North by Northwest Himalaya with Michael Palin

My journey begins in one of the most lawless border areas in the world -

the North-West Frontier.

Many have tried to control it, few have ever succeeded.

I'm at the top of the Khyber Pass on the border between Pakistan and, out there, Afghanistan.

Through here have come some of the great armies of the world -

Alexander the Great brought an army through here,

Darius the Persian, Tamburlaine the Great and in 1842,

the lone survivor of the British Army's attempt to pacify Afghanistan

came staggering up this road to announce the annihilation of 17,000 of his comrades.

The reason there's such a concentration of history at this point

is that if you're coming in from the west,

this is the only way through this colossal range of mountains that eventually becomes The Himalaya.

Our route runs the length of the Himalaya from Pakistan, India and Nepal,

across into Tibet and China, south into Assam and Bhutan

and finally into Bangladesh, where the mud of the mountains spills into the Bay of Bengal.

We start on the Khyber Railway, pushed through the mountains by the British 80 years ago.

-A lot of tunnels, aren't there?

-A lot of tunnels - 32 tunnels.

It cost £100,000 a mile.

TRAIN WHISTLE BLOWS

The engine's even older than the railway.

It was built in Lancashire in 1916. The driver's a lot younger!

70 years ago, a train like this would probably been full of British soldiers,

taking a last unregretful look at one of the most inhospitable postings on earth.

Glaring heat, bare rock faces, home today to the mansions of the local warlords.

Like many small spectacular railways, it owes its survival more to love than business.

What brings you up the Khyber today?

-I'm a regular visitor.

-Oh, oh, right.

-Yeah.

I just came from Dubai.

-From Dubai?

-Yeah. This morning.

Just got off at the airport, hopped onto the train and to the Khyber.

You must be rather fond of railways, then?

Definitely. Steam is my passion.

With 34 tunnels and 92 bridges and cuttings along its 27 mile length,

the Khyber Railway has obvious tourist potential.

But where are the tourists?

Is it difficult to get the train up and running these days?

Well, definitely, you know, just because of whatever is the political situation that's not stable,

so that's why we're not getting enough tourists in Pakistan.

So that's why it's very difficult for us to operate this train,

because unless we're not having enough tourists, how can we operate this train?

So these are the privileged few - opinion-formers, local worthies,

city boys who the owners hope will be impressed enough by what they see to keep the railway alive.

Do you think there's any danger in people coming here?

-No. No.

-No, not now, not even before,

because Pakistani people are very much hospitable people

and they will take care especially to their...um...guests, I mean, much more than their self.

The train is a reassuring presence in a highly volatile area.

It would be a great loss if the threat of violence deprived this country and the world

of the modest delights of the Khyber Railway.

The train still has a few miles to go to its terminus in Peshawar,

but we're getting off here to spend a bit more time

in this extraordinary corner of Pakistan's Wild West.

A tribal land based on two great principles - hospitality and revenge.

GUNSHOTS

You can hear Darra from miles away.

It sounds as if there's a pitched battle going on.

But it's just business as usual in the town that lives on guns.

Why are they located here?

Well, it's a very perfect location to have this involvement...

the gun factories surrounded by the mountains and for years these people have been... oh!

-'My guide, nearly my ex-guide, is Zahoor Duranni.'

-..making guns for almost 120 years.

-For these particular tribal people here?

-Yes, exactly.

That's why you see this is only just here, nowhere else in the frontier.

'The arms industry in Darra may be in the hands of small shopkeepers,

'but they can produce an exact copy of any of the world's shooters.' Another arcade of gun shops.

Yes, you can see... GUNSHOTS

like the volleying of guns and selling and buying...

GUNSHOTS See? You bought a gun, you have to try the gun.

'Arms manufacture is a proud and honourable tradition,'

and the gunsmiths of Darra look more like scholars bent over ancient texts.

Each deadly weapon made with tender loving care.

HE SPEAKS LOCAL LANGUAGE

See, this is the mini version of the Kalashnikov, the Russian-made gun.

Kalashnikov - the AK47 everyone knows about. Yeah.

So these are the parts, you see?

-This part...

-So, they're making part of this weapon,

-and in other parts of Darra there will be workshops making other parts?

-Yes, exactly.

Each shop specialises in certain, I would say, these bits and pieces and then they put together.

