Devil Soul
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Minimarg: Finding magic near the Line of Control
OSMAN EHTISHAM ANWAR — PUBLISHED 22 MINUTES AGO
This is the second installment of a four-part travel blog. Read the first one here.
After a strenuous hike that lasted for an hour, I came to a grinding halt. I had only covered a 1.5km distance.
With the sun out in full blazing glory and the treeless plateau of Deosai lending no place to hide, the weight on my back was excruciating. It was impossible to keep pace with the occasional cloud that chanced the wide open blue skies, providing a fleeting glimpse of a shadow.
At my current pace, it would certainly take me another couple of hours to hike up the few kilometres before the descent to Chilam started.
Hiking out of Deosai.
I had only recently heard about Minimarg — a scenic town close to the Indian border, and was hoping to catch a ride there the same day.
While the army has carried out developmental work to pave the road heading to Minimarg, there are still plenty of dangerous patches yielding to several hundred metres of deadly falls on a miscalculated turn. Travelling at night is virtually impossible.
I had no option but to continue on foot. After another hour of slow and deliberate trek, the dirt track gave way to a well-tarmacked road. A lone wooden shack also came in sight, with a few kids playing in the adjoining field.
Curious as to who this lonely stranger with a big backpack was, they came to investigate.
All of them hailed from a village close to Chilam, in the same direction that I was headed. After a little rest with no signs of a lift, I got up to continue. By now, my entourage had grown from a solo traveller to a traveller with four young and eager companions.
With Asghar Ali on his bike.
Asghar Ali, who worked as a librarian in Skardu, had made an early start to visit his family in his hometown of Astore. Instead of choosing the longer but well-paved route via Karakoram Highway, he had decided to take his Honda 125 on a bumpy but scenic ride cutting across the Deosai Plains.
Upon hearing the sound of a bike in the distance, my travel companions created a huge raucous, and flagged his bike from a mile away.
Bidding farewell to them, I jumped on the bike. In half an hour, we were atChilam Chowki (checkpost). I had requested permission to visit Minimarg prior to leaving Skardu, and was hoping that someone had already informed the checkpost about my arrival.
A signpost at Chilam.
A sentry came out of the guard room at the checkpost. After sizing me up, he asked a few questions before inquiring, “Aap kis ke mehmaan hain?” (Whose guest are you?)
My father happened to know the Commanding Office in the Northern Areas at the time. His name was bound to expedite permits and open gates fast, I thought.
“Main Commander Northern Areas ka mehman hoon.” (“I’m the guest of Commander Northern Areas”), I replied confidently.
A look of amused disbelief shot across his face; he looked me up and down again, and asked me to confirm my father's name.
It took a while before my credentials were finally verified at the checkpost and I was escorted to a waiting area.
After some time, I was finally on the road to Minimarg — a beautiful little town nestled between mountains covered in dense green foliage and trees, at an altitude of 2844 metres. Jamal, a local building contractor, had an errand to run there.
The road to Minimarg.
A milestone on the way to Minimarg.
High on naswar, he seemed like the perfect companion-cum-driver, one wished to take on a ride on this perilous road with tumultuous turns and deadly falls.
Due to Minimarg's proximity with the Indian border, I had to restrict my camping and trekking ambitions and was forced (read: glad) to swap my tent for a cosy shell-proof underground bunker.
Minimarg served as the perfect prelude to the spectacular lakes and roving green mountains of Domail.
Minimarg perched below the mountains.
Minimarg.
Birchtrees are found all over Minimarg and Domail and are used to make paper.
OSMAN EHTISHAM ANWAR — PUBLISHED 22 MINUTES AGO
This is the second installment of a four-part travel blog. Read the first one here.
After a strenuous hike that lasted for an hour, I came to a grinding halt. I had only covered a 1.5km distance.
With the sun out in full blazing glory and the treeless plateau of Deosai lending no place to hide, the weight on my back was excruciating. It was impossible to keep pace with the occasional cloud that chanced the wide open blue skies, providing a fleeting glimpse of a shadow.
At my current pace, it would certainly take me another couple of hours to hike up the few kilometres before the descent to Chilam started.
Hiking out of Deosai.
I had only recently heard about Minimarg — a scenic town close to the Indian border, and was hoping to catch a ride there the same day.
While the army has carried out developmental work to pave the road heading to Minimarg, there are still plenty of dangerous patches yielding to several hundred metres of deadly falls on a miscalculated turn. Travelling at night is virtually impossible.
I had no option but to continue on foot. After another hour of slow and deliberate trek, the dirt track gave way to a well-tarmacked road. A lone wooden shack also came in sight, with a few kids playing in the adjoining field.
Curious as to who this lonely stranger with a big backpack was, they came to investigate.
All of them hailed from a village close to Chilam, in the same direction that I was headed. After a little rest with no signs of a lift, I got up to continue. By now, my entourage had grown from a solo traveller to a traveller with four young and eager companions.
With Asghar Ali on his bike.
Asghar Ali, who worked as a librarian in Skardu, had made an early start to visit his family in his hometown of Astore. Instead of choosing the longer but well-paved route via Karakoram Highway, he had decided to take his Honda 125 on a bumpy but scenic ride cutting across the Deosai Plains.
Upon hearing the sound of a bike in the distance, my travel companions created a huge raucous, and flagged his bike from a mile away.
Bidding farewell to them, I jumped on the bike. In half an hour, we were atChilam Chowki (checkpost). I had requested permission to visit Minimarg prior to leaving Skardu, and was hoping that someone had already informed the checkpost about my arrival.
A signpost at Chilam.
A sentry came out of the guard room at the checkpost. After sizing me up, he asked a few questions before inquiring, “Aap kis ke mehmaan hain?” (Whose guest are you?)
My father happened to know the Commanding Office in the Northern Areas at the time. His name was bound to expedite permits and open gates fast, I thought.
“Main Commander Northern Areas ka mehman hoon.” (“I’m the guest of Commander Northern Areas”), I replied confidently.
A look of amused disbelief shot across his face; he looked me up and down again, and asked me to confirm my father's name.
It took a while before my credentials were finally verified at the checkpost and I was escorted to a waiting area.
After some time, I was finally on the road to Minimarg — a beautiful little town nestled between mountains covered in dense green foliage and trees, at an altitude of 2844 metres. Jamal, a local building contractor, had an errand to run there.
The road to Minimarg.
A milestone on the way to Minimarg.
High on naswar, he seemed like the perfect companion-cum-driver, one wished to take on a ride on this perilous road with tumultuous turns and deadly falls.
Due to Minimarg's proximity with the Indian border, I had to restrict my camping and trekking ambitions and was forced (read: glad) to swap my tent for a cosy shell-proof underground bunker.
Minimarg served as the perfect prelude to the spectacular lakes and roving green mountains of Domail.
Minimarg perched below the mountains.
Minimarg.
Birchtrees are found all over Minimarg and Domail and are used to make paper.