I USED to travel a lot in the past. One of the places I frequented was northern Balo­chistan, which is predominantly Pashtun.

My maternal uncle, who is in his late 80s, has spent quite some time in the region. Once he asked me to stay with his old Pashtun friends, most of them Kakars. I fulfilled his wish.

I visited all the addresses given by my uncle, but was pained to learn that all his friends were dead. Their children themselves were now grown up, greying men.

At that time, farm and garden defined Balochistan’s northern belt, fruits and vegetables lending a greenish tinge to the landscape.

But when I revisited the region recently, I was saddened to find my favourite places wearing a barren, depressed look.

One of those places is Zaland, a village in Pishin district.

Pishin used to be a part of Quetta, but was made a district in 1975. It was bifurcated into Pishin and Killa Abdullah district back in the 1990s.

Although Pishin is not far from the provincial capital, it’s crying out for basic necessities. Zaland, Pashto for ‘shining’, is a picture of backwardness and neglect.

But for some shingle roads, it seems the godforsaken place doesn’t exist on the administration’s roadmap.

Zaland suffered a locust invasion last year, almost coinciding with the onset of Covid-19. “We carried out sprays on our own as the administration didn’t bother to do so,” recalls Abdul Hayee Kakar, a schoolteacher and farmer. “The locust invasion occurred at a time when crops were ready.”

Although work on self-help basis is commendable, it is no substitute for projects executed by the government. The administration’s apathy is responsible for the region’s decline.

Among other things, some of the oldest trees are dying out. “We applied Gibralic acid, a tablet, on the trees. I think the ‘cure’ (tablet), ironically enough, caused the death of these trees,” Shoaib Khan Tareen, a farmer, lamented.

“The water table has gone down in Zaland, turning our fields dry.”

During my trips to several places in northern Balochistan, I learned there is a shortage of water due to lack of rain and snow. This is why green patches of land are turning dry. Dried trees of fruits are being chopped down. Such sights abound in Pishin district.

Tankers carrying water for domestic consumption are a common sight. “We are dependent on these tankers,” bemoans Asif Kakar, a young farmer in Zangiwal, Loralai valley. “My tubewell, which runs on electricity, cannot meet my water needs because power supply usually lasts just one hour.”

After returning to the provincial capital, I spoke to Dr Aziz Barech, a Quetta-based agriculturist, about the desolation that now seems to be overtaking Balochistan’s north.

“Like the rest of the world, global warming is wreaking havoc upon Balochistan,” he said.

According to him, the province’s northern belt hardly ever saw temperatures exceeding 40 degrees Celsius a decade or two ago. “But these days it is common because of climate change.”

Consequently, fruits like apple wilt under the scorching heat.

“Due to lack of rain and snow, the water table has gone down drastically,” Aziz Barech said.

He called upon the government to take measures for conservation of precious water. But NGOs (non-governmental organisations) are active in northern parts of Balochistan more than the government.

I came upon a group of NGO workers who were interviewing a mechanic who was able to set up his own shop thanks to assistance given by the organisation.

An elderly Pashtun, with a shawl placed on his head to shield from a merciless sun, appeared on the scene as if out of nowhere.

He turned out to be a personification of scepticism when he spoke. “Yeh sab khilona hai…aur panch dino main khatm ho jayega (this is a mere toy…and will disappear after just five days.”

Published in Dawn, July 5th, 2021