Hm.
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 succeeded.
I'm at the top of the Khyber Pass
on the border between Pakistan and Afghanistan.
Through here have come great armies -
Alexander the Great, 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 for such a concentration of history here
is that from the west, this is the only way through this colossal range of mountains
that eventually becomes the Himalaya.
0ur route runs the length of the Himalaya - from Pakistan, India and Nepal
across into Tibet and China, south into Assam and Bhutan
and into Bangladesh, where the mud of the mountains enters 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? - 32 tunnels.
It cost £100,000 a mile.
(WHISTLE BLOWS)
The engine's older than the railway - it was built in 1916. The driver's a lot younger.
70 years ago, this train would have 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 am a regular visitor. - Oh, right.
- I just came from Dubai. - From Dubai?
Yes. This morning.
Flew into the airport, hopped on the train and to the Khyber.
- You must be rather fond of railways. - Definitely. Steam is my passion.
With 34 tunnels and 92 bridges and cuttings along its 27-mile length,
the railway has obvious tourist potential.
But where are the tourists?
Is it difficult to get the train up and running these days?
Definitely. Just because of... the political situation is not stable.
We don't get enough tourists in Pakistan, so it's difficult to operate this train.
Unless we have 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 to keep the railway alive.
Do you think there's danger here?
- No. - No. Not now. Not even before.
Pakistani people are very hospitable
and they will take care of their guests much more than theirself.
The train is a reassuring presence in a highly volatile area.
It would be a great loss if the threat of violence deprived us
of the delights of the Khyber Railway.
The train still has a few miles to go to Peshawar,
but we're getting off here to spend more time in this corner of Pakistan's Wild West,
a tribal land based on two great principles - hospitality and revenge.
You can hear Darra from miles away. It sounds as if a battle's going on.
(GUNFIRE)
But it's just business as usual in the town that lives on guns.
- Why are they located here? - It's a perfect location for gun factories.
Surrounded by the mountains. These people have been...
My guide - nearly my ex-guide - is Zahoor Duranni.
...making guns for 120 years. - The tribal people here?
Yes, exactly. That's why it only exists here, nowhere else in the frontier.
The arms industry in Darra may be in the hands of shopkeepers,
but they can produce a copy of any of the world's shooters.
- Another arcade of gun shops. - Yes.
This is a complete boulevard of guns.
- Selling and buying... - (GUNFIRE)
See? Someone's bought the gun and he's trying the gun.
Arms manufacture is an honourable tradition,
and the gunsmiths of Darra look like scholars bent over ancient texts.
Each deadly weapon made with tender, loving care.
(HE SPEAKS URDU)
I see.
This is the mini version of the Kalashnikov, the Russian-made gun.
- The AK-47 everyone knows about. - These are the parts, you see?
- Yes. - This part...
(PALIN) So they're making one part of this weapon.
In other parts of Darra there will be shops making other parts?
Exactly. Each shop specialises in certain...
bits and pieces, and then they're put together.
(PALIN) It seems a lot of it can be done by hand
in labour-intensive methods.
(ZAHOOR) That's the interesting part.
That's the best part. Most of these things are done by hand.
And who are these guns bought by largely?
- We are in tribal territory. - Tribal.
There are thousands of people living in the tribal territory.
Here they do not need a licence to have a gun.
The young ones and old ones exchange guns like people exchange cars.
So if he needs a new gun, a better gun,
he can bring his old gun, sell it and buy a new one.
The prices are frighteningly reasonable.
A tenner will buy you something simple,
whilst a top-of-the-range Kalashnikov will cost £80.
And there's nothing they can't do for you.
Do you have, like, James Bond? You know James Bond?
- You do? - He's got a pen pistol.
He is always very well armed, isn't he?
- Now, this is the pen you can sign... - I don't believe it.
I was joking. He really has got one.
This is the top. You take off this top.
Then you put the bullet here. One.22 calibre bullet.
There you are signing, "Sincerely yours, James Bond", and boom!
