Travel: A walk through the clouds

Published May 22, 2016
The world’s second largest juniper forest -Photos by the writer
The world’s second largest juniper forest -Photos by the writer

Our friend Balaach was keen to introduce us to the mysterious, unexplored Balochistan: “Come with me to see my home. I’ll take you to beautiful Ziarat, if you come sometime between November and March, to show you Karachiwalay some snow”.

To Karachiites, snow is one of the wonders of the world, and we readily agreed to the trip. For weeks, Balaach kept our interests piqued with tempting pictures, information and promises of what to expect in Ziarat.

When friends and relatives heard that we were going to cross Quetta by bus — well, Quetta and bus in one sentence evoked horror. But Balaach brushed aside the security concerns: “It’s as safe as it can be anywhere in the world”.

Riding down the highway

So at 1am, on the night of a long weekend, 35 people departed for Ziarat with a prayer and the promise of adventure. While we slept comfortably, the Daewoo sailed smoothly, moving with silent intent on the N25 (an 800km, 10- hour non-stop drive by car), thanks to the Baloch drivers who were calm and collected, and devoid of the usual road-rage and death wish of other bus drivers

We made stops at Bela, Khuzdar, Surab, Kalat, Mastung and Quetta. One might wonder how a road can look beautiful, but the N25, carved into stunning mountains, was a sight to behold

After driving for five hours, when we got off from a toasty bus onto the subzero plains of the Khuzdar Range for a toilet and prayer break, we were greeted by icy winds.  The chai stop at Kuchlak looked like it had been taken over by another country, with flags and faces from other nations hoisted on the building instead of Pakistan’s. Inside what looked like a boudoir, a breakfast of paratha, eggs, milky tea and khava, and the thickest, richest, creamiest cream awaited us.

At the top of the world

Roads and paths winding around the mountains
Roads and paths winding around the mountains

By the time we reached the hill station it was 3pm, and we were cold and light-headed. At 2,500 metres above sea-level, the air was too thin for us to breathe. Our hosts (Juma Khan, Nasib Kakar, Asad Kakar and Abbas Kakar) warned us that it would take time to acclimatise to the height and the cold, but it was nothing that painkillers, anti-nausea pills, a catnap and a cup of tea couldn’t fix.

We headed for our rooms, treading gingerly on the snow — the white patches were non-slippery, powdery snow and the grey patches were slippery ice, Balaach warned us. The gas and electricity load-shedding (there was no electricity from 10pm to 10am), and no running or hot water in most rooms made us appreciate the hardships that the locals face.

Despite their difficulties, the people of Ziarat are warm and friendly, and seem to have adjusted to their environment: some locals, for instance, could be spotted wearing only shalwar kameezes and open slippers in below-freezing temperatures. They said they were used to the cold, and were amused by our numerous layers of warm clothing.

Ziarat is also one of the safest places in the province — it has zero crime rate and did not have a police station or the Frontier Constabulary (FC) present in the area before the 2013 rocket attack by insurgents on the historic site, the Ziarat Residency.

Since there was a forecast of snowfall with a minimum temperature of -16oC (a new low for most of us), we covered every body part at least twice over before we headed out, yet it took 10 minutes of heating to defrost our feet.

After an exploratory trek in the surrounding hillside, we gathered around a bonfire under a sky full of stars. Abbas Kakar entertained us with stories about the area, including the legend of a mysterious, beautiful woman who walks these hills, and the warning that the men who follow her are never seen again.  

Later we feasted on rosh and cardamom-tempered daal, cooked by the gracious and accommodating Juma Khan. The lamb meat (cooked with cubes of lamb tail fat and potatoes) was so tender it melted on our fingers.  

Our first night was spent frozen to the bone, but in the morning we were rewarded with the heart-warming sight of a pink sun climbing up into a cold world. We trekked on a path sliced out in the gorgeous surroundings, skirting around wolf-dogs that growled menacingly at intruders.

It was a trekker’s paradise with bridges, jagged ridges, shadowy caves and deep ravines. From the viewing point we watched the sun warm up the earth with its brilliance, then had tea and snow fights and a breakfast of delectable home-made butter and eggs, before setting off to explore Ziarat.

Snow! The sight of Karachiwalas seeing snow was a sight. We dived into snow-covered mountains and frolicked like inlanders at Seaview, then drove to Prospect Point, 2,700m above sea level. Tourist photo ops include a pre-historic Juniper tree that has branched out to form the word Allah; the snow-capped Khilafat Hills (Ziarat’s highest peak at 3,500m) glowing golden in the sun; and the cliff edge overlooking the juniper-covered valley with magnificent panoramic views of the mountains and gorges of the Sulaiman Range.

