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The sky was gray but the sound of the current, produced by the thawing glaciers, announced the arrival of summer. A group of engineers, who were governmental employees, allowed me to stay at their shack.


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Beforea teenager could go into a pub at the age of 14 to buy and drink beer; aged 16, he or she could also buy spirits. The Intoxicating Liquor Sale to Persons Under Eighteen Act introduced the principle that people should be aged 18 to drink alcohol in bars, a situation which still exists today. Takayanagi M. The House, therefore, will see that it is in no way my Bill. I am simply the godmother, and I hope a fairy one.

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It was extremely hot and humid in Lahore. A pair of hawk-cuckoo was nestling on a mango tree close to my house and could hear their singing all afternoon. Sometimes when their singing got louder, I would remove the screen of my window to look at their nest suspending from the tree.

The female would remain busy decorating the nest with straws brought by the male. One afternoon, it rained, but the birds weren't singing that day.

I removed the screen and saw them sitting in their nest quietly; they were avoiding getting wet. The nest was suspending like a fruit from the tree.

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The home they had built with so much care was coming apart. I heard the whistle of marmot in my imagination. I left Lahore that very afternoon. I intended to walk on the grassy plains along the Himalaya Range — the largest mountainous range in the world extending from Afghanistan in the west to Myanmar in the east.

Everest, Nanga Parbat, and some other mountains higher than 8, metres are part of this range. This range extends from the Indus Valley in the west to the Brahmaputra Valley in the east. These grassy plains are the habitat of marmot. I have an affection for marmots, something I find difficult to describe. I love their whistling, it induces a sense of nostalgia in me. Then again, what is the asset of a traveller except for his memories? I had left Lahore far behind. A foggy morning had descended on the Kunhar River when I reached Balakot.

Clouds had covered half the sky and the sun was about to rise.

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The green lower Himalaya mountains were enveloped by fog and the river was flowing noiselessly. I recalled the many mornings I had enjoyed along this river. Lulusar Lake looked desolate as tourists were still asleep in their hotel rooms.

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I passed the Babusar Pass. And it got colder. Nothing but the road could be seen at this point. Then I noticed a young man who was standing on the roide with his dog beside him, looking down at the fog-covered valley.

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By the time I reached Chilas, it was hot again. The vehicle I was in was now moving between the heat-struck mountains of the Karakoram Range and along the winding Indus, and I had begun to perspire. It was early afternoon when I reached Raikot Bridge. There I hired a jeep for the narrow, dusty path that le to Fairy Meadows. When I reached Tattoo village, the driver and I had begun to look like statues of clay and lime. The jeep could not go any farther.

From Tattoo village, one has to walk for around three hours to reach Fairy Meadows. It was evening when Nanga Parbat came into view.

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The sun was about to set but the grassy plain was already dark. Exhausted by the journey, I sank into my bed at the campsite. As soon as he heard of my arrival, Qari Rehmat came to my camp. He is the owner of Fairy Meadows Cottages and has built a world of his own under the shade of Nanga Parbat. He told me the story of his life upon this meeting and it was quite engrossing. I was paid 1, rupees a month. But a lot of that money had to be spent to entertain people who came from afar to get their children enrolled in the seminary. I was left with almost nothing at the end of the month, unable to support my family.

I had to quit that job in frustration and I had no work for nearly a year.

I did not know what to do. I was not literate.

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And I had no skills either. He also identified what location I could use. Inthere used to be a hotel owned by Rehmat Nabi in Fairy Meadows. At some distance from that hotel, there was a place called Shamlat, which was tly owned by the locals. I came to Raikot Bridge in a vehicle and from there I walked for some seven hours to reach the place where I now have my hotel. I spent the whole night doing that. By morning, I had demarcated the place that I needed for the hotel.

I started building the hotel. I had rupees. I erected a make-do kind of structure for the hotel with the wood that I brought from the nearby forest. But for five years, there was nothing to do because local tourists did not visit the place and foreigners would set up their own camps. But now the situation is such that my hotel is always fully booked in all seasons. Did you ever think you earn money because of these mountains?

After all, people come to your hotel because they want to see these mountains.

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Qari then began talking about mountaineers and listening to his stories I fell asleep. The next morning, the grassy plain of Fairy Meadows was receiving sunshine intermittently. The snow-covered Himalaya mountains and the Nanga Parbat were sparkling in the sunshine. It is sights like these that attract German mountaineers. Bhul writes in his book that he felt someone was following him when he was on his last climb. Ropes snapped for no apparent reason. Bhul hinted at an invisible being.

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Is there such a being in those mountains, no one knows. I had a final look at the grassy Himalayan plain before starting the return journey from Fairy Meadows.

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Nanga Parbat was looking at me from a height of meters. After the Raikot Bridge, the new Silk Road began. The Indus was now at my right.

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The vehicle got on the road to Astore which was in very bad shape, compelling us to move cautiously. We drove along the noisy, surfy Astore River and it was evening by the time we entered Astore city. District Astore is a land of fountains, streams, lakes and sky-high, green mountains. It has a population ofFrom here, there is a path going towards Rama Meadows where the Chongra Peak is a major tourist attraction. There is another path from here which le to Rito, Rupal, and Trishung villages, from where one can see the eastern part of Nanga Parbat.

Let me tell you a little bit about the history of Astore. Ghazi Makpon, who came here from Persia, married into the ruling family of Skardu.

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He had four children who ruled Skardu, Astore, Rondu, and Kharmang. This dynasty ruled these areas for a long time until Astore fell into the hands of the Dogras. In the centre of Astore, we ended up in a crowded market; human voices mingled with the noise of jeeps around us.

Here I moved to a jeep as the way ahead was not suited to take a regular car on. Now on my way to Chilam Chowki, pine trees were all around and by the time I reached it, a part of the day had gone by. After registering entry at the chowki, began my journey towards Minimarg. On both sides of our path were grassy slopes.