Teaser 326: Leaving Dabaxiang For India

The ceremony was swift, taking mere minutes, and the elder pronounced us husband and wife. Congratulations from the dozens observing also came swiftly, even the Chinese officer in charge. He would prepare the papers for Jinpa's trip with Chodak and me to cross to India and they would be ready in the morning. Before the day faded Jinpa and I retired to the room I shared with Chodak for a time of informality, while Chodak and the host and the host's family celebrated in the company of others late into the night. When they returned together our door was open as Jinpa and I sat quietly awaiting their return. More quick greetings and congratulations and Chodak arranged his sleep on the floor while Jinpa and I shared a bed.

The papers were to satisfy Indian authorities, once we reached the border under their control, since none of the Chinese authorities would prohibit Jinpa from accompanying us on our journey. All was set the following morning when the Chinese officer delivered the papers personally to me, even wishing us a safe journey in a very cordial, respectful manner. We still had thirty to forty or more miles to traverse through the Himalayan mountains to reach India and a comfortable descent into its recognized border. The argument between China and India about “recognized” borders, for decades, simply involves high mountaintops and small, insignificant valleys high in the Himalayas where no one lives regularly and would never care to. If it was anything else the two would fight over it incessantly. Since none of it includes useful land and holdings, they bicker about it in an effort to expand either's total recognized land mass, an effort to impress those compiling a world atlas. Nothing more.

We traded the yak for more provisions. We could not bring a yak through the mountain passes to India. There was only snow and rock and any misstep from the yak could send the animal plummeting below us, with everything tied to the animal gone with it. Besides, India wouldn't allow a live animal from Tibet to cross the border. They would slaughter it.

Chodak and I traveled to Dabaxiang with a small tent which we erected every night. We would carry this tent, barely able to accommodate two, and all our provisions either on our backs in packs or on a small sled which either Chodak or I would pull. The rugged part of our journey to exit Tibet was hardly behind us.

Jinpa brought with her almost nothing, a few changes of clothes and a modest number of sundries. She left the rest to her brother-in-law. We purchased a third large backpack, Jinpa stuffed her few belongings inside it, leaving a large amount of space which we filled with provisions and cooking necessities. It was heavy, probably weighing more than sixty pounds, but the little woman squatted before it as we strapped it to her waist and lifted it easily. Instantly, I thought about this woman meeting for the first time the shortest of my wives, Serena, who would easily stand above Jinpa. These two would certainly engage in some skillful interaction, considering Serena's grit and determination was mostly psychological while Jinpa's grit and determination was mostly physical. Chodak stared at me curiously when I shook my head. “The little woman can certainly carry her share of the load,” I explained. Chodak laughed and Jinpa frowned holding the pack without struggle. She smiled widely at me when Chodak translated to her what I said.

Early morning we were off, after bidding our hosts and those assembled to see us leave our goodbyes and great appreciation, and we began the long march south at staggering heights while mountaintops still towered all around us. It was cold and snow covered most every surface and we trudged along, Chodak and I switching frequently to pull the small sled along. On occasion Jinpa would ask and she pulled the sled at times, too. We trudged until the shadows became long or when Chodak knew daylight would be receding soon so we had enough time to setup camp, prepare supper, which Jinpa exceeded in preparing, and we all snuggled inside the tent, all three of us crowding the others. By agreement Jinpa slept in the middle, usually on her back, while Chodak and I squeezed against her tightly. Inside the tent at night it was adequately warm. None of us were going to suffer frostbite.

On the fourth day Chodak reckoned we had reached the end of the border which concerned China. There was one more short plateau to cross, we would reach the last mountain pass and begin our descent into India. We would camp near the end of the plateau overnight and should be in India the following day.

That was the plan but I had a premonition this night, which I shared with my two traveling companions. “Something is going to happen tomorrow morning, something none of us can predict.”
“If it's a storm, Al-Barrak, we still may be able to make it through the pass. It's not as dangerous or challenging and once we negotiate the pass, the rest of our journey is much easier.” Chodak did not seem concerned about a change in weather.

I was not concerned about a change in weather either. “No, Chodak, it's not a storm I feel coming. It's something else, but it's not a weather change.”

While time means nothing to me and I can, at times, “see” the future immediately around me, I could not “see” this future. Since I rarely speak about all which took place the next morning nor do Chodak or Jinpa, at my continual urging, you quite probably would never have predicted it. This morning as we prepared our breakfast to energize us for the last leg to India, a silver dot appeared between two distant mountain towers, slightly above them and slowly moving toward us. It was not a plane. It moved too slow to be a plane and only the craziest pilots fly over the Himalayas here. We ate and silently watched the dot grow and grow and grow.

I suppose the biggest reason I rarely speak about it—and frankly, only my beloveds have heard me speak about it and some others who are closest to me—is because I have, whether I planned it or not, managed to foster a resounding reputation, so resounding that often when I speak or write a large number of people worldwide pay very close attention. I have imagined, quite rightly, this reputation would have suffered considerably had I spoken frequently about my experience confronting a UFO, especially providing all of the details about the experience. Yet the dot grew to such an enormous size and to such a close proximity to our camp, we were under its shadow. It was not unidentified to us. We identified it, all three of us, and it was a flying object, or more accurately a hovering object, and this identification had all three of us concluding it was not from this world. It made no sound at all and while it hovered but a few hundred yards away, as if to demonstrate to us how completely foreign to Earth this object was derived, it disappeared instantly, vanished without any movement whatsoever, its shadow, too, then re-appeared in its exact same space in the air several minutes later. I sat down in the snow on my rear, stunned, and said, “They have just shown us, Chodak, they can render their vessel completely invisible and undetectable. Imagine having that as a weapon.”

“Why is it here?” Chodak asked.

“We're going to wait and find out. There's no sense in packing up and fleeing, Chodak. Whatever they want from us, they're gonna get it, because there's nothing we can do to stop them.” Following my signal both my companions sat down in the snow beside me and we waited.

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