Last night was sitting on quilts laid out round a feast of yoghurt, shurbo, bread and fruit, apricots and figs from the garden. The meal was laid beside a waterfall, whose steady sparkling flow provided the soundtrack to our meal as well as sporadically splashing us with the clear springwater that Justin and I have begun to trust drinking.
We are sitting on a hill side sharply falling, below the host’s houses where three families live, to the fast flowing river Panj below, which can just be heard behind the roar of the waterfall and the reunited family’s laughter. Two car loads full drove to Darvaz from Dushanbe today, a twelve hours drive. The Panj river flows into the Amu Darya or Oxus river and makes up its headwaters.
The hillside is green and fertile with plane trees, silver birches and gnarled apple trees. They provide shelter and protect us from the sun.
Across the river is Afghanistan. So close – the river is scarcely 150 metres wide at this point. So close that the village of Narghav on the other side of the river can be clearly seen with its simple mudbrick houses, whose colours blend in to the mountain behind. Donkeys can be made out, slowly carrying their loads up the dirt tracks which connect this village to the rest of the country. There are no roads and no electricity pylons. Life does not seem to have changed much when seen from this distance from that which was lead in the nineteenth century.
You can also see people, going about their daily lives, washing clothes in the river, rocking a baby and the effect seems down the wrong end of a telescope, far away but so close.
The difference is stark in the development of Afghani Badakshan compared to their relations across the border. Many Tajiks, especially those who could not bear to have the practice of their faith curtailed by infidels, fled there after the Soviet invasion. The children of these refugees were invaded again half a century later south of the Oxus.
It is hard to escape the conclusion however that whatever else the Soviets did or didn’t do, they bought roads, literacy, light and schools to this population, which would otherwise, perhaps, be more like Afghanistan today if Tajikistan had not become part of the soviet empire.
Many families are related and once these two villages separated by the river, were seen as one. The relations keep in touch with Tajik mobile phones, and meet in the Tajik bazaar where Afghans may cross the river to buy and sell there, but not leave the bazaar area to enter the rest of Tajikistan. The Tajik police see to that.
It is a truly magical spot here, one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. Last night we saw the full moon rising behind the Afghan mountains and I felt at peace.
Today we crossed the road below the house which is the main road between Dushanbe and the Chinese border, and went to see the Durobak mazar of Khoja Fathulloh which we had covered in our film. The mazar keeper is F’s relation, who sat with us last night, in what looked to be the same tupe [hat] that he wore in the film.
There is a new entrance here, which has been built since the film was shot. This takes worshippers down a long flight of steps to the mazar. The mazar itself is on many levels on the banks of the Panj, it is shaded by century old chinar or plane trees which are forbidden to be cut down. So that even if they fall the wood may not be removed and they are left there. There is a sacred spring just inside the entrance which Justin and I decided contained the sweetest, most delicious water we had ever drunk. From the spring the water flowed across a large area which has been enclosed with large white stones, other white stones spell words and dates, I could make out 2005-2015 but the words are hard to read, even for F.
The largest chinar trees are down by the water, and these are massive affairs. The biggest one has a crack so that people may climb in. many pilgrims come to this place and meditate inside the tree, which could easily hold four of us sitting there. I could easily imagine spending some time there alone just being inside a tree.
After the mazar we walked along the road which followed the curves of the river between the high mountains either side, a few cars speeding along, making the most of a bit of tarmac on the flat to give it full throttle. Also said hello to a couple of western cyclists with all their kit, struggling along.
We walked to the presidents Darvaz dacha set in the most amazing landscape at the intersection of two rivers, along the side of the clear blue- green waters with bridges and follies, kitsch in the extreme but lifted by the fantastic, literally like a fantasy, nature there.
And now, having woken from a sleep beside the waterfall returned for the laptop and sitting here.
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