A worthless bunch stand on a nearby hillside snapping photos on their cell phones. A local politician comes for a quick photo op and is off, as suddenly as he arrived. Choglamsar, asking for volunteers, announcing that vehicles will be transporting volunteers to the area. Choglamsar to help. We ask half-a-dozen cars, jeeps, taxis for a ride. Nobody will take us there. Finally, a military truck lets us onboard. He stops the truck. Warns us that it is late and would soon be dark. We hop out and walk back to the city, dejected, depressed. More rain is expected this evening. Villagers are taking shelter on the second floor of the local mosque. Many have headed to the hills in search of higher ground. After dinner, i head home to my guesthouse, dusty, distressed, dog-tired. A young niece of the woman behind the check-in counter is being treated for injuries from the storm. Choglamsar village. Ladakhi travel agent i had come to know well over the previous week. He was crouched on a sidewalk in the main bazaar, taking deep pulls on a cigarette as rains again poured down. His niece was still missing. A friend and i met in the center of town and walked to the nearest taxi stand, hoping to find a ride to the village. A young cabbie finally agreed to take us halfway, and he demanded a steep fare as we stepped out onto the remnants of the main road to the village.