Three’s company in and around Vehowa
On a trip to explore the gorge of Vehowa River and mysteries of the unseen land in Dera Ghazi Khan
By Muhammad Saad Nawaz Qaisrani
Being one who hardly lets go of any chance to go about gadding in the hills, a surprise popped up for me when my paternal uncle, a person who would otherwise be critical of my futile venturing into the mountains, told me to explore the ‘dam’ on Vehowa River. For me it was not only a God given chance but also a revelation that something similar to a dam existed so close to my own village.
Like any other tour in the mountains, the first step towards visiting this purported dam was to find the appropriate guide to lead us to the dam site on Vehowa River. Luckily this task was not very difficult, as I already had an acquaintance with a Baloch from those mountains, Rashid Qaisrani. Being a former camel transporter, Rashid knows every nook and corner of these hills. Next step: finding somebody willing to lend a bike to be banged about in the rocks and another somebody willing to do the banging, as I have little experience of motorbike off-roading.
To my good luck, both of these steps were accomplished with relative ease, thanks to my cousins, one of whom lent the bike, while another one, Majid Qaisrani, volunteered to steer my way in the mountains.
And so early one monsoon morning the three of us jumped onto the one bike we had and made straight for the mountains. A short stop was made in Vehowa, DG Khan to refuel the bike. As we proceeded towards west of Vehowa, the desert of the Pachad gradually changed from a sandy expanse into a pure desert pavement (rocky desert). Driving the bike on such tortuous terrain was no mean feat, nor was sitting on a bike being driven on such paths. For a while Rashid and I put up with the jumps, but then we decided to walk our way to the dam, while Majid, the driver of the bike, was told to join us by bringing the bike there. Half an hour’s walk led us straight to the dam, while Majid took another 10 minutes to arrive, courtesy of the need to define new roads in this rocky country.
What is famous as a dam turned out to be nothing more than a dike built back in the 1970s to provide a reliable structure to divert water from the perennial flow of Vehowa River to the city of Vehowa for irrigation purposes. Although Vehowa city had been using the water of Vehowa River to irrigate its date and mango orchards as well as crop fields for centuries before, yet there was no indestructible structure that could withstand the pressure created by the occasional swelling of Vehowa River from a mountain stream to a raging torrent. While the perennial flow of Vehowa River hardly crosses the 100 cusec figure, good rains in the mountains can create torrents flowing at 50,000 cusecs at ease.
When we arrived, the water was found to be sediment laden due to distant rains, this too on a day on which the sky appeared to us pretty clear. It was certainly not the cleanest I could have wished for but was by all means clear of dirty effluents as I am unaware any leather factories, sugar mills or similar polluting influences anywhere along this pure stream. The three of us jumped into the river for a good swim as the weather was too hot to bear. Here we stayed for a good half hour, beating the heat that had made the arrival journey miserable so far.
Having being introduced to the so called dam, I asked Rashid to now take me as far into the mountains as he could. There was little far we could go anyways, for neither the bike had enough petrol to journey afar nor our bike driver the expertise to navigate the countless stream crossings that lay ahead. At that point Rashid advised that we should park the bike under some tree shade in the bed of Vehowa River and walk our way to the top of a neighbouring plateau to get a panoramic view of the hills.
While Rashid and I took a walk to explore the Farash (Tamarix aphylla) and Jal (Salvadora oleoides) littered Kachchi (vale) in the bed of the torrent, Majid decided to stay put near the bike. It was a smart decision to make, for the day had become unbearably hot by now and while Rashid had to bear my constant flurry of demands and lead me to wherever my adventurous nature would desire, Majid had no such compulsion.
A few kilometres’ walk west of the gorge from where the Vehowa River egresses led us through the Kachchi right next to a small hillock. On my insistence, Rashid agreed to lead the way to the plateau atop the hillock. Once there, nothing special was found except for a snake, which unfortunately I could not see for myself. However, the urgency with which Rashid reached out for some big rock or long stick made me believe it might just have been a Cobra or a Krait. I can however not be sure, for our people will kill a harmless Boa or a non-venomous Keelback with much the same vigour as reserved for a dangerous Viper.
Once at the end of the plateau we found a way down to the torrent bed and began a search for Majid, who by now had disappeared from where we had left him. Once found, he had an interesting tale to tell for his disappearance. While he was sitting comfortably in the shade of a tree, three Baloch women showed up. Taking him to be a smuggler, for what other than smuggling would a 15 year old boy be doing on a roasting August noon in the bed of Vehowa River, they tried their utter best to persuade him to give up the evil of smuggling, especially at such an impressionable age. All his assurances that he was only acting as the driver for his cousin (me, who else?) who happens to be stupid enough to spend such a scorching day in such a remote place appeared to them as lame excuses. In the course of their dialogue came a few references of police apprehending smugglers, and this is what frightened Majid to the extent that he went about hiding from tree to tree to avoid any possible meet-up with police officers on patrol. After all if the Baloch women took him for a smuggler, what would the cops do? It was only when Rashid and I got hold of him that we assured him that neither were we in police jurisdiction nor did we need to fear it.
After a short walk back east to the gorge of Vehowa River in which we happened to surprise a family party of Seesee Partridges and give an untimely wake up to an Eagle Owl, we decided to call it a day. With afternoon clouds gathering on the horizon, not only the threat of a torrent was great but the chances of getting back home 30 kilometres away would dim if we wasted any more time. No doubt the urge to unravel the mysteries of this unseen land to the west was irresistible, yet now was not the time for it. To travel any further west upstream of Vehowa River I had to wait out the monsoon season. And so it was with a heavy heart that I bade farewell to this magnificent river, with the promise that one day I would be back for the rest of it.