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 Page 1


SILK ROAD 59
6  Silk Road
Nick Middleton
Notice these expressions in the text.
Infer their meaning from the context.
³ ducking back ³ swathe ³ careered down
³ manoeuvres ³ cairn of rocks ³ salt flats
³ billowed
A FLAWLESS half-moon floated in a perfect blue sky on the morning
we said our goodbyes. Extended banks of cloud like long French
loaves glowed pink as the sun emerged to splash the distant
mountain tops with a rose-tinted blush. Now that we were leaving
Ravu, Lhamo said she wanted to give me a farewell present.
One evening I’d told her through Daniel that I was heading towards
Mount Kailash to complete the kora, and she’d said that I ought
to get some warmer clothes. After ducking back into her tent,
she emerged carrying one of the long-sleeved sheepskin coats
that all the men wore. Tsetan sized me up as we clambered into
his car. “Ah, yes,” he declared, “drokba, sir.”
We took a short cut to get off the Changtang. Tsetan knew a
route that would take us south-west, almost directly towards
Mount Kailash. It involved crossing several fairly high mountain
passes, he said. “But no problem, sir”, he assured us, “if there
is no snow.” What was the likelihood of that I asked. “Not
knowing, sir, until we get there.”
From the gently rolling hills of Ravu, the short cut took us
across vast open plains with nothing in them except a few gazelles
2024-25
Page 2


SILK ROAD 59
6  Silk Road
Nick Middleton
Notice these expressions in the text.
Infer their meaning from the context.
³ ducking back ³ swathe ³ careered down
³ manoeuvres ³ cairn of rocks ³ salt flats
³ billowed
A FLAWLESS half-moon floated in a perfect blue sky on the morning
we said our goodbyes. Extended banks of cloud like long French
loaves glowed pink as the sun emerged to splash the distant
mountain tops with a rose-tinted blush. Now that we were leaving
Ravu, Lhamo said she wanted to give me a farewell present.
One evening I’d told her through Daniel that I was heading towards
Mount Kailash to complete the kora, and she’d said that I ought
to get some warmer clothes. After ducking back into her tent,
she emerged carrying one of the long-sleeved sheepskin coats
that all the men wore. Tsetan sized me up as we clambered into
his car. “Ah, yes,” he declared, “drokba, sir.”
We took a short cut to get off the Changtang. Tsetan knew a
route that would take us south-west, almost directly towards
Mount Kailash. It involved crossing several fairly high mountain
passes, he said. “But no problem, sir”, he assured us, “if there
is no snow.” What was the likelihood of that I asked. “Not
knowing, sir, until we get there.”
From the gently rolling hills of Ravu, the short cut took us
across vast open plains with nothing in them except a few gazelles
2024-25
60 HORNBILL
that would look up from nibbling the arid pastures and frown
before bounding away into the void. Further on, where the plains
became more stony than grassy, a great herd of wild ass came
into view. Tsetan told us we were approaching them long before
they appeared. “Kyang,” he said, pointing towards a far-off pall
of dust. When we drew near, I could see the herd galloping en
masse, wheeling and turning in tight formation as if they were
practising manoeuvres on some predetermined course. Plumes
of dust billowed into the crisp, clean air.
As hills started to push up once more from the rocky
wilderness, we passed solitary drokbas tending their flocks.
Sometimes men, sometimes women, these well-wrapped figures
would pause and stare at our car, occasionally waving as we
passed. When the track took us close to their animals, the sheep
would take evasive action, veering away from the speeding vehicle.
We passed nomads’ dark tents pitched in splendid isolation,
usually with a huge black dog, a Tibetan mastiff, standing guard.
These beasts would cock their great big heads when they became
aware of our approach and fix us in their sights. As we continued
to draw closer, they would explode into action, speeding directly
towards us, like a bullet from a gun and nearly as fast.
These shaggy monsters, blacker than the darkest night,
usually wore bright red collars and barked furiously with massive
jaws. They were completely fearless of our vehicle, shooting
straight into our path, causing Tsetan to brake and swerve. The
Sketch of Mount Kailash
2024-25
Page 3


SILK ROAD 59
6  Silk Road
Nick Middleton
Notice these expressions in the text.
Infer their meaning from the context.
