My latest memory of Kohlu is now about 12 years old. When I close my eyes and try to picture what now lays in bits and patches in my mind, I miss that odd place. I really do. I think hard of what good that place has brought to my life and I can think of nothing. But I know I am wrong; for nostalgia is driving me to write about it.

Story of my stay with my family, in Kohlu, finds its beginning that dates back to the summers of the year 2000. For an army officer (serving in infantry)’s eight-year-old kid, father’s posting to a far off place is not something out of the ordinary. Considering the fact that I had travelled by a C-130 military aircraft to Gilgit within a year of my birth, shifting to place that no one couldn’t even find on the map back then (not that it didn’t exist) cannot be categorized as extraordinary (although the stay did prove to be truly extraordinary).

Kohlu, situated in Balochistan, has a history that dates back to the 16th century. Pertaining to tribal disputes, the history of Kohlu is blood-stained with regional wars over land and resources. Marri and Zarkhoon are the two tribes living in and near Kohlu district since before the British rule over the subcontinent. Since the partition of subcontinent into Pakistan and India, owing to the unsettling situation in the area, two military operations have been conducted in the region. The latter of two resulted in a permanent military control over the land by Frontier Corps (FC).

In 2000, as part of my father’s hard area tenure, he was posted to Kohlu as the Company Commander in Maiwind Rifles (FC).

Setting off and travelling to Kohlu was in itself a dangerous mission. The first phase of the thirteen-hour journey was a five-hour long travelling from Lahore to Dera Ghazi Khan (where we crossed the Punjab-Baluchistan border) by bus. Then After a night stay in DG Khan, we set off for Kohlu on a Toyota single-cabin. I can see three distant memories in my mind. A long, seemingly never-ending, straight, deserted road that apparently led to the mountains visible in distance, with empty plains on both sides. Narrow, twisting roads on the most rocky mountains I had ever seen, with an enormous wall of rock on one side and a frighteningly deep pit on the other. A distant sight of a few lights visible from the mountain at night, as we descended into the Kohlu Valley.

The night we reached Kohlu after the thirteen hour long journey from Lahore, Punjab, not a thing could be seen in or near the house that was allotted to us, for electricity was out and the generators were out of order. The night was spent in total darkness, thinking about the time in Kohlu that lay ahead.

Next day, when the sun came out, I decided to take a look around the place. Our house was a typical army house. Painted in maroon and white; chipped, grey floor; old looking, white-washed rooms; huge lawn with patches of green; big metallic gate that gave a view of an entrance to a jail (literally); high boundary walls. At the front covered area of the house, there was a small room with a large steel netted window that replaced the whole front wall. We called it the ‘sun-room’ for it was filled with gleaming sunlight the whole day. Later we kept fowls there and used to sit there during winter afternoons. The remaining part of the house, within the boundary was a grassy lawn. Generally, Kohlu’s soil was barren and dry. We tried to grow some vegetables on the rear part of the house but all efforts went in vain.

Water in Kohlu was scarce. The little water that was present had no connection whatsoever with the houses and once or twice a week, water filled tanker filled our home water tanks that was used for cleaning purposes. What that water was like is a completely different story. Let’s just limit yourselves to the knowledge that when filled in a tub, small white and red worms could be seen swimming in the water.

Tribal disputes and their clashes with military forces could never be settled. I can relate to two such instances, however, the one which I have quite a vivid memory of, is a post 9/11 clash between the two tribes in Kohlu. My father had to leave Kohlu as he was deputed to Chaman, Baluchistan, on Pakistan-Afghanistan border, right after the American air-strike on Afghanistan, to keep an eye on trans-border smuggling of goods and Afghan people. It was a Saturday night. I and my mother were watching a PTV short film while my sister was asleep. We heard a muffled sound, as if somebody had closed the metal gate of our house. Frightened of a possible burglary, we tip toed to the door and peeped out. What we saw was something that we never expected. It was pitch dark outside and all we could see was a fire ball (a bazooka launched rocket), right above our heads, up in the sky. Realizing what it really was, we panicked. Soon after this sight it started firing that continued for about half an hour. We woke my sister up, went out in the lawns and climbed the wall to move to our neighbours’ house. As long as the firing continued, all the kids including our weeping mothers kept praying. I don’t know how much time we spent there but when I woke up the next morning, I was in my own bed.

