‘Perception is everything’. The importance of this is not lost on any Pakistani traveling abroad or aspiring to travel abroad. Our passport consistently ranks as one of the worst in the world to hold, getting a visa for a first-world country is considered akin to winning a lottery ticket. Making sense of this becomes harder when you glance at the impact Pakistanis have had abroad. Pakistani doctors, engineers, and skilled professionals have excelled in Europe and America despite all the barriers and challenges. Pakistani diaspora in the United States is the fifth most affluent immigrant population and their growing number also increases their sway in the American political landscape.
As the dust settled on the War on Terror a buzz phrase that captured the mainstream narrative and frankly sprang out of nowhere was ‘ promoting Pakistan’s soft image’. Among other things, it was an example of self-victimization and proved counterproductive. During recent times, terrorism has plagued Pakistan and thousands of innocent civilians have fallen victim to innumerable attacks. Certain regions in the South and the Northwestern border remain restive but the overall situation has improved after ‘ anti-terrorist’ operations and the writ of the state has been somewhat restored. Foreign tourists have slowly but gradually started to return. Their tour notes read all but the same thoughts, they were surprised and bewildered as the Pakistan they saw was nothing like the Pakistan they had been told about. This in itself is disparaging and nothing to celebrate. Pakistan has traditionally been a moderate and tolerant country if it is not being infested by proxy wars and jihadist ideologies by friend and foe alike. It was part of the old hippie trail and has historically been the go-to destination for adventure seekers and nature lovers.
I found myself exploring one of the most remote parts of Pakistan last fall. After stumbling across a photograph of Karambar Lake last year, I became obsessed with it. As trips to the northern part of Pakistan go, this one was rather complicated to plan. The lake is around 4300 m ASL and the weather and terrain are extremely intimidating. Early summer is the best season to visit before the monsoons set in. We chose the rather difficult option of visiting in late fall hoping to reach before the snow sets in permanently.
The Journey to Karambar starts in Chitral. There is another route from Gilgit Baltistan but it is significantly harder and longer. The last signature of civilization can be found in Lashkargaz, Broghil Valley which is about 200 km from Chitral. This coincidentally was the last point where the 4×4 Jeep could go and hence became our base camp for Karambar. The estimated travel time was 18 hours owing mostly to the shambolic conditions of the road and the steep gradient of the mountainous terrain.
A burst tyre threw our itinerary up in the air and we ended up staying the first night in Mastuj. This small town is 6 hours from Chitral and is of extreme importance to the inhabitants of Mastuj, Yarkhun, and Broghil valleys. The last fuel station as well as the last trickles of cellular coverage can be found here.
The night in Mastuj was eerily quiet as the temperature dropped below zero. The group was already tense and skeptical about scaling the lake. Seeing no other tourists around did little to ease our nerves. Inspiration was found in the shape of a pensioner from Switzerland. We met a retired nurse who had bicycled from Balakot to Mastuj via Shandur Pass. Having recently visited Shandur, we knew the journey was difficult enough in a vehicle let alone a bicycle. This encounter lifted our spirits and we departed much to the envy and concern of our Swiss friend who also was a keen admirer of Karambar and was hell-bent on visiting it next year.
Our next stop was Yarkhun Lasht. We had now crossed into Yarkhun Valley which is sandwiched between Broghil and Mastuj. This valley was stupendously beautiful. Snowy white peaks on the horizon encircled plain fields which were embellished by tall trees. As soon as the camp was set up, it started to snow. This wasn’t unexpected as the weather forecast we were relying on had predicted this. It snowed gently yet incessantly all through the night. The morning was bright and shiny much to the delight of the group which was joined by Mr Happy, our cook for the expedition. Mr. Happy belonged to Powar Village in Mastuj Valley. Over the first cup of tea, Mr. Happy shared his life story which was nothing short of incredible.
Life can get extremely harsh up north. Dwellers from the south can often be heard proclaiming how they would like to permanently settle in the wilderness and vast expanses of the north but the grimness of a permanent residence here can’t be overstated. Mr. Happy narrated his struggle with opium addiction and how it annihilated his life for 14 years. Despite social boycotts and decaying health, he couldn’t rid himself of this demon. Only an intervention by his daughter brought him back to life. He shared how this evil plagues most of the inhabitants of this valley including women and children. Having heard about the high suicide rates in Hunza and Ghizer, this didn’t come as much of a surprise. However, the scale and magnitude of the problem was shocking. The realization that the state has pretty much abandoned these citizens due to a lack of resources or accessibility hits harder when you appreciate the complexity of the problems they are facing.