³ ducking back ³ swathe ³ careered down
³ manoeuvres ³ cairn of rocks ³ salt flats
³ billowed
A FLAWLESS half-moon floated in a perfect blue sky on the morning
we said our goodbyes. Extended banks of cloud like long French
loaves glowed pink as the sun emerged to splash the distant
mountain tops with a rose-tinted blush. Now that we were leaving
Ravu, Lhamo said she wanted to give me a farewell present.
One evening I’d told her through Daniel that I was heading towards
Mount Kailash to complete the kora, and she’d said that I ought
to get some warmer clothes. After ducking back into her tent,
she emerged carrying one of the long-sleeved sheepskin coats
that all the men wore. Tsetan sized me up as we clambered into
his car. “Ah, yes,” he declared, “drokba, sir.”
We took a short cut to get off the Changtang. Tsetan knew a
route that would take us south-west, almost directly towards
Mount Kailash. It involved crossing several fairly high mountain
passes, he said. “But no problem, sir”, he assured us, “if there
is no snow.” What was the likelihood of that I asked. “Not
knowing, sir, until we get there.”
From the gently rolling hills of Ravu, the short cut took us
across vast open plains with nothing in them except a few gazelles
2024-25
60 HORNBILL
that would look up from nibbling the arid pastures and frown
before bounding away into the void. Further on, where the plains
became more stony than grassy, a great herd of wild ass came
into view. Tsetan told us we were approaching them long before
they appeared. “Kyang,” he said, pointing towards a far-off pall
of dust. When we drew near, I could see the herd galloping en
masse, wheeling and turning in tight formation as if they were
practising manoeuvres on some predetermined course. Plumes
of dust billowed into the crisp, clean air.
As hills started to push up once more from the rocky
wilderness, we passed solitary drokbas tending their flocks.
Sometimes men, sometimes women, these well-wrapped figures
would pause and stare at our car, occasionally waving as we
passed. When the track took us close to their animals, the sheep
would take evasive action, veering away from the speeding vehicle.
We passed nomads’ dark tents pitched in splendid isolation,
usually with a huge black dog, a Tibetan mastiff, standing guard.
These beasts would cock their great big heads when they became
aware of our approach and fix us in their sights. As we continued
to draw closer, they would explode into action, speeding directly
towards us, like a bullet from a gun and nearly as fast.
These shaggy monsters, blacker than the darkest night,
usually wore bright red collars and barked furiously with massive
jaws. They were completely fearless of our vehicle, shooting
straight into our path, causing Tsetan to brake and swerve. The
Sketch of Mount Kailash
2024-25
SILK ROAD 61
dog would make chase for a hundred metres or so before easing
off, having seen us off the property. It wasn’t difficult to
understand why ferocious Tibetan mastiffs became popular in
China’s imperial courts as hunting dogs, brought along the Silk
Road in ancient times as tribute from Tibet.
By now we could see snow-capped mountains gathering on
the horizon. We entered a valley where the river was wide and
mostly clogged with ice, brilliant white and glinting in the
sunshine. The trail hugged its bank, twisting with the meanders
as we gradually gained height and the valley sides closed in.
The turns became sharper and the ride bumpier, Tsetan
now in third gear as we continued to climb. The track moved
away from the icy river, labouring through steeper slopes that
sported big rocks daubed with patches of bright orange lichen.
Beneath the rocks, hunks of snow clung on in the near-
permanent shade. I felt the pressure building up in my ears,
held my nose, snorted and cleared them. We struggled round
another tight bend and Tsetan stopped. He had opened his
door and jumped out of his seat before I realised what was
going on. “Snow,” said Daniel as he too exited the vehicle, letting
in a breath of cold air as he did so.
A swathe of the white stuff lay across the track in front of
us, stretching for maybe fifteen metres before it petered out and
the dirt trail reappeared. The snow continued on either side of
us, smoothing the abrupt bank on the upslope side. The bank
was too steep for our vehicle to scale, so there was no way round
the snow patch. I joined Daniel as Tsetan stepped on to the
encrusted snow and began to slither and slide forward, stamping
his foot from time to time to ascertain how sturdy it was. I looked
at my wristwatch. We were at 5,210 metres above sea level.
