The aura of the Indus has attracted not only nature’s beauty, but also the attention of some who pan the river for its hidden gold
“IT is an unsolved mystery; no one knows how gold came from these heights, no one could scale these heights except by the crane.”
There are many myths among the gold pickers of the Indus. They believe that the crane discovered gold, which is hidden in the neck and claws of this lucky bird. When the crane walks, gold oozes from its feet and mixes with the water. When the bird died, its concealed gold mixed with the waves.
Some also say that the gold is hidden in the depths of the Indus, about twenty to thirty feet. When the river flows it slowly comes to the upper layer. And those gold pickers who get hold of it are called karigars and they belong to Gilgit, Hunza, Chitral and Skardu.
Indus is called The Lion River. It begins in Tibet, gushing out from a small spring called Mouth of the Lion. Merging in its glacier fed streams and several rivers, moves like a furious dragon through the greatest mountain ranges, the Karakoram and the Himalayas. Indus is referred to as The Eastern River, Abasin and Sindhu.
Writes Jean Fairly in his book, The Lion River, “On the high plateau of western Tibet lies a holy lake Manasarowar. This the Tibetans believe, is the source of the Indus. It is also the source of other three great rivers of northern India. The four rivers are pictured as running out of it to the four points of compass through the mouth of sacred animals: The Brahmaputra flows eastward from the mouth of the Horse; The Karnali (a major tributary of the Ganges) south from the Peacock’s mouth; the Sutlej west from the Elephant’s mouth; and the Indus north from the Singi-Kabab, the Lion’s mouth”.
Near the Indus, I was interested in the lives of people who lived near roaring waters. The Shyok, Shigar, Astor and Gilgat rivers merging into the Indus and we travelled with them, under the shade of Hindu Kush and Nanga Parbat. Clouds touched the icy peak of mountains and floated with elation; on an apricot tree a scarlet bird flapped its wings. A van zoomed, I caught glimpse of a Hunza bride. Like her unique dress, her eyes shown hidden, shy colours of dreams. A marriage song echoed. A crimson joy flickered. Curious eyes of women peeped behind the windows. We were coming back from the Baltit Fort and steeping down. Three girls were walking with me.
“Do you know about tonight’s festival?” I inquired
“Yes” replied one girl and explained, “we have a seeding festival followed by harvesting called Ginani.” The reason for the festival, she told is that in the past there was scarcity of grain but nowadays they thanked God for its abundance. The people of Hunza, with good health and long life are famous in the world. They don’t have insecurity, a sense of deprivation and complexes, inspite of leading a very hard life. They inhale fragrant air with anticipation to cherish the bounties of nature.
In Hunza de Cafe, we sustained ourselves with hot coffee and delicious walnut cake. I also saw there for the first time dried apples. Inside in the shade of faded lights the happy youth seemed full of life. Their faces reflected eternal peace. Lips like a lilac offered a blissful smile. Eyes like tumultuous river, eager to merge inside everything. I cannot forget that night at Hunza.
We stayed at a hotel, owned by the Mir’s of Hunza. The lounge was artistically decorated with antiques. We met the Queen of Hunza who talked about women’s right and I felt the same conviction existed in Hunza’s educated girls. From the roof of the hotel, I viewed the scene of the whole valley. In the night it gleamed with small bulbs like the Milky Way. The glaring Baltit Fort in searchlights seemed talismanic, as if fairies were holding magic lamps, floating on the clouds. You need a single miraculous moment to refresh your overburdened soul. This was mine.
Next day we started our journey to Skardu, the long route was hazardous with land slides. We waited several times at various places. On the way, near Patan Village, we stayed for eight hours, in the company of black scorpions. Finally, we reached Skardu.