Here, it seems a lot of it can be done by hand in very old-fashioned, labour-intensive methods.

Oh, that's the very interesting part - that's the best part of it -

that everything, most of these things are done by hand.

Yeah, and who are these guns bought by, largely?

You see we are in tribal territory,

-and there are hundred and thousands of people living in the tribal free territory.

-Yeah.

Here you do not need to have a licence to have a gun.

The young ones, the old ones, from time to time they exchange guns like people exchange car,

so we feel that it would be better to have a new gun, a better gun,

you can bring this old gun, sell it and buy a new gun.

-GUNFIRE

-The prices are frighteningly reasonable.

A tenner will buy you something simple and effective,

whilst a top of the range Kalashnikov will set you back £80.

If you prefer to shop around, you'll find there's nothing they can't do for you.

-Do you have like sort of James Bond...?

-Pen pistol?

-Oh, yes, he's got a pen pistol!

-I mean, you know, he's always very well-armed, isn't he?

Now, this is the pen, you can sign and you can even use your cheques, and you can...

-I was joking! He really has got one!

-Now look and see.

This is the top, we take off this top and then you but the bullet here -

22-calibre bullet.

-And there you are signing "Sincerely yours, James Bond..."

-Yes.

Then WHOOMPH! That's the size of the bullet?

Oh, I see, yeah, James Bond... tiny bullet.

-What range would this kill someone?

-THEY SPEAK LOCAL LANGUAGE

About 30 to 40 yard distance you can really hit somebody.

-Right across the street, wow.

-Yes.

-A-ha!

-Look at that, look at that!

That's the one for signing contracts, isn't it?

'As we leave Darra, Zahoor explains that on the North-West Frontier,

'people carry guns the way the English carry umbrellas.

'Which might account for the bizarre gentility of the place - picturesque and perilous, laid back and lethal.'

VERY LOUD GUNFIRE

Peshawar, capital of North-West Frontier Province,

is a city of bazaars, each with its own speciality.

Chargan Mandi is Chicken Market, Sabzi Mandi is Vegetable Market

and Chour Bazaar is basically Things That Have Fallen Off The Back Of A Lorry Market.

In the heart of the city, is a area devoted entirely to teeth.

-Every other shop seems to be a dentist.

-It is.

-Pair of teeth. Look at that.

-Very impressive.

HE SPEAKS LOCAL LANGUAGE

-Can we have a look inside?

-Yes, please, let's go.

'Abdul Wahid is proprietor of one of Peshawar's foremost establishments.

'I've been having a spot of trouble with my canines and it looks as if Abdul Wahid is the man.

'He didn't go to dental school, but picked it up from an uncle.

'If I do need a filling, his charges are a bargain.'

-Ranges from 50 rupees which is about 50p.

-50 pence, yeah.

50 pence to about a pound, a pound-and-a-half, two pounds.

I had quite a problem with my teeth when I was young, apparently because I had too much sugar,

and quite a few teeth had to be replaced.

Maybe he could look in my mouth and see and see what he can find?

SPEAKS LOCAL LANGUAGE

I'd be interested to know what he finds in there.

He's...oh, got strong hands.

'As Mr Wahid probes my mouth with a finger like a tree trunk,

'all I can do is lie back and think of England.'

He says it needs a bit of cleaning.

-You want...to scrub your teeth?

-I what?

-To clean it?

-Yes.

-You need cleaning.

-I do. Don't tell my dentist if he's watching.

Bernie, I do clean them, honestly. Yeah, yeah, I know.

-I've just had breakfast!

-Ah, yes.

If he was going to give me a filling or something like that and do some treatment,

-would he use...is this his drill? Can he show me the drill?

-Oh, yes, he has the drill machine.

-Well, can he show it to me?

-HE SPEAKS LOCAL LANGUAGE

-I see...yeah, that's it.

-DRILL BUZZES

'I'm not entirely reassured.

'It looks like the sort of thing you put bathroom cabinets up with.'

Ah, so a little portable drill.

So this is, the whole business is really why he stays here in this little corner,

is because he's popular with the local people?

-I'm sure he's very busy because the prices are good.

-Ah, so hat's your drill.

Can we see it working?

Hold it up for our camera there.

-DRILL BUZZES

-Yeah, that's a mean looking drill.

Yeah.

-I don't think I need any fillings, do I?

-No, no.

