I thought these bungalows were nicer than the first ones we had stayed in. We had a small compound to ourselves, enclosed by a tall, lockable fence. Within the compound, an inviting green lawn adjoined a building with three rooms; two bedrooms (each with two beds, sitting area and bathroom) and a dining room between. The dining room was immediately voted too dark and damp for use. We divided the rooms up - one for men, one for women - and began taking our turns at the showers.

It was only a little after noon, but it seemed much later. We had had a long morning, walking, worrying about the truck, worrying about Scot, waiting for the mules, and we were all tired. But we all felt relieved to be in Kishtwar at last, and almost done with our backtracking. Of course it felt good to shower (by now no one thought twice about cold water!) and to sit in a chair. We felt let down as well as relieved - was this the end of things? Was trekking in India over for us now? We felt some tension because of our uncertainty about whether another trek could be arranged. We were all also a bit concerned about how we would manage to get back to Srinagar; no one wanted to stay in Kishtwar a moment longer than necessary. Tired as we were, with all these feelings and thoughts stewing around inside, no one could really relax.

We were all thinking about the ten days that remained for us in India. Scot had put forward the possibility of somehow getting to Leh quickly, and trekking in Ladakh. That would involve some fast planning footwork for him, and for Mrs. Kumarr in Srinagar; he wasn't sure if it would be possible to plan another trek on such short notice. At least the staff seemed willing to go with us, if something could be worked out. Mary and Ann were anxious to take advantage of any opportunity to save their trip from total disaster, and they were curious to see Ladakh. I wanted to see Ladakh too, though I was tired of being sick and I understood how Rob felt when he said that the sooner he left India, the happier he would be. Jim had seen Ladakh; it appeared unlikely that he would want to go again. Colleen wanted to see more of India, but was afraid that her knee precluded further trekking. Fred and Gerry were disenchanted with the whole trip, and anxious to leave India for Bangkok. As yet we weren't presented with any concrete alternatives though, and wouldn't be until Scot could talk with Mrs. Kumarr.

Kishtwar boasted a hospital. Supposedly it was a hospital for lepers, and people came long distances to be treated there. Since we would be spending all afternoon in Kishtwar, our medical contingent wondered if it would be possible for them to visit the hospital, observe the facilities and procedures and talk with the doctors in charge. Ashraf promised to see what he could do about arranging a visit. He was also going to check around town to locate a vehicle for our use; we needed a bus or truck (there were no taxis in Kishtwar) because we had so much gear to transport to Srinagar.

The hottest new topic of conversation among us was the role of the pony men in the failure of our trek. Perhaps you remember, the pony men had stolen our climbing rope and cut it up. Scot had been very angry, and at the time he had said that the loss of the rope was a serious problem; we might have needed it to cross the glacier, and undoubtedly would have needed it to cross the Bhut Nalla where the bridge was out beyond Machail. But no one ever pursued the topic very far, mainly because we needed the mules to get our gear back to Kishtwar. Alienating the pony men would have been unwise. Now that we were safely back, we could talk freely, and the true villainy of the perfidious pony men began to emerge. The fiends! Deliberately sabotaging our expensive and carefully-planned expedition. They deserved to feel the might of the law leveled against them. Obviously the mules could not be allowed to go scot-free either; the rope had probably been purloined to make halters for the beasts, making them accessories at the very least, if not the instigators of the crime. Aha! I thought. Maybe the mules pulled off the whole thing, and stashed the rope in the baggage of the innocent pony men!

While some of us lazed about discussing the pony men (who were nowhere to be seen), others bestirred themselves and went for a walk. Soon, who should appear but Fred and Gerry bearing beer! The sight of beer electrified our slothful group. It hadn't even occurred to me that such luxury could be obtained in Kishtwar. Several of us shared a beer. I like Indian beer, and though that particular beer wasn't my favorite brand, it tasted wonderful. Our meals had been so uninspiring lately, and we were all anxious to taste more exciting fare, so we decided that everyone should go to the market and find something to contribute to dinner. Jim offered to supply some beer. Sibra of course had already gone shopping; he had brought back samosas for us all, little deep-fried Indian pastries filled with a spicy meat mixture. They were delicious! Our taste buds began to show signs of life.