As a kid that situation excited me more than it frightened me. Leaving home during a cross fire and climbing a wall to take refuge was like living a real movie scenario. But when I recall it and picture it in my mind now, I realize how dangerous that situation was. The rocket could have hit somewhere near our house or the cross fire could have killed us. As a kid we never thought of anything like that. Either we were way too young to think about something like being killed or we simply ignored the fact. The same reason can explain why our mothers were crying and we weren’t. Another thing that I learned from that experience was how we, expecting the worst, took refuge at a place that was as exposed as our own place was. We found ourselves completely helpless and wanted to be with people we knew and who shared our fear. It did no good to the tribal clash situation nor did it stop any bullet from leaving the barrel of the rifle, but it did give us a sense of virtual protection. I think that made all the difference. Hope, it is said, is a good thing.

Snakes, scorpions… name any horrifying creature and you could find it in Kohlu. One in particular was a very mysterious one. Its bite could make you lose that whole part of your body. The trait that made it mysterious was that no one could see it. Sand fly, as it is called, is an insect so small that it can’t be seen with a naked eye. Unlike its name, this particular ‘fly’ cannot fly but it jumps and hops its way. Once bitten by this, it was said that the patient was to be injected a number of times at the point of infection. When my sister showed symptoms of Sand Fly’s bite, it was decided by Major Dr Anwaar, the only doctor in Kohlu cantonment and our neighbour that her case was a different one and only bandaging could suffice the treatment. It worked and her hand was soon back to normal.

It was in Kohlu that I was first introduced to dogs with rabies or more commonly called Mad Dogs. When I found that one of the soldiers was bitten by a Mad Dog and was reluctant to even see water, the image that was created in my mind was a hilarious one. I visualized the ‘mad’ dog as one behaving more or less like a mad person commonly shown on TV. I imagined it walking in an awkward way, making funny noises and with a messed up face. The person being bitten was assumed to have acquired the madness through the bite such that he started behaving just like the dog. But one thing that didn’t make sense was how could someone be afraid of water? Meanwhile, observing the situation, soldiers were ordered to shoot any dog in the premises of the cantonment. It was only after many years that I finally found about hydrophobia and symptoms of rabies from nothing else but a course book.

As astonishing as it may sound, my realization of the beauty of Allah’s most magnificent creation ‘stars’, also finds its origin in this forsaken place. It was a normal night, which means that electricity was out and generators were not working either. So in order to pass some time, I went out in the lawns and sat down on a chair. The moment I looked up in the sky I couldn’t move my eyes off that black canvas full of uncountable, shimmering lights. I savoured the scene for as long as my neck could afford to. I had never witnessed anything more bravura than those stars that covered the whole sky, and not a single starless patch could be seen on the entire heavens. Never again in my life had I ever witnessed so many stars as I did that day. My love for this sight made me think about becoming an astronaut one day and reaching for these stars but the idea was immediately suppressed as soon as I learned in my science class that stars were not to be touched and that their beauty remains only if you are distant from them. Alone, a star is just a blazing hot ball of fire. I never liked the idea.

Not far away from where our house was situated was a range of huge, rocky mountains. I really admired those enormous creations that covered a large part of land in Kohlu. With not a single patch of greenery on the entire range, the mountains were dry, rocky and unclimbable. The beauty of these humungous creations was magnified during rain. As it rained, water found its way through the cracks created by erosion and formed an awfully beautiful waterfall. I loved the sight.

