Ibn-e-Batoota [back] in Swat
Day 1 — Reaching Heaven
When I came back to my senses, I was walking down a dark street of sleeping Mingora city. All I remembered was packing my bag with an almost blurred vision. I looked at my watch. It was 4:25 AM. Amin would be asleep. He was expecting me to be there after 6 AM. The Daewoo bus driver proved to be too fast. He was the same guy who brought us to Swat last time on our Gabin Jabba trip. I thought I would tell Talha about it when and if I get back. I sat down on a platform in front of a closed shop and thought about what to do next. The part of me wanting Amin to sleep some more won the argument and I leaned back on my back to take some rest. A few early risers who passed by me looked at me suspiciously. That didn’t bother me. After around half an hour, I finally dialed Amin’s number and woke him up. He gave me instructions in a broken voice about how to get to his village. One way is to go to that station by a petrol pump nearby and get a local van to Islampur. Or get hold of a riskshaw and get to your destination. It was a bit too early in the morning and the station looked abandoned, so after waiting for a few minutes, I took a rickshaw and started in Amin’s direction. Somewhere on the way, I caught a glimpse of a writing on a school’s wall. It went like “Some love stories…”. I tried to look back and read it to the end but couldn’t. The road from Mingora to Islampur is amazing and my three-wheeler was flying. Eventually, I reached my destination where Amin, wearing his blinding white Shalwar Qameez, was waiting for me. There is something in his open smile and welcoming attitude that simply gives you a latent strength. He gives you a sense of life. He tried to snatch my bulky backpack from me but only succeeded in taking my camera bag. Having settled with the cabbie, we started ascending towards what became my safe heaven for the next three days. It also happens to be an abode where legends live. “There are three ways to my home from down here. It’s your first time, so I’m taking you from the simplest one.”, Amin told me. At the base of his home is a laundry that one of his cousins runs who is also studying.
The sleep was clear in Amin’s eyes. He had been on Production Support with ZM last night. And I’m not going to explain what Production Support is.
Islampur — it’s a big village that’s spread in a valley surrounded by mountains from all sides. Doob, Torqamar, Elum are among the highest giants that guard this lush, cozy village teeming with life and activity. Nature has been less benevolent on its eastern side as it’s a bit dry with water resources scarce. The western side till the turn to mountain Saleem Khan, however, is greener with abundant water channels.
Taking turn after turn, always ascending, now a well-built street and now a broken one, moving along the water supply pipes that run in the whole village like veins in a body, greeting everyone on the way, Amin stopped me in front of a wooden door and vanished around a corner, saying, “Let me open that for you.” He opened the door and revealed a guest room within. Oh, it was so homely! And the way he invited me in! Have a look:
I went to the mattress on the left but he diverted me to the right one. I later found out the fault in the left one. Well, next time. The plan was that first we’ll do the breakfast, then we will sleep for an hour or so, and then set out to explore the village and its surroundings. Umar Hayat — Amin’s nephew who is almost his uncle’s age and also happens to be a colleague and a friend — would be joining us in this exploration. His home was at a few minutes’ walk downhill. Amin and I closed our eyes together but when I came around, he was on his laptop. Unfair. Slightly refreshed, we set out to explore the “right side” of the village, considering Amin’s home at the center. Umar also came along after a minute or so.
Somehow, we ended up on top of Doob Peak after one and a half hour, with our throats dry like firewood. The two bottles that we filled at the start were empty well before we reached the midway. It a funny, lovely deal, looking at uncle and nephew jesting at each other. Throughout the way, Umar kept saying that he knows the way and soon we’ll be on the right track. We just needed to keep following him. Amin was convinced of the opposite. Laughing, talking, listening to their childhood stories of the mountains, climbing the mountain in a most trek-less fashion, we were finally at the top. To our great relief, there was another group of 2–3 people already there. They were cooking something delicious. Party! And they had water. We drank to our fill and took some for our way back. They even invited us for lunch. Great guys. We excused ourselves politely, and thanking them much, we went to the northern side of the peak.
Doob Sar has a flat area at the top where you can even play a restrained cricket. Once at the top, you can have a breathtaking 360 degrees panoramic view. What it’s like? If you have seen Islamabad up from Marghalas, add 180 degrees of vision to it, you’ll get the idea. It was grand. We sat down under conifer trees and looked at cute and neat village of Kokrai. The silence was refreshing.
