Translated by Bilal Karim Mughal

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

—William Wordsworth

Deosai Plains

When after a long journey through mountains, valleys, villages and hills; I saw Deosai for the first time, it struck me as if Wordsworth wrote the poem for Deosai.

It's not an exaggeration — really, one should visit and see for themselves. The Deosai National Park and the Sheosar Lake are the literal personification of Wordsworth's poetry.

A hundred years ago, humans would consider uninhabited and far-off places too frightening to visit. They would refer to such deserted and forsaken lands with strange names which reflected their fear of the unknown.

Things are changing now. In this age of industrialisation and commercialisation, with scores of amusement facilities offered in the metropolis, the number of people visiting these forsaken lands in the northern areas of the country is increasing.

Humanity is progressing in intellect, but deep inside, the peace of soul and mindfulness appears to be missing which people are not seeking in these deserted lands. If one is in search of solitude and wilderness, then why not visit Deosai?

Deosai is the combination of two words 'Deo' (giant) and 'Sai' (shadow). For centuries, it is believed that this place is haunted by giants, thus the name 'The Land of the Giants' came into being. The weather is quite unpredictable here, sometimes it starts snowing in summer. Sunlight and clouds seem to play hide and seek here, with the sun shining one minute, and overcast in the next.

This area remained uncrossable for ages due to abundance of variety of wildlife here. Icy winds, thunderstorms, and presence of wildlife make it impossible to dwell here even in this age, that's why Deosai is mostly uninhabited.

Nomads from Kashmir pass through the Deosai plains with their herds, it is their path of choice since centuries.

Nomads of Deosai

Deosai has a deafening silence, a silence spanning over centuries. The silence is so deep that one can hear his own heartbeat, unless a marmot's whistle fills the valley.

Deosai is located on the boundary of Karakoram and the western Himalayas, and at no point is it less than 4,000 metres above sea level. It remains covered with snow for eight months. The rest of the year, it hosts a range of beautiful flowers of all hues and colours, but not a single tree is found in this plateau spread over 3000 sq. km.

There are several springs in Deosai, brimming with trout fish serving as food for locals and bears alike. 5000 meter high mountains in the backdrop, wildlife dwelling in these mountains, clouds so low that one can almost touch them, Himalayan Golden eagles flying between the clouds, and a strange fragrance in the atmosphere which probably is a mixture of brown bears, red foxes, white tigers, and naughty marmots—this is the real beauty of Deosai.

A road from Skardu Bazaar turns to the Sadpara village. From this curvy road, Sadpara lake seems so beautiful, that the onlookers forget to blink. Soon comes the Sadpara village, where the local children have conspired with nature to stop the vehicles.

A spring flowing through the road has broken it, slowing down the cars, and as soon as a vehicle slows down, local children stop them to sell cherries and other local fruits.

When the village is left behind, the road becomes uneven, and increasing height puts pressure on ears. High mountains on one side, and depths on the other side—it is enough to disrupt the heartbeat of a first-time visitor. But when you are done with the journey, such a scene awaits you, which can neither be described in words, nor can it be entirely captured in photographs.

Crossing the bridge at Barra Paani, there is a road which leads to Sheosar Lake. Sheosar in local language means 'andhi' (blind). This lake is one of the highest lakes in the world. The deep blue water, with snow-covered mountains in backdrop, and greenery with wild flowers in foreground offer such a view in summers, that one is left amused for the rest of his life.

If the weather is clear, the killer mountain Nanga Parbat's snow-covered peak can be seen easily. And if the lake is calm, then Nanga Parbat's image appears in the lake as if someone has dissolved white paint in the blue waters. This lake is the heart of Deosai.

Very few people have risked their lives to cross this plain during the winters. I wanted to see Deosai in November, when there would be no tourists.

I should have turned back to Skardu that day from Sadpara Check Post. Army vehicles were returning half-way, waving to me to turn back due to rough weather. But I was very excited to see Deosai, my gut feeling was begging me to not turn back.

