The Nawab-governor-of Rampur awaits me in part of his palace that has been transformed into a library. The armed men guarding its entrance take muscled giant. He must be in his early forties. My host receives me very affably and has us served a royal dinner. It reminds me of "Rogan Josh" a kind of lamb curry and of "gusthaba" which are spicy meatballs cooked in a yogurt. And this comes with a multitude of vegetable patties, and a variety of fruit. After this festive meal, we find ourselves comfortably seated under a ventilator. This member of the National Assembly of his small state then reviewed the history, both of his country as well as of his family."When I was a child, " he says, speaking in impeccable English, "I used to play billards with pearls.
I had whole buckets of them at my disposal, since my father and forefathers had been collecting them forever, "he stated. "Actually," he continues, "when it comes to precious stones, it is so that each family

 [here] has its own preferences." To  illustrate this, he shows me a photograph of his grandfather. In the photo he wears an enormous necklace of twenty-one strings of pearls. The first string covers part of his neck with the rest becoming more elongated, displaying, on each string, ever-larger pearls. The entire piece covers most of his chest. Impressive! But we would like to come back and talk about sapphires, and in particular, those of Kashmir!
   "Of course, in India, this is a stone that is of a very particular significance; in effect, it can certainly bring one bad luck," the Nawab noted. :My mother used to own a bag of sapphires, and... He has no time to finish his sentence when, as if to make the point, the frame bearing the portrait of his grandfather slides, pushes that of his mother aside and completely shatters a blue vase. "Oh my god", the Nawab cries out, visibly shaken. A servant appears as out of nowhere and is severely reprimanded. Things are definitely not improving.
   But at the same time, I refrain from telling him that in my bag I carry a good quantity of rough sapphires. Is this simply superstition or just his awkwardness? In any case, I decide to ignore it and return to Delhi, with the letters personally written by the Nawab, with a recommendation to the Mharadjas and Indian leaders who I am to meet and whose help I will need in my quest.
We have been marching for two days now. We start out when day is just breaking and when we stop, exhausted, the sun is about to sink behind the horizon. Our porters have had it for the day but the lama, the Buddhist monk who travels with us , remains philosophically calm. Micky, our dog, however, is indefatigable. Small and energetic, he accompanies one of his muzzle, he saw us leave on our journey and followed us. He survives on the bits and pieces of food that we throw him and he catches. He sleeps curled up against my tent.

   We have been on our way for 48 hours, and we're about to cross a river. The porters chose to sit astride on their yaks. Micky, who remained on the other side, barks incessantly and his devoted master makes the journey back to the other side, only to see the dog, after he has almost arrived at the other side, making his own way across.
   A new camp and us usual a new night has come. Sonam, our sherpa guide, is engrossed in a prayer. He has not stopped praying for the group's well-being, so we may not fall into devious crevices or, more probably, into the arms of murderers or separatists of various affiliations. This is why our lama has us marching a hellish pace, fourteen hours a day.He does not want to attract any attention and wants to avoid at all -cost that some ill wishers have time and opportunity to prepare a snare.

In the middle of the night I am woken by terrible pain in my backside.    I cannot move anymore and begin to question myself; "What am I doing here, in this environment of fanaticism, in an area full of separatists?" A new, unbearable shot of anguish engulfs me. I am in real pain now. The rain doesn't stop falling. How am I going to get out of this hellhole? But I've succeeded in turning, taken two painkillers, and after a while I I succeed in falling asleep again. The situation alleviates itself. But how am I going to get back?
   While still at Padum at 3500 meters and with 1500 inhabitants, the major trekking center in the Zanskar valley to obtain the proper authorization, I had been in touch with Major S.B. Kasar, in charge of the local armed forces. Kasar said that he could not take me to the mines by helicopter but did assure me that when neccessary he would come looking for me. That, of course was all fine and well, until, upon leaving Padum I saw a helicopter almost crash. Thinking about this, I decided it would be better to complete my expedition on foot.

   I wake up at four o'clock in the morning. I feel much better; it seems the medication is having its desired effect. Getting out of the tent, I see that the sherpas, with all of the best intentions, have pitched my tent on a slope scattered with pebbles. I begin to see where my back pain originated and think of the expression that "one is never better served than by himself."
We must be making our way back to Zanskar, via a new, exhausting route, over the top of the Hagsu Mountain, crossing frozen rivers, avoiding ravines. In a hallucinating manner,these mountains seem to adopt the shape of rough sapphire crystals.we need to climb up and down

glaciers, time and again. Suddenly, at a passage over a stretch of about three or four hundred meters, on top of the rocks, right under our feet, there are sapphires, right for the picking!!  The porters knew they would be surprising me,and while it concerns stones of a