My first and only supernatural experience is also directly linked with this city I miss. We had just came back to Kohlu after our yearly one-month vacations in Lahore. On entering our room we found the TV missing. Presumably, it was stolen. Enquiries were made but nothing could be concluded. One day after school, my father took me with him at some place in the city area. In a small, narrow street, there was a house with a green wooden door. My father knocked and a bearded man opened the door, greeted us and offered us to get in the house. Immediately after the entrance, there was a hall where at one side some children were reciting Quran. On the other side there was a mat. The bearded man asked me to sit on the mat while my father sat beside me. After resting his own self on the mat, in front of me, he started reciting something to himself and once in a while blew on me. After some time he took my hand, dipped his index finger in a black ink pot and spread the ink on my thumb such that my whole nail was wet with black ink. He then asked me to look into the inked thumb nail and tell him what I saw. As I looked into the ink, what I saw was so unexpected and impossible that I simply refused to accept that I even saw something. The reflection on my thumb nail had an image of my own room where we had the TV. Then I saw a man sitting right in front of the TV set, undoing the wires. I raised my head and looked around my shoulder to see what was making the reflection. I couldn't comprehend anything, so when he asked, I simply said that I didn't see anything at all. He smiled and said “Nothing?” I repeated my last reply and after that we left that place. To be honest, at that time I was sure of the fact that I was hallucinating, for logic couldn't explain it. Real or unreal, magic or trick, it did happen, but the fact is: Apart from being an incident I can relate to, it didn't affect me in any manner, and I thank Allah for that.

I have quite a few regrets in my life. Making no good, lasting friends in Kohlu being one of them, at one end makes me feel sad and at the other helps me make new friends. For an indefinitely long period of time, lack of education in the citizens of Kohlu resulted in disputes over petty issues that cost lives and property. As part of the rehabilitation of the locals suffering from the after-effects of tribal disputes, Frontiers Corps decided to build a new school in the city area in order to eradicate the problem of illiteracy in the masses. The school that was built to provide primary education to the local children was named FC Public School. To serve its purpose rightly, locals were encouraged to send their children to this school. Officers and educated personnel from Army Education Corps, educated wives of Army officers and educated locals were hired as teachers. When I joined the school, I was in grade three and there were four students in my class. The strength of the class later raised up to six. The school initially had four classrooms, one for each of the four grades, up to which, at that time, the school offered education. For as long as two years after that, one classroom was constructed to accommodate the promoted students and make room for the new admissions each successive year.

Out of the five class fellows I had, the two I now remember and so desperately wanted to befriend were the brothers Asad Ullah and Ubaid Ullah. Asad was elder than Ubaid but Ubaid was the taller of the two. Both of the brothers were gifted with highly intelligent minds. As long as I studied with them I could never beat them. Why they disliked me, at that time I could never comprehend. All my efforts to offer them a hand of friendship went in vain. Once on my birthday party I invited them to come to my house which they refused. On the day of the function I waited for them but they never came so I asked my mother to take me to their home. Their mud house comprised of, if I am not mistaken, two rooms. When I entered their house they offered me to sit in one of the two. I was served with cold home-made juice in a steel glass. When I told them that I had come to take them with me, they were reluctant. I insisted, to which their parents finally gave their assent. These are all the memories I have of them.

When I think about them now, I feel that what lacked between our friendships was my inability to grasp the unsaid. Whether it was the huge difference in the statuses of our families, their sense of deprivation, my failure to make them feel comfortable with me or none of what I think they thought, I guess I can never find out. What good I found from these experiences was my ability to make new friends. Making people feel comfortable and important, and never trying to make them feel small by compromising is I think what Asad and Ubaid taught me.

Hardships pass but their affects last, cities are lost but their legacies are eternal. Situation today in Kohlu is far worse than it ever was. I have good memories associated with Kohlu and I have bad ones, but I have always chosen the good ones over the bad ones and have learned from them all. Today when I speak my heart out and wish to visit that place once more, I am called insane. But if being nostalgic is being insane then let it be. I can’t remember the day we left Kohlu. It must have been a day we anticipated going back to the ‘world’ again. If, instead of being a place, Kohlu were a living being then I know how it must have felt when I left. It must have felt the same way Pi felt when Richard Parker left him so unceremoniously after such a long journey of survival. Pi saved Richard Parker’s life, Kohlu saved mine.