The snow didn’t look too deep to me, but the danger wasn’t
its depth, Daniel said, so much as its icy top layer. “If we slip off,
the car could turn over,” he suggested, as we saw Tsetan grab
handfuls of dirt and fling them across the frozen surface. We
both pitched in and, when the snow was spread with soil, Daniel
and I stayed out of the vehicle to lighten Tsetan’s load. He backed
up and drove towards the dirty snow, eased the car on to its icy
surface and slowly drove its length without apparent difficulty.
Ten minutes later, we stopped at another blockage. “Not good,
sir,” Tsetan announced as he jumped out again to survey the
scene. This time he decided to try and drive round the snow.
2024-25
Page 4


SILK ROAD 59
6  Silk Road
Nick Middleton
Notice these expressions in the text.
Infer their meaning from the context.
³ ducking back ³ swathe ³ careered down
³ manoeuvres ³ cairn of rocks ³ salt flats
³ billowed
A FLAWLESS half-moon floated in a perfect blue sky on the morning
we said our goodbyes. Extended banks of cloud like long French
loaves glowed pink as the sun emerged to splash the distant
mountain tops with a rose-tinted blush. Now that we were leaving
Ravu, Lhamo said she wanted to give me a farewell present.
One evening I’d told her through Daniel that I was heading towards
Mount Kailash to complete the kora, and she’d said that I ought
to get some warmer clothes. After ducking back into her tent,
she emerged carrying one of the long-sleeved sheepskin coats
that all the men wore. Tsetan sized me up as we clambered into
his car. “Ah, yes,” he declared, “drokba, sir.”
We took a short cut to get off the Changtang. Tsetan knew a
route that would take us south-west, almost directly towards
Mount Kailash. It involved crossing several fairly high mountain
passes, he said. “But no problem, sir”, he assured us, “if there
is no snow.” What was the likelihood of that I asked. “Not
knowing, sir, until we get there.”
From the gently rolling hills of Ravu, the short cut took us
across vast open plains with nothing in them except a few gazelles
2024-25
60 HORNBILL
that would look up from nibbling the arid pastures and frown
before bounding away into the void. Further on, where the plains
became more stony than grassy, a great herd of wild ass came
into view. Tsetan told us we were approaching them long before
they appeared. “Kyang,” he said, pointing towards a far-off pall
of dust. When we drew near, I could see the herd galloping en
masse, wheeling and turning in tight formation as if they were
practising manoeuvres on some predetermined course. Plumes
of dust billowed into the crisp, clean air.
As hills started to push up once more from the rocky
wilderness, we passed solitary drokbas tending their flocks.
Sometimes men, sometimes women, these well-wrapped figures
would pause and stare at our car, occasionally waving as we
passed. When the track took us close to their animals, the sheep
would take evasive action, veering away from the speeding vehicle.
We passed nomads’ dark tents pitched in splendid isolation,
usually with a huge black dog, a Tibetan mastiff, standing guard.
These beasts would cock their great big heads when they became
aware of our approach and fix us in their sights. As we continued
to draw closer, they would explode into action, speeding directly
towards us, like a bullet from a gun and nearly as fast.
These shaggy monsters, blacker than the darkest night,
usually wore bright red collars and barked furiously with massive
jaws. They were completely fearless of our vehicle, shooting
straight into our path, causing Tsetan to brake and swerve. The
Sketch of Mount Kailash
2024-25
SILK ROAD 61
dog would make chase for a hundred metres or so before easing
off, having seen us off the property. It wasn’t difficult to
understand why ferocious Tibetan mastiffs became popular in
China’s imperial courts as hunting dogs, brought along the Silk
Road in ancient times as tribute from Tibet.
By now we could see snow-capped mountains gathering on
the horizon. We entered a valley where the river was wide and
mostly clogged with ice, brilliant white and glinting in the
sunshine. The trail hugged its bank, twisting with the meanders
as we gradually gained height and the valley sides closed in.
The turns became sharper and the ride bumpier, Tsetan
now in third gear as we continued to climb. The track moved
away from the icy river, labouring through steeper slopes that
sported big rocks daubed with patches of bright orange lichen.
Beneath the rocks, hunks of snow clung on in the near-
permanent shade. I felt the pressure building up in my ears,
held my nose, snorted and cleared them. We struggled round
another tight bend and Tsetan stopped. He had opened his
door and jumped out of his seat before I realised what was
going on. “Snow,” said Daniel as he too exited the vehicle, letting
in a breath of cold air as he did so.
