Pakistan - behind the headlines: (2) Gandhara

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In Islamabad I found the best group of travel companions.

Largely British, with a couple of Americans, we ranged in age from about 40 to 68. Our heritage included Canada, Taiwan, the Philippines and, appropriately enough, Pakistan. In work experience, we covered the management of wrestling, foreign aid, tourism, IT, construction, accountancy and the law. We could talk about hanging out with bonobos in the DRC, collecting elephant dung, living in Kabul, and a truly phenomenal array of trivia about music and 1970s British television. Unlike the Oman trip, we didn’t sit down and work out how few countries, between us, we had not visited, but it would have been a similarly impressively low number.

Somewhat perversely, our itinerary in the Islamic Republic of Pakistan ignored the country’s official religion. Instead, we focussed on two others to which the country has played, and still plays, host.

We began and ended with Buddhism, and discovered that part of modern-day Pakistan was – if you’ll excuse the term – a positive Mecca for its adherents back in the day… back in the days of 1,500 BC-1,000 AD to be exact, in the time of the ancient civilisation of Gandhara. Emperor Ashoka (268-232 BC), whose empire stretched from what’s now Afghanistan in the west across to today’s Bangladesh in the east, was a renowned patron, and is credited with playing an important role in its spread across Asia. And because of Gandhara’s geography, described as “the crossroads of India, Central Asia, and the Middle East”, it saw a lot of passing traffic and was conquered a number of times – including by Alexander the Great – so its Buddhist architecture and art reflects some fascinating influences.

We would be travelling through the core of Gandhara, our first stop being the Swat Valley. Known locally as the “Switzerland of Pakistan” for its snow-capped peaks and beautiful scenery, the valley is better known in the West as being the birthplace of Malala Yousafzai, and the scene of a Pakistani Taliban uprising in late 2007. While this was suppressed in short order, it remains a part of the country that the government treats with caution, and we were provided with a police escort – or, rather, a succession of police escorts, changing at district boundaries – for our time in the area. We never openly discussed our reaction to this, beyond laughing at the lack of consistency in uniform and demeanour of our companions: the Tom Cruise-lookalikes – aviators and all – the guy in the First World War ‘Brodie’ helmet, and the pair who looked like they’d just stepped out of the gym, sporting tracksuits rather than anything approaching a uniform. Kalashnikovs were held across knees, or, in one case, propped up to the side, butt downwards, a finger laid casually over the pointy end. For me, “this shit suddenly got real”, although, after the initial surprise, I felt pretty sanguine about it. While the government’s insistence on our having an escort would have been more to prevent adverse headlines in the event that anything happened rather than out of a generous desire to ensure our safety, it did not cost us anything, and the cops proved their worth from time to time. When we got stuck in traffic – great cover for an ambush, admittedly - they’d bail out the back of their truck to disperse the congestion. And there were light-hearted moments as they posed for pictures with our glamorous Terri, or helped escort us through the Mingora bazaar, an exercise akin to herding cats as we relished the chance to explore, or cheerfully waved us on our way at the district boundary.

I’d seen Gandharan art in the Lahore Museum (notably the Fasting Siddhartha and a statue of Pallas Athena), but it was at the Swat Museum where our wonderful guide Salahuddin provided the first of many informal lectures, and we could all get a taste of the sculptures and friezes from this period.

Nearby is the Butkara Shrine, thought to have been constructed by Ashoka, and which remained an important holy place for Buddhists until it was abandoned in the eighth century AD. This was around the time that Islam was making inroads into the subcontinent, but it was likely the very practical consideration of the cost of maintenance in an area prone to flooding that was behind its abandonment. The Shrine comprised a central stupa, believed to have contained relics of the Buddha, and over 200 smaller stupas that would have been built by wealthy pilgrims. Of course, with such antiquity, the ruins require a lot of imagination to appreciate how they would have appeared to devotees at the time, but, wandering round, we could spot the small details and carvings that remained, and there was no denying its fabulous location in the late afternoon light.

A week later, we visited Taxila. If ever there’s an area inundated with history, it’s here. Not since I visited Byblos in Lebanon have I felt so in awe of the work of archaeologists and the tireless, meticulous work that goes into making sense of scattered, eroded stonework. The site reflects the several cities of Taxila – like Delhi, Taxila appears to have been reborn from time to time. Sirkap, chronologically the second major city of Taxila, now comprises a wide avenue and open grid system of streets with little more than the foundations of buildings remaining: a vast stone footprint of its former glory. Again, hints of other civilisations are visible: what’s thought to be a Hindu Sun Temple, and, at the base of the wonderfully-named Shrine of the Double-headed Eagle, the remains of Corinthian capitals on its pilasters which show the influence of the Greeks long after the departure of Alexander. (For me, the sight of these capitals had an added poignancy: my mother, a Classicist, had once been roped in to teach my primary school class about Ancient Greek architecture, and the difference between Doric, Ionic and Corinthian capitals is seared in my memory.)

To the east is the Jaulian complex comprising the monastery, i.e., the living quarters of the monks, a large stupa and 21 smaller stupas, all of which have wonderfully carved bases, again reflecting a variety of influences. I was particularly taken with an Atlas figure whose rotundity suggested he was perhaps not in the best shape for the burden he was struggling to shoulder. And even with the passage of time and erosion, the Buddha images still conveyed a palpable serenity.

While there’s an incredible amount to see at Taxila, we only had time for one more stop: the great stupa of Dharmarajika, one of the largest in Pakistan. Like the Swat Valley’s Butkara Shrine, it was built by Ashoka and housed relics of the Buddha, but it was an earthquake rather than floods which destroyed the original. What we see today are the remains of subsequent rebuilding and expansions. While sadly the main stupa’s relic chamber was raided by thieves in the nineteenth century, archaeologists have found intact chambers in some of the surrounding votive stupas, and their contents are now on display at the Taxila Museum.

However impressive the Buddhist remains, this was not why we were all here. The title of the trip was “Under A Pagan Moon”, and it was the chance to spend the winter festival of Chaumos with the Kalash people in the far northwest of Pakistan that had drawn us all to this particular trip…

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