WITH winter setting in across the valley, the nights have turned a little frigid.

On the eastern side of the city, near the mountains of the Koh-i-Mehrdar, lies Marriabad — a Hazara neighbourhood located just outside the cantonment’s boundary walls.

Men and women from the Hazara community can be seen there walking in the evenings, as it is a popular spot for hiking.

Others also frequent the vicinity, to escape the otherwise mundane and hectic city life.

At the foot of the mighty Mehrdar peaks, stands Master Khadim Hussain’s garden of trees, which he has tended virtually single-handedly for years.

Entering this ‘urban forest’ and walking through the trees and plants he has planted, one can feel the air growing pleasantly cool.

Master Khadim Hussain calls this labour of love ‘Gulzar-i-Bakulo’, or ‘Garden of Senior Citizens’, after the men who came together to plant it

When we visit, Hussain is resting on a narrow Persian rug in the middle of his garden, clad in shalwar-kameez and a blue jacket.

“Master” is a euphemism used in Balochistan for teachers, as Hussain is a 66-year-old retired schoolteacher.

In his own words, he is “66 years young”, because most of his friends who helped plant these trees have either passed away, or are too old to work now.

Hussain is left now alone to tend to the garden, which he treats “like my children,” he tells Dawn.

A father of six, two of his children live abroad. Hussain himself recently returned from Finland, where he spent three months with his daughter, who is also a teacher.

“During Musharraf’s rule, some 17 or 18 years ago, a tube well was set up over here,” he recalls, while pointing to towards the end of the treeline.

“So we, a group of 15 Hazaras, came up with idea of planting trees as volunteers to fight climate change even though Balochistan has no role in causing it, since there are hardly any industries here,” he adds.

“I was the youngest among them, and I agreed to join them as well because I was involved in social work too. So I started planting trees after being given one connection from the tube well.”

When the Covid-19 pandemic struck, it claimed the lives of five of Hussain’s elderly colleagues.

He can recall their names on his fingertips — those who were at the forefront of the initiative — and it is in their honour that he has called this bastion of calm ‘Gulzar-i-Bakulo’, or ‘Garden of Senior Citizens’.

When asked why they chose to plant trees here, away from the main settlements of Quetta, Hussain recounts the tragic story behind the idea.

“Ten years ago, when Hazara killings were at their worst, our community became ghetto-ised into Marriabad and Hazara Town.”

He notes that some parts of Quetta had become a “no-go area” for the Hazara community.

Click to see more

“So we came up with idea to create this place so that our people could come out of the ghetto, breathe fresh air, and find mental relief.”

He says that he loves the trees and the mountains beside them and also it’s a place where there is calm.

“I spend my days here, from 10 in the morning till 8 in the evening. I don’t need doctors. I’ve never been ill. The garden keeps me healthy.”

He has other reasons to spend most of his time with the trees, including the seven cats he is taking care of, away from the human settlements.

This summer, before leaving for Finland, he entrusted the garden to his friends, asking them to water it in his absence.

“They promised they would,” he says. “But when I returned, I found some of the trees dry. They had come only for a few days. The garden was abandoned.”

After a brief silence, he nostalgically recalls his past: “I am 66 now, but I’ve had an unhappy childhood. My parents divorced when I was young, and both remarried. I was their only son, and they left me. I started life from nothing, without even a roof over my head.”

He adds: “I got up on my feet. Today, I water these plants to give shelter to people and birds that come here.”

Once again, after a moment’s silence, Hussain wonders who will take care of his garden once he is no more.

Published in Dawn, November 2nd, 2025