While we were relaxing, washing and eating, Ashraf had been busy. He had reported the theft of our climbing rope to the local police, and we heard that the pony men had been beaten with a piece of the rope they had stolen. That seemed a little barbaric to some of us. Ashraf had also tried to locate a vehicle to take us back to Srinagar. The big trucks he had rented before were not suitable for such a long drive. He wanted to find a bus for us, but so far had been unable to find one for rent. We didn't want to be stuck in Kishtwar! But I had faith that Ashraf would come up with something.

Rob and I decided to go for a walk down to the marketplace. We strolled into town and along a street lined with shops. Kishtwar certainly looked like a teeming metropolis after so many days out in the hills. Some of the shops sold pastries, and the food looked almost irresistible. Almost, but not quite! The fresh fruit also looked tempting, but we only bought beer - cold beer, much to our surprise! It was kept in a cooler; perhaps the nightly few hours of power was enough to keep it cooled down, or maybe they added ice, though I don't know where they would have obtained ice. The local people stared at us as people up in the hills had stared. I felt a difference though; the townspeople seemed more aggressive, less friendly, more critical of us than the country people had. As we walked along, we encountered two Western women who asked if there was room at the bungalows. We were surprised to see them; they were the first Westerners other than our companions we had seen since we left Srinagar. We told them that so far as we knew the bungalows were all filled up, but we gave them directions so they could go to check for themselves.

We walked on through town. We looked at some new construction going up, and gazed around at the hills on every side, but there wasn't much to see that we hadn't already seen plenty of (adobe construction, arid hillsides and brushy vegetation) and I didn't want our beer to get warm, so we decided to head back. We strolled past the marketplace again, and were looking at the buildings when we heard someone call out for us to wait. We turned; behind us a man was beckoning to us, and though we couldn't imagine what business anyone local could have with us, we retraced our steps to be polite. He explained that he was a policeman, and the chief of police wanted a word with us. I figured it probably had something to do with the pony men. I sure didn't want to go into that police station, but I didn't see any choice. We walked through the arched gate, down a sidewalk, up onto a porch and into a cluttered office.

The chief gestured for us to take a seat. His English was barely understandable. In a corner, one of our pony men crouched. I felt incredibly guilty seeing him there; he had no way of knowing that I hadn't wanted him to be beaten, for all he knew I might have been out for his blood, and since he spoke no English I had no way to explain the truth to him. I was impressed at the clutter in the office; it was a caricature of an absent minded professor's office. Shelves piled high with stacks of forms filled all the available wall space, and more stacks of forms took up almost all the floor area. The chief's desk was covered with more forms - how the poor man found anything is beyond me. I expected questions about that troublesome rope, but the subject of the rope never came up.

The man had a big book in front of him. He kept pointing to it and asking us when we had arrived in Kishtwar. He wanted to know just what we were doing in town, what business we had there, where we were staying, and most of all, when we had "signed in". Of course we hadn't signed anything, and we didn't know what he was talking about. Obviously signing something or another was mandatory, not having signed made us suspect of something, and I began to have visions of Midnight Express. He grew angry, and the madder he got, the worse his English got. I realized that we hadn't done something we were supposed to do, but I figured the best approach was to play completely dumb, and pretend I couldn't understand his English at all, at least until it became clearer how we should handle the situation. There were other policemen in the office; they took turns talking among themselves in another language, and casting threatening glances at us. I felt acutely aware that no one knew where we were; the men in front of us didn't strike me as especially reasonable or stable people, and I felt that Rob and I were in a ticklish situation.

