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journey The
old canal and Sir Ganga Ram
journey As we set out from
Sost for Misgar about 15km away, we were excited about seeing this last
outpost of the British Empire. During the ‘Great Game’ of the late 19th
century, Misgar served as an important station for keeping an eye on Czarist
Russia’s involvement, gauging the extent of Chinese influence, and trying
to manipulate the double-dealing Mir of Hunza to side with the British. About an hour out of Sost,
we diverted off the Karakoram Highway, onto a very steep jeepable track that
led to Misgar. During the climb, one had to keep the eyes off the deep gorges
and plunging ravines, lest a flash of dizziness caused a fatal wobble. After some of the toughest
cycling so far, we reached the outskirts of the village, welcomed as usual by
little children asking for their share of pennies. Misgar is set in a valley
of verdant fields and rushing streams surrounded by towering snow-clad
mountains. Terraced gardens, awash with pink apricot blossoms, were tended by
colourfully clad womenfolk. We had planned to hand over
our bikes to the village numberdar (headman) and, on making an inquiry about
his residence, were held back for a cup of tea by a stranger. After some
invigorating tea and biscuits, we took leave and headed for the numberdar’s
residence at the far end of the village. A surprised Ataullah welcomed us at
his home and insisted that we stay over for a night as we were tired. We told
him that we were hard-pressed due to our schedule and wanted to start our
trek immediately. We readied the backpacks, tents, sleeping bags and our food
supplies which were to be carried along, while the bikes were safely kept by
Ataullah. In an hour, we were hiking
off to Runghil, about 13km away. On our way out of Misgar, we passed by the
old post and telegraph office that was an important message despatch facility
for the British and, continues to be fully functional nearly a century after
it was established in 1916. Five kilometres out of Misgar, we came across the
Qalandarchi Fort, another relic of the ‘Great Game’ where the British
maintained a small garrison to keep an eye on Russian and Chinese activities
across the frontier. From Misgar to Kilak, there
are several shepherds’ way stations having a single stone hut each, where a
team of four shepherds lives during the summer grazing season. A single team
tends a flock of as many as 500 sheep and goats, most of which are later sold
off in the markets of Gilgit and Hunza. Runghil was the first of
these staging posts where we camped for the night, reaching there just before
night fall. Our porters being educated up to high school had kept up a good
conversation, filling us in on the terrain, flora and fauna, as well a local
lore and history. Out of mobile phone coverage, we started using the handy
satellite phone to call our families daily about our progress and well-being. Next morning, a nourishing
breakfast of oatmeal and coffee cooked by Shahid over firewood got us going
to our next destination of Morkushi. Being a mere seven kilometres from
Runghil, we reached Morkushi by midday and decided to give ourselves a rest
as some tough trekking was expected the following day. Morkushi is another
shepherds’ way station and large herds of goats could be seen grazing in
the alpine meadows at an elevation of 12,000ft. Juniper, birch and willow are
the common trees of the valley. Wild rose grows plentifully, and some
delightful White-winged Redstarts (Phoenicurus erythrogaster) could be seen
perching on the bushes, seemingly filling in for the roses that had not yet
blossomed. “Down in the little wood
of stunted birch trees by the river,” wrote the explorer Sir Aurel Stein
about the site where he had camped in 1900, on his way to Kashgar via Kilak
Pass. We too, found a place to camp in the woods by the river and Shahid soon
got to work building a fire for a meal of rice and vegetable soup, while I
collected some ice-cold water from the nearby river. The Kilak and Mintaka
Rivers meet at Morkushi, flowing in from the northwest and northeast
respectively. Setting out from Morkushi
to Sad Buldi — which was to be our base camp for the final trek to Kilak
Pass — we passed by a number of crude stone tombs said to be those of
Kyrgyz nomads who had been settlers here, once upon a time. Nearby, a neat
helipad with a floor of well laid out stones testified to visits by senior
military commanders who keep the area under their watchful eyes. Reaching Sad Buldi in the
afternoon, we were caught by a snow flurry followed by icy cold winds. During
the night, the temperature fell to minus 10ºc and a 40knot wind kept lashing
our tents. Shahid, who is prone to freezing earlier than most, got up in the
middle of the night and jogged around while I wondered what the hullabaloo
was all about! The big day dawned with a
surprisingly clear sky and we set course at six in the morning before the
snow started to melt under the sharp rays of the sun. The 6km trek to Kilak
Pass turned out to be a tough one as we had to climb a good 2,000ft, what
with the atmospheric oxygen at Sad Buldi’s 14,000ft elevation already 45per
cent less than at sea level. Shahid led the way with a surprisingly brisk
gait and by 9am we were at our objective, Border Pillar No 2 that denotes the
Pak-China border at Kilak Pass. The amount of snow for the
first week of May was far more than what we had expected. All around, the
vista had Arctic overtones and, only the blue sky added colour to what was
otherwise a most enchanting composition in various shades of white. So
pristine was the scenery that our footsteps in the snow seemed to mar eons of
stillness, much like Armstrong’s did on the moon, I liked to imagine. The Kilak Pass opens into a
sprawling plain about two kilometres wide, enclosed by towering mountains on
the eastern and western sides. A border fence about 50 metres inside the
Chinese territory ensures that shepherds and their animals do not create a
diplomatic fuss every now and then. We stayed around the border pillar and
took numerous pictures, though in the excitement we missed an important
screen snap of the GPS, that could have recorded the latitude of 37º 05’ N
and an elevation of 16,000’ above sea level. Having to rush before the
snow turned into slush, we headed back carefully — but to little avail. I
plunged several times in to waist deep snow and, in a few instances, scraped
my shins against hidden rocks. Luckily, the injuries were Band-Aid curable.
