To Mizri Ghar and back
When my dream of a vacation on a cool and quiet mountain could only come true some other day
By Muhammad Saad Nawaz Qaisrani
With the arrival of summer, everybody is on the lookout for the opportune moment to rush out of the frenzied city environment and into some cool, relaxing countryside. While most of us rush north, I have found my serenity, tranquillity and peace out in the west. Thus, it was time to go and get the chill by climbing Mizri Ghar (10,207 feet). And, for that, I had started out by getting to Ramak from Tibbi Qaisrani in the early hours of one June morning.
Once there, a few cups of tea were had before Izzat Gul, my Pashtun guide and buddy, and I boarded the local transport that would take us to Sin Mandozai. Being one of only two wagons that ply on the Mughal Kot-Sin Mandozai road everyday, the vehicle was already overcrowded and the only place where a place could be found was on the rooftop. It seemed odd at first, but eventually the oddity gave way to a sense of enjoyment, as I realised that the cool evening breeze and the beautiful panoramic views that I was relishing from where I sat could not have been possible from the inside confines of the same vehicle.
“Who is this fellow and where is he from?” was the inquiry every Pashtun would make from Izzat Gul after the customary greetings they would exchange in their characteristic South Western dialect of Pashto. That there was something peculiar about me was obvious from the very outset when I failed to complete those Pashto greetings whenever my turn would come.
“He is a Qaisarzai and belongs to Islamabad.” This is the prompt answer Izzat Gul would give to every such inquiry. Here Qaisarzai is the word that Pashtun tribesmen use for the Qaisrani Baloch.
Apparently, something was not Qaisarzai – like. It was only after more than half an hour of fluent conversations in Seraiki and Urdu and some broken spurts in the limited Pashto I knew that it became evident that Qaisarzai might as well look as I do.
“What is he doing here if he is a Qaisarzai?” one of the Pashtun’s retorted when he finally realised I was not a Pashtun and had nothing to do with their country.
Now there are a great many positives and some negatives about tribal people. But the part I hate the most is the suspicion with which a foreigner is viewed, as if I was there to detonate some explosives!
Izzat Gul made his best efforts to convince them that the most sly of my intentions was to photograph their country and publish an article, but to little avail. It was at this moment in time that Taimur, a Zimri Pashtun serving in the armed forces came to the fore.
“Are our mountains more beautiful than those of Abbottabad?” came a question from Taimur.
Now here was a Zimri Pashtun who had seen the outside world and was alive to the nobility of my purpose. So finally, I could start talking sense with somebody while everybody else would be forced to spare me the looks of unbelieving suspicion.
Taimur’s question was hard to answer, for both mountain ranges (Himalayas and Suleiman Mountains) had their own merits. However, for a matter of personal preference, I had to say that hills appeared more appealing to me. A smile then illuminated his face, hinting that I had finally won a kind of acceptance for my presence.
For a good while, conversations with Taimur flourished. Finally, as he disembarked, Taimur remarked, “If you go to the mountain (Mizri Ghar), my uncle lives there, you should stay at his place. And on the way back, you must visit me at Sarbali. I will be waiting for you there.”
Sarbali is one village in Zimri country I was irking to visit, but Izzat Gul had warned me beforehand that a visit there was out of the itinerary. Sarbali had to be next time, I told Taimur.
As time passed by, the wagon inched closer to Sin Mandozai. Around an hour before sunset, the vehicle finally stopped at a large pond near Sin. It was here that all the passengers disembarked and the unaccompanied luggage was offloaded into a nearby school compound; a building that for God knows how long has had its purpose redefined.
The vehicle disengaged us at a height of 3,900 feet. A climb of around 400 feet brought us to the house of Sohrab Khan, a relative of Izzat Gul’s, and the gentleman who was to lead us to the top of Mizri Ghar.
Sohrab’s family was strong at Seraiki, and so a few good conversations were had before a poor slaughtered chicken that would have wished I hadn’t come was had for dinner. Dinner was followed by a test of my geography which, thanks to the frequent use of a mapping programme was quite revealing to them. The only thing that made absolutely no sense to these Pashtun was talk of elevations above sea level. After that came a seemingly peaceful night’s sleep.
In the morning, a realisation dawned that all was not well. In fact, it was now becoming obvious that nothing was well. Gusty winds in the night had reduced visibility to pathetically poor levels. Photography was out of the question, and with that was gone the dream to be on top of Mizri Ghar. It would be pointless to climb another 5,000 feet only to have your vision clouded by fog. Four early morning hours were wasted waiting for some let up in the weather, but none was had.
The greatest problem in summers is the frequent variability of weather. While only the previous day I could see Takht-i-Suleiman from Mughal Kot, now I could not even see the Uruki Tor Ghar (Small Black Mountain) from a village at its base.
“We should climb the Uruki Tor Ghar and see if the weather clears. If it does, we can then move onto Mizri Ghar,” said Sohrab Khan while Izzat Gul also seemed to concur.
The proposition was not a bad one for two reasons. First of all, the Small Black Mountain is not that small after all, and secondly, we would have to scale the Uruki Tor Ghar anyhow to get to Mizri Ghar. Peaking at approximately 6,100 feet, we still had a climb of 1,700 feet to make it to its top, where we could get good indications about the weather and if it cleared up, then excellent views of Mizri Ghar as well as a chance to continue the journey to its peak.
Three hours of slow climbing led us to the top of the Small Black Mountain, but this turned out to be probably the most disappointing climb I have made to date. The views from the top appeared frustratingly foggy. After waiting for another six hours at the peak, frustration grew as the weather went from bad to worse. It was here that a decision had to be made.
Much to the chagrin of my Pashtun buddies, I decided to cut the trip short after another day’s wait. It was pointless to continue to the top of Mizri Ghar in such bad weather. I could come back with ease another time in better conditions if I left it then. But the same would not be possible if I kept pushing on. And so, my dream of a vacation on a cool and quiet mountain could only come true some other day.