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— 33 — 005 I read a travel guidebook on India that said it did not matter if the traveler was on the ground or in the air, the visitor’s first view of Kashmir would be unforgettable. The Mughal emperors who came here coined a word for the valley: paradise. As the guidebook said, it was unforgettable, but it was not what I had expected. Instead of relaxing in paradise, I was freezing and scared stiff. Heavy snow was falling and the trail was icy. I kept muttering to myself, “Explain it again, why did I want to do this?” Then, after hours of questioning myself and not getting a satisfactory answer, I turned to pleading: “Please, please, let our destination be around the next bend. I promise to eat bran muffins instead of chocolate.” But when darkness fell and we still had not reached our destination, I concentrated on only one thing: survival. It had all begun innocently enough about a year earlier when I was visiting India’s wildlife parks and met Colonel John Wakefield, a former hunter and now an ardent wildlife conservationist. He Kashmir H e l e n F r e e m a n IndIa—On behalf of the snow leopard, a middle-aged woman endures an arduous trek into a mountain paradise and is rewarded in the end with an unexpected gift. H e l e n F r e e m a n — 34 — had been born in India to English parents. Although as a boy he had been sent to school in England, he claimed those years did not count—India was his only home. He had the title of colonel because he had been an officer in the Indian army. I learned with delight and surprise that he had actually glimpsed a snow leopard in the wild, a rare sight bestowed on only a lucky few. Over the tour’s three weeks we discussed what was happening to the species in the high mountains of central Asia, its natural habitat. I told him I had started a nonprofit foundation, the Snow Leopard Trust, to help this endangered species. Then, before I left to return to the United States, he said he might be able to help set up a special project. A friend of his was in charge of the wildlife department for Jammu and Kashmir (J&K), an area in northern India and the place where he had seen his snow leopard. But it was difficult to get into J&K, and special permits were required. John cautioned me not to do anything regarding that region but rather to wait and let him pursue the matter at his own pace. I knew very little about J&K, and as soon as I got home I hurried to look it up. Every article emphasized that ever since the English had partitioned India and set up Pakistan in the 1940s, J&K has been what is understatedly called “a conflicted area.” Both India and Pakistan claim the entire territory, and wars have been fought over it. Furthermore, endowed with a unique geopolitical status on the Indian subcontinent, J&K has boundaries with Russia, Afghanistan, Pakistan, China, and Tibet. From both the civilian and military points of view, the region is a boiling cauldron. The border between Pakistan and J&K is dangerous because there are fanatics everywhere. Also, since both countries claim the region as rightfully belonging to them, both have armies right up to the disputed border, and the soldiers shoot at each other fairly often. To make matters worse, the local people have their own very strong opinions on what to do. Basically, it is hard to make anyone happy because everybody wants independence from everyone else. [18.223.21.5] Project MUSE (2024-04-25 12:07 GMT) K a s h m i r — 35 — In my search for information I had found a large map of the area and spread it on the floor. Something caught my eye and I said to my husband, Stan, “This looks good. There is a long, red dotted line across a big portion of the state. It must be a famous trail.” Stan eyed it closely and said, “Take another look. It means disputed border territory.” Not good. The chances of doing a snow leopard project there were slim to zero; it would take a small miracle for foreigners to get permission to go there and conduct a study. Months went by. Then one day, when I was out on the zoo grounds, my secretary contacted...

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