It was a pleasant morning in Islamabad. The sunlight was still soft, and the air carried that special freshness that is only felt at the beginning of a journey. Everyone placed their belongings into the vehicle—each bag, each blanket, each bundle felt like a part of a story.
When everything was loaded, we looked at one another—smiles in our eyes, and an unknown excitement in our hearts. Standing beside the vehicle, we all made a prayer:
“Dear God! Bless this journey with goodness, and when we return, let us return with hearts full of beautiful memories.”
Some friends came to see us off. Hands were waved, laughter echoed, and the vehicle set off.
I was to join the group along the way, so there was a slight restlessness in my heart—as if something dear had been left behind.
On the way, everyone took out the biryani we had brought along. Its aroma filled the surroundings. We stopped by the roadside, made tea, watched the steam rise, and laughter scattered into the air.
During this, an elderly man came and sat near us. As we handed him a cup of tea, he smiled and said:
“Son, you may forget Kumrat—but you will find it hard to remember yourself.”
There was a depth in his eyes, as if he had seen it all before.
Just before evening, we reached Upper Dir, where a kind and hospitable friend was waiting for us. His smile, his warm welcome, and the sweetness of his words washed away the fatigue of travel.
We spent the night in his hujra, surrounded by tea, laughter, and old memories. In the morning, as sunlight touched the leaves of the trees, we had breakfast, said our goodbyes, and set off towards Kumrat.
The journey was long and tiring, but as we moved forward, nature began unveiling its beauty. The sound of the river in the lap of mountains, the fragrance of wildflowers in the air, and the dreamlike scenery before our eyes—it felt unreal.
When we reached the Gate of Kumrat, we stopped, took pictures, laughed, and for a moment, it felt as if time had stood still.
Along the way, we made tea, met locals who offered us lassi, and we bought melons. By evening, we reached Thal Bazaar.
There stood an old wooden mosque, polished by the touch of time. Inside, there was such peace that the heart wished to stay forever.
We offered prayers, captured its beauty within our hearts, checked into a hotel, had tea, played cricket, ate dinner, and surrendered to sleep.
❄️ Kala Chashma, Glacier, and Waterfall
The next morning, after breakfast, we set off in a jeep toward Kala Chashma.
The path was narrow yet enchanting—flowing water here, shaded trees there.
When we arrived, the glaciers looked as if icy giants were touching the earth. The sound of water, the cool breeze, and sunlight reflecting off the snow—it was a scene beyond words.
We made pakoras, prepared tea, played cricket, and Waqar and Khalid arranged a wonderful lunch.
Laughter, rising steam, and the echoes of mountains turned that moment into a memory for a lifetime.
On our way back, we saw a beautiful waterfall. The water shimmered as if moonlight had descended upon the earth.
We took pictures, sat silently for a while, and then began our return.
🏔️ Jahaz Banda — Snow, Struggle, and a Valley of Dreams
On the third day, as the first rays of sunlight touched the mountain peaks, we set out on the dreamy journey toward Jahaz Banda.
At the start, the valley had already awakened. Women were bent over in fields, collecting wheat, their scarves fluttering in the wind like colorful flags.
The scent of soil lingered near our feet, while somewhere in the distance, children ran and laughed, chasing each other.
Their smiling faces and the gentle sunlight created a scene as if life itself was telling us:
“Journeys are not only about mountains—sometimes, along the way, you witness humanity too.”
As our jeep passed near the fields, the women looked up briefly—smiles on their faces, hard work shining in their hands. We waved, and that moment was etched into our hearts.
As we climbed higher, the green of the land slowly turned into white. I was feeling unwell that day, but the desire to see Jahaz Banda kept me going. So I completed the journey on foot.
The path was difficult, but our hearts were full of enthusiasm. In the silence of the mountains, voices of strangers would echo:
“Stay strong, brother—just a little further!”
And we would smile and reply:
“You stay with us—this journey shouldn’t be walked alone.”
It felt as if every stone and tree in the valley was bringing us closer together. Strangers began to feel like companions—someone offered water, someone a smile—and these small gestures became the biggest memories of that day.
Ahead stood mountains of snow, like palaces of fairies. Jahaz Banda’s green meadow was wrapped in a white blanket of snow. It truly felt like heaven on earth.
We played cricket, ate food, and quietly absorbed a beauty that words cannot describe.
🎶 Return and the Taste of Katwa Meat
On the way back, we passed time with music, conversations, and laughter. Our laughter rose louder than the sound of the vehicle. Someone would start a song, another would recall a memory, and together we created melodies of joy.
The mountains were left behind, but our hearts were still lost in those valleys.
On the way, in the Chich area, we tasted the famous Katwa meat. Its aroma erased all the fatigue of the journey.
Upon reaching Islamabad, everyone thanked one another—Ahsan, Kashif Sahib, Jawad Malik, Haliq Sahib, Kamran, Asif Sheikh, Abdullah—and especially Waqar Ahmed, Khalid Mahmood, and Abdullah, who organized the entire trip.
This journey ended, but the memories remained.
The valleys of Kumrat, the mountains of Jahaz Banda,
and the words of that elderly man—
“You may forget Kumrat—but you will find it hard to remember yourself.”
kept echoing within the heart.
This journey did not end—it lived on as a feeling within.
And perhaps life itself is a journey like this—
where there is no destination, only memories that remain.
0 Comments