It started with a vague plan on Saturday night. A place that is nearby and is worth going to. Google maps shows me names that are more abstract than the names of Pakistani cities. Taksa-sila. The Buddhists, the Greeks and now under the hand of... the 'Desi's. More specifically, the Pakistani Punjabis. After our 'Buddhist Homage' (such a misleading word), we're suppose to visit Khanpur, for three different reasons, but more on that later.
Zero Seven Hundred Hours. I`m searching for my shoes instead of initiating ignition. No worries, fifteen minutes later I`m on the way. I`ll make it by 8 at AQ's place. Well, Pakistan's winter doesn't seem to agree. Foggy foggy. Emergency lights on. Luckily, the fog is gone by the time I reach the first traffic signal of Islamabad Highway. I reach my destination by 8.15 am. I put on my 'Chitrali' cap, which I bought earlier from a Pathan, who convinced me that even Punjabi's wear it. 'You look funny man', AQ greets me with a grin.
Just before getting on Kashmir Highway, we are stopped at the G-10 'naka'. The cop asks me what I do while he checks the registration papers. 'Where are you going?' 'Taxila'. 'Oh, to visit sites. But do study as well...'. By 9 am, we arrive. 'Taxila Museum' just opened. 'This is a UNESCO World Heritage Site?' AQ inquires, while I buy a 10 PKR ticket. While AQ reads the information on the board, the guard looks at him in a typical desi way and tells me that he's suspicious that AQ's not a Pakistani. 'Really?'. Foreigner ticket '200 Rs.'. The administration must have sat together one day and must have thought, 'Let's rip these foreigners off, if they can afford to come to Taxila, they can afford to pay 200 PKR, can't they?'
Inside, as a guide shows us different remains, we ponder on how basic ways of living haven't changed in millenniums. They used to use coins, water filters, toys, armor and cooking utensils... so do we. We walk across different sizes of Buddha heads, with their eyes closed perfectly safe behind glass windows. AQ is in a troll-y mood, and while I look at artifacts with awe and seriousness, he makes me notice this small 'Aged Hermit in a Cave', the way he says it adds emphasis of his condescension. I walk a few steps the other way while I break into laughter. The guide takes us in a closed room, where there is a 'sleeping dancing' mannequin. I`m not sure if she was sleeping while dancing or dancing while sleeping. We leave, have breakfast across the parking lot. We talk about religions and the tolerance among them, while the combination of the sunlight and tea wakes me up again.
We continue straight and see the sign board of 'Mohra Moradu' pointing right. After I take right I see another board on the way, I ask Nadir, a kid on a cycle where MM is. He tells me to go straight. Thank you, Nadir Shah. We get to MM and a very narrow small drive-way leads to the parking, on which I`m about to make the car fall off, before AQ alerts me. We meet a Vietnamese guy who really came to pay his homage, not like me who confuses the word with 'bondage'. 'He's on a spiritual journey', AQ tells me, while the guide there tells me he came on 'Chinkchi'. MM has a very different atmosphere. Its kind of isolated and very quiet. Its covered with a few hills and has a mysterious feel to it. We see the famous Stupa. The guide tells us Buddhists take 7 rounds of it and it is very holy for them. We see the meditation cells of students and their teachers and I wonder to what degree would their meditations differ. The guide goes irrelevant for a while, telling us about how the Hazara region is now a part of KPK, and he doesn't like that. After spending '28 years' telling people about Mohra Muradu, his next mission in life is to 'get Hazara back' with an emphasized 'insha Allah'. As we walk back towards the car, AQ sees a flock of sheep walk down a hill and is enticed by the view. He wants to take a picture, he asks the sheperd, 'they're yours?'. '50 rupees per picture', he replies. While I judge my feelings towards the response, AQ burts into laughter, and I decide to take it lightly too.
We drive further north. Reach 'Jaulian Remains', which is supposedly similar to 'Julein', a British woman with some relevance to the place. It used to be a university. While we have tea with the suvenier guy before going upstairs, he tells us how things have gone worse. 'There used to be a lot of people who'd visit from abroad during the Musharraf era, since then things have gone worse. Still people come, but not as usual. Even prices were in control back then. The prices have increased, the wages haven't.' 'Hmmm. Yeah. Where does that road lead to?', I inquire. 'Its closed for civilians. Only for the army'. As we walk upstairs, AQ is evidently disturbed. We see a tiny bridge that is made for a water stream. I've never seem a bridge for water before. '200 for the foreigner'. AQ gives the expressions of Jamie Foxx from Django Unchained, and his 'D' isn't going to be silent for long. Jaulian is a worthy sight to see. As we walk back downstairs, a guy is standing in the middle of the stairs. 'Who is this guy now, the river worshipper?'. AQ, doesn't even bother to whisper that as I laugh off at his remarks. The guy's there for a reason, he shows me small Buddha heads, which I sponteneously reply with 'masha Allah pyaray hain'.
We head north-east. This time I officially enter the jurisdiction of 'KPK'. We pass by several Orange stalls. I stop by a lonely stall for checking 'Google Maps' at AQ's iPhone. I talk to the guy. 'I don't know, brother. I`m from Multan'. As I drive off, I think out-loud, 'hhmmm.. a guy from Multan selling oranges in a lonely stall in Khanpur'. 'Competition, bro', AQ acknowledges. We reach Khanpur Dam. Rent a boat. The sight is beautiful. Seems like a view of Ladakh. I've never seen water so blue in Pakistan, then again I haven't seen Pakistan much. On the walk towards the boat, I see a beautiful Pathan 5-6 year old girl. Shes wearing a pretty dress and two plastic bottles. Her elder sister is selling chips of a brand that is unknown in the mainstream world. The boat ride was relaxing. I look back, and the driver seems to be putting water in the motor. I don't bother asking if it runs on water or what.
Time to go back. Time to go south. We head back, buy a few oranges from a farm. Two types, 'Blood malta and Shakri malta'. They're half red, we came a week or two early. On the way back, as orange trees move in the b.ackground, AQ declares Khanpur a 'Citrus Society'. A sign board saying, 'Bhir Remains' brings the best out of AQ's humor. 'Remains my arse. They destroy a few things and call them Remains, and make money out of people. There should be a 'Shit Remains'.
The journey ends in F-10 Markaz. On questions of a life that is nothing more than 50-70 years. After that we`ll be history. So what exactly is what worth?