We had some uncomfortable moments in the station before we were able to make the chief understand that we were with the group of trekkers staying at the bungalows. When our questioner understood that at last, he became a different fellow. You see, every time we entered a town in rural India we were supposed to sign in at the local police station or military post. There is a special policy that applies to groups traveling together; Ashraf or Scot would sign in for everyone (enter our names, visa numbers and other information) and we were not touched by the inconvenience. Ashraf had already signed for us in Kishtwar; the problem was that the police had heard about two Westerners who were wandering around town without having properly identified themselves, and they were trying to find those two people. Rob and I figured they were probably looking for the two women we had seen earlier. Since we didn't have our passports with us, it was a good thing we weren't the two they wanted!

The police chief went through a funny change of personality when he realized who we were. He changed from a tiger to a pussycat in a moment. "Can I do anything to help you?" he earnestly inquired. "Are you enjoying your stay in Kishtwar?" He had a big smile on his face, but he looked like he had swallowed a lemon. I think the poor fellow was terrifically embarrassed. He stood, and we gratefully rose to leave. "If you run into any problems..." he began as we were leaving, and we turned to hear his last words. Ahem, harrumpf... "Be sure to let the police know about it!" he finished in a rush, and we left. I thought I would burst with suppressed laughter, but I felt it would be impolitic to let it escape until we were safe out in the street again. Just before we stepped through the gate, a policeman stopped us, wanting to know what I had in the paper sack. Oh no! That was our beer. I feared there would be something illegal about carrying beer in a paper sack down a public street on Tuesdays...but everything was fine, he looked and waved us on, and in a moment we were safe in the street again.

We laughed together about how funny the police chief had been when he changed his attitude so abruptly, and when he obviously didn't know what to say to us - the only problem we had had in his town, after all, was him! But we had been frightened too, and we were glad to have escaped the clutches of the law without damage. As we were walking towards our bungalows, discussing what had happened, we encountered Ann, Mary, Fred and Gerry. Ashraf had obtained permission from the doctors at the hospital for them to visit, and they were on their way to see the place. They asked us if we wanted to come. Rob wanted to go; he was curious, and he joined them. I felt as though I would be an intruder. I had no legitimate medical interest in seeing the hospital; I was very curious about it, but I knew I would have felt intrusive and rude walking into that hospital to look at sick people simply to satisfy my inquisitiveness. I controlled my curiosity, declined the invitation and returned to our bungalows to put the beer in a bucket of cold water.

I asked Rob to help me make this chapter more complete by writing about what he saw and learned at Kishtwar Hospital. The following paragraphs are his description of his visit to the hospital. A visit with the head doctor of the hospital began our tour of the facility. His office was large, and equipped with ten or twenty folding chairs. I imagine that he held small talks or classes there. Charts on the walls described the Indian Government's plan for delivering medical care to its people. One fact stood out in my mind: a goal of the plan was to have one "health care worker" (not a medical doctor) per ten or twenty thousand citizens (I can't remember which). Each doctor was to have a number of these workers under his or her direction. The head doctor welcomed us. He told us about some of his problems, and the others in our group asked him questions. Among other things, they talked about which diseases were common in the area. We met some of the young doctors who worked at the hospital. They had been sent to Kishtwar to complete their medical training. I got the impression that they were paid almost nothing and lived in tents. They seemed like dedicated people who probably could have avoided being sent to such an out-of-the-way place if they had so chosen. The labs and operating rooms that we saw on our tour of the hospital were not in use, as it was after normal working hours. We saw the lab where specimen testing was done. The main feature of the room was a rough wooden bench cluttered with dirty bottles. The bench was chewed up by heavy use, and badly stained, as though many substances had been spilled on it. The operating rooms looked primitive. One operating room set aside for a certain kind of surgery (orthopedic, I think) had never been used, because the hospital staff did not yet include a surgeon skilled in that kind of surgery. We visited some wards occupied by patients. I don't remember what they were suffering from, but I imagine that they must have been quite sick to be able to stay in the hospital. There were several family members attending each patient constantly. The hospital did not have enough nurses to adequately care for the patients, so the help of family members was necessary. Fred had worked for the Peace Corps in Africa. He said that the conditions there had been much worse than what we observed at the hospital in Kishtwar. After leaving the hospital I parted from the rest of the group and headed back to the bungalows. On the way, I again met the two Western women that Candee and I had seen earlier in the day. When I asked them if they had signed in with the local police, they looked surprised. Apparently they didn't know that signing in with the police was required. I told them that Candee and I had been invited into the station and questioned, apparently because the police had heard about two Westerners who had failed to sign the register of visitors. I suggested that they visit the police to rectify their oversight and clear up the confusion.

