| D |
uring July and August 2025, shocking scenes of landslides, flash floods and cloudbursts in Gilgit-Baltistan stunned everyone, most of all the people directly affected. The region, so often described as heaven for tourists, now seemed fragile and threatened.
Watching a video clip of water gushing down a mountainside, carrying huge stones with it, I set my phone aside and lay on the bed, lost in memories of my journey to Skardu in May 2025. There were roses everywhere, pink, yellow, white and red. Walking on the green grass, I also saw flowers other than roses, adding beauty to the patio. A snowy peak peeked through the branches of a poplar tree, lending grandeur to the view. Nearby, clusters of pinkish-red cherries hung from a large tree, their flavour still a little tart. In a few more days, this tender fruit will be ready for harvesting.
Enjoying the morning chorus of birds, I strolled towards the mulberry trees and picked the ripe fruit, savouring their sweetness as a natural morning treat. In Skardu, an early morning walk feels like a gift. The well-maintained garden surrounding my hotel made the walk even more delightful, a place where one could easily spend hours absorbed in the vivid colours of nature.
After a refreshing walk through the garden, I made my way to the parking area to meet the driver, ready to take us on a ride to Khaplu, the administrative capital of Ghanche district, about 103 kilometres east of Skardu. On my earlier visits to Skardu, Khaplu had always been on my list; yet, for one reason or another, the trip never materialised. This time, however, I placed it firmly at the very top.
After enjoying the local breakfast - kaseer bread with omelette and tea, we were ready for the adventure. Accompanied by my daughter and son, I was thrilled to visit a place that, for us, had until now only existed in stories and the travelogues of writers such as Mustansar Hussain Tarar.
Our driver, a former military man, had impressive knowledge of the landscape surrounding Skardu, despite having spent most of his service away from the city. Since Skardu was his hometown, he knew the roads well, though the route alignment near Khaplu had changed recently and was unfamiliar to him.
It was a bright, sunny day in May, with clouds hanging over the snowy peaks. The streets were relatively quiet, it being a Sunday. While late-night partygoers still rested, we were already on our way to Khaplu.
Khaplu was an independent kingdom following the disintegration of the Tibetan empire in the 10th Century CE. Historically, it was the second-largest kingdom in Baltistan under the Yabgo dynasty and played a key role in guarding the trade route to Ladakh along the Shyok River, near its confluence with the Indus.
As we left Skardu, a road sign pointed towards Khaplu. Others directed travellers to Shigar and the Sarfranga desert. Once we passed that milestone, we were firmly on the road to Khaplu. The journey was expected to take about three and a half hours. However, it stretched to nearly five as we paused often to capture the scenery with our cameras. The driver did not mind at all; he understood the tourists’ instincts and excitement well.
En route, we reached a bridge from where another road leads to Manthoka waterfall and, further ahead, to the Siachen glacier. Our driver asked about our plans and was delighted to include Manthoka waterfall on our return journey. “My home is also on the road to the waterfall. We can have tea with milk from our own goats,” he told us. His words enthralled the children, but, as we would learn, the North can have its own plans.
After the endorsement of our credentials at the GB Scouts post, we continued along the winding road. A few twists and turns later, I was reminded of our road trip on the Karakoram Highway two years earlier. The surroundings looked strikingly similar to the KKH near Dasu, giving me a strong sense of déjà vu that lingered for a while.
Passing the junction of the Indus and Shyok Rivers, we witnessed the sheer scale of the waters. The road was quite good. After picking up some snacks from a roadside market, we arrived at the enchanting town of Ghawari, known for its madrassa and the graceful rows of poplar trees lining the road.
“Ghawari must be a top spot for social media influencers,” my son remarked. The driver agreed promptly, adding that in autumn one had to struggle for a clear shot. The sight of golden leaves lining the branches and carpeting the roadside is a delight. At that moment, I silently resolved to return to this spectacular place in the coming season.
The children chattered excitedly and pressed me for a promise. Seeing the sparkle on their faces, I replied, “Yes, let’s plan someday.” As we tried to capture the scene with our cameras, I kept wondering how such beauty could ever be truly contained in a photo. One has to be there to feel it.
Entering Khaplu, we were pleasantly surprised by a smooth, well-marked road with bright yellow side marking, a welcome sight that instantly lifted our spirits. Our first destination was the 700-year-old Chaqchan Mosque, founded by Syed Ali Hamadani and renowned for its intricate woodwork.