I don't...I don't need fillings, because my... I've got no teeth!

What is really reassuring is to sit here,

with my poor old teeth and look ahead of me at that on the wall!

I can see there, the image of how teeth should be.

Yes, very nice! That's very nice.

But there's something in Pakistan that is even more important than dentistry.

Cricket is Pakistan's national obsession, played at any spare moment

on any spare patch of ground and the younger they are, the keener they are.

'I've learned a few tricks in my time,

'after all, we invented the game!

'So I thought these youngsters might benefit from seeing an old hand at work.'

'The bowler looks a trifle over-confident.'

'Justifiably so, as it turns out.'

Out, was it...?

Still standing, but where are the bails?

-It's gone!

-All right, OK.

OK. Good bowling.

'Come to think of it, batting was never my strong point at school,

'where I concentrated most of my efforts on developing the unplayable delivery.'

Four runs - oh, well. 'Well, at least I restricted him to four!

'Now it's time to put the heat on.'

Embarrassing! No ball.

'I decide the only thing for it is to forget the cricket and concentrate on the comedy.

'And it works!'

Middle stone!

How was that?!

How was THAT?!

YAY! Hey, wow! Yeah!

Next day, I have to be strictly on my best behaviour as I'm welcomed by a guard of honour

to the estate of one of the last great country landowners left in Pakistan.

This is the home of Prince Malik Ata Muhammed Khan.

It's modelled on the Royal Military Academy, Sandhurst.

From the open carriage that greets me, to the magnificent Palomino horses that draw it,

it's clear Prince Malik believes in doing things properly.

-Good morning Michael, very nice to see you.

-Good morning. Thank you very much.

-I hope you are enjoying travelling here.

-It's a wonderful way to arrive, such style.

-And you'll see some very good bull races tomorrow.

-That's something I've heard are legendary.

-Yes, there it is.

-You have some of the finest racing bulls, I gather.

Oh, it's so cool in here.

-Much cooler in here.

-This is lovely.

'Prince Malik appears to live alone, but always eats at a fully laid table.

'A bottle stands promisingly in front of me, but this being an officially dry country,

-'the wine waiter has a more limited selection.'

-There.

-Thank you.

Ah, this is very nice. So you, you ride yourself?

Yes, I always ride, I...

'The prince is an engaging man, but no shrinking violet.'

I participated in a world championship

in Los Angeles, and I won the silver lance of Los Angeles from there

and we were riding at Santa Barbara and I was the world champion in 1982.

Obviously appearances are very important to you,

and I can see from the marvellous Palominos that drew the coach

and the waistcoats in gold and black that your servants are wearing.

-Can you tell me a little about how...?

-This is old traditional livery in our house, Michael,

but things are going to change.

I am the last of the dinosaurs and with me everything goes. You see, the new generation -

the boys who are coming up now are very highly educated. They live in towns, they hate the country life,

they hate the hazards, they don't want to look after a sick horse or a sick cow.

so I don't think that this is the last of them. After me it finishes.

I noticed a lot of the people I saw today, and indeed you yourself, have these splendid moustaches.

-Is that very particular for this area?

-Well, moustaches are very particular to this area

and then as serving in the old British Army,

people used, used to get a pension for the moustache also -

they would get a special payment for the moustache.

But the highlight of my visit is an afternoon at the races.

The prince is entering four pairs of his pedigree Dhanni bulls.

Bull racing is one of the chief entertainments laid on for the local people as a harvest celebration.

It's like a manic country fair. A chance to make a lot of noise, dress your livestock in their Sunday best,

forget about work, and maybe have a bit of a flutter on your favourite bull.

The bulls are fed a diet of milk and honey, and after being paraded around,

are taken to the start and yoked into pairs.

This is the most critical part of the race.

Can these straining bulls be held long enough

to get the riders on their boards when the flag goes down?

It's a race against the clock on a 600 yard course and there's a Toyota for the winner!

Audience participation is quite common

as most bulls just want to get off the course and back home as soon as possible.

There's terrific pent up energy here.

And when it's all unleashed, it puts Formula One in the shade.

And the people who are here today, are they people who work in the local area?

They're all farmers.

They work on the farms and they all keep these bulls,

these bulls are well kept than their own children.

They are fed with honey, they are fed with almonds, they are fed with all the best things in the world -

butter, and they are fed on many eggs and they are brought into this race.

