A journey in memory

Even as it seemed a decent enough holiday, the rain god intervened. Tired of being confined to the mess for days on end, we hopped along on an official visit to Srinagar, some two hoursaway. The Dal Lake was deserted. Last time I was here, it was difficult to find a single free shikara, now they were begging us to come on board. It started pouring again and we raced to get back before dusk. But we were in for a shock. Just 10 km before Bichbihara, we found that the road had been totally submerged.

The drivers were afraid that we would simply flow with the current and into the Jhelum. Slowly, they negotiated the watery terrain. We made it, only to find all Bichbihara8217;s residents on their rooftops 8212; their houses under water. The Jhelum, we later learnt, had taken over a bridge half-an-hour after we had crossed it.

A few days after that scare, we were once again raring to go. This time to Pahalgam. It was still raining. What we didn8217;t realise, however, was that the way to Pahalgam was through Anantnag, a hotspot of militant activity. We reached Anantnag only to hear that a fierce encounter had taken place the previous night. A couple of militants had attacked an Army picket and had killeda jawan. We continued the journey to Pahalgam, stopping once in a while to play with the ducks floating in the clear streams of the region and to pluck the gladioli growing wild by the roadside.

It was like heaven perched on high mountains. Liddad, the river which flows through Pahalgam, had never looked so clean, so beautiful. We dumped our luggage in one of the cottages by the riverside and rushed to see whether we could find the rocks we had engraved our names on the last time we were here. Yes, they were still there. The days were spent splashing around in the Liddad or exploring the place, but never alone. Aroo, the place from where some foreign tourists had been kidnapped, was just half an hour8217;s drive away. Caution was the key here, especially since the dense mountains of the region afforded a perfect camouflage for militants.

Pahalgam Club, where once one had to jostle to get in, was almost abandoned. A couple of caretakers got the sheets off the billiards table and we played pool for a couple ofhours every day. The three weeks there literally flew. It was time to go back as the Amarnath pilgrims had started their journey but there was just enough time to visit the base camp at Chandanwari nestled on a glacier. Army personnel were awaiting here to escort the pilgrims to the holy cave here. I just wanted to feel how cold the water flowing from under the glacier was 8212; but that desire cost me a camera. Many people have similarly slipped into oblivion here, I was told on our way back in Bichbihara. Our return tickets awaited us when we got back. I left, promising to come again once things got better.

Today, it all comes back to me. Liddad, I know, will still be flowing in its pristine glory, like the Jhelum. Pahalgam would still be breathtaking. But peace would be hard to find.