The Evolving Truth of Pakistan – Invisiblites
As we embarked on the last leg of our jeep journey, Mr. Happy turned into a historian as we passed through Darband. This was the setting of a great war between the Chitralis and the ruler of Badakhshan fought in the 1850s. The Mir of Chitral along with his army fortified the canyon with bunkers and towers. The invading army was trapped in the canyon and barraged with stones, rocks, and other projectiles resulting in a massacre. The trail of destruction and bunkers can still be seen in the gorges and canyons of Darband. A few miles from our destination, we stopped at the last outpost in the North West. As per protocol, the security soldiers asked us to deposit our National Identity Cards and in the blink of an eye, we became the nomads we all craved to be.
Being banished in Broghil was an indescribable experience. The last town of Lashkargaz was a glimpse into another dimension. The grazing fields of Broghil were engulfed with towering peaks and mountains on all sides. The locals were warm and welcomed us with tea.
Our arrival was also greeted by a pack of Central Asian Shepherd Dogs. These magnificent mythical creatures turned out to be as friendly as they seemed ferocious. They are the livestock guardians of the Wakhis. Later that night Mr. Happy narrated stories of illegal Markhor and Ibex hunters. He also shared how the dogs combine to fend off attacks from wolves and leopards. Perhaps the most fascinating and grueling anecdote was of a Yak stabbing a predatory wolf by its horns and carrying its carcass around the field before the shepherds took it off. We went to sleep overwhelmed by Broghil and it’s magical tales.
The morning after was D-Day. It was our only chance at scaling Karambar. Luckily, the sun was beaming down. The overnight snowfall dampened our spirits and cast doubts over the expedition. The locals motivated us and provided us with horses. In the summers, the 21 km trek from Lashkargaz takes 10-12 hours which is followed by a night’s camp at the lake. However, due to heavy snow and sub-zero temperatures, it was ill-advised to camp at the lake. Hence we decided to take the horses and attempt to come back the same day. The horse ride started smoothly enough. The rising sun was staring directly at us. The snow covered landscape shimmered from breathtaking views. The ride to the lake was expected to be 6 hours long and the altitude to be gained was around 600 m. After passing through 4 mountain passes, each incomparable in their beauty and magnificence, we saw the first sight of Karambar.
There it was, The Crown Jewel of the North. The turquoise blue lake stood conspicuous, in a landscape dominated by white. The 3.9 km giant had fought off the first snow storms of the season and continued to shine and bedazzle. It was already mid-day and we were up against the clock. The horse ride back was long and fatigue had set in. After a struggle of 6 more hours, we reached our base camp. Despite the toll it took, the expedition was a success.
We spent the next day playing football with the local kids and exploring the hills of Lashkargaz. Much to our delight, the last town in Pakistan had a functioning school. This school epitomized the incredible work AKRSP ( Aga Khan Rural Support Foundation) does for these areas. The sound of the national anthem being sung in the morning reminded us that our nomadic days were numbered.
We set off the next morning for Powar Village. Powar Village was the hometown of Mr. Happy and he was most excited among us to go back. The 10-hour journey got off to the most inauspicious of beginnings as our jeep got stuck in a river crossing. Luckily, we found help from nearby villagers and we resumed our slow struggle down the mountains of Hindu Raj. At nightfall, we reached Powar Village. We bid farewell to Mr. Happy and the locals brought freshly plucked apples and dry fruits as a send-off present. This surreal journey was coming to a close as we set off for Chitral.
The return leg was very introspective as we all processed the journey we had undertaken. We were taken aback by the hospitality offered by the locals. Each village we passed, we were gifted bundles of apples and peaches.
Overwhelmed, we struggled to pit our privileged lives against the horrors our brethren in the North West face. Tourism is the only sector that can change the destiny of these areas and their inhabitants. The glaring lack of road networks, health care, and the lack of economic opportunities can and probably will be addressed over time. The more pressing and pertinent problem is a deep-rooted one. Pakistan has always been a security state by virtue of its geo-strategic location. This has turned the collective mindset into one filled with skepticism and fear. This mindset manifests itself in the greater Chitral valley where foreign tourists are barred from entering. The areas bordering Afghanistan and Tajikistan are no-go areas for foreign tourists. The reasons and rationales can be debated over, but the fact remains the same. Pakistan’s tourism potential cannot be realized if we continue these policies. A trip that was filled with moments of unreal happiness, fatigue, euphoria, and despondence left a rather unexpected mark on all of us.
The inhabitants of Mastuj, Yarkhun, and Broghil are being deprived of their livelihoods. Some historical trails like Darwaza Pass are even prohibited for Pakistani nationals. This sense of injustice will probably be the hallmark of our journey. The thought that one of the best experiences our country has to offer is off-limits to our friends from other countries is a particularly disconcerting one.
The author, a freelance writer and travel enthusiast, writes under the pseudonym Chasing Indus.
Photo credit: Wikimedia Commons