Vignettes from Swat Valley

The Swat Valley in Pakistan has been in the news for all the wrong reasons — terrorism,
violence, refugees’ exodus, starvation and the lot. But in the beginning of the 20th
century this mini Switzerland of Pakistan was known for its natural beauty and chukor
hunting, recalls Lieut-Gen Baljit Singh (retd)

THE Swat Valley acquired the sobriquet "Paris of Baltistan" in the first quarter of the 20th century. But for the outdoors sportsmen the valley’s charms lay elsewhere. First and foremost was its incomparable natural setting, in comparative easy reach and secondly, for its well-earned reputation for providing the cream of chukor hunting in Asia.

As for its natural setting, a look at the pre-1947 map of India will show that the junction of the watersheds of the Karakorams with the Hindu Kush range creates a broad camel’s hump. At the right edge of the hump lies the Mt Godwin Austen or K 2. A little farther West is Nanga Parbat’s pinnacle and a bit more West juts on the skyline the smooth pyramid of Rakaposhi. Yet another giant summit is the Masherbrum as it arises in the leeward of K2 and Nanga Parbat.

When the sun rises above the horizon it first kisses the summit of K2, then Nanga Parbat, Masherbrum and finally Rakaposhi. That is the unique spectacle, which the guests of the Walis (kings) of Swat would witness from the several chosen vantage points on a ridge above the Waliahad (palace) at Saidu Sharif, the capital town of the state.

In the evenings, the interplay of sunlight on the summits was witnessed in the reverse order and finally a star-studded sky.

The Indus, which runs East-West here, forms the baseline of the hump and the natural, southern boundary of Baltistan. A multitude of north-south tributaries of the Indus have their headwaters in the cauldron of one of the world’s massive glacier systems descending from K2 and its associates. The three prominent tributaries emanating are the Gilgit, the Swat and the Chitral rivers.

In the Northern half of the hump lay the chieftainships of Gilgit, Hunza and Nagar, which, between 1880 and 1914 earned more than a score Victoria Crosses because of the gallantry of the soldiers, who carried the Raj to these remote niches. The tales of exploits carried by the fugitives from these fabled lands were also the stuff of much of Rudyard Kipling’s Plain Tales from the Hills and his poetry. Lieut Winston Churchill, too, launched into a writer’s life while soldiering in these out-posts.

During the heydays of the Raj, shikar had become the magic word such that no other sport ever engaged its devotees so completely. And among the fraternity of the feathered-game shikaris there was unanimity that chukor shooting (one of the 14 species of the partridge) was the most demanding of all. They believed that the Swat Valley was the last stop for chukor shikar on earth and the Walis of Swat were most affable and indulgent patrons of this sport.

The Walis gave the favour of chukor shooting not only to other fellow princes or bigwigs of the Raj but also to the impoverished young officers of the Indian Army, who wanted to indulge in the sport. Maj-Gen James Elliot, a Gurkha Regiment officer, writing in The Field has left a fascinating account of a conversation between the Wali and two subalterns.

After dinner, the guests had retired to the drawing room for cigar and cognac.

A covey of chukors after being engaged by the shikaris settle a good distance away. But their loud cackles (chukchukchuk) lasting several minutes give away their location. Two of Wali’s guests were puzzled by this behavioural aberration. The Wali had a good laugh and said that "on the Frontier he (chukor) speaks only in Pushtu" so let me tell you what he says.

"When a covey has been dispersed, each individual member may be heard proclaiming his own and anxiously enquiring after all his fellow’s whereabouts. The tone varies. First he says, ‘I am here; I am here,’ then he asks ‘Who’s dead? Who’s dead?’ And when he is informed of the untimely decease of his pet brother or favourite sister, or perhaps his eldest son and heir, he responds ‘Oh, lor, Oh, lor’ in quite a mournful tone."

Lavish hospitality was a matter of honour with the princes of India. No effort and expanse was ever spared to ensure that the honoured guests had a memorable outing and were housed in utmost comfort. The Walis of Swat even provided running hot and cold water for the bathtub when electricity and basic amenities were at least 50 years away. Now a European lady guest had the uneasy premonition that she was being watched as she stepped into the tub. And she was dead right.

There were two huge galvanised-iron water containers by the outer wall of the bathtub, which were constantly fed by the ice-cold glacial water. Under one container was a deep pit with a strong log fire which brought the water close to boiling. The "hot" and "cold" inlet pipes were connected to two wide funnels. A khidmutgar would position his eye on a discreet crack in the roof and would pour hot or cold water into the funnels to conform to the bather’s desire.

This episode was perhaps the inspiration for the caricature appearing in several sporting magazines of the time with the caption simply, "hot" and "cold". But the sporting fraternity had little trouble in constructing the text and the locale.

The last practitioner of the sport in the spirit of the Swat chukor-shooting tradition was Field Marshal President Ayub Khan. He was driven as much by the pull of the sport as by his filial obligations. For, his eldest daughter fell in love and married his dashing, handsome ADC, who was also the heir of the Wali of Swat.

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