That's the size of the bullet. I see. A little James Bond... Tiny bullet.
What range would this kill someone at?
About 30 to 40 yards distance, you can really hit somebody.
Right across the street. Wow.
- Look at that. - That's the one for signing contracts.
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 its bizarre gentility.
Picturesque and perilous, laid back and lethal.
(RAPID GUNFIRE)
OK.
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 Chor Bazaar is "things that fell off the back of a lorry" market.
In the heart of the city is an area devoted entirely to teeth.
- Every other shop seems to be a dentist. - Look at that.
That's very impressive.
- Can we go in? - Yes. Let's go.
Abdul Wahid is proprietor of one of Peshawar's foremost establishments.
I've been having trouble with my canines and 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.
It ranges from 50 rupees, which is about 50p...
- 50 pence? ...to about £1, £1 and a half.
I had a problem with my teeth when I was young because I had too much sugar.
Quite a few teeth had to be replaced.
Maybe he could look in my mouth... and see what he can find.
(SPEAKS URDU)
- He will check them. - I'd be interested to know what he finds.
You've got strong hands.
As Mr Wahid probes with a finger like a tree trunk,
all I can do is lie back and think of England.
He says they need cleaning.
- You want him to scrub your teeth? - I what?
To clean them? You need cleaning.
Don't tell my dentist, if he's watching. I do clean them, honestly.
I've just had breakfast!
If he was going to give me a filling or something, is this his drill?
Can he show me the drill? Can he show it to me?
(SPEAKS URDU)
I see. Ah, that's it.
I'm not reassured. It looks like the sort of thing you put bathroom cabinets up with.
So a little portable drill.
So he stays here on this little corner because he's popular with the local people.
- I'm sure he's very reasonable. - So that's your drill.
Can we see it working? Hold it up for our camera there.
- (WHIRRING) - That's a mean-looking drill.
I don't think I need any fillings, do I? I don't need fillings?
I've got no teeth!
What is really reassuring is to sit here with my poor old teeth
and look at that on the wall.
I can see the image of how teeth should be.
Yes, it's very nice.
There's something in Pakistan that is even more important than dentistry.
Cricket is a national obsession, played at any moment on any patch of ground.
The younger they are, the keener they are.
Middle and leg brick.
I've learnt a few tricks - we did invent the game -
so I thought these youngsters might benefit from seeing an old hand at work.
The bowler looks a trifle overconfident.
Justifiably so, as it turns out.
- Out, was it? - Yes. Out.
- Where are the bales? - Gone!
All right. OK. Good bowling.
Batting was never my strong point at school.
I concentrated my efforts on developing the unplayable delivery.
Four runs.
At least I restricted him to four. It's time to put the heat on.
Embarrassing. No-ball.
I decide to forget the cricket and concentrate on the comedy. And it works.
Middle stone! How was that?
How was that? Yeah!
Next day I'm on my best behaviour as I'm welcomed by a guard of honour
to the estate of one of the last great country landowners 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 palomino horses that draw it,
it's clear Prince Malik believes in doing things properly.
- Good morning, Michael. - Good morning. Thank you for having me.
- A wonderful way to arrive. - You'll see some good bull races tomorrow.
Bull races? I've heard they are legendary. You have some of the finest racing bulls.
It's so cool in here. This is lovely.
Prince Malik appears to live alone, but eats at a laid table.
A bottle stands in front of me,
but this being an officially "dry" country, the wine waiter has a limited selection.
Thank you. This is very nice.
- So you ride yourself? - Yes.
The prince is no shrinking violet.
I was competing in the World Championship in Los Angeles and I won the silver.
We were riding at Santa Barbara.
I was World Champion in 1982.
Appearances are important to you.
I could see from the marvellous palominos that drew the coach
and the waistcoats in gold and black that your servants were wearing.
- Can you tell me about how? - This is our traditional livery.
But things are going to change.
I am the last of the dinosaurs, and with me everything goes.
