindu Kush. They followed the valley along the mountain range, skirting back north for several days.

Tother Hand, Chapter 7 part 5

She glanced around the yurt at the other family members who sat, struck dumb with awe.

She continued: All of you are blessed and the Creator will continue to grant many blessings.

She retrieved her _ney_ and began to play, and this is what it sounded like: The wind moved through the valley, low and calm. The weight of it was heavy and palpable. The sound of the flute mimicked this wind. If one faced into the wind, the edges of one’s sleeves might move slightly. It would tickle the eyebrows slightly. The music, a tongue of wind, would move around one’s chin and lap at the back of the neck, under the turban or head covering.

Along the wind front, there were subtle smells. Memories of moist earth, pine branches, wet camel fur, and dry dust came to mind. The scents were in no hurry, and they did not rush past each other. Instead, they lingered and left, while the next arrived and tarried just long enough for the next one to appear in line. The music was low and melancholy, like each aroma moving along, wafting past.

A gentle undercurrent of something comforting, like a mother’s breast or the smell of butter tea being prepared, moved through the air. On the surface of this current, like a leaf riding the waves of a river, the main harmony reached longingly for the sky. It jagged up and down, like the ridges of the mountains that lined both sides of the Panjshir valley. As a man might climb along the ridge of the valley, bobbing up and down, sometimes going further down a ridge, then climbing back up, so did the music follow the same irregular stride.

The music lilted up and fluttered. It was the longing flutter of a mother’s heart for her infant. Then it sank and floundered. It was the suffering of a child who has lost their mother and cannot replace that warm embrace. 9001’s heart rent in two as the _ney_ produced these soulful notes. The music flooded out an apology to her father, whom she failed. Salty tears made the _ney_ sputter.

She stopped playing and the spell was broken.

Every eye in the yurt welled over with tears. The man of the house clapped slowly.

He said: It is a curious fact that anyone, even a child of five, may merely walk from here to Kashgar. The Silk Road goes through hills, valley, and even mountain passes. It passes in front of the tallest mountains that Ahura Mazda has created. But you do not even have to climb over a single boulder to go around the entire world. You can go north through the valley and follow the passes with the last caravan that passed through here no more than two days ago. You must confront the Elders and demand justice for your father.

9001 nodded. She wiped the snot and tears from the _ney_ with her sleeve.

She asked sorrowfully: Do you think it will matter? A thousand years from now, will they tell stories of people like us who lived in tiny yurts in unknown valleys? Do you think they will remember me, or my father, whom they barely met?

The man’s eyes glowed hotly. He said: Yes. Yes, they will remember you a thousand years from now. And another thousand later. They will listen to stories about you and they will not rest until they find out how it ends.