Rawalakot: Rediscovered

The discovery of Rawalakot was purely coincidental. I have been meaning to get away from Islamabad for quite some time, but one engagement would lead to another hardly giving me a breather. My friend, who had recently joined National Commission for Human Development as District General Manager, Rawalakot, has been insisting me for quite some time to come and visit him. I was not too sure. I mean really, Rawalakot is not exactly a household name when it comes to making a getaway plan. My friend’s persistence and my desire to delve into the unknown finally prevailed. And, so one fine morning I found myself packing my lot, stock and barrel. And I was on my way to Rawalakot; purely a courtesy visit, or so I thought. Boy was I in for a surprise!

The start of our journey was not as pleasant as I would have wanted. I had to literally beg half a dozen people for directions to no avail. Finally, it was the Motorway’s finest that came to our rescue and straightened my directions as well as my temper. In a matter of no time, I along with my family was traversing the Kahuta plateau. The drive through Kahuta Tehsil was a breeze. The road leading to Azad Pattan, the Punjab-AJK border, was in a tip top condition. Watching the hilltops covered with full blooded pine trees crowded with wild olive shrub and appropriately garnished with an overcast sky was a perfect antidote for my tired city eyes. And I could not keep my eyes off of them. The go-go gadget boys of the hood which keep on producing the ever needed invaluable national assets, it seems are rendering this country more services than one. Apart from providing the peace of mind to millions of people of this country, the presence of ever vigilant guardians of our airspace has drastically improved the forest coverage in the area. I guess the timber thieves, erroneously referred to as Timber Mafia, have been put out of business in this area, thanks to our brave and the masterful!

We entered Azad Jammu and Kashmir, leaving the luscious green tops of Kahuta Tehsil behind, at Azad Pattan: a bridge that separates the haves and have-nots of this part of the world. The pines were no more and neither was the luxury of driving on a decent road. The road ahead of us was devoid of any order. Rawalakot was merely thirty-five kilometers away, yet it took me, with all my might, more than one and half hour to negotiate the never ending crests and turfs that lay between my destination and I. The towering mountain ranges racing on both sides of the road had nothing but shrubs; all the trees that once garlanded this beautiful landscape, presumably were nothing better than a bed side table in most houses in the Land of the Pure. I guess A.Q. should have had the I. Q and the E.Q to care for the foliage beyond his backyard, after all when it comes to linkages, it should be: one for all and all for one!

Oh well, life goes on! Half an hour to Rawalakot and the scenery changed once again. I found myself looking down, and boy what a feeling that was, at a mighty river forcing its way down stream with a vigor uncharacteristic of its’ offshoots in the plains down below. Unfortunately, the color of the water gushing below had a rather muddy disposition as opposed to the blue and white hue that is an attribute of the water that flows down these mountains such as we were negotiating at that moment. I guess that the top must be rotting for these muddy waters to be passing right under our noses. And believe me most of the noses that exist today are too high up in the air to discern this rot!

Much to my delight, things improved as I approached Rawalakot. The forest coverage, especially the prized pine was in abundance as we neared Rawalakot. The air was clean and so were the roads. I rolled down my car panes and switched off the synthetic air. A whiff of pine wood impregnated with a scent of charcoaled meat welcomed us as we entered Rawalakot. Viva la carnivorous. Our host, anxiously waiting for us, wasted no time and escorted us to the place where we were to be wined and dined; so to speak. Wining and dining these days has been reduced to whining and dining and therefore I was more interested in dining than anything else! The late afternoon lunch at Rawalakot, prepared by a cook, paid ten times less salary than most chefs in the country, was out of this world. Dal Mash, as they say, is the test of a cook’s abilities; the dal cooked that day was the best dal I have ever had in my entire life. With no room for whining, I requested my host to escort us to our lodgings lest we loose out on the sunlight.

The drive to the guest house was out of the ordinary. Managing the onslaught of mankind converging on your vehicle is one thing but steering a city car up the hill was really a challenge. The narrow winding road leading up to the guest house located on hilltop about ten kilometers from downtown Rawalakot literally took the breath out of me as well my delicate vehicle. I actually congratulated myself for reaching at the top like most imprudent men do. Success has many fathers, in the instant case yours truly, and as for the failures, fate be damned!

Our abode was decent, all things considered. The view from the guest house was breathtaking. The sun looked brighter in the disputed territory than it ever did in the land of the pure. Everything in sight was pure, unadulterated, clean and more importantly quiet. Not a single leaf dared stir. Everything stood at a standstill as the orange fireball, once worshipped, made its way quietly to enlighten the western hemisphere, like always. Darkness brought with it a sweet melancholy. Crickets came alive and so did the jackals that have patiently waiting for the night to draw its covers. The woods were quiet like an attic mouse moments earlier buzzed with activity. A cat pounced upon a bird resting in a tree just meters from where my family and I sat looking down the moving lights of vehicles. A desperate shriek followed by violent shaking of the branches and heavy grunts marked the end of a life!

Moon, unlike its illuminator, has this uncanny habit of making appearance when it is least expected. And that is exactly what happened that night. As we sat on the terrace mourning the death of the bird, lo and behold, Mr. Moon with all its might quietly pierced the dark curtains of the night and we found ourselves bathing in buttery moonlight. Moon is one article in this world which despite its masculine disposition has something feminine about it. Throughout our known history, moon has always been associated with the maternal masculinity rather than the paternal femininity; latter being inconsiderate as opposed to the effeminate consideration of the former. It was no different that night; the moon looking down on us with a monalisaque smile was introduced to my children as the good ole’ Chanda Mamoon’ !

Our rendevouz with the Mamoon was cut short by an unexpected assault of a rather beefy and violent breed of mosquitoes. The charge of mosquito brigade forced us to our rooms and the rest of the night was uneventful. The next day was dedicated for a visit to a man-made lake situated in the village Banjusa, about fifteen kilometers from where I bade farewell to my in-law that night.

Sleeping late is a luxury most of us city dwellers cannot afford any longer. If it is not the kids in the tiny rented ‘portion’, it is the incessant barking and honking of insolent drivers, even in the best of the neighborhoods of Islamabad the Beautiful, that can ruin a perfect slumber on any given day of the month. That morning, however, was unlike most mornings. I slept on and on till I could not sleep anymore. Breakfast was uneventful but not the ride to Banjusa. The driver who took us there was not the regular driver but a shopkeeper in Rawalakot, subbing for his friend. Much to my relief and that of my six-year old he got us to our destination in one piece.

The lake at Banjusa is out of this world. I could not believe as we walked out of the parking lot on to the lake. It was one neat and clean place I have ever been in my entire life anywhere in Pakistan. There was hardly a few dozen people there; a rarity at most tourist sites in Pakistan. Men, women, children, rich, poor, old and young all went about their business without a worry. Boats carrying families went around and around the lake without anyone ogling. Carefree families roamed around the lake without looking over their shoulders for the loafers chasing them. Everything around us was picture perfect: young men behaving like they are supposed to; families enjoying themselves like they should; young women strolling by the banks engrossed in God knows what, like they should and more importantly nature preserved like it should!

Our stay of two and half hours at Banjusa was an experience like no other. It rejuvenated my otherwise scruffy spirits and I found myself all geared up to face the real world once again!