Snow Leopard: Stories from the Roof of the World

9. The Pelt Smuggler

— 75 — 010 It was the winter of 1999. My assistant, Ghulam Mohammad (GM), and I had just completed our first in a series of surveys in northern Pakistan’s Baltistan region. Earlier in the year I had received a small grant from a London-based conservation organization to look into the possibility of starting an insurance scheme for domestic livestock against snow leopard predation. The idea was to protect the snow leopard against the retaliatory actions of angry villagers who had lost livestock to them. In gathering ethnographic and biological data, we conducted surveys in four valleys across Baltistan. GM and I were the core survey team, together with a number of porters to carry our supplies. December 22—the day after we returned to Skardu (the prin­ cipal town in Baltistan) from our first survey—was cold, dark, and still. I stayed in a guest house run by an enterprising local elite who, more than monetary gain, sought to provide more cosmopolitan accommodations than were otherwise available in this small town nestled high in the Karakorum Mountains. The Pelt Smuggler S h a f q a t h u S S a i n PakiStan—In trying to do the right thing, two colleagues must embark on a journey filled with danger and intrigue until the final moment. S h a f q a t h u S S a i n — 76 — At about 4:00 p.m. GM appeared with one of the porters who had accompanied us on the survey. I was surprised to see the porter, as I thought he had returned to his village after the survey ended. I welcomed them inside for a cup of tea. GM is at once a serious and innocent­looking fellow, eager but also proud and always seeking opportunities to do the right thing. The porter was a young Shina who spoke Balti. I had forgotten his name, so, mimicking foreign trekkers who call all Balti men Ali, I asked, “So, Ali, how are you doing?” He remained quiet and tried to smile, but then his expression became regretful, even painful. I asked if he was tired from the trip and if he would like to accompany us on the next survey. He remained quiet. I turned to GM who was shifting uncomfortably in his chair, looking as if he was preparing to say something. He said quietly and rather disdainfully that “Ali” did not understand Urdu, shaking his head as if to say that it was not just Urdu that the porter did not understand. I was confused by his slightly hostile tone and sensed that this was more than just a polite visit, that something more than coincidence had brought them to my lodging. I asked GM to tell me what was going on. He reached into his rucksack and, with a struggle, pulled out a tightly wrapped package stuffed inside the plastic sacking of a fertilizer commonly used in the region. To my great surprise, he unfolded the wrapping to reveal a snow leopard pelt folded into a tight ball. He looked at me and then at Ali. “Where did it come from?” I asked. “From Hushey,” GM replied, “the village through which we passed on our way to and from the survey we just completed.” “But how?” I asked, still confused as to what exactly was going on. “He says he bought it for us,” said GM. “What?” I asked, in both shock and anger. “Yeeaas,” said GM, slightly elongating the “yes” to express his anger. GM explained that Ali had been under the impression that I was a snow leopard smuggler from the Punjab and that I was visiting the area to collect pelts from the region. He knew we had presented ourselves as conservationists but had taken this to be a cover for our real intentions. Thinking he could profit from the T h e P e l t S m u g g l e r — 77 — situation, Ali had secretly bought a pelt from a local farmer for 8,000 rupees as we passed through Hushey on our way back from the survey and was now trying to sell it to us for 16,000 rupees. For a moment I thought I was a victim of a Balti version of Candid Camera. But there was no other hidden plot to be exposed; what had already been exposed was...