The new generation of boys are very highly educated.
They live in towns. They hate the country life.
They don't want to look after a sick horse or a sick cow.
So I don't think... This is the last of them. After me it finishes.
I noticed a lot of people - and, indeed, you yourself - have these splendid moustaches.
- Is that very particular to this area? - A moustache is particular to this area.
Serving in the old British Army, people used to get a pension for the moustache,
a special payment for the moustache.
The highlight of my visit is an afternoon at the races.
The prince is entering four pairs of his pedigree Dhanni bulls.
(HORNS AND DRUMS)
Bull racing is laid on for the local people as a celebration of the harvest.
It's like a manic country fair.
A chance to make noise, dress your livestock up, 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 critical part of the race.
Can these straining bulls be held down long enough to get the riders on their boards?
It's a race against the clock on a 600-yard course, and there's a Toyota for the winner.
(GUNFIRE)
Audience participation is common,
as most bulls want to get back home as soon as possible.
There's terrific pent-up energy here.
When it's all unleashed, it puts Formula 0ne in the shade.
The people who are here today, are they people who work in the local area?
They are all farmers. They work on the farms.
They all keep these bulls. These bulls are better kept than their own children.
They are fed with honey, with almonds, the best things in the world, butter...
They are fed on many eggs, and they are brought into this race.
They are fed on many good things.
Someone told me they were fed something stronger. Alcohol?
- Home-brewed alcohol. Yes. - So these bulls are?
- They're raring to go. - There's some going now.
- They are going the wrong way. - How many actually get to the finish?
The line is very long. It's a 600-yards line.
Only a horse could do that.
When it comes to a bull, it's difficult for a bull to run that long.
(PALIN) Some go off into the crowds.
(PRINCE MALIK) They have learnt.
Once they get off the track, it's easier.
(PALIN) So they're the intelligent ones?
(PRINCE MALIK) The ones who are dumb and have had many alcohol drinks go straight on.
The others turn off.
- Is it dangerous? - It is dangerous.
I can show you one of the jockeys who has ridden 25 years on this track.
He's lost an arm. This is the gentleman. He lost his arm running with bulls.
- Oh, dear. That's... - Do you want him up here?
- He's an old jockey. - How did he lose his arm?
It was stuck in the sledge and the bulls pulled him off.
So the arm cut off.
- Do people watching get hurt? - People watching are in more danger.
If they come between the track and a bull, nothing is left of the bones.
- Is anybody killed? - In a big race, there are many people killed.
- Seriously? - Seriously.
Some of the men run with the bulls. Are they allowed to?
In the olden days, the men were stronger. I have seen some very fine runners.
There's a good pair. That's a wonderful pair.
- A wonderful pair. - Good bull or good rider?
The bulls are good. The rider... They are all good.
Oh, he has gone off the track. He loses.
- Nearly there. - That's a very experienced bull.
- They were going really well. - They were.
- Do you have any bulls in the race? - Four pairs.
One raced through the track, the other went a different way. No one reached the end.
- Unfortunately. - That doesn't look good for you.
No, it does, because I give away the prizes for the poor people, not for me.
All of a sudden, we're the ones in the firing line.
The prince screams at us to run for cover,
but it takes more than a raging bull for Nigel to turn his camera off.
Thankfully, we live to film another day.
Nowhere exemplifies the art of travel better than Peshawar bus station.
No vehicle is allowed to go unadorned.
0perators spend time and money trying to outdo each other.
Amidst the colour, 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?
- Because it says 6808... - 6808 Chitral bus.
- This is the bus. - Shall I get on?
- Yes. Good luck. - Thank you very much.
Thank you for helping me to understand Peshawar. Whoa!
OK? Thank you.
It's good value. Good value, isn't it?
To Chitral and back for £10.
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 then down 43 hairpin bends.
Forget about buses - it's frightening enough in a four-wheeled drive.
The Lowari Pass is the only way 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 land of Chitral -
occupying a narrow valley against the Afghan border.
