Markhor And My Heart Beat

A narrow winding jeep able road, in loose shingle and stones, wound along the left bank of Chitral River. Perhaps it was a mule track developed into a road. An occupant of the jeep with tense nerves keeps his eyes focused on the fore of the bonnet lest any incident of a slide from left or a mechanical failure may plunge the vehicle into the river – quite incidents had happened on this road. There were no U – turns but all V’s, meaning that on every turn for a climb or going down, a helper would step down to guide the driver a number of to and fro for a turn. Roughly 14 kilometers ahead of Domel Nisar, I and my small guide party arrive at the border village of Arandu – locally called as Arnawai. The few scattered houses sited the Chitral Scouts Post perched onto the confluence of a steep but wide nullah marking the Pak – Afghan border line known as Arandu Gol in front and Chitral River on its right. Ahead of Doh Clam – the Afghan post, the terrain open up to a small wide valley in Kunar with a bordering town of Birkot. To be here at the Scouts post meant foresighted and immediate decisions to the call of duty as serious turmoil’s had erupted in Afghanistan because of the Russian Influence and the Afghan land right ahead was subjected to indiscriminate firing and strafing by Afghan helicopters and jets on the locals – more so called the mujahedeen living in the area. I looked at the thick pine forest covering more than half to the top of the steep mountains to the left and right and was convinced that it is the Markhor country and this majestic goat is the part of natural heritage and I prayed that during foot patrolling, I may spy these beautiful creatures with luck.

The duty was interesting. The locals of the area and quite a number of scouts had witnessed very few herds of these animals on the lower reaches of the mountains where they come to graze in the meadows. They had been hunted with no discrimination and were on the verge of extinction. I had even tasted dry smoked meat of the markhor which was carried by an Afghan Mujahedeen to fill his appetite during their operations against their enemies. The much talked about by the locals of the area was perhaps a lone markhor said to be carrying an extra ordinary head and size as to have never seen before by them and had marked its place in Pakistani territory around Arandu. My yearning grew more on every patrolling expedition in the gullies and ravines and mountain tops for a crack on this trophy head, but I could not even spy this creature anywhere. Arandu was a place where duties were performed on rotation basis and on number of occasions on this post, I never faltered in my aim to encounter this strange much talked about beast. Every time I heard a different story – may be true or false by the locals, but every time my resolve firmed up. Quite a number of days and nights had been spent on the mountain tops during foot patrolling, but the lucky day seemed too far off in the foreground.

It was perhaps November, and a slight flurry had settled on the top reaches of the mountains. My two sections were ordered to settle down for the night on a mountain top with all the security aspects in view. The sun was still shining red before it would cast its shadows in the next hour or so. Havre sacks were being handed out as I out of curiosity moved down the ridge and through a small gully climbed onto the next ridge. The lesson of not to break the ridge line made me crawl over to the overlooking crest line for a view on the surroundings below – and in my heart of hearts a ping of yearning for a look at my most coveted beast did develop even at that instant. 7.62 along my side and loaded with a flick of a safety, I slowly emerged behind a thick brush for a peer around. I slowly moved my head to look down the valley. All seemed quite and still. There was not even a whiff of wind to move single pine needles. Even if the slight wind had been there, would come from my left. The slow movement of my neck taking all the panoramic view in my eyes stopped with a wide gaze of surprise which greeted me aghast on the left. Luckily, I was on the right as any wind coming from the left could spook any animal of my scent. There it was with the entire splendor on earth standing below a short pine tree near to a ridge top and not far from me. My hand slowly slid to the feel of my rifle but stopped. It seemed an eternity as our eyes transfixed in an embrace of understanding. An understanding of love. I could feel his nostrils swell as transmitting foam into the atmosphere. I could feel his breathing down my neck that instant. His heaving muscles covered with perhaps sweat were speaking of the power pack on that body. The lighter tan of his upper body with the underbelly white and black light tan patterns on legs, with a long and shaggy neck fur stretched further down his knees. The corkscrew-shaped horns were I believe prized more than the best and definitely measured to near 68 inches as it stood more than 4 feet at the shoulders. The time had stopped. I could feel my heartbeat and excitement throbbing not only in my chest but on my temples as well. The great powerful hulk realized my precarious position to burst out of excitement and with a nod, gently melted down the ridge into the pine forest. I stared in amazement and saw him disappear with his tail wagging to say good bye to me. I left count of the time and gazed in eternity till after the shadows fell on the valley below. My markhor was safe and wish him many a happy off springs.