Umar played some song. I had to slide my glasses in front of my eyes. Bad eye.
On our way back, we learnt that Amin is not on friendly terms with cows and bulls. Well, he’s kind of afraid of them now. At one point, we were resting on a stone when Umar came running down from our back and shouted something, Amin stood and almost bolted down the mountain. And when it became clear that there was no cow attacking, Amin got red and we laughed. While descending, I felt like a hole forming in my sandal at the base of my thumb. I showed the effected area to Amin and he remarked, “Bhai, your feet are hard. Just like your hands.” The trekking shoes that I had brought never saw the daylight throughout the wanderings. Anyway, a few more tales of the village, and we were back at Amin’s place. I met with Amin’s father. I don’t know how to explain his personality. One of the kindest of kind faces, shinning white beard, green gentle eyes, a simple yet elegant white turban on his head; when in front of him, you’ll feel like you’re in the company of a saint. The calm that he inspires and the respect that he commands is such that you can sit by his side for hours without even feeling the need to say anything. And oh, the way Amin talks to him and cares for him! I have never seen such a thing outside of the story books. The legends of respect are true. Juniors setting the shoes in front of their elders so that they can wear them easily, ever heard of that story? Well, I’ve seen it. And as far as I could see, among all his brothers(the ones I could meet) Amin’s personality has the biggest share of his father’s impression.
After Zohar, we met with two of Salam Ullah friends. Salam Ullah is Amin’s eldest brother. You can’t really imagine to find a man with such a diverse set of interests and activities. He’s a teacher, a social activist, a leader, a pharmacist, a doctor… And according to Amin, he is the most intelligent person among all his seven brothers, yet he chose to spend his life where he is. Looking at the quality of the life that he is leading, the contribution that he’s making to the betterment of the society, you’ll cry in agreement that he made the right choice. When he learnt that I had come to Islampur on my own(I had Amin’s guidance), he called me Ibn-e-Batoota. That’s a title I’m going to keep. Anyway, we met with those friends who were also professors in different institutes. They all spoke in Pushto little of which I did understand. While they were talking, I caught one word here and one there and tried to fill in the gaps to guess what were they all talking about. Soon after the lunch, we left the guests to explore the “left side” of the village.
By this time, I had become one of the Romans. Although I looked like a postman — a wicked one if not wearing the glasses — but it worked. We went downhill, took a turn, took a well built jeep road, made an exit into some fields, and reached Marmar Cheena. A stream with delightfully sweet and cold water. Yes, we drank needlessly here. The water was so sweet.
Then following trails in the fields, we reached a seemingly small lake: Parachkano Dand. Jumping from that rock into the water sounds exciting but it’s a dangerous place. Kids have died here. After a few more minutes, we were again on the road. We saw a few boys playing cricket on the road by a slope. They were defying gravity, running up and down the hill to catch the ball. Near that turn to Saleem Khan mountain, we saw a boy on a donkey coming our way. The satisfied smile and the proud look that he gave us — it was priceless. He was on his Land Cruiser.
It was near sunset by the time we reached back home.
I went out into the village twice before I shut my eyes for the night. Once with Amin to replenish the drinking water supply. The stream is about 2 minute walk from his home. On my insistence, Amin gave me a cute little thermos-sized water cooler to carry. It was dark and the path was uneven, but he knows each and every step. By 7 PM, I was standing in the dark, looking down at twinkling lights from the valley, listening to Amin talking to his old students and laughing with them… I went too far in my thoughts and was brought back to reality by Amin’s call that it was our turn to get water. He spread a folded shawl on his shoulder and picked the big gallon. I walked along with the cooler in my hands. And then we went out to get the gas cylinder refilled. It was not available at the shop nearby so we had to go downhill, crossing the slums, and there we made it a young boy’s(one of those students) duty to bring the filled cylinder back home. That’s how things are done in a village. It’s tightly-knit community where chores and tasks are shared. One person going out to bring bread for his family will bring it for all of his neighbors. With the explosion of population, the sense of living in a big family is not what it used to be, but it’s still there. And when the boy came with our cylinder, he was rewarded with a big apple.