-They are fed on many goodies.

-Someone told me they were fed something stronger just before they go.

-Yes, they do.

-A little bit of alcohol?

-A home-brewed alcohol.

-Really?

-Yes.

-So these bulls are really...?

-They're raring now to go.

-Some going off now. They're going...

-No, they're going the wrong way.

How many actually get to the finish?

Well, the line is very long - it's 600 yards line.

And only a horse could do that.

It's really difficult for a bull to run that long.

Yes, I mean some just go off into the crowds.

Yes, because they have learned,

running all that way and then once they get off the track, they know it's easier!

-So they're the intelligent ones - the ones who get off the track.

-Ones that are dumb,

and have had many alcohol drinks,

-they go straight on. Others turn off!

-I know the feeling!

-Is it dangerous for the riders and the crowd?

-It is dangerous,

because I can show you one of the jockeys, who have ridden 25 years on this track, has lost an arm.

This, this is the gentleman you see, lost his arm running with bulls.

Oh, dear...yeah.

-Well, that's...

-Do you want him up here?

How did he lose his arm?

He was stuck in the sledge.

-How do you do?

-And the bulls pulled him off. So the arm cut off.

And what about people watching? Do they tend to get hurt?

People watching are in more danger,

because if they come between a truck and a...then nothing is left of the...

-Is anybody killed, then?

-Oh, we had a big race - killed many people.

-Seriously?

-Yes, seriously.

Some of the men run with the bulls, are they allowed to do that?

Well, in the olden days the men were stronger, because I have seen some very fine runners.

There's a good pair coming. Look, it's a wonderful pair.

Wonderful pair.

No, I think that... No, the bulls are good.

The rider - they are all good.

-Oh, he has gone off the track!

-Nearly there.

-That is an experienced...

-that is a very experienced bull.

-But they were going really well.

They were going very well, but he has gone off the track.

-Do you have any bulls in the race?

-I had four bulls. Four pairs.

-Have they raced yet?

-All of them - one raced through the track, the other went their different ways.

-No-one reached the end, unfortunately.

-That doesn't look so good for you, does it?

No, it does look good for me, because I give away the prizes for the poor people, not for me.

Then all of a sudden, we're the ones in the firing line.

The prince screams at us to run, but it takes more than a raging bull to make Nigel turn his camera off,

and thankfully, we live to film another day.

Nowhere exemplifies the art of travel better than Peshawar Bus Station.

On the North-West Frontier, no vehicle is allowed to go unadorned

and operators spend time and money trying to outdo each other.

Amidst all the colour and confusion, a woman walks with her daughter -

a rare sight in a land where public life is for men.

-Here's your bus.

-How do you know?

-Ah, because it says 6808.

-Ah, right - Chitral bus.

-This is the Chitral bus.

-OK, so I get on this one?

-Oh, yes, please.

-Thank you for helping me to understand Peshawar a little better.

-Good luck.

Yes, OK, goodbye.

THEY SPEAK LOCAL LANGUAGE

This is mine? OK. Thank you.

It's good value.

Good value, isn't it? Chitral and back for ten pounds.

This bus does go to Chitral, doesn't it?

'It doesn't, as it happens, and for one very good reason.'

The road to Chitral has to climb a 10,000 foot pass

and down 43 hairpin bends on the other side.

Forget about buses, it's frightening enough in a four wheel drive.

The Lowari Pass is the only connection to the furthest valleys of the North-West Frontier,

and only opens when the snows melt at the end of a six month winter.

This is my first taste of the high mountain ranges

and with it go any lingering hopes that this journey might be easier than we thought.

The reward for those who make it across the pass

is the green and pleasant land of Chitral,

occupying a narrow valley hard up against the Afghan border.

HE SINGS PRAYER

Cut off from the rest of Pakistan for half the year,

the Chitralis are very much their own men. Until 30 years ago, they were ruled by the Ul-Mulk family.

'Siraj, heir to the dynasty, shows me inside the mosque his grandfather built.

'A madrassa - a religious school - is in full swing.

'Encouraged by the religious severity that has spread across the Afghan border,

'subjects like science and maths are considered less important than learning the Koran.

'Not only must the boys learn every word, they learn them in Arabic, a language quite foreign to them.'

Whatever his feelings about the use of the family mosque,

Siraj is unequivocally proud of Chitral's polo ground.

