It took four nights to get to Ishkashim from Fayzabad. Though there was a road, it was a few feet below ice, and the troop was left to travel based on the instinct of one guide, whose services Habibullah had hired on a no-return basis. He paid five hundred dollars in cash to the family of the old man, who willed to take them to Kilik river, expecting that he may not survive the trek. The family was Kyrgyz, a nomad one settled in Ishkashim for the winter, and the old man wanted to experience the winter once more, while he was still alive.

After four nights, Habibullah felt the services of the old man, Kasim Khan, were very much underrated. After one night from Fayzabad, all directions looked the same. Vast expanses of snow and mountains surrounded them, and the view was intimidating. As they were travelling during the night, it was difficult to direct themselves with the help of the moon and stars, even if they were visible. For most part of the travel, it was continuously snowing. And on the night before, there was a small storm and all their time and energy was spent in controlling the mules. If not for Kasim, they all would have been directionless and lost in the wilderness. Even then, some of the troop felt they were lost, and Kasim was leading them further away from their destination.

Though they all had prior experience with snowy winters and had seen glaciers many times in their life, they were not prepared to experience the untamed beauty and fury of nature. Experiencing a blizzard sitting in the warmth of a house or even a cave was another matter. All they had to do was to gaze through windows while sipping hot tea and wait till the storm subsided. In the open, however, they had to sleep sitting on carpets, covered by a big tarpaulin, in small groups. They had to make an outer circle of horses to protect them from the onslaught of the snow.

Habibullah thanked Kasim for his guidance after the storm had calmed down to a regular snowfall. Beaming with pride, Kasim claimed the storms he had seen in the northeast were far severe, and what they had just experienced was nothing. He warned the team to prepare so that they could brace themselves for the ruthless fury of blizzards once they crossed Wakhan.

While moving on mules side by side, Habibullah asked the old man, “Why have you chosen to come with us? I mean, it is no mean task to venture out in this cold, when even regular wanderers don’t travel.”

Kasim smiled, “Seems you care for me, soldier. Anyway, I only have few winters left. My son settled in Ishkashim few years ago, and I have not travelled a lot in the last four years. Migration, before and after winter, was part of my life. The life is a journey without any destination and reaching some destination was not the aim of life. We enjoy the journey. Of course, I cannot enforce my tastes on my son, who preferred to settle at one place and plans to educate his kids. Yes, I like my grandchildren to go to school and grow up to become learned men. In fact, the life in Ishkashim was a smooth one, but I am not cut out for such a life. When I was a kid, we used to tame even wolves. We had four wolves in our caravan. The hide I wear belongs to one of those. I used to walk across meadows and frozen rivers and lakes. I climbed mountains and used the slopes to slide down in a minute. Our generation romanced adventures, as hazards were part of our daily life. I had fifteen siblings, of which only three survived to become adults and get married. I had nine children, of which only two survived. I have not seen my daughter since my son has moved to Ishkashim. And I don’t know whether I can see her and her kids again.” He paused and wiped moisture off his eyes. “Long ago, when I was young, sometimes I used to fancy staying in the mountains for a winter. Initially, parents did not allow and later, wives. Now, I am free to do whatever I want. For me, you are a God-sent emissary to fulfil my wish.”

He reminded Habibullah of his own father, whom he forgot long ago. “I too belong to a family that migrated every year,” he replied in an emotional tone, recalling his own roots after more than three decades. Kasim kept looking at him. Feeling guilty at his own fate, Habibullah hid his face in his palms.

Habibullah briefed Kasim: “Seasonal migration is a normal feature of many a nomadic tribe, and they exist everywhere. I belong to one such family rooted from Gilgit. We used to migrate to Peshawar for the winter. I was forcibly taken by the army for a silly mistake I made in one hot moment. I still remember my mother crying for me while I was being taken away. Separation from my family and subsequent experiences have converted me into a monster that my mother would despise. I did many things that I am ashamed of. But, when I was committing those atrocities on innocent persons, I was simply having my revenge, albeit on someone else. After many years of renegade life, slowly I realised what I had become. As I was orphaned, I created many orphans. It is now coming back. Allah will deliver justice in this life itself. Not after death. And I am waiting to be liberated from this lowly life.”

Habibullah’s cheeks were wet with tears. He wiped away his tears and turned to face the other side. He suddenly turned to Kasim and said, “You may be wondering why I still continue to live the life I resent so much. I consider my existence as punishment and Insha Allah, by the time I die, all my sins may get accounted for.” Without further talk, he went out of the tarpaulin and walked in the snow, cooling down the fury and numbing the pain in heart. After long time, he remembered he still was a human with a heart, even if it may not be in the right place, but somewhere close by.

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