I haven’t the foggiest whether you believed in fairies when you were a kid, but I admit I did. In those days of innocence Koh Kaf was a reality and there lived all sorts of fairies who frequently descended into our dreams, along with Madhobala and Eva Gardener. The next morning we avoided the eyes of our parents lest they find out what we had been up to in our dreams.
These fairies were of different varieties, shapes and colours, my favourite was the Sabz Pari who had the tendency of falling in love with anybody who crossed her path and this proved that I had a chance.
This fairy fantasy started with the bedtime stories of my grandmother who had a bag full of such tales. But then I grew up. I mean I attained the ripe old age of ten years and became self sufficient in fairy tales because I had learned to read and write. Now I was a very frequent visitor to the footpaths of Circular Road where I stood fascinated in the midday sun of Lahore’s fierce summer browsing through the vast array of children’s novels displayed on the road side.
These paperback novels had fascinating titles such as Koh Kaf Ki Malika,Kana Gin Aur Masoom Pari, Sabz Pari Ka Intiqam, Parion Ka Jazeera etc.
The cover jackets in gaudy colours depicted the dreamy fairies and the villainous Djins. Although the price of ten annas was beyond my pocket for a novel of two hundred pages. But I could manage to fleece my mother, besieging her that Master Din Mohammad would eat me alive if I did not buy a particular school book till tomorrow. I procured the desired fairy novel instead of school book and retired immediately to Lawrence Garden, spending the whole afternoon under the Banyan tree near the mazar of Saint Turt Murad transporting myself to Koh Kaf and submerging myself in the breathless beauty of Sabz Pari.
I must have read hundreds of these novels in those days. Then I really grew up and came out of trance of fairies because I realized that the fairies were not only residing on Koh Kaf only, they were walking pretty all around me in the city of Lahore, although slightly out of my reach. Times passed and with the passage of time the fairies dimmed and in place of fairy dreams came the nightmares of reality; family and making both ends meet. But the fairies did not admit defeat, confronting these obstacles and reappeared almost eighteen years ago in a passenger wagon which was taking us from Baltistan’s capital, Skaardu to the then comparatively unknown valley of Khaplu on the banks of river Shayuk.
My companions included Mati, Nizami and a British vagabond Chris who claimed to be a poet also.
In the Khaplu bound wagon an old Balti lady had a fairy problem.
The clerk of Skaardu town committee told us that the old lady’s youngest son had fallen in love with a local fairy and wanted to marry her but she had some reservations about this arrangement. We thought they were just trying to amuse us but when we laughed it off they were rather upset.
“It is a serious problem sir,” the committee clerk frowned. “It happens all the time, you should know that Baltistan is called the Land of Salty Tea and Fairies.”
“Well, what is the problem then,” Nizami smiled. “Let the boy marry a fairy and enjoy himself, I personally would not refrain if I had the chance.”
“Well sir, the problem is that the fairies do not attend to their household chores and would not go to the forest to collect wood for the winter evenings, they just produce children.”
“That is fairy enough” Chris commented.
“How can one meet a fairy?” Mati adjusted his thick glasses, his beady eyes shining with excitement.
The committee clerk elaborated the process, “Sir first of all you have to dress nicely after taking a bath, then you should perfume yourself profusely, wait till the midnight hour and then head for the highest spot near your village.”
Now the frequently married Nizami got really interested. “Tell me, cant the fairy come before midnight?”
“No sir, it must be very dark.”
“That is risky, if it is very dark how do you know that it is a fairy in front of you and not a witch?”
“Nizami if you are there do you think a fairy would be foolish enough to appear, most likely a witch you will confront, clerk sahib please carry on with the fairy business and do not pay heed to Nazami’s comments.”
“Well sir, now you must wait, at times you wait there till the morning comes and the fairy does not appear which means that may be she does not like you or your perfume.”
“Nizami you are out of fairy contest because you smell any way,” Mati giggled.
“Look Mati, you know how many times I have married and that includes an English lady? What do you know about women, they fall head over heels over me, let a fairy come and take one look at me and her wings would start burning with passion.”
I admonished both of them and told them to be quiet requesting the committee clerk to continue with the fairy tale. “And sir if you are lucky, first of all you will smell a very light scent wafting in the breeze, after that a strong wind will blow and then the fairy would appear, if she falls in love with you then you have to marry her otherwise she will ruin you.”
Every body, other than the local passengers, was very skeptical. “Have you ever seen a fairy yourself?”
“No, but in our village there are certain people whose wives are fairies. Other people cant see them, however, their children can be seen and they are very pretty, If you doubt my statement you can pay a visit to my village near Khaplu and I will show you the children of fairies.”
“Yes he speaks the truth,” the old woman nodded. “We have children of fairies in our village.” Even a Maulvi Sahib who was travelling with us endorsed their statement. That evening while the Sahyuk River was bathed in moonlight and we sat beside its waters in a very chilly night we were not too sure whether the committee clerk was far wrong, may be the fairies did exist and we were simply unaware of the fact.
I haven’t the foggiest whether you believed in fairies when you were a kid, but I admit I did. In those days of innocence Koh Kaf was a reality and there lived all sorts of fairies who frequently descended into our dreams, along with Madhobala and Eva Gardener. The next morning we avoided the eyes of our parents lest they find out what we had been up to in our dreams.