Chitral is where polo started. This is where the game was born.

Really? In this town?

This town, yes. And the British modified it and took it to other parts of the world,

and you see it being played in places like Hurlingham or in Palm Beach in the modified way.

But over here, they play it in the original form -

no rules, no umpire, no referee,

and everyone enjoys it. You don't have to be a rich man to play polo.

The reason why such a crowd came to watch an evening practice match

is that in less than a week, a team selected from these players will represent Chitral

in the toughest of all polo games. It's the annual needle-match against arch rivals Gilgit -

played at 12,000 feet, up on the Shandur Pass, the highest polo ground in the world.

There used to be talk of ancient polo games played without a ball,

but with the head of a sort of sheep and all sorts of things.

The head of the... the head of the enemy too,

is what legend says about polo over here,

but how true that is, I don't know.

They won't be knocking heads around on the Shandur Pass,

but it will be a great battle, and many of these locals, along with ourselves, will be there to watch.

Older even than polo, is the music of the Chitral Valley.

Songs and poems which Siraj describes as being "locked in the mountains."

Songs about he beauty of the valley or the beauty of the local women,

who are conspicuously absent, are accompanied by a variety of very old instruments...and one very new one.

The performance follows a traditional pattern,

with the tempo gradually building as the audience urges on the dancers.

The future of music like this is threatened,

partly by the apathy of the young, and partly by religious laws that disapprove of music.

All of which might account for intensity with which the faithful few keep it alive.

The massive mountain systems on the Pakistan-Afghan border are sliced through with gorges and ravines.

Narrow tracks, clinging to the rock walls by their fingernails, are the only way into these hidden valleys,

which for centuries have offered an unassailable refuge to those who want to hide away from the world.

Deep in one of these remote gorges lives a people whose religion, culture and entire way of life

is different from anywhere else in Pakistan.

The Kalash have no cars or televisions, but they have a school, where for one day only,

-'I've been appointed Visiting Professor of English.' Hello.

-Hello.

ALL: Good morning, sir!

Thank you, thank you very much. Ah, that was very good.

TEACHER SPEAKS URDU

-OK, shall I sit down here with them?

-Have a seat.

-Thank you. Hello!

I've been asked to give you a lesson in English.

I want to teach you...

parts of the body. So...

What is this?

-Head!

-Head!

-Head.

-Head.

-Head.

That's right.

That was very good. Say it again.

-Head!

-Head. Very good indeed!

What's in the middle of the head? You can't miss that, because it's very big!

-Nose!

-Nose!

Nose. Nose, that's very good.

-And...?

-ALL: Mouth!

Neck!

Arm.

-Hand.

-Hand.

This is all hand...

but what's this?

-Thumb!

-Thumb, very good, thumb.

And these are?

Fingers!

-One...

-One finger.

Two fingers.

-Two fingers!

-Three fingers!

-Four...!

-No fingers!

-Thumb!

-Thumb!

-And now, this one here? All right, this one here?

-Leg. Leg.

Leg, that's good - leg.

And on end of leg?

-Boots!

-Boots, no, no. Yes, that's boots, that's shoes...

-Shoes. Shoes.

But if I take shoe off, what's in there, then? Away with shoe!

-Shoes... Foot!

-Foot, that's right. Foot.

Very good. That's foot and that's shoe.

Come on shoe, it's a very naughty shoe, this won't stay on my... Oh!

CHILDREN GIGGLE LOUDLY

How will I get my shoe?

Brilliant!

Come on!

-Up you get! Oh, hey, very good!

-CHILDREN GIGGLE

Very good. Now, that's a very bad shoe, very bad!

Whoa!

Off again!

Oh, oh, it's a very bad shoe! Anyway...

They have no written history, so no-one quite knows where the Kalash came from.

Unlike the rest of the North-West Frontier, women with their characteristic headdresses,

decorated with cowrie shells, appear in public open and unveiled.

Their pale skin and light-coloured eyes have led some to suggest a genetic link with the armies

of Alexander the Great, who passed through here 2,000 years ago.

So then this house is a special house.

The women are coming here for monthly period.

-Yeah.

-Every woman...

-'The Kalash have very strict rules about purity.

'When women have their periods, they have to confine themselves behind the walls of a menstruation house.'

