DOWN below, way down below were the mirror waters of Lulusar reflecting those clouds that had discharged a heavy downpour this morning, almost jeopardizing our first day’s trek. The three pack-horses lead by their keepers trotted laden with the expedition’s luggage in front of us and we trotted the tiny patch, way above the waters of Lulusar.
We retraced our footsteps and were in Basil again which looked like a fairytale mountain-abode, what with the lush green slopes ornamented by the white gold snows and horses grazing straight out of Taimurnama.
We had a hurried cup of tea at the picturesque Basil Hotel and then left the beaten track and forayed into the mountains on our left side. Immediately a mountain torrent fuming and foaming blocked our progress. But thank goodness, there was a help-yourself-pulley i.e., jhula available on which we perched one by one and were pulled across by porters and Bashir.
The valley in which we entered was narrow with an icy stream gushing down to Basil. At one point we had to cross it with our boots on so that we may not hurt our feet with the sharp stones, with the result that for the rest of the day we trudged along with wet boots and dripping socks.
After a while the first glacier came into view which was not much of a glacier for us hardened sinners who had traversed the longest glacier chain in the world i.e., Biafo and Hesper. However, our new recruits, Zahid Butt and Qaiser were frightened beyond redemption. Now, here I have to make a confession. Whenever any of our friends or acquaintances showed the slightest interest in trekking, we assured them that the thing is a piece of cake, keeping them in dark about the perils of the journey. We enticed them by narrating the fairytales of unknown lakes and valleys, the magical vistas reached by merely strolling and whistling.
Needless to say that when the enchanted souls accompanied us starry eyed, these twinkling stars were suddenly extinguished by the very first sight of razor edged path clinging to a mountain or a glacier.
“Tarar Sahib, ye aap hamen kahan le aae ho? Sirji, if we slip while crossing this slippery glacier what would happen?”
“You won’t slip.”
“But what if we do?”
“In that case you will be in the river down below.”
“But we can’t swim Tarar Sahib.”
“You wont have to, by the time you hit the waters you will most probably be dead.”
“We abandon the expedition sir, we are going back to Basil.”
“You are not doing anything of the sorts,” I would grin mischievously and then assure them that crossing this small glacier is really a piece of cake, although I would personally hold onto Bashir and some porters while crossing it, just an unnecessary precaution.
After crossing this glacier we rose to a height, which afforded a vast panorama of slopes rising and dipping and again rising. It was very tough going and soon we were panting, coughing and at times slipping. Now everybody was cursing me including, the old sinners.
“Tarar Sahib you told us that this year we are not going on a tough track. It’s merely a stroll in the green meadows.”
“Bashir, Oi Bashir”, Salman was totally worn out with fatigue and could not carry his heavy body anymore.
“Do you think we will reach Dudiput by this evening?”
“Nahin Sahib, not with this progress, we will camp as soon as we cross the last slope and descend into a valley in a place called DUKK.
“You mean a btakh Bashir. There will be ducks around, maybe a Donald Duck?”
Salman was totally abstract.
“No sir, this dukk means a block, where a mountain river is blocked by a wall of stones, a small dam.”
The dam dukk was an illusive duck and it took us another back-breaking three hours to reach it. The narrow valley suddenly blossomed in front of us and on the far horizon loomed some snow covered mountains under which we were told lay the shy waters of Dudiput Lake. But not tonight Josphene, wait till tomorrow.
The recruits upon entering Dukk were overjoyed and completely stunned, and when I told them that Dukk is not much to write home about they could not understand my apathy. Well I was some sort of debauch of the mountains and could not be excited by a simple place like Dukk. Granted it was a green meadow by the river and the view from here had a certain charm, but it was ordinary compared with the places I had camped in the past or even last night by the Lulusar. However, I could understand their excitement as it was their first camping sight ever at the end of a track.
The next morning when we had had our breakfast, that included limp parathas and sizzling desi eggs, we left Dukk and were almost immediately plunged into a valley of coloured miracles. All around us the slopes were engulfed in misty clouds. They were not littered with flowers but were made of pink flowers. There was no end to it. Mountains upon mountains were completely covered with these carpets of pink. Down below in a plain, quietly flowed a mercury stream on the banks of which grazed literally hundreds of horses. As we looked at them, these composed, and from this distance, still animals, all of a sudden panicked, due to some unknown reason and started galloping wildly. Amongst the chestnut brown horses I spotted a pure white stallion that stood out from rest of them as he was the sole galloper in this magical valley of pink flowers. He was straight out of a Saeed Akhtar or M.F. Hussein’s painting.
Even the grumbling recruits forgave me upon entering into this magic moment and Mian Farzand exclaimed “Wah Ji Wah, Subhanallah.”
Many years ago, I saw a musical South Pacific in which the famed Italian actor Rossano Brazi sang Some Enchanting Evening. I assure my readers that this was some enchanting valley in which only the fortunate ones could enter. Then the white clouds over our heads became restless, and down came the rain, icy and sharp, and out came our lunda bazaar second-hand raincoats of various colours as they most probably belonged to some European ladies long dead and gone.
Soon the rain transformed into a minor hailstorm. The tiny snow balls in hundreds jumped in front of us like white frogs and soon enough we were treading on a carpet of snow. At that moment we were passing through a field of tiny white flowers and these tiny snowballs in thousands were falling in it and jumping like mad. This indeed was a mesmerizing sight, it seemed as though it were not the snowballs but tiny white flowers leaving their stalks and jumping in the air madly.
And then there was Dudiput Lake.
Dudiput a place of Doodh i.e., milk, because of its vast grazing meadows where the animals had their fill and gave plenty of milk.
DOWN below, way down below were the mirror waters of Lulusar reflecting those clouds that had discharged a heavy downpour this morning, almost jeopardizing our first day’s trek. The three pack-horses lead by their keepers trotted laden with the expedition’s luggage in front of us and we trotted the tiny patch, way above the waters of Lulusar.