After crossing a few shops, we parked the car and climbed a staircase along the whitewashed walls until we reached the main entrance. Before us stood a colourful wooden artwork beyond imagination: geometrical patterns, floral designs and exquisite carved columns and panels, a delight to the eyes. A gentle wind blew through the covered corridor with its curved arches, filling me with peace and calm. There was something in the air that pacified me. I lingered there until my children, already inside the main hall, called out excitedly: “Father, you have to see inside the mosque.”
I entered through the main door and looked towards the beautiful mihrab. A bonanza of colours, geometrical patterns and curves, everything was extraordinary. I switched off the bulb above the mihrab to soften the light for photographs. The interior immediately became more dramatic. After taking a few pictures, I offered my prayers. We were overwhelmed by a serenity beyond words, an indescribable calm that seemed to fill the entire mosque.
We also met the imam of the mosque, sitting outside the main building. Seeing our curiosity, he began narrating the history of the mosque, a story of its genesis that carried an element of mysticism and mystery. Seated on the carpet in the airy corridor, we wished we could stay longer, but another destination awaited us: the famous Khaplu Fort.
Restored by the Aga Khan Foundation and now serving as a hotel and restaurant, the fort was built in the mid-19th Century, replacing an earlier structure nearby. It once served as the royal residence of the Raja of Khaplu. The architecture of Khaplu Palace is a striking fusion of Himalayan, Kashmiri and Mughal styles, both in its spatial organisation and in its decoration.
At the entrance counter, I initially felt the Rs 800 per person entry fee was rather steep for local tourists. After witnessing the care and effort invested in its restoration and renovation, it seemed entirely justified.
Entering through the main door and seeing the majestic façade of the palace, with its wooden windows and niches, felt like stepping into a dream. No photo or video on social media could match its presence. Rising against the backdrop of snowy peaks, the building stood in impressive grandeur, leaving us in awe. After capturing the façade from various angles, we stepped inside to explore its interior.
Walking through the winding corridors felt like navigating a labyrinth. We reached a balcony where, according to our guide, many famous television plays and product commercials had been filmed. He said he had performed a small role in one such production. Having observed directors and photographers at work, he had developed a keen sense of the best angles from which to capture the wooden balconies. He persuaded us, especially my daughter, to try some of his suggested poses. So passionate was he that he eagerly took the camera himself, snapping photo after photo to ensure he framed us against the beauty of the building. The results were stunning. I still enjoy looking at those pictures and can hardly believe a humble tourist guide could have taken those. We were lucky to have met him.
It was time soon to move on, following the recommendation of our driver to visit another valley. Saling Valley is famous for its meadows and waterfront. We crossed the river and began our journey, though the road was far rougher and less welcoming than the smooth drive to Khaplu. After about an hour, we reached the meadows, where a gentle breeze greeted us. Local families were seated nearby, enjoying the closeness of the water. A restaurant offered trout from its own pond. Tempted as we were, we also had our sights set on reaching Manthoka waterfall on the return journey.
The twist in the story was nigh. We followed the road and, en route, stopped at Sogha Lake, a small body of crystal-clear water where algae could be seen at the bottom. Reflections of the surrounding mountains and nearby flowers made the scene magical. After enjoying the serene surroundings, we resumed our journey, only to find the road deteriorating rapidly as we tried to reach the main route alongside the river.
Our driver had no idea of the current condition of the pavement. “The last time I travelled this road on a motorbike with a friend, it was in far better shape,” he recalled. Now, in his car, we bumped along an uneven track with no sign of improvement. Time was slipping away as our speed averaged between 10 and 15 kilometres per hour. Passing through village after village, we noticed children out on the roads, playing and enjoying the evening. They waved back with cheerful smiles whenever I reached out of the window to greet them.
As the sun went down, so too did our plans for Manthoka waterfall. The chill in the air reminded us how fortunate we were to be here in May, while Islamabad, Lahore and Karachi endured a heat-wave. Dusk gave way quickly to night. The children had already drifted into sleep, while I was lost in thoughts of the lush green valleys and meadows we had been through. Closing my eyes with gratitude, I wished that Pakistan’s natural splendour might endure for centuries. Khaplu, the glittering jewel of Gilgit-Baltistan, had left us enchnted.
The writer teachesengineering management at the NationalUniversity of Science and Technology. He can be reached at yasir299gmail.com