AS I looked back to preserve the serene image of Siral, my awestruck eyes captured it for those rainy days in the future when once again I will be chained in my day-to-day prosaic and dull schedule, and these days will become distant dreams. I missed my friend Grucho the marmot.
Ahead of us towered another formidable pass which according to Bashir the Buddha was Noori Nar Pass, reaching the top of which did not present any unsurpassable problems. An entire range of strange mountains appeared before us and down below were the glaciers and small glacial lakes, beyond which we could see the winding ribbon of a new Kuccha road linking Sharda with Jalkhad.
It was almost evening when we came down to Nuri Nar Nullah, crossed it and then again climbed up to the road above. Beside the road was a welcome shack, locally branded as a hotel where we rested for a while. In the meantime, a fully loaded passenger wagon halted in front of us. Salman, who according to him was not feeling too well and had had enough of lakes and passes, was packed in it and dispatched back to Naran.
Naturally his departure saddened us, out of six original team members only three remained. In the meantime a military convoy halted in front of the hotel, out hopped a dashing major and sat right in front of me ordering tea for himself and rest of the crew. He looked at me absent mindedly and then suddenly his expression changed, “You cant be Tarar Sahib?”
“I am afraid I am”
“What the —, what are you doing in this godforsaken place?”
“I have not the foggiest idea myself.”
“Isn’t it strange that only this morning you were the topic of discussion in our mess and a young officer of mine declared that this Tarar fellow just makes up all those travel tales and in fact never steps out of his study.”
“Well, it seems that Pakistan Army is very well informed,” I laughed heartily, as this accusation was nothing new to me.
In the meantime the dashing major went up to his truck and when he returned a young officer was accompanying him almost wrecking himself to walk erect in the company of a senior officer who ordered him to sit and have cup of tea.
“Well young man, what were you declaring this morning in the mess about this Tarar fellow?”
The young man could not fathom as to why here in the middle of nowhere his senior officer ad brought up this subject but an order was an order so with a respectful cough he obeyed.
“Sir, I feel that he has not been to all those places he claims he has been.”
“Well why don’t you look very closely and find out who this shabby looking fellow is, sitting right in front of you.”
The young officer looked as closely as he could almost touching his nose to mine and then went in to a state of shock, stood up, did not know whether to slap me or salute me for being there. He then shook hands with me.
“Sorry sir, I did not mean it”
“Please do sit down young man, it happens all the time. I don’t blame you; at times I do get carried away from facts and wonder into fantasies”
High above the Jalkhad road we camped near a stream and Bashir was right; this was our first lake-less night. No-more the golden waters of Lulusar, Dudpiut or Siral.
While Hafiz Anwar prepared the evening meal underneath a rock shelter, a very stern looking character adorning a non discreet uniform appeared from nowhere.
“Who are you people? Are you after the medicinal plants or butterflies?”
“Kindly introduce yourself.” I requested.
“I am a forest guard,” he said.
“But there are no forests around here, there isn’t a single tree as far as we can see.” “Even then I am the forest guard.”
I offered him a cup of tea along with some biscuits and immediately he became a very humble and friendly person, “Sir, you are right there are no forests around here but if we have a forest officer here then there should be forest guard to look after him, the big sahib is expected tonight and I will look after him.”
“What about these medicinal plants and butterflies you were talking about?”
“Well sir I have been told that there are some very rare medicinal plants in this area and my job is to protect them.”
“Can you point out any plants around here?”
“No sir, I have no idea but I protect them all the same”
So this gentleman was guarding forest, which did not exist and protecting rare plants, which he did not recognize.
“What about the butterflies?”
“Well sir, they are there. On top of that mountain across the Jalkhad road and there is a team of foreigners residing there to collect these butterflies and I protect them also.”
“Butterflies?”
“No sir, the gora loog. You know these days lot of Jihad is going on and some bad people come from over the mountain and try to kill the gora loog, so I protect them. The gora loog are also mad people, collecting butterflies for last one month.”
Soon enough, this dutiful forest guard soon departed to guard the forest and to protect a bunch of mad goras.
The night was uneventful except for those two dogs that kept on howling from a nearby Gujjar encampment, disliking our presence in their domain.
Next morning, although I knew exactly where we were heading I asked Bashir to satisfy his guide instinct as to where do we go from here.
“Across the Dawarian pass into Ratti Gali area and your lakes will be there.”
The dream lakes, which I saw in the early days of youth, which had haunted me throughout my life, do they really exist or it, was just a fantasy?
AS I looked back to preserve the serene image of Siral, my awestruck eyes captured it for those rainy days in the future when once again I will be chained in my day-to-day prosaic and dull schedule, and these days will become distant dreams. I missed my friend Grucho the marmot.
