Beginning of each week I look forward to my visit to the plant that I work for; this weekly jaunt allows me an opportunity to indulge in one of the rare pleasures otherwise not available in Lahore. A two and half joyous hour of every Wednesday is the time that I spend driving on the Lahore-Islamabad Motorway.

As I take Multan Road exit, my muscles start to relax, the furrows on my forehead disappear and my mind prepares itself in anticipation of 90 minutes of peace and relaxation. As I pass the Turkish portion of the motorway, the recently developed boils in the left lane do not bother me, the repair work is already in progress; the occasional drifter from the adjoining localities treading alongside the road also does not bother me, as I know that this will not be seen once I cross the Ravi Bridge. So I drive along, leaving the hustle and bustle of Lahore behind me: the smoke, smog, deafening sounds of horns, indifferent donkey cart drivers, gallant motorcyclists who make it a point to drive in the middle of the road, and all the hazards of driving in the city. All I have in front of me is space, serenity and tranquility…

I take the ticket from the tollbooth, and things are already getting better, the road is immaculately clean, there are no drifters to be seen, except for the janitorial staff and birds hovering in search of food. The lush green fields on either sides of the road are picture perfect and the men and women toiling in the fields add life to these picturesque surroundings. The direction boards that gleam in the sunlight are not arresting the beauty that lies beyond. On the contrary the view takes me away to hinterlands where such sights are taken for granted. Few signs save for a couple catch my eye anymore, now that I frequent this road on a weekly basis. These signs draw the attention of the driver to ensure the safety of the crossing turtles, and to beware of the stray dogs that inhabit these areas.

The first time when I crossed these signs, the presence of dogs made sense to me; dogs are everywhere, good dogs, bad dogs, small dogs and top dogs; in one form or the other you see dogs around you, never paying any attention. However, turtles: I often wondered what these turtles would be doing on a motorway, and made it a point to look for turtles on my weekly rendezvous. On more than one occasion I spotted this rather small, helpless looking creature slowly making its way across the road, and I barely managed to run him over. These creatures I was told, dwell in the fields on either sides of the road, and have yet to come to terms with the recent division that has carved their homeland into two halves. For centuries they have moved freely in these lands, they even accepted man as their neighbor, and learned to live with him. However, this new development is a little too much for their feeble minds to comprehend and little realizing the hazards, they continue with their daily journey across the great divide, which more often than not leads them to death.

The rotting carcasses and blotches of blood seen on the road are testimonials of their plight. Yet they climb the slopes leading to the road with a few fortunate one making it to the divider and that is where their journey ends. The few smart ones with the will to abandon the norm of following the straight line take it upon themselves to find an opening in the divider hoping it will lead them to the other side---the land that was theirs once---the others, more traditional in their approach assuming that they have made a mistake by climbing the slope decide to head home with a resolution to take a fresh start, to make amends, to find the right spot that would lead them to their desired destination. A handful lives to tell their likes the tales of their journey.

As I pass over the dried blood on the road, I often wonder which breed of turtles this particular one belonged: the adamant one trying to breach the divider or the conformist who wanted to play it safe. It could very well be the unsuspecting one, the one who never made it to the divider. Moving along I approach a sign which donned a dog’s figure, suggesting that stray dogs would be crossing the road from this point on. Having witnessed the fate of the turtles, I was rather curious to see how the dogs were coping with this situation.

It was quite amazing that not once did I come across a dog trying to make it to the other side. I tried changing my timings, hoping that the dogs may have a different schedule that that of the turtles, on account of their nocturnal frolics, to no avail. No dogs ever. Maybe the NHA erred in putting up the signs, I tell myself, as I pass by the sign on that eventful Wednesday.

It was a sunny spring day, with summer lurking around the corner. I spotted a dog alongside the road. Thanking my stars, I slowed down, to observe basically. It was a big dog, probably the top dog and the leader of the pack. He stood defiantly watching me park my vehicle, and did not even budge when I exited the car. He had a confident countenance; a proprietary look, uncommon in his urban compatriots. The city dogs, faced with scarcity of space and abundance of resources, are more or less docile and complacent in their approach towards life. They stay within their defined areas and seldom violate others’ space. The beast that stood facing me that morning was nothing like my neighborhood dogs. We stood meters apart from each other with, and one of us had no purpose being there, and I knew that someone was I; I was trespassing.

