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My wife Pando We drew up plans and followed a packed program. Life was hopeful and bright. we sang, danced and joked endlessly between training sessions. Pando was one of out younger members-fresh, lively and frank. Her beautiful singing carried one far away to the Tibetan pastures. I recalled her arrival at the headquarters. She had only a shabby knapsack on her back, but her eyes sparkled as of she had a whole world to give. Sitting down at her first meal, she mused and said, "Imagine me sitting at a table-tables were for the use of nobles only." I got to know Pando better two years later when our team set out for Mount Knogur Tibuie Tagh. we enjoyed a few days' bus-ride through snow-capped mountains, among rivers and lakes, excited to discover new wonders of nature-its ever changing scenes, the galaxy of colors at dawn and sunset. As soon as we arrived at the base, we started on acclimatization marches. Pando and three of us men were to be roped together in one group with what mountaineers call 'the lifeline.' As I was the brigade leader responsible to five other roped groups, I became busy arranging accommodations, transporting equipment and attending meetings of group leaders. I often returned late in the evening and invariably found the meal ready and even my bedroll spread out-it was all Pando's work. She had already become a world record holder-"the tallest woman in the world"-when she and her team scaled the 7,546-metre Muztagh Ata in the Pamirs and broke the 7,456-metre record set by the French woman climber Claude Kogan. Bud she remained modest and never tired of doing small jobs, quietly and in her stride. "People are so good to me," she said, "I want to be twice as good to them." I was interested in her past-she had spun and woven wollen cloth, kept flocks for serf-owners, begged in filthy streets and slept in a beggars' den where runaway serfs, some with arms or legs amputated, or their eyes gouged out, gathered for shelter. At the age of thirteen, she and her mother were hired as porters trudging from the north to the south of the Himalayas in subtropical downpours or blizzards, sometimes suffering from the rigours of two seasons overnight. Later after liberation, her mother died. Pando recalled her last words : "Buddha cares for the rich, but never for us poor. Only Chairman Mao and the Communist Party know what is in our hearts." In Pando's past sufferings I saw the shadow of my childhood in a worker's family haunted by sweat, hunger, poverty.... The two weeks of acclimatization marches were smooth and exceptionally pleasant with Pando around. Was I falling in love with her? I asked myself. I had always considered myself shy, dull and insensitive as far as girls were concerned, and thought I wasn't interested in them. My first love was China's mountaineering. There was so much to plan and to do. My parents, however, looked at things differently. My brother and sister had all got married, and they thought it was time I settled down. One of our relatives had introduced a girl born and bred in my native town. Our backgrounds were similar, and she was certainly attractive. She had written me a few letters, but I was just not interested. And now Pando had come into my life. What would my parents say? It was all right to have a Tibetan girl as a friend. But a wife.... I wrote home and the answer came: "Make your own choice, son. But remember, a wife is a life-time companion, not an ornament." How well my parents understood! *Pando is deputy to the Fifth National People's Congress. This expedition would test our team, I knew. And it was the first time Chinese women would be climbing such a height. If pando could reach the summit, she would beat her own record. Still, anything could happen. I felt I must let Pando know my feelings, and I did.... Was she puzzled, surprised, bashful or perhaps happy? I didn't press her for an answer, but just left it as something for the other to remember should anything happen to either of us. For the present, we're concentrate on the climb so that socialist China could be proud of us! On the trek up, one of the young women became ill and I was asked to escort her back to the base camp. I only had time to grasp Pando's hand and say, "You'll make it there and back, won're you?" She looked into my eyes and nodded. News was radioed to headquarters that Pando and Xerab, another Tibetan girl, had reached the summit. But a shocking report followed. On their descent, a snowslide had swept both girls 160 metres off course. Pando was knocked unconscious and buried in snow up to her waist. Then she came round and dug herself out-only a few feet from a precipice. Her toes were frostbitten. A rescue team was sent. I got a horse and went to meet her at 4,000 metres. Pando did not seem upset. "Mother used to remind me that my name Pando means 'useful' in Tibetan," she said. "My life would have been wasted under the serf-owners. It's only now that I can be useful." Pando eyed the horse. If her toes hadn't been so painful, she would never have ridden it and let me take the reins. I was determined to take care for her, though I knew our friends were watching. When we got back, I took her meals to her, carried her out to sit in the sun and made her as comfortable as I could. After a few days, however, she insisted on getting about on crutches, though I knew it hurt. Brave, strong willed girl! Her behaviour towards me had changed somewhat since my confession of love. She often blushed and there were no more jokes of small talk. I knew she was considering the matter seriously. One day she spoke her mind. "What's there about me you care for?" she asked. "I was once a serf, I'm not educated, not good-looking. I'm afraid you'll have a change of heart. Mother once said, 'We're poor, that's true, but it's an unyielding will that makes a person! I could never forgive a man with a false heart." I reassured Pando of my sincerity. But she herself was blind to her own inner beauty and natural charm, and for that I loved her all the more. One of my friends told me that he admired my courage in the face of differences of customs and habits, and my insight into the true values of life, but he added, out of good will, that I'd better consider the matter carefully before deciding. Gradually I realized that I was facing a problem bigger than just Pando and me. The scars of the old regime left on Pando were deep and it would take time and more people to erase them from her mind. When the Spring Festival came, I invited Pando to my home in Wuxi. It was her first trip to the eastern coast, my family received her with open arms, mutual past sufferings and love for the new society overcame the language barrier and my interpretation seemed superfluous. Over the years, Pando had missed her parents, and she immediately accept mine as her own. My parents gladly reciprocated, saying she had 'a heart of gold.' When Paudo said good-bye after a fortnight's visit, she was wearing a becoming