I Am a River

Rising in high, cold, windswept mountains of Tibet; flowing fuller than the Tigris and the Nile: Greater than Euphrates, my journey is vast. Through the Himalayas, Karakoran, Baltistan .....

Born on the roof of the world, I search for my way in snow capped mountains, suckled by glaciers, nurtured thus before it is my time to plunge darkly into vertical, sunless gorges. Here I am a forceful torrent, as I journey West, South West.

Where the Himalayas meet Karakoran, the floor of my valley is carpeted in fine sand, a bleak land of rock, and pale white light. The wind pierces. Skardu, in Baltistan, perches on the sides of my valley, where cataclysms occur in the summer melt; when ice detaches, and turns my flow to mud. Now the land on my banks becomes verdant, more green and fertile than climatic forces would suggest. On calmer waters I float nuts and fruit and wheat to market. My animals are rare and very beautiful; the snow leopard, monal pheasant, and the golden sheep. I am not cruel ... I would give life, and when the lamb strays into my fast flowing torrent, I thank the watchful shepherd of the Baltistan, who snatches it from my helpless clutch, and tucks it into his garment, and takes pity on its frantic mother, and places her carefully around his neck.

From here, onwards, Westwards, Southwards, I navigate the great North West Frontier, land of war, and romance; home of the blue-eyed Pathan, lost tribe of Israel; of turbanned Afridi tribesmen who settle ancient scores. I pass isolated forts, with their memories of Persian, Greek and Hun. All along the frontier conditions are harsh and bleak, but my birth has made me vital and strong, as on and on I rush, narrow and swift-flowing, with a timeless purpose to fulfill. I race through gorges, the Himalayas and the Hindu Kush at my flanks. So, I reach Kalabagh, the very edge of the Salt Range.

Suddenly I debouch.

The pulses slow. Lifeblood surges. Calmness comes upon me, for I am now in the beautiful Vale of Kashmir, in the Punjab, whose name means Five Waters, and so reflects my bounty to the Nation. I can spare, now, great tributaries to feed and adorn this splendid land.

I burgeon with the fullness of time and vigour. I am gracious and fecund. Southwards, Southwards .... my placid waters meander through Punjab's plains, ten miles wide, with buffalo splashing in my shallows, and fisherboats swishing in on my tides. On and on, for time has no meaning, I flow into The Sindh. Much of this land is desert. River steamers make their way ponderously upstream, challenging my sandbanks, my currents, and everchanging contours. But yet, I have transformed this desert. It yields mango, banana, corn, rice, millet and wheat.

Through Mohenjodaro, Hyderabad, Karachi ....

Now I am almost at my journey's end.

I have travelled some one thousand eight hundred miles, and soon, very soon, I must empty into the vastness of The Arabian Sea.

© Lynne Harris