(HE CHANTS)
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 "madrasa" - a religious school - is in full swing.
Each one has to do...
Encouraged by the religious severity in Afghanistan,
subjects like science and maths are considered less important than learning the Koran.
Not only must they learn every word, but in Arabic - a language quite foreign to them.
Whatever his feelings about the family mosque,
Siraj is unequivocally proud of Chitral's polo ground.
- Chitral is where polo started. - Really? In this town?
This town, yes.
And the British modified it and took it to other parts of the world.
You see it being played in places like Hurlingham or Palm Beach in a modified way.
But here they play it in the original form - no rules, no umpire, no referee.
Everyone enjoys it. You don't have to be a rich man to play polo here.
A crowd has turned out to watch this practice match
because in under a week a team selected from these players
will represent Chitral in the toughest of all polo games.
It's the annual 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 these ancient polo games played without a ball,
but with the head of a sheep and I've heard all sorts of things.
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, but it will be a great battle,
and many of these locals, along with ourselves, will be there to watch.
0lder even than polo is the music of the Chitral Valley.
Songs and poems which Siraj describes as being "locked in the mountains".
(SOFT SINGING)
Songs about the beauty of the valley or the local women - 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 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 the intensity with which the faithful few keep it alive.
The massive mountains on the Pakistan-Afghan border
are sliced through with gorges and ravines.
Narrow tracks, clinging to the rock walls, are the only way into these hidden valleys
which, for centuries, have offered refuge to those who want to hide from the world.
Deep in one of these remote gorges
lives a people whose religion and culture is different from anywhere else in Pakistan.
The Kalash have no cars or televisions, but they have a school
where, for one day, I've been appointed visiting professor of English.
Hello.
(CHILDREN GREET HIM)
Thank you very much. That was very good.
OK. Can I sit down here with them? 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?
(TEACHER TRANSLATES)
- Head. - Head. Who said? Head.
That's right. That was very good. Say it again.
This is?
- Head. - Very good.
What's in the middle of the head? You can't miss that 'cause it's big.
- Nose. - Nose.
Nose. That's very good.
- And? - Mouth!
Neck! Arm!
Hand.
- Hand. - Yes. This is all hand.
- But what's this? - Thumb!
Very good. Thumb. And these are?
Fingers.
One finger.
- Two fingers. - Two fingers.
Three fingers! Four...
No fingers. Thumb.
And this one here?
- This one? - Leg.
Leg. That's good. And on end of leg?
- Boot! - Boot? No. Yes, that's shoe.
But if I take shoe off...
...what's in there? Away with shoe! What's that?
- Foot! - Foot. That's right. 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!
(LAUGHTER)
How will I get my shoe?
Brilliant. Come on. Up you get.
Very good. Very good. Very bad shoe. Very bad... Oh, no!
He's off again.
He's a very bad shoe.
They have no written history, so no one quite knows where the Kalash came from.
Unlike the rest of the province, women - with their characteristic headdresses -
appear in public open and unveiled.
Their pale skin and light-coloured eyes
suggest a link with the armies of Alexander the Great,
who passed through here 2,000 years ago.
This house is a menstruation house. The women come here for monthly period.
The Kalash have strict rules about purity.
When women have their period, they confine themselves to a menstruation house.
Because we just say it is impure
to keep the menstruating woman inside the house.
So they will come here till they get over the period. Then they come to the house.
In this house, whenever the woman is delivering a baby,
they will come to this house and they will stay after delivery.
They will stay for 15 to 20 days here before they return home.
So birth and menstruation's all in here? Are any men allowed in here?
No, the men are not allowed in there, not allowed to touch them or go inside.
Hello. They seem to be quite happy.
They are. It's a nice holiday for them. They're resting.
When a woman is having a period, they feel weak a bit.
- They don't have to do housework? - They have complete rest.
I see. So this is a rest and recuperation service. Very good.
Before rejoining the community,
a new mother must go to the temple for purification.
Burning 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.
