When I first saw the deity wandering in the snow, mountains, and settlements like a cloud, I felt as if Wordsworth had written while sitting in the deity. If you are not sure, go and see. Deosai National Park and Lake Chaucer in it are the epitome of Wordsworth’s poetry.

Until just a century ago, man considered deserts a symbol of fear and terror. Satan’s abode, horrible loneliness, earth’s fistula, horrible place, was called by such names. Population boundaries were considered security boundaries. Today’s man turns away from the population and goes towards the deserts to feel nature up close or know his caste. As man progressed in rational evolution, his soul became restless. Standing on the threshold of knowledge and consciousness, today’s man is alone with all the comforts and conveniences of life in the crowd. If the deserts are calming down, and you have to go there, what better place could there be than the divinity?

Deosai combines two words, ‘Deo’ and ‘Sai,’ meaning ‘shadow of the deity.’ A place that has been believed for centuries to be inhabited by giants. Even today, the locals believe that this beautiful field is home to supernatural beings. As soon as you see it, the weather starts getting worse, and sometimes in summer, there is a sudden flash of lightning. Due to the ever-changing weather, the game of sunshine continues in Deosai. The area was impassable to humans due to its wildlife. The idea of ​​living here in the presence of icy and icy winds, storms, and terrifying wild animals is not possible even in this advanced age. That is why there is no human population in this region to date.

This is the ancient passageway of the Gypsies who migrated from Kashmir to Deosai, who carry sheep and goats in awe of Deosai. Deep divinity and centuries of solitude are encamped in divinity. The silence is such that the heartbeats in the ears until a marmot’s whistle resounds in the air, and the loneliness is such that sometimes the fear of one’s existence begins to come.

One summer afternoon, in the deep silence of the goddess, the camera shutter fell, and an explosion was heard. The noise permeated the silent atmosphere for centuries. Marmot’s ears pricked up, the swaying grass and wildflowers stopped in their tracks, and the imagination saw that in the distance, a female bear had embraced her cub. The sun also hid in the clouds, so I sat down on the grass in embarrassment. After a while, the sun peeked out of the clouds as if tracing the intruder. The flowers began to flutter again, the marmot left its burrow and jumped into the grass, the bear stepped into the gutter and began to smell the fish. When things started to go awry in Deosai, I rolled up my camera and walked away.

Located in the foothills of the Himalayas, Deosai is the highest mountain in the world and the only mountain range of its kind, which is no less than 4000 meters high at any of its locations. For eight months of the year, the place is covered with snow, but surprisingly, during the four months of summer, thousands of colorful wildflowers bloom on the land of these 3000 square kilometers of flat plains consisting of mountain slopes and valleys. Yes, but not a single tree is found anywhere.

The drains and the golden trout in them, the 5,000-meter-high snow-capped mountains in the backdrop, the wildlife in the mountains, the huge clumps of clouds that pass through the sky at such a low altitude that It is as if nature has made an umbrella to cast its shadow over you, and the Himalayan Golden Eagles, flying in the midst of these fragments, an unmistakable scent is wafting through the air, perhaps from the bodies of brown bears, red foxes, white leopards, and naughty marmots. The deity’s beauty is that it is fragrant with the deity’s moist grass and fresh wildflowers.

A road passes through the bazaar of Skardu and turns towards the village of Sadpara. On this billowing road, the blue lake of Sadpara can be seen so that the passengers forget to blink. Looking at the lake, one comes to the village of Sadpara, where the children have created a game of blocking the road by manipulating nature. When we go in summer, the springs flowing from the top of the road before the village have broken the road on one side, and on the other side, the local children stop the vehicles and find the cherries selling to the passengers. When a little girl was happy and bought a cherry, the color of the cherry was reflected on her face with a smile.

The road through the village becomes uneven. The constant climbing puts pressure on the ears. High mountains on one side, and deep ravines on the other, are enough to make the heartbeat randomly. The heart does not recover, nor the road. Eating, dizziness, climbing, finally a scene unfolds before the eyes, the breadth of which cannot be measured on the screen of two eyes.
After a journey through a narrow pass, one finds the divine palm stretched out at high altitudes. Cross the big water bridge. Then a rocky road leads to Lake Chaucer in the open field. Lake Chaucer means ‘blind lake’ in the local language. This lake is one of the highest lakes in the world. Its deep blue waters, with snow-capped mountains in the background and lush grass and colorful wildflowers in the foreground, offer a summer view that leaves the eye stunned.

When the weather is clear, the snow-capped peak of Nanga Parbat, the killer mountain, can be seen behind the lake, and if the lake is calm, the image of Nanga Parbat can be seen floating in the water as if someone had dissolved white in the Nile. If you climb a hill in the vicinity, you can see the blueness of Lake Chaucer in the shape of a human heart with the whole atmosphere. This lake is the heart of Deosai.

