Two Rivers - pt. 3

October 2005

I could hardly wave before the car, which had been vibrating strongly, jerked forward. Next thing I knew, I was bobbing up and down and violently thrown against the door. Uncle Rehmat’s complains about our road suddenly made a lot more sense. I’d never even realized how small it was until looking down from the car window, I could see the tires rolling centimeters from the edge of the cliff. 

But Uncle Gulzar seemed to know the road like the back of his hand. He sped up, turned and slowed down constantly to get around bumps and tight corners. Every time I was sure we were about to fall off, he would swerve the wheel and we'd be safe. Still, I held on to my seat tightly.

The two adults talked, but the only thing I could think about was not throwing up. We passed through Matiltan, with Uncle Gulzar waving at the locals. While driving through a dark forest of tall trees, I asked him to stop the car so I could run out and be sick behind a bush.

He was waiting impatiently, tapping his watch when I returned.

“Stick your head out the window.” He said, and we continued down the road.

It was good advice. The car was so small that I felt like I couldn’t breath. But with my head outside the window, I could feel the wind blowing and see the scenery. Exiting the forest, we came to the top of a hill. From there I could see the two rivers Ushu and Gabral collide to make the Swat. And at their banks was the town of Kalam.

A few roads connected lavishly decorated buildings, with roofs painted green or bright red, with the main road which ran through a market and exited the town to the south. As we approached, I realized that the entire valley behind the town was populated with houses and farms. The people in those farms must have treated Kalam the same way we treated Matiltan. That’s where they went to school and went shopping or said their prayers. 

The town was a lot larger than Matiltan though, and cars, people and carts pulled by donkeys joined us on the road through the market with its smell of grilling meats and curries.

Eventually we left Kalam and again found ourselves travelling through mountains. Though the river had grown wider, and the road more crowded, the land south of Kalam looked like that to the North. I noticed that we were generally going down hill more often than up, and Uncle Gulzar said that the mountains would be long behind us by the time we got to Mingora. 

Two Rivers - pt. 2

October 2005

The weeks passed slowly after our adventure on the mountain. With the end of the harvest, we started planting wheat. Every day was colder than the last, but Abu didn’t turn on the heater. Instead we bundled ourselves up in the thicker blankets and slept together. Abu didn’t talk to me the way he used to, I could tell he was still angry.

Bilal had also been punished, and Uncle Rehmat had stopped sending him to class. On most days, only Jamal and I were there. Every morning, Uncle Drogar would walk in and scowl when he saw us. I could tell he had been hoping for an empty classroom. The days were getting shorter. By the end of class, there was almost no light at all, and Uncle Drogar had lit a candle to light the board. We walked home in the dark, along the familiar road.

It was on one of these early nights that Jamal and I stumbled upon a stranded car. The big jeep, with all of its English writing on it, was covered in dirt. It was tilted strangely, and we realized that one of the tires had shrunk and flattened.

“Isn’t this Uncle Gulzar’s car?” I asked Jamal.

“I think so…”

Uncle Gulzar was a friend of Abu's who gave tours of the area. He often drove by our farm on the way further north.

“Come on, he probably stopped at the farm and asked Abu for help.” I said.

When we reached home, Abu was standing outside talking on his cellphone. “Kamran, are you sure you can’t you send someone tonight?” He saw us and covered the phone with a hand. “Go in and say Salam.”

Uncle Gulzar was sitting on the ground talking with Ami and Mina. I had expected him to have a tourist with him, but the man sitting next to him looked like he was also from Swat.

Two Rivers - pt. 1

September 2005

Night in the valley was dark and peaceful. Frigid in the winter and chilly in the summer. You didn’t see the moon too often; it hid behind mountains. Enormous black silhouettes, jagged and uneven and never the same as one another. But I had all of their shapes memorized. The colour and outline of their rocks. The trees, all of the different types and where they were on the hill, which way they leaned from being blown by the wind. 

So even at night, I could look at a mountain and see it as clear as day. I could imagine the path I would take to the top, long and winding and never obvious. Of course, I couldn’t actually do it. I’d get tired half way up the smallest ones. Once you were actually on the mountain, it loomed over you a million times bigger than it was from a distance. 

My favourite nights were when Abu gathered wood and started a fire in the clearing in front our house; the same place where he slaughtered chickens and goats. I would watch as blood ran down the little gutter he’d dug out and drip into the rushing river, disappearing in the blue and white of the rapids. I’d listen as the animal kicked and struggled and shrieked, trying to escape even as it bled out. The entire time, Abu would hold it down and pray. But that was a daytime thing. It never happened at night. After dinner, after the blood had dried into the ground, Abu would start his fire. 

Then Jamal, Mina and I would go into our house and into the biggest room, the one with rugs and pillows on which we all sat on cold nights. We’d call out “Nano, are you awake?” 

She would reply, “Oh, come here come here.” And we’d run to her to be kissed and hugged. 

Then Mina would say “Nano, come outside! Abu's starting a fire!” 

Nano would laugh and say “Sorry Mina my love, but I can’t walk.” 

And then I’d say “We’ll take you!” Mina would find an extra blanket to keep her warm and all three of us would carry her charpai through the door and set it down close to the fire. 

Once the fire was bright enough, Uncle Rehmat would walk from his farm down the road with Bilal running in front. They’d come sit with us. Uncle on the other charpai with Abu and Bilal on the ground with the rest of us. Ami wouldn’t come until much later; she always had to put Maryam to sleep. Maryam was only one, so she slept a lot.