Never ending rows of Raka Poshi, Nanga Parbat and Hindu Kush offered a spectacular scenic beauty. Especially, Raka Poshi looks like a damsel lying with slumberous eyes, clouds of silver covering her half face. In the company of the mighty mountains, in that serene ceaseless silence, hidden jiffy flutter for new discovery. It is said that Alexander the Great, who named it Iskanderia, founded Skardu. Later in time, Mongols from central Asia and Aryans from the side of Gilgit, migrated to Skardu and settled there. There are various folk songs in shina language, which reveals the inner-voice of common people.
There are many rivers in Baltistan: Satpara, Kachora, Kharfaq, Bara, Ghangehe and Daliole. But it are the Satpara and Kachura that have always attracted tourists for their extreme scenic beauty and trout fishing. Kachora’s apples and delicious melons are well-known. At Satpara, the road was under construction therefore we had to risk another route. The jeep was shaky and seemed about to fell apart when, after a thirty minute adventurous ride, we reached Satpara Lake. It was heaven on earth and made the risky journey worth the risk.
Our next destination was Khaplu. En route, we met children holding peaches and apricots in their hands some which, the fruits, we had. From the hotel where we stayed, one could capture the fantastic view of the whole valley, Shyok River and the Karakoram. Under the cool shades of various fruit laden trees, the fragrant breeze tickled the soul. A fresh spring of water flowed and the pebbles within gleamed. Women tying back a basket were busy in collecting the fruits. They laughed spontaneously, a blessing of ignorance. When we entered the Mosque of Chakchen, I saw a gracious lady, about seventy-years old, sitting in the corner, reciting verses. I gazed at her face, her deep wrinkles revealed a hard struggle, unrevealed grieves and the reflection of bygone days. An eternal peace about her gestures as she reached near the absolute reality that every thing would merge one day into the light of eternity. She used to clean the mosque.
Baltistan is also famous for its vast glaciers such as: Masherbrum Baltoro, Biafo, Hispar, Slacken, Rimo, and Godwin Austen glaciers. Godwin is situated in the north of Baltore in the eastern Karakorm, leading to the world’s second highest peak K-2, in the north. Near Marol the mighty Indus enters Baltistan. At the Raja’s palace Khaplu, a Balti girl Kaneeze Fatima was our guide. In the ancient, dark, dense and mysterious atmosphere, climbing up the stairs, we reached the top. The wooden work was superb. It reminded one of Baltit fort that was renovated and displayed artistically. This grandeur palace required similar restoration.
From the top, we caught glimpses of glaciers. The whole valley shimmered like an emerald. Suddenly, in a smoke concealed air I saw horses, the trumpets sounded and embroidered dresses stirred. A cloud sprayed silver drops and that cold shower brought me back to the reality. Extreme beauty always saddens.
Kaneez Fatima is a teacher. She told us that nearly five hundred girls are studying in school. The small girls that we met were full of hope and confidence. Throughout our journey, I felt that the women of the north were strong, confident and passionate for education, especially in Hunza and Gilgit
In the evening, when the sun disappeared into Kharfaq Lake and lit up the orange light on sky, we returned back to Skardu. On the way back, as we crossed the Indus, I wanted to go down and sit by the bank. River Shigar joins Indus at Skardu.
When we went down, across the huge stones, I saw an old and patched tent. With tattered rug, few clothes, stove and cups were there. A man, in miserable plight was standing with three children. He was Syed Rasool from Hazara District. He was a Karigar: gold picker. In his meagre voice he told us that three years back, his wife and six-month baby drowned in the Indus. In the Indus’ restless waves, a life giving and taking force. A lethargic, gloomy and unfinished second crept in our souls. I saw, on the sand the man’s two daughters make a small house. An unaccomplished dream in their lives.
When we set in the van and it moved, in the dusk of evening, a lantern lit up in that tent. It seemed mysterious. His two daughters followed me from behind the stones. On the straight road my heart bowed in reverence for the people leading the hard life under the mighty shade of these mountains; with undefeated eyes.
The aura of the Indus has attracted not only nature’s beauty, but also the attention of some who pan the river for its hidden gold 