Before I close it for the night, I have to write about the setting of the meals. Breakfast, lunch, dinner… They all follow the same unique pattern: with tablecloth spread on the carpet, comes rotti, with a variety of curries, everything just the best, followed by refreshing fruit, followed by a-amazing chae. Thinking about what I had done to experience this dreamlike guest protocol in a Pathan’s home, I let go of reality to enter the realm of real dreams. It was all blurred. Bad eye.
Day 2 —Building and Cherishing Friendship
“Who has more friends? You? Or your father?”
“Of course I have more friends.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I picked up all of my father’s friends, and then I have so many of my own.”
Today is Peuchar Valley day. Today we’ll see how a friendship spread over decades and across generations is cherished.
After breakfast, I waited for Amin to get ready so that we can make it downhill on time where his friends would be waiting for us. Let me emphasize it a little more, I waited for Amin. By 9 AM, we were walking down the road in general direction of Nadeem’s home. I spotted a red car at the cross-section and a few men standing by it. When we got near, the men started walking in our direction. Slightly alarmed, I looked at Amin by my side and found him smiling. They were Nadeem(read Nadeem-a) and Shoukat(read Shoukat-a), Amin’s childhood friends. Nadeem is a smart, fitness model with a charming, fun-filled personality. No matter what he thinks about the genders of his pronouns, his Urdu is outstanding. Shoukat is among the most decent people I have had the honor of meeting in my life so far. He is a masters student and a teacher, with high aims in life. After customary Swati hugs and greetings, I was given the seat in front. I tried to resist and sit in the back, but was cordially denied the pleasure. Guest protocol. Today’s destination was Ghat Peuchar which was Nadeem’s idea as he had been there a while ago. From Mingora we picked the 5th member of the crew. Waqas — an impressive personality with heavy sideburns and dark eyebrows, the most silent and reserved of all four Pathans. His white watch with a huge dial quite suits him. He is also teaching and has great plans to explore the world and its opportunities.
I realized that the people down from plains want to be up there in the mountains. And the Northmen want to go southwards. The jobless long for jobs and the hired ones wonder what they are doing. This wish to be where you are not, to yearn for what you don’t have, to look for greater things — that’s as human as breathing. Necessary to step up and grow, kind of makes it interesting and beautiful. It’s just that before it all turns into a vicious cycle, one should count one’s blessings.
We took a left turn from Pir Kalay and after another half an hour took another left from Aligram and got onto Ghat Road to Peuchar. The Amlok trees were laden with ready fruit. Here Amlok means Japanese Fruit and not the small back dry fruit. The scenery that unfolds once you are on Ghat Road is mesmerizing. If you take a quick glance, you’ll feel like you are somewhere deep in Kashmir. But if you look farther and with more attention (and the area will claim all your attention anyway), those multi-layered mountains with so many facets and angles, placed one after another after another, the terrace fields like nothing else, an overwhelming greenery… you’ll realize that you are in a place that has no match. And only Swatis have the privilege to enter the valley. Had I been on my own, I wouldn’t even have crossed Matta in this direction. But I had friends.
Ghat Peuchar used to the hub of Taliban once. They didn’t leave the place in peace until they were bombed and attacked in earnest. Looking at the beauty and walking in its serene pastures, one can understand their urge to keep living there. Although the area is almost fully rehabilitated and clear of any insurgency now, it once suffered a lot at the hands of those outsiders.
We reached the home of G.M. Haleem around 1 PM where we were welcomed by his son Tariq. Mr. Haleem is Nadeem’s father’s friend and their friendship was over two decades old. Time took the two friends away from each other but they never got out of touch. Without the social means that we have at our disposal nowadays, keeping a friendship alive in old school is simply amazing and has a lot to tell us. We were shown in the guests area(mehman khana) at the backside of the house. A mehman khana is a specially built, independent and a-must part of every traditional Pathan house. Modern architecture designs are beginning to forget this centuries-old remarkable part in new houses. As soon as we were comfortably settled in that cozy, earthen drawing room, Zarar and Sheraz came in with chae and a variety of biscuits and sweets with it. The twin kids were extremely shy of us yet they kept sitting in our company and with red faces, answered every stupid question that we asked from them. Zarar even covered his face with his hands and talked to us. It was adorable. And then came Mr. Haleem and talked to us in shud Pashto. Somehow, I understood most of it. I still don’t know how. Later when I asked Amin what was he talking about, he confirmed my guess. Scary.
