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They say rivers have memories. After that dunk into the Mathoka Waterfall, I knew they were right.<\/p>\n
The path is mostly clear, the terrain easy, and yet I keep losing my footing over stones hidden under the lush green grass because I just can\u2019t seem to concentrate on the trail. My eyes refuse to break contact with the white mountains dominating the skies. For a moment, the delusion that I can touch the peaks overpowers, but the millennia-old glaciers, dazzling under the setting sun, are far too glorious for a mere cluster of blood and dust.<\/p>\n
Astronomer Carl Sagan, in A Pale Blue Dot<\/a><\/em>, puts my reverie perfectly into words. \u201cOn a scale of worlds,\u201d he writes, \u201chumans are inconsequential, a thin film of life on an obscure and solitary lump of rock and metal.\u201d<\/p>\n To be on top of the second-highest plateau in the world, popularly known as the Deosai Plains, in the July summer was to feel almost unwanted. This was a place where humans are scarce, where silence hums and the fragrance of flowers, of every colour, fills the winds.<\/p>\n One has to sit through a four-hour ride and traverse through a gnarled trail carved out of ancient rocks to reach the \u201croof of the world\u201d, far beyond colonial boundaries and modern tensions, situated in the heart of the Western Himalayas at an elevation of 4,114 meters or 13,497 feet.<\/p>\n A friend in Karachi, a wanderlust man of good taste, had spoken to me of Skardu \u2014 where the Deosai Plains are located \u2014 one evening. He told me of the intimidating Karakoram mountains, of small tea shops and of forts dating back centuries.<\/p>\n I desperately wanted to go. I was mourning the lush green mountains of Naran I had visited a few years back. But little did I know that the wonder of travel lies less in the reminiscence of lost time and more in the discovery of the new.<\/p>\n A week after the meeting with my friend, I met Amjad Maqpoon at a three-star hotel in Islamabad. It was a relief to see the lanky man with his wide-teeth smile and Balti accent, materialise out of a speculative WhatsApp group titled \u201cSkardu-Deosai\u201d. He was introduced to me by a local tour company, the ones that pop up on Instagram feeds every summer. We agreed on a price and decided to leave for Gilgit-Baltistan at 4am the next day.<\/p>\n The journey to the land of the mountains commenced with a flat tyre and an air-conditioning system that was best left untouched. But soon, we were zooming past the Hazara Motorway, out of the comfort of the capital\u2019s sleek roads, towards a discreet rugged terrain, the mystery of which kept me up throughout the bumpy drive. I caught flashes of pine trees in deep shades of green framed against the deep blue sky and clear water of the Kunhar river.<\/p>\n After a day on the road, we ascended into the mountains of GB through the Karakoram Highway (KKH), a road renowned for its sweeping vistas and sharp spiralling gradient.<\/p>\n The journey from Babusar Top to Chilas felt like a transition. The lush green mountains started losing their vegetation until they were completely replaced by daunting and jagged boulders that threatened to gulp you down. Sticking through thick and thin, the Indus river provided the perfect company to the towering peaks, crevicing through every stone, adamant not to leave the sunburnt Karakoram ranges alone.<\/p>\n Novelist JM Coetzee once said<\/a>: \u201cThere\u2019s no mere<\/em> landscape.\u201d In GB I understood the real meaning of these words, for the landscape grew so diverse, but never lost the comfort of the mountains, showcasing the many facets of Earth.<\/p>\n After every few kilometres, eucalyptus trees appeared, serving both as a warning and greeting of the human population, in valleys sparsely covered with short and emerald grass. Ahead, in the same frame, were craggy mountains that led up to peaks of sunlit-snow. Sunburnt mountain rocks, with overgrown shrubs, played host to markhors. These impossible combinations, this infinite variety is what GB is. It is as if Earth is opening up its depths and revealing the complete range of all it has to offer.<\/p>\n ! The Indus river never leaves the side of the Karakoram Ranges. <\/a><\/p>\n The sun had set, leaving behind a sky covered in hues of orange, when the KKH finally entered Skardu \u2014 also known as the mountaineer\u2019s paradise \u2014 1,423km from Karachi, where I had first set off from. The city, which connects the lifeline Indus to Pakistan, welcomed me with lights twinkling from tiny abodes on mountains.<\/p>\n Located in the lap of the Karakoram, downtown Skardu is a busy place, bustling with sun-tanned foreign mountaineers on the search for a souvenir to take back home. Locals, running tin-roofed small shops of antique items and dry fruits, are welcoming, almost always waiting for a chance to help a tourist.<\/p>\n \u201cThe crime rate in Skardu is zero,\u201d Muhammad Iqbal, our driver, tells me. \u201cAnd if you lose something here, the locals will make sure to find it and bring it safely back to you.\u201d<\/p>\n A little past 9pm, after spending more than 12 hours on the road, we finally reached a small hotel called Apricot and Spring Resort. In the darkness of the night, the small lodges looked warm and comforting. But the next morning, under the beaming sunlight, I woke up to a small stream, veining through narrow and topless canals. Eucalyptus trees, with their white trunks, provided the perfect foreground to snow-capped peaks. The sight was a marvel. In front of it, I felt my body turn into a speck of dust, lost in the vastness of the world before me.<\/p>\n The thing about Skardu is that everywhere you see \u2014 twirl and you will get my point \u2014 the horizon is blanketed with white and brown peaks, smiling. It is almost inconceivable that the mountains could be this close to you.<\/p>\n \u201cHave you ever felt this exposed before?\u201d Mohammad Hassan, a young man with golden-brown hair and a crooked smile, asked me. He was a local, assisting my tour guide with the trip. Hassan directed me to an old wooden gate at the far end of a walled garden crowded with apricot and apple trees. I opened it, and there in the crude frame, was the boundless expanse of rugged mountains with sharp rocks that looked as if they could fall on you any moment. It was arrestingly beautiful, and yet, I still felt an odd feeling that I didn\u2019t belong here.<\/p>\n Hassan asked me multiple times if I wanted to capture the moment through an artificial lens. But I just couldn\u2019t respond. It is strange. We say we travel for experiences, but when real experiences come our way, particularly those that can\u2019t be easily put into words, we hesitate to record them. Perhaps because the lens can\u2019t possibly do the memory justice.<\/p>\nA journey along the Indus<\/h2>\n
A land beyond my imagination<\/h2>\n