Because we just say it is they're impure, to keep the...

menstruating woman in the house, inside the house,

so they will come here until they get...over...

of the period, then they will come to the house. Even though we are just...

this house is, whenever we, the woman is delivering a baby, so they will come to this house

and they will stay after delivering the baby, they will stay there

for 15 to 20 days here before they return to...

So birth and menstruation are all, all from here?

Any men allowed in here under any circumstances?

No, the men is not allowed to go there, he's not allowed to touch them, he's not allowed to go inside.

Hello. They seem to be quite happy.

-So they're allowed to talk.

-Yeah, they are. That is a nice holiday for them. They have resting,

because even the woman were... when they are having their period, they feel weak a bit.

-So they didn't have to do housework?

-So they need complete rest.

So this is a rest or recuperation service as well. Very good.

Before rejoining the community, a new mother must first go to the temple for purification.

Burning fronds of juniper and holly oak are used in a ritual cleansing

to prepare the temple for the ceremony.

Bread is baked by the husband as a symbol of fertility.

It'll be presented to his wife once she and her family arrive.

Once she's been given the fresh-baked bread,

a last pass with the flaming branches means she's officially purified and can go back home.

'These ceremonies are so unlike anything I've seen in Pakistan,

'that when I walk through the village with my guide Saifullah, I return to the question of origins.'

What are your theories about the origins of the Kalash people?

Greek people think they are come from Greek. We are Greek and coming from Alexander the Great.

-When Alexander the Great invaded India.

-Yeah, some will say that we are...

the Bulgarian people say that we are Bulgarian.

Right, so you've got... the Greeks want you, the Bulgarians want you. What do you think?

What we want...our own history. We come from the place called Siam.

-Siam?

-Siam.

-But we don't where is.

-Phew!

That's quite a walk! But you're used to it, aren't you?

-Very used to it, yeah.

-You live on the vertical all the time.

-Yes.

-We are just born here, just get used to these mountains.

-It's a great view.

So what is your, what is the Kalash god? Is there one god, or...?

We have...um...one god, yes, yes - I told you that.

We have a creator god, we believe one creator who is creating the whole world and all human beings and...

What happens when the Kalash dies? Is he born again? Is there reincarnation?

We believe that when we die...

our soul will go to the...to the white mountain called Palar.

The white mountain. Which is an actual mountain?

That one there, you can see the white peak over there.

And that's the mountain where your Kalash souls all go?

Yeah, all the souls will go there. We can't see it now,

-but we believe there is a kind of big fort for the soul of the Kalash.

-I see.

It's hard to know quite what the future holds for the Kalash.

I can't help thinking that their unique culture will become diluted the more the valley's opened up.

The danger is that missionaries, anthropologists, tour operators

and well-meaning TV crews could make their way of life more show than substance.

Well, it's time to get ourselves up to the Shandur Pass.

The horses have already gone ahead for the great polo match

and we've got about another 7,000 feet before we get to the Shandur Pass,

and we're stopping on the way to help acclimatisation. Razahan is my driver, he's from Chitral,

but they don't speak Urdu,

they speak Khowar and I'm learning a bit of Khowar together.

One wonderful word I've discovered is the word for foot is "pong."

-Isn't that right? Pong?

-Pong.

Yeah, very suitable.

More later!

Around us, the mountains rise increasingly steeply,

but wherever there's a level patch,

there'll be someone making a living from it by the simplest means possible.

This is the painless way of making the 7,000 foot climb from Chitral to the pass.

The team's horses have walked up.

And not everyone's polo mad up here.

I'd thought of offering them a spot of coaching, but there's no time.

I've got my homework to do. And what a delightful language Khowar is.

Father is "tut," mother is "nun" and grandmother's "wow."

It certainly helps take my mind off landslides, which judging by the constant presence of the road gangs,

must happen more often than I like to think about.

THEY SPEAK KHOWAR

Alongside the Himalaya and the Karakoram,

the Hindu Kush is one of a trio of mighty geological up-thrusts that make this such momentous scenery.

On its western flank is Chitral, on the east is Gilgit

and the two proud communities will meet each other here,

two and a quarter miles above sea level on the Shandur Pass.

Great, very good.

Well driven.

MICHAEL SPEAKS KHOWAR

The tradesmen from Chitral and Gilgit are already setting up shop.

They're expecting a festival crowd of thousands.

