The Gorakh chronicles: Paradise forsaken

Fruits of servitude, among other things

“His fierce brown eyes follow every move his prey makes, as he lurks in a dark corner, crouching amidst scrubs and bushes. His victim stands no chance, for he is a master of the chase, his agility unmatched and his resolve unmerciful. He’s poised to move, ready for another unabashed kill – the Valley of the Wolves was not a stranger to his antics.”

What may sound like a scene from the next season of the Game of Thrones is actually a tale of a glorious past. Gorakh Hill, once a battle ground hosting active pursuit of herds of deer by cheetahs, has now become a sordid piece of land, courtesy the hunting proclivities of the feudal lords residing in the area, where all that remains in the name of wildlife are snakes, rabbits, mongoose and an occasional Gila monster lizard. Personally, I had a singular encounter with our furry friends — an emancipated bird trying to eke out a living in the extremely barren, but surprisingly humid, environs of the summit of the 6,500ft hill.

However, the flora of the hill is truly spectacular.

From miniaturised silver palms to stunted olive trees, one feels overwhelmed in the natural barren beauty, a truly out-of-the-body experience that transcends the paradigm we are accustomed to as our environment. Add to it the frigid weather and eerie silence, and the place is truly breathtaking, a solitary sanctum away from the loud horns and broken silencers of the city. I can only imagine the beauty of the stark white landscape when it snows in December.

From miniaturised silver palms to stunted olive trees, one feels overwhelmed in the natural barren beauty, a truly out-of-the-body experience that transcends the paradigm we are accustomed to as our environment

Staring out while the morning was still young, past the bumpy road to Hyderabad that was riddled with potholes and patches, we found comfort in the highway to Dadu, comparable to international infrastructure by all standards. Occasionally cruising up to 180km/hr, the surreal scenery made for a pleasant drive. Mountains that were submerged under water millennia ago and in every possible hue ensconced us. However, the dryness of the area did not afford us the luxury to truly enjoy the scenery and it all became pretty vapid soon. Passing by vast and verdant fields of chilli plants, cauliflower and tomatoes, we reached Dadu to embark upon the second part of the trip to a small town called ‘Johi’ which would take us to a small outpost called ‘Johi Chando’, where we would park our car at a gas station, leaving for the 56km trip up the mountain in an outfitted Suzuki Potohar jeep (with a 2,000cc diesel engine).

The road to Johi Chando was a ride to hell due to its atrocious condition. There were speed breakers that looked like perfectly camouflaged rattlesnakes sleeping on the road, and we always seemed to hit them, resulting in a rattling jump and an axle breaking thud (we kept our fingers crossed throughout that 21km journey).

The trip to the summit of the mountain went by quite quickly since the concentration and the diversity of the mountains had visibly increased and we were entranced by the winding road upwards, and the rapid change in weather that ensued.

Once we reached our destination, the hotel did give a semblance of a nice cottage retreat, but on closer inspection, it was surrounded by garbage, the infrastructure was crumbling, and though amenities were available, there was no hot water (despite there being gas and water available).

As the locals put it, General Musharraf took personal interest in this area and whatever it is today, however meagre the development, it is only because of his efforts. He even laid a 55km long water pipeline to bring water to the area. Not only that, he bought Rs50m worth of Oleander flower plants and thousands of water storage tanks to turn the desert into a colourful paradise. Sadly, the commencement of the plantation process coincided with the toppling of his government, resulting in confiscation of the expensive plants and tanks by the local waderas for sale in the open market. Ironically, a local managed to retain five plants which he planted in the area, which are thriving since then as a vivid testament to what could have been.

Rumour has it that some Chinese entrepreneurs offered the MNA, who is also the chairman of the GHA, an offer to build a proper road all the way to the mountain top

The plot thickens. Rumour has it that some Chinese entrepreneurs offered the MNA, who is also the chairman of the GHA, an offer to build a proper road all the way to the mountain top, with such superior quality that it would enable even bikers to cycle their way up. The cherry on top, the deal promised no toll tax for 10 years. The offer was refused, as ostensibly, he had some vested interests in keeping the area underdeveloped. People who don’t want to see this area developed have gone as far as precipitating the perception that Dadu is chock full of dacoits who will block your car and whisk you away for ransom. I did not. All my friends who have visited the area echo the same sentiment as me. The people there are extremely friendly and respectful of visitors, as tourism is a lucrative form of livelihood for them. Two brothers, who run the only hotel on the hill, have invested their own savings to accommodate visitors, and amongst other things, have a cook that probably makes the best food in the world. He just would not stop bragging about the fact that he knows 150 recipes and has a Facebook page. Apart from that, there is an abundance of labour willing to help you every step of the way, whereas the 150+ formal employees hired by the GHA are nowhere to be found, all ghost employees, earning salaries from the comfort of their homes.

The sun sets quickly at this height, and soon it was pitch black. The generators roared into action as the electricity comes at four-hour intervals. There were no stars on the sky, inscrutable, since in this darkness and pollution free environment one would expect to see the entire universe and experience a feeling of unparalleled catharsis. But I drew my inner calm from the silence all around; frightening, but intense enough to force me to introspect, and marvel the wonders and vastness of God’s creation. It is a miracle in the first place indeed to experience snow just four hours from the humid and sizzling hot weather of Karachi. I may never visit this place again, but it has found a place in my heart. Without prejudice, I pray that the spirit of patriotism that Punjab shows in everything that they do trickles down to Sindh as well; the feeling of ownership and an obligation to leave something for their progeny. We committed the cardinal mistake of not eliminating feudalism when India did in 1948, and now are reaping the bitter fruit of servitude and despondency that is so evident on everyone’s face here in rural Sindh.