Seems like I’m often writing about a journey but then I spend a significant amount of time on the road! On this occasion the return to Bagh took a little longer than usual. For reasons known only to the man behind the wheel we left the more familiar route and diverted along smaller roads nestled amongst spring-green crop pastures on the outer reaches of Islamabad. A very pleasant shortcut, I was thinking, right up until the moment we rounded a bend to be presented with an oversized, dirty-white signboard stating in bold red letters something along the lines of; THIS AREA HAS BEEN DESIGNATED AS RESTRICTED – NO FOREIGNERS ALLOWED! Now, seeing as this advice was clearly displayed in both English and Urdu, it was only as the man behind the wheel calmly motored onward that I began to question his powers of observation. Surely he saw it? Surely he appreciates that now might be a good time to turn back? Despite misgivings I deferred to what I imagined was a superior local knowledge of the route and said nothing. Perhaps I misread the sign, I considered, after all, why would we take this route if it were so obviously restricted? Not long after turning left at a sign stating ‘FOREIGNERS MUST NOT TURN LEFT’ and about the time we arrived at a placard repeating ‘NO FOREIGNERS’ and then ‘CHECKPOINT 200M’ doubt gave way to certainty, I raised both hands and, ‘WHOAH WHOAH, NO GORA, NO GORA (no foreigner, no foreigner or more precisely, no white foreigner, no white foreigner)!’ passed my lips with enough conviction to bring about a rapid halt. Which was just as well…I had the distinct impression that having passed three very visible signs warning against my presence in the area it would be difficult to explain myself further along the road without appearing inept or suspicious or both! Under the glare of a military man parked up adjacent I did my best to appear apologetic whilst my unobservant companion hastily three-pointered, nevertheless, as we retraced our route I couldn’t help but be a little curious as to what lay behind…
To view the sites where work is underway I travel daily the valley road climbing upward from Bagh to the village of Sudhan Gali. Of the many houses scattered along this route, three catch the eye for an unusual adornment to the otherwise ubiquitous corrugated sheet roofscape. Poised above the ridgeline of each of this triplet is a carved timber fighter plane, brightly painted and facing skyward, captured and frozen mid-takeoff. Passing these carrier-jet homes puts me to wondering at the motivation for the model. Do the householders - akin to a Kashmiri Saint Exupéry – spend landlocked days dreaming of taking to the air, a desire symbolised in the brightly coloured wooden figurines? Or is there a nationalistic leaning behind the overt display of model military hardware, perhaps a memory of Indo-Pak wars past when the scream of jets must have ruptured the peace of many a Kashmiri valley? Possibly the truth is far less complex. When I questioned a colleague about the reason for this peculiarity his economical reply was simply “for beauty”!
I’m no accomplished mountaineer but since I first set foot in Bagh and squinted up the valley toward the 10200ft peak looming in the distance I’ve had my eye on besting Ganga Choti! Local history remembers this mountain as a site of pilgrimage for Hindus prior to the 1947 partition (in Hindu mythology Ganga is a goddess who descended from the heavens to be caught by Shiva standing on Mountain Himalaya before a part of her fell to the earth and was led to the seas by Bhagirath forming the river Ganga - or Ganges- worshipped as a personified form of the goddess). We left base-camp Bagh on the weekend, a party of five in motley attire of jeans, shirts and shoes or shalwaar kameez and sandals more suited to the bazaar than the barren mountain top. With my backpack, first aid kit, bottled water and rainproof jacket I made a cursory attempt at preparedness but clearly such items were viewed by my compatriots as non-essentials best left at home! In the annals of mountaineering achievement without doubt this one day climb is but a very minor footnote - the first stage being a relatively easy if at times hairy jeep ride to within about two hours climb of the summit. Once underway however the terrain was sufficiently arduous to stop the least fit of us in his tracks part way up and by the time our depleted party of four reached the summit the burn in my legs and lungs was real enough. Here, light headed and satisfied the amateur mountaineer is rewarded with a three sixty panorama that extends to the ladakh mountain range marking the border between Jammu & Kashmir and Indian Administered Kashmir. We took celebratory photos in the snow then sat on the top knackered and happy eating oranges and taking in the view.
Dhajji Da is the name given locally to a form of timber frame construction indigenous to the mountain regions where the earthquake had its epicentre. The primary reason for selection of this method was in order to facilitate participation in the build process by the beneficiaries who supply timber and stone for construction. Dhajji, I am reliably informed, means patchwork quilt. A dhajji da house can be thought of as a patchwork of timber and stone and in terms of earthquake resistance it functions as follows:Many small panels distribute the energy of an earthquake evenly across the wall.
This energy is further dissipated in the friction of timber bracing moving against stone infill to these panels.
In this manner the risk of large destructive cracks resulting in structural failure is reduced. Using locally available materials and labour, the aim has been to improve upon this existing construction practice, incorporating a more rigorous approach to building that will provide increased seismic resistance.