The butcher's doing brisk business as families prepare for a three day picnic.

I think I might just stick to salad.

For the next few days, like everyone else here, I shall be camping.

I mean, the Shandur Pass has no permanent accommodation at all -

most of the year it's just a desolate wilderness, so the police bring their tents

and the authorities bring their tents and the polo teams bring their tents,

and I'm told, reliably, that in the next three days there are going to be 10,000 people like me

coming here to be fed, watered and evacuated on the Shandur Pass, so watch this space.

This is going to be our dining room and banqueting hall on top of the world and along here...

..tents various, I'm not sure who's in that tent.

You have a little library area there -

encourage them to learn and be educated.

And the kitchen.

In here is the kitchen tent, a rather lethal flame leaping out from the tent,

and there's Zahoor. Zahoor, come and say hello. Zahoor is the chef.

Our chef - good man, very good, very important, a most important man.

That's Zahoor the chef.

And firewood - very, very important and this is our hot water supply.

This is the only hot water we'll all have for the next few days.

It needs a lot of wood because it takes much longer for the water to boil at this altitude,

which I remind you is 12,250 feet.

And along here in the nice little mountain walk

are the toilet facilities in various colours,

but you won't need to follow me there.

It's early morning and the two teams are out practising together.

The Gilgit team is led by this man, Bulbul Jan -

55 years old and riding his favourite Punjabi stallion, Truc.

He's led the winning side for the last two years

and is looking for a hat trick.

Chitral's captain is Sikander Ul Mulk, Siraj's younger brother.

He's riding Bucephalus,

an Afghan bay with youth and speed on his side.

At the end of the practice they retire to their separate camps,

and before laying any bets, I set out on a fact finding mission.

We've driven out a little further along the Pass, away from the centre of festivities

to where the Gilgit camp is set and it's up here.

I suppose we've become rather close to the Chitralis, it's a bit like sleeping with the enemy,

but we are the BBC and must be even-handed in the matters of freestyle polo,

so this is the Gilgit camp over here.

It looks rather more organised than the Chitral.

They are army and they are police.

Despite being army and police, they're very welcoming

and happy for me to talk to Bulbul while Truc has his lunch.

You're captain of the Gilgit team this year, and you've been captain before.

-How many years have you been captain?

-Four years.

And how many times have you won?

Two time we lose, two time we win the match.

Now they say that in this game it's 80% horse and 20% man, you'd agree with that, would you?

-Yeah, yeah.

-Your horse is very special I believe,

because you've had the horse for a long time.

How many years has your horse taken part in the game?

In Shandur, 15 years.

We play on this horse 15 years.

And what is it about Truc that makes him such a...

to have played so many games - 15 times here -

a 21-year-old horse - what makes Truc such a great horse?

HE SPEAKS KHOWAR

HE SPEAKS KHOWAR

As far as Truc and himself go,

they have a perfect understanding. And Truc probably with the body weight and all these understandings,

they know each other very well and that is how they combine well to perform here.

It is Truc. He says, "He tells me whether we're going to win the tournament or we're going to lose.

"He definitely communicates with me," he says.

"He can give me that feeling, that I'm perfectly all right and I'm going to win this match for you."

And what does Truc say about this year?

"He's in a very good mood," he says, "this year."

I think I'll go and have a word with Truc, before I lay my bet!

In the Chitral camp, things are much less rosy -

horses un-recovered from injury, another lamed in training.

In fact, so persistent have been their misfortunes that I put it to Sikander

that there are rumours that black magic, a potent force up here, may be being used against them.

-Why have all these things happened to you?

-Oh, I know!

-Is it this black magic?

-Well...

-Do you believe someone is putting a bad spell on you?

-I never used to believe it,

but now since everyone does, so I've also started believing in it!

-Who are the people to watch out for in the Gilgit side, the people you'd rather not play again?

-Number six.

-He's got a very fast horse.

-How about their captain, Bulbul?

Bulbul is...

well, we are depending on his horse,

because his horse is nearly 21 years old,

so if it is a fast game, if we manage to give them a tough time,

I don't think that horse will be able to finish the whole game.

How do you think it'll go tomorrow?

Tomorrow...well, they have an edge,

but I don't think...not that much.

-What's it like if you lose?

-Terrible, terrible.

First of all, no-one will come near you on the polo ground,

and if you win, then they don't even allow you to stand on the ground!