History in the mountains

An age-old Junipur tree that is a landmark at Prospect Point
An age-old Junipur tree that is a landmark at Prospect Point

Balaach pointed down the valley towards the shrine of Kharwari Baba, the saint after whom the place is named Ziarat (place of pilgrimage). It is said that he took refuge in this valley and prayed for it to flourish; the streams, springs and waterfalls that flow here are attributed to him and are regarded as holy.

Our next stop was Ziarat’s claim to fame, the Ziarat Residency — a national monument constructed in 1892 by the British. It was Quaid-i-Azam’s summer residence, and he spent the last months of his illness here (June to September 1948) with his sister Fatima Jinnah. It has been restored to exactly as it was before the 2013 attack that severely damaged its structure. 

The double-storied wooden structure with a stone base is perched on a hill top, and from both its spacious balcony and its wooded lawns, one has full view of the valley. The rooms, including the bedroom, bathroom and dining room, set with the furniture, bear Jinnah’s distinct style: masculine, classic, and perhaps a little severe.

 Our bus then snaked across the winding road deep into seemingly unexplored hills ripe for hiking and trekking. Ziarat’s legendary Juniper trees, gnarled with the vagaries of age and witness to centuries of history, stood astride hilltops like sentries watching over us.

These trees are the world’s second largest Juniper forest, and also one of the oldest living trees on earth. The youngest are said to be 200 years old, and the older pre-historic ‘living fossils’ are more than an incredible 5,000 to 7,000 years old. These protected areas are battling for survival against the locals who need its wood for firewood and shelter to survive, and against the timber mafia.

Back at our residence we returned to a delightful sight of a searing fire crackling around a full row of goat leg and rack in a blaze so fiery that it created an oasis of warmth in the wintriness, drawing us to it like the proverbial moths to a flame. The cook, with generations of sajji-making experience, had been brought in especially from Quetta for this feast.

Faded glory

Next morning we left for Quetta.  A large area on the way has been flagged by political parties, almost as if taken over by them, with slogans indoctrinating the culture of ‘jaan nisaari’ for the party, and with no sign of any social welfare or development for the locals. Ghost schools, mud structures and a general stamp of squalor marks these areas.

The Ziarat Residency -Photo courtesy: Wikimedia Commons
The Ziarat Residency -Photo courtesy: Wikimedia Commons

At noon we made a brief stopover at Hannah Lake, a picnic spot set in the Urak Mountains. There are boat and swing rides, and a small canteen. Ironically, behind us was the currently non-functioning Surrpull Dam, built in 1894 by the British to divert rain, stream and melted snow into Hanna Lake, and ahead was the almost dried-up lake.

In Quetta, Asad Kakar took us on a sight-seeing tour of the city, giving us brief glimpses and accounts of its icons including the mountain named Sleeping Beauty, Marriabad, Liaquatabad, Alamdar Road, Habib Nala, and Quetta’s old dry fruit, jewellery and Balochi shoe shops and new, upcoming malls.  

“Quetta was the London of Pakistan. Local and foreign tourists came here to admire its cobbled streets, ornate street lamps, green parks and beautiful buildings … but the influx of people fleeing from war has eroded its charm,” lamented Balaach.

After frequenting ‘Quetta dhabas’ in Karachi, it was imperative to eat at a real McCoy Quetta dhaba in the city. Naseeb Kakar obliged by taking us to a hotul where red carpets and kilims were used as wall hangings, curtains and upholstery.  Here we sampled kabuli pulao, namkeen boti with sumac powder, potato curry, chicken karhai and the mandatory Quetta khava.  

All good things must come to an end

The next morning, after a hearty buffet breakfast, we were ready to end our brief tryst with Quetta and head back to Karachi.

Soon rugged, unrelenting mountain ranges encircled us, with endless orchards of bare, silver and pink, cherry and apple trees nestled at the foot of the mountains. Vast, empty valleys were interspersed by giant boulders sitting in the middle of nowhere, like meteors from outer space. 

In Khuzdar we saw concrete buildings and the heartening sight of Pakistan’s flags stamped on walls and flying on poles. Next to an FC madadgar post was a water cooler placed under a shade: ‘Peenay ka saaf paani.’ In the 21st century, this facility of a water cooler standing under a makeshift shade was a poignant statement.

When we had started out for Karachi, we had switched the heater on at full. With each stop it became warmer and at Bela we took off all our extra layers of clothing and the AC in the bus was switched on.

At that point in time, the finality of the trip sank in, and we gave a collective sigh of sadness, missing the freezing cold of Ziarat. For days after we missed the rugged beauty and mysterious romance of this ‘place of pilgrimage’.

Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine, May 22nd, 2016

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