Plundering Nathiagali

AUGUST 2003 - I am inundated with emails – I suppose inundated is the appropriate word these rain-sodden, city-submerged days, about ‘The Rape of Murree’ that appeared last week. The mails have arrived from far and wide and some make anguished reading – grown men and women lamenting the willful destruction of what were once beautiful memories of schooling, holidays, picnics and all the things that made life wonderful. The mails are angry, bitter, scornful, full of dismay at what we have done to our country – and hopelessness because the rape of Murree, all agree, will go on unchecked, like indeed the rape of Pakistan. We are a dead nation. We have no value system worth the name. Everything is crass, commercial, cheap. We are inspired by sycophancy, hypocrisy and deceit. We lie, cheat, break laws with impunity, have no real faith of any kind yet remain the most sanctimonious of people. We preach all the time and never ever practice. We have no respect for anything. What chance can a small hill station have? What hope can the entire country have? If the politicians are not looting us, it’s the bureaucrats and in between, and for all times it seems, the saviours of Pakistan go on looting us. They are stronger than ever and now have robed themselves as the great masters of everything they survey, the great authority on all matters under the sun. So Murree will slide lower and lower. Perhaps as someone has hopefully suggested, the roads from Abbotabad and Islamabad to Nathiagali will snap into dozens of pieces and save the two hill stations from hordes of people and armies of corrupt administrators. Nice thought, but sadly unlikely.

What about Nathiagali many have asked? Well Nathiagali is gone as well is my answer. It has been robbed, raped and left for dead for many years now, except that the robbers keep coming back, keep plundering and keep raping. Nathiagali suffers in silence. The few residents who have a conscience left and haven’t so far sold out to the power blocks that carve out the hills relentlessly, mow down forests and build monstrosities, are weak and small in number. What to talk of their voices being heard in the lofty minarets of Islamabad or Sahib Bahadur Sahib in Peshawar, the GDA is happy to connive with power-groups and mostly look the other way as laws, byelaws, regulations all fall by the filthy waysides of Nathiagali. No one is remotely pushed about addressing the real issues.

Last August, the handful of residents moved a written application with the District Nazim and the Governor Sahib Bahadur in Peshawar listing a dozen critical areas which were rapidly bringing Nathiagali down. There is a new, much touted water scheme which miraculously has everything but water. Most residents get water presently for half an hour twice a week, while admin favourites like hotels and VIPs have 24 hour supply. In any event, the Shaheens at Kalabagh devour 80% of all the water there is. The British laid pipeline of the 40s has been completely vandalized and no one dare raise a finger at the Shaheens who rule Nathiagali like tyrants. Their pristine, manicured lawns and fenced off properties where civilians dare not tread, ensure for them the status of warlords. Kalabagh is not in Nathiagali. Nathiagali is in Kalabagh. A water mafia rules the roost, unchecked, unstoppable. There’s no water, but there’s plenty of refuse everywhere. Trash simply lies around for days till the rains flush it down the valleys. The springs are polluted, the tons of refuse is a serious health hazard but who cares? Upstream things are good. The admin. refuses to keep Nathiagali clean, unless a VIP is visiting, when miraculously, the roads are swept, the bins restored, the garbage pushed out of sight. Next day it is the same sordid scene.

There is no sewage even today, while the buildings and visitors have multiplied at rates that would even impress the Family Planning babus. Nathiagali is an open sewerage. There is stench and pollution. Horses now ply indiscriminately littering every walking track or road with last night’s dinner. It is impossible to walk anywhere without stepping into a pile or remain upright without covering your nose. It’s worse at night since many roads remain without lighting. However, fear not, the Governor’s House is lit like a birthday party in full swing. There are no foot paths and anyone foolish enough to go walking is likely to get run over by hundreds of diesel-emitting, pressure horn-mounted, noisy, non-stop lines of vehicles going up and down, down and up, all day and all night long. On 14th August or holidays, Nathiagali has traffic jams. Not a single rule or step has been taken to place strict restrictions on the indiscriminate vehicular traffic that mars Nathiagali. No one who runs Nathiagali has thought of making it difficult and expensive for vehicles to loiter about. Thinking is a disease that the ruling VIPs don’t suffer from. Pricey seasonal and daily permits can solve this menace in an hour, but like everything else that scars Nathiagali, who gives a damn? Car toll taxes can be used to improve the infrastructure, but that would be responsible, intelligent behaviour. Asses are not known for this quality. The roads are dilapidated, the commercial establishments sprouting like acne on a teenager’s face. Hundreds of what start out as ‘garages’ miraculously change into money making ‘khokas’ – more eyesores, more filth, more destruction of the environment, but for someone, more money.

The District Nazim has Rip Van Winkle’s ailment. He wakes up when some VIP is arriving. His staff and the GDA – Galliyat Development Authority –excuse me while I throw up, are like UFOs – never seen by mortals. They have no clue, don’t know where they are going or coming from, but like all good, honest Pakis smell illicit money a mile away. They are part of all the shady deals going around and they will finish what was once a joy and a welcome sight for sore eyes. Meanwhile, like Murree, construction of one kind or another continues. The biggest vested group is the Kalabagh mafia, aptly named I think. Since we all know from bitter experience the armed forces near-genius gift for property development, here too the air force scans the spaces for plum fruits. The Nathiagali Club, once the retreat of all who were residing here, a landmark and a central point of all activity, now lies prone and broken waiting for its new captors. They are coming. This 6 kanal flat land – a rarity in the hills, is the new village maiden waiting to be ravaged, except that it’s an old woman who badly needs a facelift. Instead of making the Club what it should be, the authorities are eyeing it as another lucrative deal. The famous sign board has been deftly removed – out of sight, out of mind. The broken roof, the air of neglect all beckon the greedy boys to grab the goodies. Will the Club fall into other hands? As surely as there is stench in Nathiagali, the answer is yes. Can anyone stop it? No. The power of vested interests is sweeping and complete.

Many multinationals, the self-appointed icons of corporate social responsible behaviour, now own choice properties in Nathiagali, where millions are being poured in to build offensive and over-furnished luxury villas. They invest without a second thought, but ask them to paint the beautiful falling church, or light it up nicely, or build a really wonderful, well-maintained park for children (not the cesspool that exists now), or do anything remotely resembling real corporate behaviour and you will get looks of utter amazement. The big boys of the world and indeed Pakistan have the same malady. Absence of conscience. When Nathiagali is dead and gone, there will be few genuine mourners because it’s not another hill station that’s died. It’s our collective conscience.