 

The Snow Leopard Country

It seemed that winters had set in a bit too early and the mountains far up in the north, richly covered in snow, ebbed onto the Little Pamir Mountain Rage across the Oxus River. The foot track had not yet developed into a jeepable road from Garram Chasma to Gabor in Chitral, which onwards lead to Shah Salim and then into Afghanistan through Durah Pass into Badakshan to Zebak.  Towards the western tip rose  high mountains bordering the Wakhan corridor. The last post of Chitral Scouts at Gabor was more or less a staging section post through which active patrolling up to the borderline was maintained, though climbing well above the snow line even at 18,000 feet was a feat well accomplished by the scouts without breathing aids. An eagle all rich in its splendor  circled high overhead as it searched for its prey in the snow clad gullies and ridges. It all seemed that the it was a lucky day to be greeted by the eagle as dawn turned brighter. Arif – the patrol commander always carried his camera to capture such fascinating landscapes of opportune. All around, the eye catching site was fascinating as each ridge gentle climb brought in new landscape into focus. The turmoil’s had erupted in Afghanistan even earlier to Russian invasion of 1979/ 1980 on the Afghan land. The country was still in its early insurgency when the Afghan Mujahedeen has started crisscrossing the Pakistan – Afghanistan borderline. Therefore, effected people coming across the border into Pakistan were subject to scrutiny, but it soon became a common site as vast borderline could never be picketed whole length. Continuous foot patrols along difficult mountain terrain had become order of the day and so did the vigilance on every step. It was not far ahead from scattered hutments of Shah Salim, when a whistle from the guide brought an alertness in the section patrol strength to take immediate action of dispersion, as to be ready for any eventuality. Exited voices from a few burly mountain men were greeted in peace. The faces of some of them were a bit familiar as they set down a freshly wood cut and roughly assembled fragile cage to the ground. Each man more a 6 footer, their chests heaving and glistening with bullets and bandoliers, with sheep skin wrapped across their foot and forelegs as they had no proper boots. The sight just out of some movie was too fascinating. Snarls and coughs brought the attention to the cage covered by an old cloth to keep the carnivore calm. A flimsy cord tied around the neck reveled a snow leopard cub which had gone snow blind and was left on a ridge by her mother, probably to bring back food for the cub when incidentally the mujahidin party stumbled over it hearing its growls. Though a snow leopard had never been sited in the lower regions but probably due to heavy snow, the mother with its cub had wandered too far down in search of prey that in the process, the cub had gone snow blind. The party excitedly narrated that it was the second day walking in these treacherous mountains that they spied the cub and had even seen its mother jumping some distance onto a rock in pursuit of her cub and a stray burst from a klanshnikof in the air had scarred her off. It was an all out blessing for me to sit beside an actual living and wild snow leopard and that too in the wild with my arm around it and got myself photographed. It was my dream as I envied on the TV screen when countable wild animal conservationists are seen with tigers lapping around them – but a small cub should suffice in such a situation for me. What a luck and pride the early eagle brought us. As the leopard party bade us goodbye to depart for lower reaches of Chitral who gave the leopard to Commandant Chitral Scout who further arranged the cub to be delivered for treatment and the zoo. The beauty lies in their habits and of the way these carnivore hunt, which was evident of my patrolling at a later date on the upper regions of Lasht at the snow line while going to Brogol and Kurambarra Lake, where we just stumbled onto a carcass of an Ibex. It was a kill of a snow leopard. As the huge lions hunt in pairs and even in packs, the leopard hunts alone. Due to their terrain adopted sturdy bodies with pointed and strong canines to embed in the flesh and claws so sharp to hold onto the prey, the way of kill of a leopard was distinctly visible. Their speed and pounce to the neck with the neck vertebrae broken and then dragged to a safe place to be feasted upon. As I looked verily across the jutting rocks to the side and ahead of us, one of my men quipped – perhaps it is the same mother of the blind cub following us. This light joke relieved us of the pressure of walking. There is no doubt that the ibex dwells in the snow leopard country, where the big cat roams in its entire splendor. Silver grey with black spots – this beautiful creature is an endangered species. Locals of the area speak of these big cats seen in numbers, but due to sacristy of food as ibex has been hunted indiscriminately, these cats had come down their original habitat to make shooting and pouching easier. Thanks to the strict laws now enforced by the government for their preservation.