While Rob was visiting the hospital, I talked with Colleen in our bungalow. We shared a beer and discussed the trek and our fellow trekkers. I told her about our encounter with the police, and how nervous we had been. She told me of a friend of hers from Australia who had been accused and convicted of possessing marijuana while in Thailand. She had been imprisoned and, as of last July, had been there for four years. Her parents knew where she was; they sent her money to buy food, and had exhausted every official avenue looking for a way to get her out of prison. Her infrequent letters told of what a nightmare life was for her, and how she would prefer death to spending more time in prison. Colleen thought that probably the money that was sent was the reason she was still in prison; that money was a welcome additional source of income for her jailers. In Thailand the wardens at each prison have a lot more power than similar people have in the United States; a judge might decide to commute the woman's sentence, but if the warden didn't want to lose the money coming in each month because of her, he just wouldn't let her go. I remember thinking that Fred and Gerry would have to be careful when they visited Bangkok!

After an hour or so, our companions returned from the hospital. Ann and Mary were appalled at the conditions they had observed, but I don't think they were really surprised. Outside, the police were back to take statements about the crimes of the pony men. I told the other women about seeing our former employee in the police station, and we all agreed that beating the men was a punishment inappropriate to the crime. I went outdoors to find out what was going on. Everyone was speaking in English. Ashraf was passing harsh judgement on the pony men. He told them how we had all come so far to see India, had spent so much money and gone through so much effort to see Zanskar, and the pony men had stolen the rope and ruined our trip; we all might as well have taken our thousands of American dollars and thrown them down a well. Remember, the Indian government encourages a policy of making life easy on Western tourists. We were undoubtedly Western, and our lives had been made a lot harder by the treachery of the pony men. Scot testified that we could not have crossed the Bhut Nalla or the glacier without our rope. It seemed to me that he and Ashraf were saying we had turned around and our trek had failed because the pony men had stolen the rope.

The policemen examined some pieces of the rope that were available, and wanted to know how much the rope had been worth. A rope like that was not available in India, but in America Scot and Rob agreed the rope would cost at least $200.00. I think the policemen found that hard to believe! I don't know what their wages were, but we saw jobs advertised in the Delhi paper for 150 to 400 rupees a month ($15.00 to $40.00), and I doubt that people in Kishtwar were better paid than people in Delhi. $200.00 must have seemed like a lot of money to spend for a rope. Scot and Ashraf agreed to deduct the cost of the rope from the pony men's fee; they were to have been paid 14,000 rupees for their services, and 2,000 rupees would be deducted for the rope they ruined. Scott left with the policemen to sign some papers at the police station.

Rob and I disagreed about the aptness of the punishment that had been meted out to the pony men. I thought it was likely that they had been ignorant of how important the rope was to us. Granted, they should not have stolen it; there was no question about that. But I felt that Scot's laxity - negligence? - in leaving such a crucial part of our equipment in an unlocked container made him partially responsible for the loss of our rope. We had been warned to put locks on our duffels, or risk having our possessions stolen. Surely Scot should have taken the same precaution with something as important to us as our only climbing rope! Rob, on the other hand, believed the physical punishment was as just as the financial penalty. He felt that the pony men knew what they were doing, and knew, too, what the local punishment for such a crime would be if they were caught; they had probably expected to be headed back for Kishtwar, with us well on our way to Umasi La, before the theft was discovered. He felt that they hadn't been beaten especially severely; I felt that beating a person with a rope was demeaning and not appropriate punishment at all. I felt that deducting the cost of the rope from their wages was punishment enough. Rob felt that if we had gone on without our rope, had tried to cross the river or the glacier without it, someone's life could have been lost; the crime sounded a lot more serious when he put it that way. But I couldn't forget that snow on the pass made us turn around, so the danger of traveling without the rope remained a potential danger only.