The punishment for this stubbornness was that the jeep track had completely disappeared due to snow, increasing the risk, and pushing the jeep with snow chains in the tires. Tires would bury deep in the snow, and at several spots, the snow had turned into ice, causing me to slip.

That entire day was spent pushing the jeep, digging the snow, and praying to God for safety. Nature doesn't reward you easily, it has a price. I was dead-tired at the end of the day, but the beautiful scene ahead of us was worth it.

We saw a brown bear and her cub a little before Sheosar Lake. Visibility was not too good due to snowfall, but it was a heartening sight anyway. I didn't have a lens of above 200mm focal length too, so I just took a binoculars and enjoyed watching them. In the meanwhile, 3 Himalayan red foxes passed by our jeep.

Snowfall had intensified as we reached Sheosar Lake. The visibility couldn't have been more than 20 meters. I was inside the jeep, appreciating the nature in its roughest form. Smell of bears spread in the atmosphere; there was no one else there other than me, my driver, and nature at that time.

Travelling towards Chillam village

In the extreme cold weather and a tiring day, we crossed Deosai and reached Chillam Check Post. Registered myself at the check post there and hit the road to Astore. A little girl was going to her home with her two sheep. Upon hearing the sound of the jeep, the sheep went off the road. The little girl turned back and smiled at me; the day's tiredness just vanished away.

The sun was setting behind the mountains as we went from Chillam to Astore. I saw an old man sitting beside a grave. He had just wiped his tears while the Pakistani flag was hoisted at the grave.

I moved forward to greet him and he asked: "Neeche se aaey ho?" (Have you come from below?). That is how the mountain dwellers call the tourists. I responded positively. After a random exchange of words, I asked him about the grave.

He said: "This is my son's grave. I am a retired soldier, and now labour to keep the life going. I put him in a college in Rawalpindi with my pension, savings, and labour. He was my only child. While coming to Astore from Pindi, he was off-loaded from the bus, identified, and killed for his religious views."

I was left without words. A deafening silence had enveloped the valley.

After a brief pause, he continued: "his grave lies on the way to work, so I stop by for a few moments to pray here everyday."

I didn't know what to say. While leaving, I once again looked at the Pakistani flag, but this time, it felt as if the crescent and the star had turned blood red.

The northern areas of Pakistan are beautiful, they please our soul. But at the same time, we should be conscious of the miseries of the local people. All of the ecstasy of the journey had collapsed on hearing the tragic story from the old man. I couldn't help but weep inside.

When the jeep started moving, the driver turned on the tape-recorder. A ghazal broke the eerie silence inside the jeep. Though it was freezing cold outside, here I felt a fire within me.

Syed Mehdi Bukhari is a network engineer by profession, and a traveler, poet, photographer and writer by passion.

By arrangement with Dawn, an Asian News Network (ANN) partner.

Be humane to animals

Thanks to Star Weekend for revealing the deplorable scenario of zoos at the district level in its last issue of December 1, under the title "Death camps for wildlife". The article was thought-provoking as it made me think of the importance of zoos in the context of present day. Earlier, the lack of availability of satellite channels and the internet was an issue. As a result, zoos were developed for the entertainment of children. Visiting zoos help people know about animals of different species in different parts of the world. But in the present day, people can know about animals easily through the internet as well as TV channels such as Discovery or National Geographic. So, the idea of entertaining people by giving so much pain to these wild creatures seems illogical to me.

There can be one central zoo in the country. The government must also restrict such parks or rich people from creating their own personal zoos. Zoos at the district level should also be closed as it has been exposed that they are not properly maintained. Seeing the skeletal bodies of animals at zoos will only make children sad instead of making them happy and learn about wildlife. So, we should all come forward to save these wild creatures and must be humane to them.

Nafis Sadik

Merul Badda

Dhaka

Ice camping with penguins in Antarctica

This story was like going on an adventure. I was totally absorbed in this travel-story, as if I was there with her. I learnt things like how seasick one can become on such a voyage. From this article, I also learnt about ocean life, the continent of Antarctica, and whales and penguins (albeit, not very much). This story has captured my imagination and I hope that The Daily Star will frequently publish ripping and adventurous travel stories.