quilted jacket of a style popular among girls in eastern China. It was my mother's present. That year, Pando went to study in the Central Institute of Nationalities. Together with young men and women from over forty national groups, she studied eagerly and was soon able to read novels and write me fascinating letters. We were married in 1963 and in time had three lovely children, a boy and two girls. Pando was sensitive to their needs and loved them with all her heart. While I was busy training the Tibetan mountaineering team, Pando did more housework. "So long as your working for a new Tibet, I won't stand in your way," she said. But we did have occasional tiffs. I tended to be strict to the children and thought Pando too indulgent to them. Sometimes I would even say that the most difficult thing in the world is to persuade a wife to change her mind. But to be fair, Pando was both reasonable and principled. She might seem headstrong or even obstinate at times, but once she saw a thing in its true light, she would act accordingly even when it meant revering herself. She is sympathetic but had a sharp ear for tinges of male chauvinism behind my argument. When our son was born, I said it was the mother's job to wash the napkins, this division of labout had been practised for generations. Pando strongly objected my idea and stood firm till I was brought round. The challenge came in 1975 when a mixed mountaineering team was to climb Qomolangma Mountain. This had been Pando's long cherished dream. This peak had challenged many explorers since the mid-19th century. The British surveyed the mountain from a distance and gave it a foreign name," Everest." But the Tibetan People, the master of the land, were called mountain savages, fit only to be coolies or porters. In the 1950s a successful ascent was made from the south slope, but the perilous climb up the north slope was never successful until 1960 when it was made by three Chinese men mountaineers. Now the expedition was open to women too. I encouraged Pando to join and did all I could by way of preparation, taking the children to Wuxi to be cared for by my brother and sister. However, I wasn't sure Pando would make it this time. She had borne three children and had put on weight. Her trainer looked doubtful too. besides, the weather on the north slope was more fickle, and there was the "insurmountable, deadly" Second Step at 8,700 metres, that last 300-metre climb which the world experienced mountaineers consider the most formidable of all. But Pando had made up her mind, and I knew she would stick it out to the end. In training, Pando could hardly keep up with the more agile girls and she began to get anxious. "Take it easy," I said, "just work off those extra pounds, and you'll catch up." She took my words to heart and stuck to the schedule careful planned by her trainer. After overcoming the agony of sore muscles, she was back in shape, sturdy and healthy. The expedition got under way. Pando first joined the supply team which needed help. She looked happy and contented playing the second fiddle, for she knew it is the concerted effort of each player in the orchestra that makes good music. She taught the young members all she knew about mountain climbing. The girls were doing fine. Seven reached 7,800 metres, three reached 8,200 metres and three got to 8,600 metres. During the expedition, I was assigned to take oxygen to 7,000 metres. On my return I saw Pando coming up with other members of the assault team. I had had stomach trouble and hadn't eaten much in the past few days. Pando was obviously worried about me; she took my hand. I turned my head upward and shot a quick glance at the peak. She understood and nodded. She remembered our parting words: "It's time we show our worth." At the base camp, I waited impatiently for news, good or bad. I knew what it was like to be at 8,000 metres and above. You felt as of you were on another planet. Your head ached as though about to burst, and you wanted to vomit. Water boiled at a temperature of 80 C or less, and to make a pot of congee took three hours. The wind blow at 100 metres per second at the peak. I thought of Pando's staying power and intelligence. I recalled how she rose to the occasion in mishaps, avalanches, oxygen shortage, lack of food, loss of comrades.... For a Communist, retreat means cowardice and betrayal. I remembered what she and her women comrades wrote as a pledge: "In the old days no matter how broad the earth, there was no room for us to put down our feet. Today we Chinese women will reach the highest peak in the world." It was a clear bright day for the final assault. Through the transit, I scanned the snowy peak and saw a number of black dots moving at an even pace. One two.... I counted nine. Pando was keeping up with her eight men comrades. People around me waited hour after hour. At 2:30 p.m., we heard their report of victory. We shouted for joy and, before I knew it, I was being thrown into the air. Hurrah! The long suspendse was well rewarded. The team worked for an hour and ten minutes without supporting oxygen in the 'zone of death,' where oxygen in the air is as little as one-fourth the amount at sea level. They erected a metal surveying tripod. This enabled the surveyors to establish the exact height of Qomolangma Mountain at 8,848.13 metres instead often 8,882 metres on Chinese maps. So far, world surveyors had reported eight different figures and failed to arrive at an accurate measurement because none had ever set up a surveying tripod on the summit. Pando had a radio-controlled electrocardiogram test monitored at the base. It was the first ever made at such an altitude. The results interested many physiologists and even those engaged in the study of aerobiology and space flight. Overjoyed at her return, I greeted Pando with a thumbs-up sign. She laughed and asked, "Weren't you worried?" "What a silly question," I retorted. I was worried, of course, but in a certain sense, I wasn't. Pando was not alone in the fight. Hundreds of people of eight Chinese nationality groups were behind her-scientists, supply team, medical personnel, the Party and the people. The only woman in the group of nine, she was being helped while she was helping others. If it was a feat for a mother of three to reach the summit, it was more of a feat for nine persons to reach the top as one. "What are you and Pando doing to promote China's four modernizations?" someone asked. I recalled what the late Vice-Premier He Long once said, "China has so many mountains, but we know little about them. Mountaineering will have no life if it does not link up with scientific exploration. You should draw up a verdict for each mountain." Nine out of the world's 14 mountains above 8,00 metres are in China or on Chinese borders. So far, we've scaled only two. to scale more of these peaks, my beloved Pando and I hope to be among the many who are ready to accept their challenge. More important, we're training Young mountaineers who will break our records. |