0nce she's been given the bread, a last pass with the branches means she's purified
and can go back to her home.
These ceremonies are so unlike anything I've seen in Pakistan
that when I walk 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 that we have come from Greek - from Alexander the Great.
- When Alexander the Great invaded. - Some say we are...
The Bulgarian people say we are Bulgarian.
So the Greeks want you, the Bulgarians want you. What do you think?
In our own history, we come from a place called Siam.
- Siam? - Siam.
But we don't know where it is.
That's quite a walk. You're used to it. You live on the vertical all the time.
- We just get used to the mountains. - It's a great view.
So what is the Kalash God? Is there one God or?
We have one God, yes. I told you that. We have a Creator God.
We believe in one Creator who created the whole world.
What happens when a Kalash dies? Is there reincarnation?
We believe that when we die...
our soul will go to the white mountain called Pala.
- Which is an actual mountain? - It's that one there.
You can see the white peak over there.
- That's the mountain where Kalash souls go? - All the souls go there.
We can't see it now, but we believe there's a big fort for the souls of the Kalash.
It's hard to know quite what the future holds for the Kalash.
I think that their unique culture will become diluted as 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.
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 another 7,000 feet before we get to the Shandur Pass.
We're stopping on the way to help acclimatisation.
Raza Han is my driver. He's from Chitral.
They don't speak Urdu. They speak Khowar.
I'm learning a bit of Khowar.
One wonderful word is the word for "foot".
It's "pong". Is that right? Yeah. Very suitable.
More later!
Around us the mountains rise 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 thought of offering them a spot of coaching, but I've got my homework to do.
What a delightful language Khowar is.
"Father" is "tut", "mother" is "nun" and "grandmother" is "wow".
(MICHAEL PRACTISES KHOWAR)
It helps take my mind off landslides which, judging by the presence of the road gangs,
must happen more often than I like to think about.
(MICHAEL PRACTISES KHOWAR WITH DRIVER)
Alongside the Himalaya and the Karakoram,
the Hindu Kush is one of a trio of mighty geological upthrusts
that make this such momentous scenery.
0n its western flank is Chitral. 0n the east is Gilgit.
The two proud communities will meet here -
two and a quarter miles above sea level on the Shandur Pass.
Great. Very good. Raza Han, well driven.
Bo jam. Bo jam.
The tradesmen from Chitral and Gilgit are setting up shop.
They're expecting a crowd of thousands.
(KNIFE SCRAPES)
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.
The Shandur Pass for most of the year is a desolate wilderness.
So the police bring tents, the authorities bring tents and the polo teams bring tents.
And I'm told that in the next three days, there's going to be 10,000 people
coming here to be fed, watered and evacuated on the Shandur Pass.
So watch this space.
This is going to be our dining room on top of the world. And along here...
Tents, various.
We have a little library area there, where we encourage them to learn.
(LAUGHS)
And the kitchen.
The kitchen tent. Lethal flames leaping from the tent.
There's Zahoor. Come and say hello.
Zahoor is the chef. Our chef. Good man. Very important. Most important man.
That's Zahoor the chef.
Firewood. Very important. And this is our hot-water supply.
This is the only hot water we'll have for the next few days.
It needs a lot of wood because it takes much longer to boil at this altitude,
which is 12,250 feet.
Along here, in the 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 Bulbul Shan,
55 years old and riding his favourite Punjabi stallion, Truc.
He's led the winning side for 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.
They retire to their separate camps.
Before laying any bets, I set out on a fact-finding mission.
We're just a little further along the pass, away from the central festivities,
to where the Gilgit camp is set, and it's out here.
We've become close with the Chitralis, so this is like sleeping with the enemy,
but we are the BBC and we must be even-handed in matters of polo.
So this is the Gilgit camp over here.
It looks rather more organised than the Chitral. They are army and police.
Despite being army and police, they're welcoming
and happy for me to talk to Bulbul while Truc has lunch.
You're captain of the Gilgit team this year.