Farid Islam

Rajshahi University

Living with HIV

I was shocked after reading the article "Living with HIV" published in the Star Weekend on December 1. Every year, December 1 is observed as World AIDS Day. Many remain unaware of their HIV-positive status. It is also disheartening to learn that many in the medical community feel that people who have HIV/AIDS should not be allowed to mix freely with other people. Those who are HIV-positive often have to hide their status from their families.

A concern is the current high use of drugs. Drug addicts are at high risk of being infected due to the use of shared needles. Following religious bindings and rules can be a guide here. The government should also provide holistic care for HIV-positive people and take more initiatives to prevent this disease. We can hope that our country will be HIV-free one day.

Marshia Afrin

Mirpur, Dhaka

Children are most abused at home. image: Kazi Tahsin Agaz Apurbo

Over the last month Star Weekend surveyed and interviewed 300 people to find the answer to this question: why do child sexual abuse cases not get reported, and what can be done to rectify it? The respondents included social workers who deal with these cases, lawyers, eye-witnesses and 195 child sexual assault survivors themselves.

Of those who self-reported their cases, 31 were rape survivors—but none of them had ever sought legal support or police help. 22 of these survivors, including 12 male respondents, never told anyone about it—neither family nor friends. When asked why, most of the survivors said they were ashamed. "No one will understand, and I allowed the same thing to happen to my younger brother. I didn't understand that it wasn't okay," writes another male survivor who was raped at the age of eight by a domestic helper.

And an even more terrifying one by a female respondent, "I was raped by my father. I did not want my parents to separate."

What if the survivor had reported the incident? How would the system have protected her? One nine-year-old girl told her mother that her stepfather had raped her. In fact, she told her mother that she was raped several times. Her parents separated alright, but now the mother-daughter duo is living in abject poverty. The mother, a Quranic teacher, whose face is always hidden under a niqab, mustered up the courage to take it to court. She faced her daughter's rapist at a courtroom last Friday and broke down in tears when he was granted bail. Clutching a prayer mat like a talisman, the white-robed, bearded man, who had walked into the courtroom in handcuffs, left without them.

"My lawyers did not show up because I could not pay them," the mother sobbed at the injustice of it all, "I also need to fight for my denmohar without which I cannot survive." She was crying so much that she was barely incoherent.

Photo: Kazi Tahsin Agaz Apurbo

The younger you are

The same thing happened with three-year-old Tuni at court. Tuni, which is a pseudonym to protect the identity of the survivor, was even younger when she was raped by her family's landlord. The accused rapist Latifur stood in the dock scowling, while Tuni's tearful father Lokman pleaded for the rapist's bail to be cancelled. The hearing came to a quick and unfavourable end for Lokman because of two reasons: the investigating officer of the rape did not include the forensic doctor's certificate and Tuni herself was not present.

"She is so young. How do I bring her to court to face her rapist?" says Lokman, pointing out a flaw of the courtroom, "I myself am scared of facing him." The Child Act 2013 mandates that courtrooms be child-friendly. Tuni has not yet forgotten about her rape. "Uncle hurt me down here," says the girl, clutching between her legs, when asked what her uncle did to her. "He gave me bakarkhani to eat," she goes on. Her medical reports detail heartbreaking particulars about the state of her tiny body as a result of the incident. "After the rape, the place was inflamed and she kept crying and wetting herself," says her mother describing the child's trauma.

Tuni's hearing was being held at the Dhaka Magistrate Judicial Court, while the family had fled to Kishoreganj district; they commuted four hours each way to come to court. "We moved to Kishoreganj right after the incident because Latifur threatened to 'finish' us unless we shut up. I do business in the Dhaka area, where we used to live, so I run into him often, and he pressurises me to withdraw the case," adds Lokman, "that is why it was important for us that his bail be cancelled."