A swathe of the white stuff lay across the track in front of
us, stretching for maybe fifteen metres before it petered out and
the dirt trail reappeared. The snow continued on either side of
us, smoothing the abrupt bank on the upslope side. The bank
was too steep for our vehicle to scale, so there was no way round
the snow patch. I joined Daniel as Tsetan stepped on to the
encrusted snow and began to slither and slide forward, stamping
his foot from time to time to ascertain how sturdy it was. I looked
at my wristwatch. We were at 5,210 metres above sea level.
The snow didn’t look too deep to me, but the danger wasn’t
its depth, Daniel said, so much as its icy top layer. “If we slip off,
the car could turn over,” he suggested, as we saw Tsetan grab
handfuls of dirt and fling them across the frozen surface. We
both pitched in and, when the snow was spread with soil, Daniel
and I stayed out of the vehicle to lighten Tsetan’s load. He backed
up and drove towards the dirty snow, eased the car on to its icy
surface and slowly drove its length without apparent difficulty.
Ten minutes later, we stopped at another blockage. “Not good,
sir,” Tsetan announced as he jumped out again to survey the
scene. This time he decided to try and drive round the snow.
2024-25
62 HORNBILL
The slope was steep and studded with major rocks, but somehow
Tsetan negotiated them, his four-wheel drive vehicle lurching
from one obstacle to the next. In so doing he cut off one of the
hairpin bends, regaining the trail further up where the snow
had not drifted.
I checked my watch again as we continued to climb in the
bright sunshine. We crept past 5,400 metres and my head began
to throb horribly. I took gulps from my water bottle, which is
supposed to help a rapid ascent.
We finally reached the top of the pass at 5,515 metres. It was
marked by a large cairn of rocks festooned with white silk scarves
and ragged prayer flags. We all took a turn round the cairn, in a
clockwise direction as is the tradition, and Tsetan checked the
tyres on his vehicle. He stopped at the petrol tank and partially
unscrewed the top, which emitted a loud hiss. The lower
atmospheric pressure was allowing the fuel to expand. It sounded
dangerous to me. “Maybe, sir,” Tsetan laughed “but no smoking.”
My headache soon cleared as we careered down the other
side of the pass. It was two o’clock by the time we stopped for
lunch. We ate hot noodles inside a long canvas tent, part of a
workcamp erected beside a dry salt lake. The plateau is
pockmarked with salt flats and brackish lakes, vestiges of the
Tethys Ocean which bordered Tibet before the great continental
collision that lifted it skyward. This one was a hive of activity,
men with pickaxes and shovels trudging back and forth in their
long sheepskin coats and salt-encrusted boots. All wore
sunglasses against the glare as a steady stream of blue trucks
emerged from the blindingly white lake laden with piles of salt.
By late afternoon we had reached the small town of Hor,
back on the main east-west highway that followed the old trade
route from Lhasa to Kashmir. Daniel, who was returning to
Lhasa, found a ride in a truck so Tsetan and I bade him farewell
outside a tyre-repair shop. We had suffered two punctures in
quick succession on the drive down from the salt lake and Tsetan
was eager to have them fixed since they left him with no spares.
Besides, the second tyre he’d changed had been replaced by
one that was as smooth as my bald head.
Hor was a grim, miserable place. There was no vegetation
whatsoever, just dust and rocks, liberally scattered with years
of accumulated refuse, which was unfortunate given that the
town sat on the shore of Lake Manasarovar, Tibet’s most
2024-25
Page 5


SILK ROAD 59
6  Silk Road
Nick Middleton
Notice these expressions in the text.
Infer their meaning from the context.
³ ducking back ³ swathe ³ careered down
³ manoeuvres ³ cairn of rocks ³ salt flats
³ billowed
A FLAWLESS half-moon floated in a perfect blue sky on the morning
we said our goodbyes. Extended banks of cloud like long French
loaves glowed pink as the sun emerged to splash the distant
mountain tops with a rose-tinted blush. Now that we were leaving
Ravu, Lhamo said she wanted to give me a farewell present.
One evening I’d told her through Daniel that I was heading towards
Mount Kailash to complete the kora, and she’d said that I ought
to get some warmer clothes. After ducking back into her tent,
she emerged carrying one of the long-sleeved sheepskin coats
that all the men wore. Tsetan sized me up as we clambered into
his car. “Ah, yes,” he declared, “drokba, sir.”