Then I heard a rattling noise on my left. The beast had by then begun snarling at me. In a hurry I looked towards the spot, where I thought I had heard something or someone move. There to my astonishment were a dozen dogs hiding the shrubs that skirted the fields. For a moment a chill ran down my spine as I realized that those creatures, by the looks on their faces, were not so happy to see an intruder in amongst them. So I decided to retreat to the relative safety and comfort of my car.

Sensing victory, the beast lifted his muzzle and a triumphant howl echoed, the then, deserted highway. Taking the cue from their leader the, bunch hiding in the bushes scrambled to join the leader who was still howling. The congregation settled in a semi-circle, with the leader positioning him in the middle of the crowd. Simply ignoring the parked vehicle and its petrified occupant, the group started moving towards the divider. The vigilant leader made sure that was no threat of incoming vehicles to himself or his charges, before he jumped on the road. Carefully making their way the pack was seen heading towards the further end of the divider. My curiosity had, by then, taken the better of my anxiety and I anxiously followed the dogs’ movement.

The well-disciplined lot, moving parallel to the divider, paused about 5-0 yards from where I stood, and I could hear their muffled growls and barks. Suddenly, their discipline and abeyance to their leader ended. In frantic leaps they started running in different directions, not even caring for the approaching vehicles. Some jumped over the divider and disappeared on the other side, while a few ran back to the spot from where they had emerged earlier. I saw this rather feeble animal carrying the carcass of a rather big turtle in his jaws. He crossed my vehicle, and disappeared in the bushes down below. A couple of furious dogs, which had probably missed the loot, followed the small dog. The leader was nowhere to be seen. I guess he had a more than mouthful to deal with; matters of the sate could wait.

The three dogs that disappeared in the bushes were not to be seen again. I waited for a few minutes to see if the underdog had managed to salvage his gains, but that was in vain. Neither the meek nor the mighty surfaced from the shrubs, and I had to give the benefit of the doubt to the former. The world loves underdogs!

I switched on the engine, and slowly started steering my car. A loud and boisterous horn of a big sedan brought me back to my senses. I straightened up in my seat and put the car in motion. As I passed the spot where those dogs have picked up their meal for the day, all I could see was the blood and turtle shell lying here and there. I moved on. The dogs, the turtles, the blood, leaving them behind. In the end it was just I and my thoughts and hum of the engine. I lit a cigarette and allowed every thing to settle.

Since that day I had often wondered was I grieved at the way these poor turtles are being treated, or was it the manner in which the dogs had planned to consume the remains of those unfortunate creatures? Was I angry with NHA for the construction of this road or should I blame the uncaring motorists? I should definitely report this matter to WWF, was my resolve.

But that day, when I peered out of the window, the sun still shone brightly, men were still toiling in the fields, the lush green scenery garnished with yellow still raced besides me, but for some reason it all looked dull, somewhat lifeless. It must be because I have just witnessed life and death, I thought. But then all deaths cannot be reported to WWF; they are only concerned with wildlife preservation; preservation of other lives, humans included, is not their domain. An insignificant species of turtle losing their lives on an unknown motorway will never be the concern of WWF or for that matter anyone else. It is only when they are “endangered” that they are worthy of protection. The environmentalist would not care either; a brownish-black creature of no environmental significance is hardly worth their time and money. So what if his natural habitat is disturbed, so what if they die crossing the divider. The environmentalists have bigger fish to fry; ozone layer is a brand name, a Pakistani turtle is not.

All of a sudden I was overwhelmed with the thoughts of turtles and dogs: top dogs, underdogs, all kind of dogs. My head swirled; I was sweating profusely and was forced and the car swayed. I barely managed to steer my car on to the shoulder, switched the engine off, and got out. A few deep breaths helped and I sat down on the ground facing the fields. I wanted to go back, to start all over again without having to face the dogs, the turtles and their likes, but will I be able to or be allowed the comfort of driving without those haunting images, I wondered.