Thus, due to his love for the deity, he lost his beloved many times in his travel life. Sometimes Mehboob greeted me with open arms, and sometimes the goddess was sitting alone in a white sheet of snow and did not get permission to see. Very few people may have taken the risk of crossing the field in the winter. I wanted to see Deosai in November when this tourist-free field is all alone in its natural state.

I should have gone back to Skardu after seeing the weather from Sadpara check post that day. Military vehicles were turning back halfway, and as they passed, they signaled that it was snowing and bad weather ahead. Go back, but I had a strong desire to go crazy. My sixth sense was telling me to go crazy. The punishment for this mistake was that the jeep track was hidden from the snow falling in Deosai, and the way was not visible. The other day the wheels of the jeep had to be chained and pushed along. The jeep sank into the snow, and the snow became like a mirror in many places on which the foot slipped.

They spent the whole day pushing in the snow, digging in the snow, watching the scenery and the weather, and remembering God. Fatigue was what happened, but the reward of our hard work was incomparable. Nature receives its full value before it rewards you for your hard work. There are many scenes in the world of loneliness where God seems to be showing us. Just by thinking this, one wakes up at that moment to make a prostration helpless. Won’t you prostrate in the awful loneliness of the deity and bad weather when the clouds begin to shine just like the celestial lights of the North Pole?

Just before Lake Chaucer, we saw a brown female bear and her cub. The snowfall was not a good sight, but for me, it was one of the happiest moments of my travels. Anyway, I didn’t have a lens with a focal length of more than 200 millimeters. Through the binoculars, the bear watched the mother and baby move. I also saw three Himalayan red foxes who passed quietly in front of my jeep.

By the time we reached Lake Chaucer, the snow had become very heavy. The lake was covered in snow, and the whiteness was no more than 20 meters. I could feel the nature in the jeep in its original state, and somewhere there was the smell of bears, a family of foxes, and marmots perched in burrows. The goddess had started wearing a white sheet. There was no one there except me, the driver, and nature.

White cotton shells rained down on the blue lake. After a hard day in the bitter cold, the evening was spreading as we crossed the Deosai and reached the Chilam check post. A little girl was jumping with her two sheep when she came out on Astor Road to register at the Chilam military post. At the sound of the jeep, the sheep took refuge on the side of the road. When the girl turned around and smiled, she saw that all the ice on her heart had melted and all her fatigue had gone away. The driver in the car and I smiled.

Sometimes the difficulties and hardships of the journey become so great that the traveler begins to blame himself. But it is this journey that paints a picture of the color of the mind, the reflection of which is reflected for life, and in the corner of solitude, sometimes the form of demon begins to hover around.

After a hard day in Devasai, a tired farmer descended on the mountains on his way from Chilam to Astor. Not far from the road, he saw a man sitting on a tomb surrounded by wooden planks, under a wooden plank, and had just wiped away his tears. The Pakistani flag was flying on the grave.

When he reached him, he greeted him and said, “Have you come from below?” (This is what the people of the northern areas call those who come from the plains). I replied in the affirmative, and after inquiring about the situation and saying a couple of things, when I asked whose grave it was, he said, “This is my son’s grave. I am retiring from the army and working as a laborer, pensioner.” He was the only son of Sahib. He was studying in a college in Pindi. From Pindi to Astor, the oppressors took him off the bus and killed him and the rest of the passengers. His guilt, like the rest of the dead, was his fault. ”
Her voice had left him before he had finished speaking, and his eyes were full. I didn’t even know what to say in response. There was silence in the atmosphere.

After a while, he said that on his way to and from work, it comes on the way home, so I sit down for a while to pray. As I was leaving, my eyes fell on the flag of Pakistan, and I felt as if blood had flowed in the moon and stars, or maybe the reflection of the red clouds in the sky in the evening was reflected in it.

If the heart is happy to see the north of Pakistan, the locals should also be saddened by the pain. His eyes widened as he reached his jeep on the road. The scene was blurred, the sun was hidden in the shadows of the mountains, and the handkerchief was lost somewhere.

When the jeep left, the moisture in his eyes was absorbed by the cold wind, and his heart began to catch a cold wave. My driver turned on the tape recorder. The sound of the ghazal began to break the silence of the valley in the twilight. The moisture in the eyes, which had been absorbed by the cool air a while ago, then filled the eyes. Pine trees on both sides of the road began to fade. Drops were dripping from their leaves. It was freezing outside, and the breath inside the car was as fast and hot as a TB patient.