Anything more serious would have been disastrous and, in retrospect, I feel
that donkeys or other pack animals might be the next best thing to
helicopters for evacuation in a hiking eventuality, especially in a remote
area. Back at our camp by midday,
both Shahid and I started to feel a bit of queasiness which we put down to
altitude sickness. Feeling better by the evening, we called our anxious
families to tell them that the mission had been accomplished. Eight days of
hard work had paid off and we were eager to get back. The trek back to Misgar was
on familiar route and included a night halt at Morkushi. Reaching Misgar at
midday, we were welcomed by Ataullah over sumptuous snacks and tea. We paid
off the porters, rigged our bikes with the camping gear, and took leave from
our genial host. As we cycled through the village, we were cheerfully waved
at by all and sundry as word had gotten out about our successful expedition. Arriving in Sost by
evening, we checked in the PTDC Motel which, this time, was mostly vacant. A
bath never felt so good, as we had to do without this facility during our
camping. A good load of laundry was also done in quick time. With the
household chores out of the way, we had a sumptuous dinner, much starved as
we were on our limited rations in the camp. Next morning, we decided to
leap-frog to Hussaini in a vehicle, cross the Attabad Lake by boat and then
ride our bicycles to Aliabad in Hunza. After a luxury stay at another of
PTDC’s excellent motel in Aliabad, we moved on to Gilgit, where the
friendly and caring ways of the Army made us feel absolutely at home. We had been on the road or
the trail for a fortnight and, most of the daylight hours had been taken up
by a gruelling regimen. The sense of accomplishment was immense indeed,
particularly because our mode of transport was unique as not too many
Pakistanis are given to cycling for leisure. We hope that the younger
lot is inspired enough to take up similar challenges; that is not to say that
the senior lot should be considered past the age of pluck and resolve. Here
is a little secret that should get you going: we are both 58 and, there is no
stopping yet! kaiser_mach2@yahoo.com Concluded capton Old cannon atop Qalandarchi
Fort. caption2 Century old Post Office at
Misgar.
The
old canal and Sir Ganga Ram If you can imagine
the lengths of the unending katcha roads along big canals, with either side
carrying towering, grandiose trees of Shisham (Tali) and Kikar, upper ends of
whose canopies mingle and twine together to form green tunnels, you will have
some idea of the serene beauty which canal side jungles present to a lucky
passer-by. The delight that one can
derive from travelling across canal side jungles in Punjab depends largely on
the manner of travelling. Bicycles are the best mode of transportation on
these peaceful sojourns as their noiseless sailing perfectly synchronises
with regular ripples and odd splashing sounds made by the falling leaves on
canal water surface. Adding magic to the
calmness of these scenes are the cheers and shouts made by sturdy farmers in
adjoining fields, as they beckon their bullocks struggling with multitude of
agricultural chores. The melodious sounds of old songs, coming from a quaint
transistor radio in the midst of a group of canal builders having midday
siesta, provides a much-valued backdrop. When talking about jungles
in Punjab, little attention is paid to the fact that more trees grow along
canals across much of central and southern Punjab than the ones found in
state forests. Covering a length of several thousand avenue miles, canal side
plantations in Punjab exist as linear jungles, grown along the massive canal
system (including mains, distributaries and major canals) over the last
almost one century. The presence of canals
provides favourable conditions for tree growth as uninterrupted availability
of irrigation water marks a welcome break from the otherwise arid province.
