June 27, 2004

Away from the troubles of the Capital, a teacher discovers a world of peace and tranquillity

Being a school teacher, it was a truly and exciting prospect for me. I along with five other lades and two gentlemen were going to Chitral for a five day vacation, and that too by road. We were going to attend the Spring Festival in Kalash Valley.

Chitral is tucked deep inside the folds of Hindukush. It’s probably one of the last places on Earth where an ancient civilization lives and breathes according to its own rules and norms today. These are the Kalash and since some of their villages have converted to Islam, calling them and their region ‘Kafiristan’ is no longer true.

Islamabad was still asleep at 5.30am, as we slid off on the 13th of May, 2004. We were at Dir for lunch, having driven through Swat Valley along the gushing river and charming landscape. At Dir we boarded three jeeps and the ride after that was bumpy on the dirt roads, going onto the Lowari Pass which takes you to a height of 10,500 feet above sea level. Once we were through our two hour journey, going up, we spent another two hours navigating 47 bends, climbing down the other side. The scenery was full of snow-clad mountains at the top and dense green forests. No wonder this is one of the most beautiful Passes in Pakistan. And all along, the Chitral River was in sight. This is the river that winds it’s way into neighbouring Afghanistan, and comes back into Pakistan as Kabul River.

By dusk, we were at Drosh, and it was pitch dark by the time we reached Chitral at 9pm. We checked in, had dinner and dropped dead.

The visit to the three-hundred year old stone fort was a few minutes walk from our inn. The newer part had been built in 1895 and had been taken over by the British in 1918. And though the Chitral royal family does not enjoy any official status, locally they are regarded as the rulers. Their history is filled with intrigue, melodrama, murders, romance, and is as fascinating as any story of kings.

One ruler had eleven wives (four legal and the rest not-so-legal)! The legal ones were named “something-ul-Mulk” — that being the family name. You see their forts all along the road to Chitral. Strong and solid forts located in some scenic spot, on a rock next to the gushing river. Sometimes deep down in a valley, sometimes perched high on a rock.

This Fort has a stunning view of the river and valley down below. And the sight of the famous snow-clad Tirich Mir peak dominates every scene. This is the first peak that gets illuminated by the rising sun turning it’s snow to gold. Next to the river bed you have the 300 feet high maple trees. One of them, with four trunks, is in the older part of the fort. The main hall of the fort is a long room lined with columns all round forming a twelve foot corridor. One can visualize a darbar or royal audience taking place here. Here, local dignitaries as well as foreign visitors would get an opportunity to meet the king or princes. The room is beautifully decorated on a white background with gold painted stucco work, mirrors and stain glass windows. There are beautiful handmade woollen carpets of every size. The entire effect being harmonious, grand and very pleasing.

By the way, this fort is not open to Pakistani public and only those visitors staying in the Pamir Hotel can visit it. You can only see it from inside, by special permission and arrangement. We saw paintings and photographs of dignitaries hanging all round on the walls, including one photograph of Quaid-e-Azam. A proud display of swords and weapons adorns the walls as well. On the way out we saw a part of the dungeons — for anyone who misbehaves!

A walk through the charming old Chitral bazaar, with a river going though it, is a novel experience. Small shops with carpets, rugs, antique decoration pieces, and specially, the Kalash head gear that the ladies wear.

Our next destination was the polo ground next to the museum (which closes at 5 in the evening). The locals were waiting in the Chinar shade for the game to start. We all hung around too. Feeling comfortable and at ease, there was no staring here, no rudeness or misbehaviour. The locals could see a bunch of foreigners, the ladies with doputtas, in jeans and tops, but they made you feel comfortable and welcome. I wish the rest of our Pakistani public could come and see how to behave with foreigners from these Chitralis. We merged with the crowd. I noticed, there were 12 players (as opposed to eight) and the game was between the police and locals. There was no differentiation between the team dresses except more red in the police teams’ clothes. And there was a lot of cheering and drum beating for both teams. The atmosphere was friendly and very pleasant. And the match was an exciting one. I fail to remember who won!