How many years have you been captain?
- Four years. - And how many times have you won?
Two times we lose, two times we win.
They say that in this game it's 80% horse and 20% man.
- Would you agree? - Yes.
Your horse is very special because you've had him 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.
What is it about Truc that makes him such?
To have played so many games - 15 times here. What makes Truc such a great horse?
(HE SPEAKS URDU)
(INTERPRETER) As far as Truc and himself go, they have a perfect understanding.
Truc, with the body weight and all these understandings, they know each other well.
That is how they combine well to perform.
It is Truc, he says, that tells me whether we are going to win the tournament or lose.
He definitely communicates with me.
He can give me that feeling that I'm going to win this match for you.
What does Truc say about this year?
He's in a very good mood, he says, this year.
I'll have a word with Truc before I lay my bet.
In the Chitral camp, things are less rosy.
Horses unrecovered from injury, another lamed in training.
So persistent have been their misfortunes
that I ask Sikander about rumours that black magic - a potent force up here -
may be being used against them.
- Why have these things happened? - I don't know.
Is it black magic, Sikander? Do you believe someone's putting a bad spell on you?
I never used to believe it,
but now everyone does, so I've also started believing in it.
Who are the people to watch out for in the Gilgit side?
Their number six. He's got a very fast horse.
- How about their captain, Bulbul? - Bulbul is...
We are depending on his horse, because his horse is about 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 game.
- How do you think it'll go tomorrow? - Tomorrow...
They have an edge, but I don't think that much.
- What's it like if you lose? - Terrible. Terrible.
First of all, no one will come near you on the polo ground.
If you win, they don't allow you to stand on the ground - they keep you up in the air.
But if you lose, no one will come next to you.
Even on the road, they might start hooting.
- It's a terrible thing going back. - Do you go back in disguise?
We try to go in the dark.
0n the eve of battle, ominous clouds hang in the sky.
Next morning, things are no better in the Chitral camp.
(MUEZZIN CHANTS)
The call to prayer rings out, as the town that's grown up on the Shandur Pass
wakes up to the big match day.
There are women supporters, but they'll watch from a ladies-only hill.
Mulling over what I've seen, it's pretty obvious that Gilgit should start favourites,
but Chitral have a more relaxed approach which might help them.
It is freestyle polo, and they seem to embody the spirit of the game.
They're in it for the hell of it, and I like that.
Are you still confident? Excellent.
Good. You're confident of winning? That's what Chitral said.
Yes. But the horses are all fine? I bet you can't wait to get on with it.
I'll get out of your way. Good luck.
- How are you feeling? - Good.
- How are the horses? - Well...
We almost bought one horse - a new horse, a playing horse.
- At the last minute? - We needed it, but we couldn't get it.
Last night we managed to get that horse, so now we are in a better position.
- So this was a? - It had come with the team.
It belonged to someone else who was not ready to give it to us.
So you had to negotiate? The rider knows the horse?
- The rider knows the horse. - And Bucephalus?
- He's OK. - Happy? Perky?
Yes. He seems to be enjoying the drum.
How are you feeling? You want to get on with it?
Good luck.
Sikander's being brave, but the new horse could be a problem.
There's nothing more to do. The moment of truth has arrived.
The riders will give everything, and everyone knows that at this 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 -
struggling to pull in oxygen from the thin air.
Bulbul rules the midfield, but suddenly Chitral 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.
Butting and body-checking increase.
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 Bulbul, magnificently unflappable, puts Gilgit into an unassailable lead.
The Chitral supporters are heading for home.
Gilgit fans stream across to hail their heroes.
Everyone becomes so happy that the police have to be called in.
I push through to talk to the man of the match. How was it for you, Bulbul?
I'm very much happy. Thank you.
Thank you. You see the truth?
Thank you.
It might be black magic for Chitral, but for Gilgit just magic.
It's time for everyone to make their way home - by whatever means possible.
Most are going 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 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 Dharamsala, 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.