We took a short cut to get off the Changtang. Tsetan knew a
route that would take us south-west, almost directly towards
Mount Kailash. It involved crossing several fairly high mountain
passes, he said. “But no problem, sir”, he assured us, “if there
is no snow.” What was the likelihood of that I asked. “Not
knowing, sir, until we get there.”
From the gently rolling hills of Ravu, the short cut took us
across vast open plains with nothing in them except a few gazelles
2024-25
60 HORNBILL
that would look up from nibbling the arid pastures and frown
before bounding away into the void. Further on, where the plains
became more stony than grassy, a great herd of wild ass came
into view. Tsetan told us we were approaching them long before
they appeared. “Kyang,” he said, pointing towards a far-off pall
of dust. When we drew near, I could see the herd galloping en
masse, wheeling and turning in tight formation as if they were
practising manoeuvres on some predetermined course. Plumes
of dust billowed into the crisp, clean air.
As hills started to push up once more from the rocky
wilderness, we passed solitary drokbas tending their flocks.
Sometimes men, sometimes women, these well-wrapped figures
would pause and stare at our car, occasionally waving as we
passed. When the track took us close to their animals, the sheep
would take evasive action, veering away from the speeding vehicle.
We passed nomads’ dark tents pitched in splendid isolation,
usually with a huge black dog, a Tibetan mastiff, standing guard.
These beasts would cock their great big heads when they became
aware of our approach and fix us in their sights. As we continued
to draw closer, they would explode into action, speeding directly
towards us, like a bullet from a gun and nearly as fast.
These shaggy monsters, blacker than the darkest night,
usually wore bright red collars and barked furiously with massive
jaws. They were completely fearless of our vehicle, shooting
straight into our path, causing Tsetan to brake and swerve. The
Sketch of Mount Kailash
2024-25
SILK ROAD 61
dog would make chase for a hundred metres or so before easing
off, having seen us off the property. It wasn’t difficult to
understand why ferocious Tibetan mastiffs became popular in
China’s imperial courts as hunting dogs, brought along the Silk
Road in ancient times as tribute from Tibet.
By now we could see snow-capped mountains gathering on
the horizon. We entered a valley where the river was wide and
mostly clogged with ice, brilliant white and glinting in the
sunshine. The trail hugged its bank, twisting with the meanders
as we gradually gained height and the valley sides closed in.
The turns became sharper and the ride bumpier, Tsetan
now in third gear as we continued to climb. The track moved
away from the icy river, labouring through steeper slopes that
sported big rocks daubed with patches of bright orange lichen.
Beneath the rocks, hunks of snow clung on in the near-
permanent shade. I felt the pressure building up in my ears,
held my nose, snorted and cleared them. We struggled round
another tight bend and Tsetan stopped. He had opened his
door and jumped out of his seat before I realised what was
going on. “Snow,” said Daniel as he too exited the vehicle, letting
in a breath of cold air as he did so.
A swathe of the white stuff lay across the track in front of
us, stretching for maybe fifteen metres before it petered out and
the dirt trail reappeared. The snow continued on either side of
us, smoothing the abrupt bank on the upslope side. The bank
was too steep for our vehicle to scale, so there was no way round
the snow patch. I joined Daniel as Tsetan stepped on to the
encrusted snow and began to slither and slide forward, stamping
his foot from time to time to ascertain how sturdy it was. I looked
at my wristwatch. We were at 5,210 metres above sea level.
The snow didn’t look too deep to me, but the danger wasn’t
its depth, Daniel said, so much as its icy top layer. “If we slip off,
the car could turn over,” he suggested, as we saw Tsetan grab
handfuls of dirt and fling them across the frozen surface. We
both pitched in and, when the snow was spread with soil, Daniel
and I stayed out of the vehicle to lighten Tsetan’s load. He backed
up and drove towards the dirty snow, eased the car on to its icy
surface and slowly drove its length without apparent difficulty.
Ten minutes later, we stopped at another blockage. “Not good,
sir,” Tsetan announced as he jumped out again to survey the
scene. This time he decided to try and drive round the snow.
2024-25
62 HORNBILL
The slope was steep and studded with major rocks, but somehow
Tsetan negotiated them, his four-wheel drive vehicle lurching
from one obstacle to the next. In so doing he cut off one of the
hairpin bends, regaining the trail further up where the snow
had not drifted.