After some chitchat, we got into two cars and reached the edge of Peuchar Valley. Here we trekked for around an hour and explored the pastures and a rocky stream. Nadeem fooled around and we all laughed. Tariq took my camera bag and never allowed me to carry it myself. Guest protocol. Shoukat was taking lots of pictures with his phone. Nadeem even caught him taking a selfie in some random direction. As to what happened to those pictures, we got to know about it the next night. It was hilarious. Wait for it.
We had lunch at Mr. Haleem’s place and what a lunch we had! There were so many dishes and each one of them so delicious. We were all guests and we were all getting the insistent requests to eat this, try that, taste this… but I was getting a double care in all this. I was a double guest. It was a little overwhelming but I did alright. And after that, Zarar and Sheraz brought water pots and towels to wash our hands right where we were seated. It was a thing I always associated with ancient royal figures but never saw it in reality. Now, however, I have experienced it and it has humbled me. God bless those souls who uphold the grand ancient traditions and serve the guests with the biggest of hearts and kindest of smiles. Zarar was quite open with us by this time, Sheraz still a bit shy. It was tough job on part of Nadeem to refuse such a heartfelt invitation to stay for a night. But we all(except for me and Amin) had jobs to take care of the very next day. So we had to take our leave and started back to Islampur.
On our way back, we crossed the bridge over Harnol Khawar and got onto Fazal Banda Road that runs in parallel to the road from which we came in the morning. We had lassi from a famous place in some Banda on Airport Road. Once back in the car, Nadeem was asked to play the music and out came the Pashto songs. The speakers had some weird fault. The volume was auto controlled by the jerks and jumps of the road. I found a positive purpose of cat’s eye hurdles that night. Every time our car bumped on these speed-breakers, the speakers volume would adjust to a perfect level. After hours of listening to Pashto music, suddenly I felt like I could understand every word of it. Absolutely disoriented, I asked my mates what language it was. They told me it was an Urdu song. Well, spend days and nights without hearing anything but a foreign language, then come to me. We’ll talk. We stopped at the place where Waqas was to be dropped. Nadeem and Waqas left the vehicle and the rest of us kept seated. After Nadeem was done with his “argument” with him, we resumed our journey to the village. Somewhere on the road, I happened to look at the same damned wall-chalking saying, “Some love stories…”. I had missed it again! That was too much. I started crying to stop the car and let me out. “I’ll be back in a minute!” I’m surprised that Nadeem actually stopped the car and allowed me to go. I ran back like a possessed man and once right in front of that writing, I opened my one and a quarter eyes and read.
“Some love stories..
Some love stories
<some weird sign>never ends…”
When I got back and shared my grammatically incorrect but priceless finding with the guys, Amin’s disappointed nod was the most hilarious thing. Before saying our good byes at the same point where we were picked up, Nadeem had his “argument” with Amin and Shoukat. I couldn’t even dare to express my wish to contribute. Guest protocol. Nadeem said something before leaving and I said yes without fully comprehending. That made him very happy. When I learnt what he had actually said, I started blurting excuses that made him laugh. He wanted us all to come to his place and have dinner and chitchat with him. It was getting late and Amin was very tired. Plus Nadeem and Shoukat had jobs in the morning. So we left with promises to meet again soon. Shoukat walked with us for a minute or so, and left us at the mouth of an unexplored(for me), well-paved street of the village.
And then Amin and I were alone. On our way back to the heaven. Somewhere between blurred dreams and dinner, I got eye drops, a painkiller and an antibiotic from Salam bhai. If it were not for this care, I don’t think my eye would have even started to get better.
I think in a better part of the dream, I talked to Saddam while Amin, his younger brother Irfan, his cutestest little niece Insharah were sitting around me.
Day 3 — Crossing Borders
This was a bonus day. Amin and I debated as to which place should we bless with our visit today. There were many options but one of his nephews suggested Sangar — an area at the border of Swat and Buner. The area was sketched in such a way that there was no way we were not going there. We left Islampur around 9 AM and stood at the back of an hiace that took us to Mingora. It was a delightful experience to view everything while hanging from the back of a vehicle. It was a long walk from where the van dropped us to Sangar station. The affairs were disappointing at the station as there was no one ready to take us where we wanted to. But eventually we got a deal of a luxury car of ’85 that will take us to the border and then, if appropriate, back.