They keep you up in the airs, but if you lose, there's no-one even going to come next to you

and even on the road they might start hooting and things like that.

It's a terrible thing going back!

-When you go back to Chitral, do you go back in disguise?

-We try to. We try to go in the dark!

On the eve of battle, ominous clouds hang in the sky.

Next morning, things are no better in the Chitral camp.

The call to prayer rings out

as the small town that's grown up on the Shandur Pass wakes up to the big match day.

DISTANT CALL TO PRAYER

There are women supporters, but they'll watch from a separate, ladies-only hill.

Mulling over what I've seen these past few days,

it's pretty obvious that efficient Gilgit should start favourites,

but Chitral have a more relaxed, happy-go-lucky approach which might help them.

It is freestyle polo after all, and they seem to embody the spirit of the game.

They're in it for the hell of it and I like that.

TRADITIONAL MUSIC PLAYS

-Good work? Are you still confident?

-Yes.

Excellent, good. Good game. You're confident of winning?

Ah, well, that's what Chitral said! But the horses are all fine and they're all good?

I bet you can't wait to get on with it. We'll get out of your way. Good luck!

-How are you feeling?

-Good.

-How are the horses?

-Well, we've...

-we've almost bought one horse, a new horse.

-Oh, no.

-A playing horse.

-At the last minute.

-At the last minute. We needed it, but we weren't able to get it.

-Right.

-Last night we managed to get that horse. So now we are in a better position.

-This was...?

It was a playing horse - it had come with the team

-but it belonged to someone who was not ready to give it to us.

-So you had to negotiate for it.

-So...the rider knows the horse?

-The rider knows the horse.

-Great, good, so you're happy...?

-And Bucephalus?

-He's OK.

-He's OK. Happy? Perky?

-Yes.

-How are you feeling?

-He seems to be enjoying the travel.

-How are you feeling in yourself?

-Good.

-You want to get on with it?

-Yes.

-Good luck.

-Bye.

-Cheers, Sikander.

'Sikander's smiling, but the new horse could be a problem.'

Now there's nothing more they can do. The moment of truth has arrived.

The riders will give everything, but everyone knows that at this punishing altitude,

the outcome depends on the ability of these horses to absorb the relentless pressure.

Chitral take a surprise lead.

Gilgit soon equalise to cancel it out.

In international polo, play is stopped every seven minutes.

These horses must run non-stop for 25.

Then for another 25, all the time struggling to pull in oxygen from the thin air.

Bulbul and Truc rule the midfield, but suddenly it's Chitral who are making all the running.

A goal-mouth mix-up puts Gilgit back in the lead.

Almost immediately, Chitral press forward and equalise.

Half-time and it's two-all.

Gilgit start the second half the stronger, and force their way into the lead again.

Boring, butting and body-checking increase,

and as the polo becomes truly freestyle, Gilgit run in a fourth goal.

The pace is beginning to tell.

Riders and horses are straining every sinew.

Then the coup de grace - Bulbul, magnificently unflappable, puts Gilgit into an unassailable lead.

Chitral supporters are already heading home.

Gilgit fans stream across the ground to hail their heroes.

Everyone becomes so happy that the police have to be called in!

I push through and try and talk to the man of the match.

-How was it for you, Bulbul?

-I'm very much happy. Thank you.

-And Truc?

-Thank you.

-Truc?

-Yes. You see the Truc.

Yeah... Thank you!

It might be black magic for Chitral, but for Gilgit, just magic.

APPLAUSE

LOUDSPEAKER BLARES

APPLAUSE

The festival over, it's time for everyone to make their way home, by whatever means possible.

Most are going back down the mountain, but we're going up -

higher than Shandur, into the land of ice and snow, to a place where few people ever set foot.

Close to the Chinese border is a place they call Concordia, where two great glaciers meet

and ten of the world's tallest summits surround them.

K2, second highest peak on earth, is five miles away.

The jagged ramparts of these frozen canyons seem about to swallow me up.

Next time on Himalaya, strange goings-on at the Indian border.

My first beer for a month.

Mass catering and holy relics at the Golden Temple.

A moment of peace in war-torn Kashmir.

A train ride to Shimla -

self-catering, of course.

At Dharamasala, I throw flour, learn what I was in my previous life,

attend a concert and meet a God King.

Himalaya, the week's high spot.

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