Early next morning, we were ready for Ayun, the place where we were to spend our next two nights and see one Kalash valley! In Ayun we logged up at the Fort hotel that is located on a plateau and surrounded by gushing rivers and streams, orchards and farms.

And then we went on to Kalash valley of Rambur. The drive was thrilling and dangerous. However, the relaxed drivers were competent. At times I would dare to look down the valley and would not be able to see the edge of the road. Scary yes, and yet the sunshine, the views, the exotic spaces, heights and depths gave one an ecstatic feeling. The first sight of a lady dressed in black with traditional head gear and colourful beads piled up on the necks is enchanting. You finally realize you are there! Yes, they are beautiful and most of them have light eyes and fair complexions. The men are in shalwar and kameez and the women wear traditional dresses. Even the babies and young girls are all dressed like this. We parked the jeeps in a clearing and walk along tiny streams. We saw a water mill for grinding wheat, a common sight in the entire valley. Here we also see metal covered round containers placed in the middle of the streams — these have cheese in them and are kept chilled in the streams. Most houses have one to two feet long floral branches stuck in crevices of front wall. This is part of the spring festival.

In the distance near a hill top, next to the temple, we can hear the beat of drums and see people collecting there. The festival is on! We trudge along to the top of the hill, in a path passing between the houses. We even peep into the houses and see people preparing to go to the festival. We saw two girls combing hair, others were carrying babies and going to the festival. We finally, reach the site of the festival. The dancing and merrymaking had begun.

Groups of girls, women, or young men, holding onto each other’s shoulders moving to the hypnotic beat and rhythm of music. Sometimes a high fast pitch, sometimes a low maudlin, depressing tone. The rhythm changing every few minutes, in a subtle way. Some sat along the sides and watched, others, men, women and children participated. I see some elder-ladies dancing alone in a trance. All are wearing tennis shoes or joggers. And amongst this crowd, I saw a lady wearing specs and dancing alone. A look of peace and ecstasy is on her face. She is Akiko Wada, a Japanese who decided to live here forever, when she visited this place thirteen years ago. She even wrote a book about her experiences. Later when we met, she remarked “Pakistanis don’t read ...”

I asked her what tourists need to know and she said. “People who come here, must treat the locals with respect and dignity. And not like some strange species. These are wonderful friendly people here, with feelings just like ours. And they deserve our concern and care. We must ask permission before entering a home, or taking photographs. Even by gestures or action, so that we do not offend their feelings. They are pure people and honest, and must be treated well by tourists.”

On the 16th we went to the largest Kalash valley — Bumboret. Here we saw the final day of the Spring Festival. All the persons from the three valleys were here in all their fine glory. We saw a few elderly men in bright golden coloured gowns dancing in the middle, next to the drummers. These were the respected ones, who make predictions about the coming year. And some are those who have had a tragedy in their lives recently, like a death of a dear one, and on this day, they are asked to wear these gowns and join in with the festivities and return to their normal lives.

There were many familiar faces of women we had seen yesterday in Rambur. They, too had come here along with others from all valleys. They danced, and a lot of chatting among of men and women was also seen. However, they danced separately, men with men, and women with women. When they met, a girl would kiss the hand of a man and then his cheek three times alternately. All done in such a natural way, they did not find anything odd about it. There were many tourists present here, along with the Minister for Minorities and Greeks, Japanese and other European tourists. Some were in local dresses also, joining in with the dancers who welcomed them.

It rained on the way back, and our caps flew off our heads as we drove through the valley on the way back. It all ended appropriately, with two glorious rainbows at Ayun, and another sumptuous dinner there. This time the father of Maqsood ul Mulk, our host for the entire occasion, was there. Khush Ahmed ul Mulk, is a man of many interests, and at 84, a man full of plans for his botanical gardens and the Chitral Valley.

And so, on the morning of the 17th, all of us were in our jeeps at 5am sharp and we headed back for Islamabad. All of us feeling very very satisfied. Yes, we’d had the trip of a lifetime!

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