The younger the child is the less likely they are to seek institutional support from the police or social workers. Of the people who came forward to participate in the survey, there were only two narrated incidents where the police were involved if the child was under eight years of age. In both cases, the victims were raped. Compared to that, there were eight cases reported to the police for victims who were older. One 17-year-old even sought legal support for cyber sexual harassment. Another male survivor told a social worker about the time a maternal uncle tried to rape him. 

Nasrin Akter Joly, Deputy Director of Girl Child Advocacy Programme, narrates an incident to show how it is difficult to gather evidence for younger victims. "In Shyamoli, a five-year-old girl was sexually assaulted by an older male domestic worker from another apartment. The police questioned the girl to get detailed information about the event, which was traumatising for her so she could not properly provide information," says Joly, "The elder brother beat up the perpetrator out of frustration, and for this offence, the family was harassed by the police and they had to leave their apartment eventually."

Tuni looking out at Dhaka City. image: Kazi Tahsin Agaz Apurbo

The poorer you are

When asked about involving the police, a staff from Social and Economic Enhancement Programme, an organisation working with street children, said: "We do inform the police but not often because these [incidents] are deemed insignificant [by the police]." The interviewee's reluctance to seek help from the police is ominous because street children are undoubtedly the most exposed to sexual violence. 

"Almost all the children we rescued from the streets were sexually assaulted, but only one case was picked up by the media," states Forhad Hossain, the Executive Director of Local Education and Economic Development Organisation (LEEDO), "we do not have the organisational ability to prove that abuse happened, so we don't report to the police." Over 200 kids he dealt with in the last three years were under eight years of age.

Social workers who deal with street children were interviewed separately for some more precise numbers on how many such cases they encountered and in which areas, from 2015 to 2017. Unsurprisingly, the major transport centres and entry-points of the city had the highest number of cases—these include Sadarghat Launch Terminal, Arambagh Bus Terminal, Gulistan and Kamlapur Rail Station. 11 of the social workers interviewed by Star Weekend worked in those areas, and between 2015 and 2017, they encountered as many as 526 children who were sexually abused. It goes without saying that the actual number is higher—much higher. In fact, 526 is only slightly less than the annual national approximate that media reports circulate. In the past three years, another organisation, Breaking the Silence, dealt with hundreds of cases of child sexual abuse but only five or six were reported in the media.

Aparajeyo Bangladesh's Executive Director Wahida Banu has a personal story about the dangers of under reporting by the media. "A policeman was dragging away a street child in handcuffs outside of Dhaka when our NGO worker intervened. The police threatened to harm him so he called a journalist for help," she describes, "the journalist was just not interested and the child was carried away in handcuffs." While such a small-scale incident does not reach larger Dhaka-centric national newspapers, local community media can really play a part, Banu thinks.

The other group who can never report sexual violence against them is the massive fleet of underage domestic workers hidden away in city apartment blocks. We interviewed teachers who run centres for these children in residential neighbourhoods and they all had stories to tell. Beginning from "the 70-year-old grandfather who made her give hand-jobs" to incidences of rape and murder, the one thing that these teachers claimed unanimously is that they cannot get the police involved.

"The girls come to us for a safe haven. If we start calling the police on the employers then we cannot run these centres," says a teacher. They chose to remain anonymous precisely because of that as well—if it comes to light that they have been talking to reporters then their centres might get shut down.

"The parents or guardians of these girls too are difficult to convince—they have to choose between poverty and rape," says an interviewee, "One time I called the sister of an eight-year-old girl who was being sexually abused, but she just assumed the girl was making excuses to get out of working."

"In another incident, a father of a child worker told me it is better than starving," she adds.

How do you monitor and report these hidden abuses where one party is clearly more powerful than the other? Housing societies and local civic associations like ladies' clubs need to step up, according to experts who work with child domestic workers. "Local area management committees exist everywhere and they can definitely play a bigger role in monitoring—maybe have someone designated to deal with gender violence," says Nasrin Ahmed, who works with a child rights organisation.