I checked my watch again as we continued to climb in the
bright sunshine. We crept past 5,400 metres and my head began
to throb horribly. I took gulps from my water bottle, which is
supposed to help a rapid ascent.
We finally reached the top of the pass at 5,515 metres. It was
marked by a large cairn of rocks festooned with white silk scarves
and ragged prayer flags. We all took a turn round the cairn, in a
clockwise direction as is the tradition, and Tsetan checked the
tyres on his vehicle. He stopped at the petrol tank and partially
unscrewed the top, which emitted a loud hiss. The lower
atmospheric pressure was allowing the fuel to expand. It sounded
dangerous to me. “Maybe, sir,” Tsetan laughed “but no smoking.”
My headache soon cleared as we careered down the other
side of the pass. It was two o’clock by the time we stopped for
lunch. We ate hot noodles inside a long canvas tent, part of a
workcamp erected beside a dry salt lake. The plateau is
pockmarked with salt flats and brackish lakes, vestiges of the
Tethys Ocean which bordered Tibet before the great continental
collision that lifted it skyward. This one was a hive of activity,
men with pickaxes and shovels trudging back and forth in their
long sheepskin coats and salt-encrusted boots. All wore
sunglasses against the glare as a steady stream of blue trucks
emerged from the blindingly white lake laden with piles of salt.
By late afternoon we had reached the small town of Hor,
back on the main east-west highway that followed the old trade
route from Lhasa to Kashmir. Daniel, who was returning to
Lhasa, found a ride in a truck so Tsetan and I bade him farewell
outside a tyre-repair shop. We had suffered two punctures in
quick succession on the drive down from the salt lake and Tsetan
was eager to have them fixed since they left him with no spares.
Besides, the second tyre he’d changed had been replaced by
one that was as smooth as my bald head.
Hor was a grim, miserable place. There was no vegetation
whatsoever, just dust and rocks, liberally scattered with years
of accumulated refuse, which was unfortunate given that the
town sat on the shore of Lake Manasarovar, Tibet’s most
2024-25
SILK ROAD 63
venerated stretch of water. Ancient Hindu and Buddhist
cosmology pinpoints Manasarovar as the source of four great
Indian rivers: the Indus, the Ganges, the Sutlej and the
Brahmaputra. Actually only the Sutlej flows from the lake, but
the headwaters of the others all rise nearby on the flanks of
Mount Kailash. We were within striking distance of the great
mountain and I was eager to forge ahead.
But I had to wait. Tsetan told me to go and drink some tea in
Hor’s only cafe which, like all the other buildings in town, was
constructed from badly painted concrete and had three broken
windows. The good view of the lake through one of them helped
to compensate for the draught.
I was served by a Chinese youth in military uniform who
spread the grease around on my table with a filthy rag before
bringing me a glass and a thermos of tea.
Half an hour later, Tsetan relieved me from my solitary
confinement and we drove past a lot more rocks and rubbish
westwards out of town towards Mount Kailash.
My experience in Hor came as a stark contrast to accounts
I’d read of earlier travellers’ first encounters with Lake
Manasarovar. Ekai Kawaguchi, a Japanese monk who had
arrived there in 1900, was so moved by the sanctity of the lake
that he burst into tears. A couple of years later, the hallowed
waters had a similar effect on Sven Hedin, a Swede who wasn’t
prone to sentimental outbursts.
It was dark by the time we finally left again and after
10.30 p.m. we drew up outside a guest house in Darchen for
what turned out to be another troubled night. Kicking around
in the open-air rubbish dump that passed for the town of Hor
had set off my cold once more, though if truth be told it had
never quite disappeared with my herbal tea. One of my nostrils
was blocked again and as I lay down to sleep, I wasn’t convinced
that the other would provide me with sufficient oxygen. My
watch told me I was at 4,760 metres. It wasn’t much higher
than Ravu, and there I’d been gasping for oxygen several times
every night. I’d grown accustomed to these nocturnal
disturbances by now, but they still scared me.
Tired and hungry, I started breathing through my mouth.
After a while, I switched to single-nostril power which seemed
to be admitting enough oxygen but, just as I was drifting off,
I woke up abruptly. Something was wrong. My chest felt
2024-25