A magnificent Buddha keeps watch over the lower reaches of Swat
In Swat, I travelled with my friend Ihsan. As we walked through rice paddies and farms on the outskirts of Mingora, he told me that his role in countering Talibanisation that had plagued the valley is bringing in foreigners. As we approached the top of the hill, a Buddha sat towering above us, carved into the orange granite edifice, glowing orange in the twilight. In many ways, it is one of the most beautiful pieces of artwork I have seen. Not beautiful solely due to its carving and setting, but the history which it whispered. During the Taliban era, insurgents attempted to blow it up. However, they only succeeded in destroying a fraction of its face. Now that peace has returned to the valley, the face of the Buddha has been restored, once again it keeps watch over the patchwork of rice paddies below.
We planned to head into the mountains west of Kalam; however, a tribal land dispute was currently being resolved with guns, forcing us to adjust our plans. Ihsan taught me to ride a motorbike on a quiet Mingora backstreet and then it was straight into traffic, weaving carts, pedestrians and crazy motorists, sometimes stalling in awkward situations and struggling to quickly get moving again. As we left Mingora and followed the Panjkora River northward, I gradually got used to the bike and a feel for the intimidating chaos which is Pakistani roads.
We were headed for Upper Dir, a region that some of my friends from Punjab strongly advised that I don’t visit. The remote areas had not yet been declared clear of the Taliban and as such I took advice from friends and chose to keep a low profile. The return of domestic tourism and everything else I found suggested that the area was safe, but I wanted to be as sure as possible.
Education in the area may be low and it may be more volatile than other places, but at no stage did I feel that the Kohistanis we interacted with were the savages some alleged them to be. We were accommodated in both mosques and homes, fed and made comfortable. I knew that I should be careful, especially with taking photos when women are anywhere in sight, but because I acted modestly and was aware of the local customs I never felt uncomfortable.
We spent five days exploring Upper Dir on motorbikes and on foot, culminating with an ascent of Chambargahai (5,001m), a huge rock peak towering over an extensive banda, a local word for high-altitude pasture. The shepherds accommodated us in simple rock dwellings and gave us food, along with sharing stories about goats straying towards the top of the peaks and people going to the top to retrieve them. We had very little information and had to rely on assessing the land and the rock features as we went to find a route to the top. I was unsure if it was possible right until the final 100 metres. Standing on the summit felt surreal, with the Kohistan districts of Dir laid out on one side and Swat on the other, clouds swirling beneath and two eagles soaring playfully amongst their fluffy masses.