We did agree on a few points. We couldn't understand Scot's laxity in caring for the rope. We both suspected that Scot and Ashraf, for their own reasons, might be interested in stressing how responsible the pony men were for the failure of our trek. Each of them might have been feeling some personal responsibility for what happened; Ashraf, because he couldn't convince the porters to go over the pass, and he was in charge of the staff in general, including the pony men: Scot, because he had left the rope in a vulnerable place, and because he was the visible representative of Mountain Travel, the people who had taken our money and given us a debacle in return. I certainly never felt that they were to blame for the failure of the trek, but perhaps it made them both feel better to paint the pony men as the villains. Or maybe they both believed that the pony men were our biggest problem.

I am convinced that no one mishap, like losing our climbing rope, should have been blamed. We had a number of problems. Perhaps the lack of a rope would have forced us to turn around. Perhaps not; maybe our ingenuity could have come up with a safe solution to the problem of getting across the river, and we might not have needed the rope on the glacier. The snow on the pass, and the porters' refusal to take us over, were certainly the most pressing reasons why we had had to turn around. If everything else had been just fine, still the closed pass would have ended our trek. There were other problems too. Colleen's knee would probably have forced her to turn around. Fred and Gerry might have turned around also, because of their wet boots and fear of frostbite. Jim never talked about turning around, but he had wet boots too - it is conceivable that he could have gone on, only to get frostbite himself. Scot's mite bites that became infected might have been a very serious problem if he had been pushing his body a lot harder in rougher terrain, at high altitude. We were running out of food. A mule train was to have resupplied us on the other side of the pass; what if the unusual snows had prevented the mules from getting to the rendezvous? We would have run out of food, it would have been difficult to buy or find any in Zanskar, and we would have been in some difficulty. I was as angry and upset at the failed trek as anyone else. But when I put the theft of the rope alongside all the other problems we had, or could have had, I found myself thinking that the rope was just one thing in a series of things. That trek was doomed, by a combination of bad judgements, mistakes, and acts of nature. Perhaps, if we had gone on, much worse things would have happened to us.

In the "women's room" there were two beds and a couch. The others thought we could all fit in there, but I have never had ambitions to be a sardine, and I decided to sleep in a tent pitched outside on the lawn. The group of men decided on the opposite sleeping arrangements; Rob wanted to sleep indoors, but all the other men wanted to stay in their tents. Dinner that night was blessed with a lot more variety than we had become accustomed to, but I had absolutely no appetite; I was exhausted, I felt drained by constant diarrhea, and I couldn't eat. I excused myself early and gratefully crawled into my sleeping bag.

I had a terrible night. I hardly slept at all. Scot's tent was next to mine. He had warned us all that he was a mighty snorer; I found out that night that he wasn't exaggerating in the slightest. The noise of the staff cleaning up in the kitchen tent after dinner kept me awake too. I heard Fred and Gerry go into their tent, then the staff lit a lantern and stayed up talking. In addition, I couldn't stop thinking about the trek, and about what the days remaining to us in India would hold. Rob also had a restless night and little sleep. Evidently after everyone in the buildings had gone to bed, they were attacked by mosquitoes. Those were the only mosquitoes that we encountered on trek. They didn't bother people in the tents at all, but they made the night pretty unpleasant, and sleep fleeting at best for those in the bungalow. I thought that having a last bad night was a fitting finale to this trek, where so much had gone wrong. Next day we would be taking a bus to Srinagar; whether a second trek materialized or not, we would at least be free of the problems of this one. Things were looking up; everything would be improving from this point on. This almost sleepless night was the last of the bad luck. Little did I suspect that the most grueling ordeal was still to come.