Loving Birds in a Time of War

Before departing from Gangtok, Fletcher had met with Afridi several times at the White Hall Club, a colonial building, near the Sikkim Guard’s barracks, which had been outfitted with a bar and a badminton court. They had discussed Fletcher’s plan in detail. At one point, he has asked why Afridi himself hadn’t explored this region and the Captain explained that his presence would immediately signal that the Indian military was scouting for something. He was too well known in Sikkim and the Chinese would find out soon enough about his activities near the border. Fletcher’s cover as an ornithologist gave him the freedom to wander about with his binoculars and camera, ostensibly searching for birds but at the same time, keeping a lookout for suspicious activity.

As always, their conversations were governed by a level of caution on both sides, as each man withheld facts and revealed only necessary details. Though he would not give Fletcher a survey map of the area, Afridi had shared a good deal of information on the terrain above Yumthang, including the location of two high passes into Tibet that were seldom used but navigable at this time of year. For his part, Fletcher had reported on some of the conversations he’d had in Gangtok but didn’t tell Afridi that he had recorded the Kazini on the night of the PO’s party.

Lobsang was happy to transport his tent and equipment to higher camps, where Fletcher spent three or four days exploring one valley after the other. It was wild country and lonely work but he enjoyed it. The only company he had were the occasional shepherds grazing their flocks on the high summer pastures. Three weeks went by quickly, as he trekked through the rhododendron forests of Yumthang. The clusters of trumpet-shaped flowers were different shades of pink and lavender, while a smaller yellow rhododendron grew close to the ground. At several places he set up his mist nets and caught finches and accentors that he held in his hands, examining their feathers, making notes and comparing the birds to their descriptions in the field guides. It was always with a sense of pleasure that he released the captives and watched them fly away. He had removed the splint from his finger by now and it was gradually regaining its flexibility. 

Wild sheep, known as bharal, roamed the upper slopes of the valleys. Some of them were so tame they came sniffing at the flaps of his tent. Marmots burrowed amongst the rocks and called out their shrill alarms as he walked by. One day, Fletcher climbed a rib of moraine overlooking a small glacier and found what looked like a disused path. At places the trail vanished and then reappeared as he followed it up to the crest of the ridge. After three hours of strenuous trekking, he stood on a snow-covered pass that looked into the Chumbi Valley. Far below him he could see a motor road with Chinese trucks driving back and forth, trailing plumes of dust. Snow peaks stood on either side and he made a point of deliberately stepping across into Tibet, wondering if anyone would find the footprints he left in the snow.

One day, in another remote valley, he was scanning the slopes for snow partridges, which had been calling, when he saw a blurred movement amongst the rocks. A herd of bharal was grazing nearby and he thought it was one of the wild ewes at first. But focussing his binoculars, he caught sight of a snow leopard stalking the sheep. For half an hour, he watched the hunt, as the predator moved from rock to rock, creeping within range. Finally, the big cat, with its ghostly pelage, raced from cover and chased the sheep down a steep cliff, bounding after them as they scattered across the vertical terrain. Just when Fletcher thought they had escaped, one of the bharal doubled back and the leopard lunged, catching it by the throat.

The kill was only a couple hundred yards away and Fletcher watched as the leopard fed for an hour or so. Eventually it dragged the carcass under the shelter of a rock before disappearing up the slope. Curious to take a look at the remains, he climbed to the spot and found the dead bharal. Its hind leg had been eaten to the bone. Unsheathing his knife, he cut a foreleg away at the shoulder and carried the meat back with him. That evening, and for several days afterwards, his tedious diet of lentils and rice was supplemented by wild mutton.

All this time, Fletcher kept a lookout for any sign of human beings but beyond the stray shepherds and a few yak herders, the area seemed desolate and deserted. At a number of places, he came upon cairns, some of them stacked with mani stones on which Tibetan verses had been carved. The piles of rock seemed to have been there forever, longer than the mountains themselves. In one of the valleys he discovered ruins of stone huts but these too looked as if they had been abandoned centuries ago. Scouring the mountains for any signs of life, he found a few caves, though none of them were inhabited. One night, he got stranded by a hailstorm, with thunder and lightning. Taking shelter in the lee of a giant boulder that looked as if it was about to break loose and hurtle down the hill, he spent the night awake, huddled in hisanorak, both arms hugging his knees.

The cold was brutal and he imagined this must be what Afridi experienced while climbing high mountains, the solitude and darkness so complete that it felt as if the world had come to an end. At times like this, disturbing thoughts circled in his mind. He wondered if Afridi was using him as a decoy to lure the Khampas out of hiding. Fletcher speculated too about Jack Sullivan’s motives and whether the whole operation wasn’t meant to accomplish something else altogether, a ploy to recruit Afridi perhaps, or to undercut India’s political machinations in Sikkim. He felt like a pawn that had escaped from the predictable grid of squares on a chessboard.

Excerpted with permission from Birdwatching a novel by Stephen Alter, published by Aleph Book Company, Price Rs 799.