The ancients of Kongur - Chapter 1 - Part 2

Chapter 1: Part 2: At the village of stone houses along Karakul Lake.

Down in the plains, below the Kongur Mountains, was the magnificent Karakul Lake. It seemed to nestle in the vast valley and almost covered the entire Pamir Plateau. The tourist resort near the Karakul Lake had visitors through the year. There were a bunch of yurts, the round huts of the Kirghiz nomads, who had settled down near the Lake over these many years. The buses stopped at the tourist resort and government guesthouse. On the western shore of the Karakul Lake, and near a second group of yurts, was a village with stone houses.

Shenji Rintao sat at the cash counter of the restaurant at the resort and waited for travelers to finish up their meals before he could close shop for the morning. There was a group of Norwegian trekkers staying at the resort today. They had come to do a trial recce trek on the lower slopes of the Tian Shan Mountain slopes. The trekkers completed their meals and walked over to their bunched up vehicles, two trucks and three land rovers. A group of Kirghiz helpers had been hired by the Norwegians to assist them in setting up their camp alongside the restaurant. They had put up large shed-like tents rather than the alpine ones that they would use in the higher slopes.

Shenji closed the restaurant and drove his motorbike to the village. His wife was watching from the entrance to their house and placed a low bench under a shady tree for him to rest during the afternoon. She knew that he would not enter the house and would sit outside, watching the Kongur Tagh Mountain. He seemed to be totally fascinated by the mountain. Shenji sat on the bench and had his home-cooked meal that he preferred rather than the food that he served at the tourist restaurant. Shenji’s brother came to join him from the neighbouring stone house and sat alongside. They would chat with each other during the noon siesta and would not disturb anyone, thought Shenji’s wife, and she went inside to catch her nap.

Kurgan, Shenji’s brother, gestured at the stone houses, and said, “Brother, we have to change this routine. I am getting bored with this. We have sat here, year after year, through the noon hours, doing nothing. Somebody is bound to get curious or suspicious about us. How long do we do this? How long do we wait here? Is there anything else that we can do in the noon hours, rather than sit here and do nothing? There is Kongur in front of us. Our people are there, waiting for us.”

Shenji nodded, pretending to be smoking a cheap cigarette. In actual fact, as Kurgan knew, they had never and would never smoke cigarettes. It was prohibited of them in Kongur and they would never break the custom on their own, even as an experiment. The elder brother replied, “Kurshi, we do what we do, because we have been told to do so. The old man Mirabhe watches us with his sharp eyes from the Kongur crags out there. We have been sent here as custodians of our village and of our way of life. We watch out for our families of so many years. We have our duty. What is sitting out here for twenty to twenty-five years compared to our life of more than three hundred years? We sit here during these years, and later, Mirabhe may ask us to return to our village, up there, in Kongur. Someone else may take our place, to do what we do.”

Kurgan nodded irritatedly. He knew that his elder brother was always correct. He also knew that they would never disobey the old man Mirabhe’s instructions. He was not only the head of their hidden village in Kongur, but he was also their father. They missed their village and their dedicated way of life. This task was also important. They lived here, on the banks of the Karakul Lake, within the very primitive village, in stone houses, alongside the yurts of the Kirghiz nomads. The construction of the fast highway below the Kongur Tagh had opened up the threat to their ancient village that had stayed hidden for hundreds of years. Mirabhe had decided that they would need to participate in the life at the foothills to know if there would be any threat to their way of life and their village.

It seemed so unreal, thought Shenji. He said, “Brother, look at the slopes of our mountain. It seems so totally unreal. Can there be a better place on this planet than where we live? The great lake and this vast plateau, the various mountain ranges that meet up here, are all unique by themselves. The people call them nowadays as the Pamir Mountains. Those ranges behind the Pamir, are now known as the Tian Shan. These ranges to the west are called the Kunlun Shan.”

“It sounds strange, does it not, Kurshi,” asked Shenji, for he called Kurgan by the name that he had always used, for the previous three hundred years and more, “we have known these mountains by many names and yet, we need to know them by the names that are used today. What is the use of such names, for after all, they will be called by some other name after sixty to hundred years. We have seen so many kings and nations here, in this great plains of the Pamir, south of Kashgar and Xinjiang and towards the strange nations to the South.”

Kurgan looked on quietly at the great mountains. This was the same discussion that they would have after every ten days or so, sad about the changing times, and worrying about the terribly rapid changes that they had seen in the world over the past fifty years. The old man Mirabhe had insisted that the ancient people of Kongur should stay informed of the world outside and should never have to defend against any other people due to ignorance. Kurgan was most sad about the Muztagh Ata Mountain Peak. It seemed like a perfect twin to the Kongur Tagh and Kongur. He had traveled through the hidden valleys of the Muztagh Ata and knew its beauty was like no other place. He yearned to return to being able to walk through these peaks, their valleys and their upper slopes, as he loved to do, and as he had done, for hundreds of years.

“We need to be careful, and we need to make sure that no wandering group of trekkers or mountain climbers are able to discover our village,” said Shenji, “Remember, what happened with us during the previous year? Those stubborn and very persistent Russian climbers managed to climb up the Kongur. We cannot prevent them, but we were able to warn Mirabhe and he was able to call upon the spirits of the great Mountain to hide our village. We have been successful in preventing more than thirty climbing groups from going up the Kongur. But, this group was very different and they were successful.”

Kurgan shivered at the thought. That climb had frightened the both of them. There had been one another successful expedition, by a Britisher or some Englishman, they did not remember clearly, but thirty other groups had failed, until these Russians came to the Kongur slopes. Once there had been a Japanese group who tried, but the spirits of Kongur had confused the climb thoroughly. Nobody knew if the Japanese group had succeeded. Mirabhe had sought out the spirits of each valley and each path of the Kongur Peaks, and there had been very mysterious changes in the weather at that time. Icefalls and small avalanches had begun to occur, and they had helped block the easier paths to the summit.

Shenji said, “Remember, Kurshi, how the weather worsened. The first avalanche hit the team of Russian climbers, and they had to move away from the route that they had chosen. Yet, they were persistent. They continued with their climb. The second avalanche hit them later, and they had to lose their tent, supplies, gear, food and other stuff. Their entire stock of supplies went down the Kongur slopes. They had to return to the base camp.”

“But what we had not realized, was that they would be joined by more climbers and they would be able to procure more gear and supplies in a short while,” replied Kurgan, “They were also able to pick up their gear and supplies that had falled down the Kongur slopes, and they continued with the expedition. It was very frightening. What do you think, Shenji, would the old man have used violence or killed the group? Would we need to kill these poor mortals because we do not want them to find us or discover our way of life?”

Shenji replied, “I remember the way we have managed to stay away from disclosure. There were different methods used by our people in different times and in different places. I can recollect the great efforts of Sima Qian and Ban Biao, long many years ago, while they attempted to collect the records to write the history of the people of these areas, our people were able to enter all the sacred collections of texts and bring away any vague or visual reference to contacts between the natives of the Pamir Plateau, Kashgar and Xinjiang with our activities. We managed to stay hidden, and we continue to do so, even if we sit here, openly, amidst them.”