After about one and a half hour ride in which we saw piles and piles of ready Amlok packages by the road, the driver stopped by a turn, well before the check post. The only interesting thing of this part of our travel is our crossing the border of Swat and Buner on foot. Unchecked. There was army on this side and FC on the other. Yes, we both were a bit afraid of getting close to the border. Admitted. Times being what they are nowadays. We walked uphill and reached the post. We greeted the men of honor and they welcomed us. They didn’t ask us for our ID cards. That’s the beauty of being with Amin who is wearing a blinding white Shalwar Qameez. Photography at the check post was not allowed so our camera stayed in its bag.
After fooling around a bit on Buner side, we came back in Swat and walked back down to our ride. The driver who was sleeping by its side, quickly came to his feet and in no time, we were on our way back to Mingora. This time, the seat in front of us was rotated by 180 degrees and righshifted by one seat so that we could lean back and place our feet on it. Luxury. Watching boys and girls going back to their homes after school where their moms would be waiting for them on lunch, we got back to Sangar station. We had our lunch from a famous cafe that Amin used to frequent in his college days. The meal was good. Then we had kheer from another famous place. See, I forgot the names of all these famous places. But I remember where they are.
We found ourselves sitting on a bench in White Palace by 5 PM.
The palace is not what it used to be. It’s probably in the hands of some careless management, that needs to be sacked and replaced by before it’s too late. Weather: very cool and extremely nostalgic. The swing where Sallu, Talha and I laughed like a bunch of crazies was now collapsed and broken. Amin remarked that the next time I would come here, I would probably be missing him too. He plans to go abroad. For three nights and two days, I had kept a solid figure and never gave any hint of anything amiss within. But today, I just couldn’t handle it the way I would have wished to. That’s why Amin got a little concerned. A worried Amin is a thing I would never want to see. And worried because of me? No thanks! I tried to cover it in the best way that I could while we were having our chae in a “socialist” restaurant by the stream. But Amin can see through bullshit. I’m glad that he never insisted too much. And I’m glad that he was by my side at that time. And we talked about Dennis’s view about “to err is human”. Dennis is love.
The entry fees of 50 Rupees signified its true ugliness when we saw that flower of a child hanging from that barred door, looking desperately to get in. It was picture of misery and Amin spotted it first.
Walking, switching rides, we finally landed in heaven when the sun was gone behind the mountains, tired of waiting for us wanderers. After dinner, Nadeem and Shoukat came over and we chatted a lot. Salam bhai also blessed the company with his presence. Shoukat told stories about his thesis and his teaching work and Nadeem remarked that he is getting lazy with time. He has started preferring bike over walking. And then there were jokes. And the most hilarious one was that of Shoukat. Remember him taking so many pictures of Peuchar with his phone’s camera? Well, not even a single one made it to the memory of his phone. There was a warning of insufficient space, but in the excitement of the moment, he couldn’t read it fully and ignored it. We all laughed till our stomachs started aching. They looked at me with a gentle concern for my mental wellbeing when I told them that I’ll be off to Chitral tomorrow morning. But I satisfied them with a few stories. It was getting late and we decided to let them go at 11:00 PM sharp. But there was a discrepancy in the watches. We finally settled with one and when it struck 11, we all stood up reluctantly, and with promises to meet again real soon, they went away into the night.
There was nothing else to do but sleep after this. Thinking about the books that I had brought with me and when would I be reading them, I was caught again by the blurred dreams.
Amin’s father came to the guest room before I left. He talked a little in his characteristic low tone. I learnt that I’ll have to go to Teemargara from Mingora and from Teemargara, I’ll get a conveyance directly to Chitral. It was a plunge in unknown waters but I was ready to take on anything with the prayer that Amin’s father said for me. Looking at my watch, I stood up saying, “I think I should go now”. Uncle took me in a hug and said(I’m not going to translate it, it may lose its power), “Allah… apni… hifazat… main… rakhay!”. The Urdu was so superb and the tone so reassuring and calm that I felt like a mountain was on my side. The words still ring in my head and are enough to keep me going in tough times.
I was lazy so Amin got hold of my backpack and I was left only with the little one. We walked down to the station where I’ll get a van to Mignora. It was a troubled farewell. He wanted me to come back to Lahore with him. I too wanted to. But I had to go. I told him as much. He was not satisfied, but he let me go.
His face was a bit blurred when I cast a parting look at him. Bad eye.
