What happened
to the lovely stream?
Long ago, in 1965, when I was 10 years old, I was
travelling with my father in the beautiful mountains of the
Choa Saida Shah was a dream land, and a stream flowing
through the heart of this hilly paradise was its most idyllic feature. The
stream’s water level was four to five feet below the ground. Some ancient
people had erected a wall of white and red stones to preserve the stream’s
natural beauty and purity for future generations to enjoy the fresh waters.
After crossing the town, the stream would run westwards through the beautiful
landscapes of the famous
It was time for prayers when my father and I arrived at
Choa Saida Shah, so my father performed ablutions along the bank of the stream,
under the cool shadow of eucalyptus trees. He offered his prayers there, too,
while I quenched my thirst and bathed in the cool fresh water. Even 45 years
later, I can feel the coolness of that water in my soul.
Forty-five years on from that day, I found myself
standing on the banks of the same stream, now pressing a handkerchief to my
nose to stop from inhaling the most noxious odours I have ever encountered.
With a severe tug of grief and agony, I realised that I had lost my paradise
forever.
With a broken heart, I began to stroll along the
stream, and with every step, the smell worsened, soon becoming unbearable.
Then, at a distance, I saw more than 50 white and light brown swans swimming in
the black, dirty sewerage water that now coursed where a clean stream had been.
They clearly had no other option.
Continuing my walk, I observed that the mountains
encircling the valley had been set on fire, eliminating wildlife, beautiful
birds, and plants.
It also became apparent that, on rainy days, when the
stream’s water level rises, floating garbage, torn clothes, and multicoloured
shopping bags get caught on the lower branches of the trees standing on both
banks. Moreover, foam pieces used by shopkeepers for packing had accumulated on
tiny islands within the stream, making the landscape seem even uglier.
Turning away from the stream, I realised the source of
this environmental degradation. One bank of the stream is fully populated by
wooden cabins and shops. The shopkeepers who work and reside here litter the
stream day and night with garbage, rotten meat, vegetable waste—even animal
carcasses can be seen floating downstream. The municipality employees
themselves do not desist from using the stream as a huge garbage bank.
I have always thought that purity of mind, which is
essential for clear reasoning, artistic inspiration, and wisdom, has to stem
from a pure environment. For this reason, in the reflection of the black and
murky water of this polluted stream, I expect to see the dark future of those
inhabiting Choa Saida Shah.
Since my childhood, I have played along this stream,
swum in it through the hot summers, and drunk its clean, sweet water. If I were
to tell my children about those days, they would not believe me. Today, Choa
Saida Shah is no longer a dream land; it is a filthy town with a sewerage canal
flowing through it. Sadly, this misfortune is not limited to the Kahoon Valley
of Punjab’s Chakwal district—all the ponds, streams, springs, and rivers of
this country face similar man-made calamities.
The responsibility for the extent of environmental
damage does not lie on the leadership alone. Our intellectuals do not research,
study, or publish anything on the environment. Our artists ignore this aspect
of the nation’s plight. Even our religious preachers, who stress bodily
cleanliness, have never spoken a word about the sacred responsibility to keep
the environment clean as well. They never mention the paradise we have here on
earth, and that we are slowly depriving ourselves of. They say destiny will
decide everything.
It seems, however, that pleasant walks in the hills and
vales of
Tanvir Kausar Mughal is a freelance writer.
http://blog.dawn.com/2010/02/22/the-vanishing-beauty-of-kahoon-valley/