Similarly, the presence of hundreds of porters or baildars doing maintenance
work along the canals ensures protection and regular care of the trees grown
along the canal systems. With a wealth of Shisham, Kikar and Eucalyptus
trees, the canal side plantations form the biggest source of revenue got from
timber and firewood sales in the province. Another alluring feature
which makes travelling through canal side jungles in Punjab a sheer joy
pertains to the existence of artistically-built rest houses which exist
through the length of the canal system. Developed as for the visiting canal
engineers, these rest houses present a picture of ingenuous architecture,
fully geared to suit the local climatic conditions. The presence of high
roofs, thick walls, big and airy windows and gorgeous ventilation structures
(roshandaan) ensure a cosy living in typically harsh weather. Almost invariably, each
canal rest house is also appropriately provided with a large chunk of
cultivable land for growing vegetables or subsistence agriculture — and,
more importantly — developing gardens of oranges and guava. Last but not
the least, the presence of decades old mango and other indigenous trees with
their stately canopies provide ideal nesting grounds for a variety of wild
birds, including the green parrots. One such house in Sahiwal
is famous for keeping variety of parrots which readily take to talking with
humans. Travelling along these
unending heavens of tranquillity and beauty, I have always wondered at the
audacity, commitment and vision of many nameless engineers and foresters
whose untiring efforts led to establishing these miracles in an otherwise
scorched and arid environment. It is for this reason that I always make it a
point during my countless travels along canal side forests of Punjab, to
visit the offices of local irrigation officials or store rooms of the
dilapidated canal rest houses. Every now and then, I have
come across written technical or general accounts pertaining to early decades
of the last century and belonging to a forlorn brigade of meritorious
engineers and foresters of Hindu, Sikh or Muslim origin. One can only marvel
at the perseverance of those bygone heroes who must have worked in thorny
wilderness and harsh living conditions (without any electricity or other
amenities) to create these lasting sources of water and greenery for many
generations to come. However, I never realised
that my aimless journeys along canals of Punjab would one day bring me in
touch with perhaps the most leading philanthropy that the land of Punjab must
have seen in centuries. Leaving the small, sleepy
town of Renala Khurd (district Okara), one comes across the huge bridge which
spans over Lower Bari Doab Canal (LBDC). Leaving the main road near the
bridge, one takes a katcha road that runs along the LBDC canal the mighty
trees of Shisham and Kikar standing on either side as fortress
fortifications. I must have gone hardly a few kilometres when I came across a
wonderful and imposing structure, carrying the name of Renala Power Station. With the kind permission of
the local SDO of irrigation department, I was shown around the old and
imposing structure dating back to the 1920s. However, more than the splendour
of the Hydel Power Station itself, it was the name of the designer and
builder of this water lifting and power generation station — Sir Ganga Ram
— which was inscribed on the plaque fixed near the entrance of the power
station that attracted my immediate attention. It was there that I
realised that Renala Power House (generating 1.1MW of electric power) was yet
another manifestation of philanthropic zeal of legendary Sir Ganga Ram.
Rather well-known for designing several historical buildings in Lahore
including General Post Office, Lahore Museum, Government College, Aitchison
College, Mayo Hospital and Ganga Ram Hospital, I never expected to come
across another wonderful yet off the beaten track attraction attributed to
this towering personality. As I perused old records at
the Power Station, it appeared that Sir Ganga Ram had designed and built the
Renala Hydro Power Station in 1925 after obtaining on lease from the
government 50,000 acres of barren and un-irrigated land in Montgomery
District. As the record revealed, it took the genius three years to convert
that vast desert into fertile agriculture fields by using irrigated water
lifted from the hydroelectric plant which ran through scores of miles of
irrigation channels. Needless to say that most of profits made from this (and
such other enterprises) were liberally dedicated to countless acts of
philanthropy and magnanimity, attributable to this great personality. The marvellous power house
at Renala Khurd and its adjoining garden are usually closed for common
public, following the aftermath of 1982 desecration of Babri Mosque and the
general security concerns of the recent times. These uncertainties have
largely frustrated important renovation and maintenance efforts which are
badly needed at this historic site. As I left the power house with
approaching dusk, I found the local engineer earnestly hoping for approval of
the much-needed funds to rehabilitate the preciously old powerhouse
structures. In the twilight shadows of towering Shisham, strange shapes
resembling human figures could be seen on the nicely-laid brick walls of
Renala Power house building. I could almost see the hallucination of Sir
Ganga Ram, smiling like a benign Buddha and assuring us of yet another
miracle leading to the fulfilment of canal engineer’s entreaties.
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