Nababganj Boro Masjid where Farhan was raped. photo: Kazi Tahsin Agaz Apurbo

The less able you are

But it's not like local committees are always helpful either. They certainly did not report the rape of 17-year-old Farhan. Farhan, whose real name had to be concealed, has Asperger syndrome and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). He vehemently opposes being categorised as disabled. "He just cannot concentrate on one thing at a time," says his mother. Behaviour-wise, she categorises him as a child.

"He was raped for five or six months straight at the Nababganj Boro Masjid. He used to come home and tell me that it hurts. Because he is like a child, he always told me whenever he was hurting," says the mother. "Nobody would believe me—or him—and I had to watch my child go through this for months," she says. "When I confronted the father of one of the rapists, he said that I was perverted for even having such thoughts."

"One used to show me videos on his mobile, while the other hurt me. They did it in the bathroom. I was on the floor. It was dark," says Farhan, in short sentences punctuated by long silences.

The mother never sought help from the government. "I'm tired of institutional help. I've been trying to get my son into a school for years, but he keeps getting turned away because he is not 'autistic enough'. On the one hand, he is too autistic to survive in a normal school. So I've pulled him out," she says. She has never received visits from any social workers.

Her chance came when Farhan was discovered in the bathroom with his rapists by Mohammed Saber, the head of a local association called Crescent Club, who saw the boys lead Farhan towards the second floor bathrooms and got suspicious. "Something about it felt strange—I just had a feeling. I followed them and found them inside a bathroom with the door locked," he describes. He banged on the door and the boys came out.

Now that there was an eye-witness, the mother alerted their ward commissioner Humayun Kabir. "Humayun is like my uncle and he told me to settle the matter internally, so I agreed," she says. Why not tell the police and file a case? "I could not decide what to do, so I let the ward commissioner be the best judge of the situation," she says.

The rapists were brought to a public hearing and publicly beaten with shoes. Ever since the hearing, however, the mother does not let Farhan out of the house. She is afraid that because he is a rape survivor, others might also take their chances with him. Because he has never been through the system, he is yet to get tested for AIDS. 

The burden of proving it happened

At the end of the day the burden of proving it happened falls on the survivors, and so, they don't speak out. "We consult lawyers about all cases of sexual violence, but cannot take action for all of them since many lack circumstantial evidence," says Rukhsana Sultana, Executive Director of Breaking the Silence. In the past decade, the lawyers could only pick up cases of rape—all other categories of violence were brushed aside.

As Farhan's case shows, if female rape victims are not taken seriously, then males are even less so. According to our survey, only 14 male respondents out of 67 revealed to friends or family that they had been sexually abused. In the case of females, nearly half of the respondents shared. This is made harder by the fact that perpetrators themselves usually originate from inner circles. According to our survey, the victim's uncle was involved in most of the incidents, followed by religious teachers, home tutors, cousins and staff at school—in that order. When children are up against adults who are allies with family and society, the courtroom and counsellor's couch moves further and further away. 

Star Weekend is very grateful to all survivors who shared their experiences. Rubana Mussharat and Sharmin Rashid contributed to the data collection. The survey was circulated on Facebook, including the women's group Meye: a Sisterhood.  

Lo Que Me Hace Vivir

(What Makes Me Live)

Organiser: EMK Centre

December 9, 7-9 pm, EMK Center,  Dhanmondi

Human Library Dhaka Session 2

Organiser: Human Library Dhaka

December 15, 11 am-5 pm, British Council Bangladesh, Fuller Road

Flaming Acoustics

Classical Guitar Evening

Organiser: Alliance Française de Dhaka

December 9, 5.30 - 8.30 pm, Alliance Française de Dhaka, Mirpur Road

Tariq* was repeatedly molested by an uncle over three years since he was five. The uncle used to bribe him with chocolate and ask him nicely to not tell anyone about their “playtime”. As a child not understanding what happened to him, Tariq never spoke about it to anyone, but became a very distant and antisocial child, prone to sudden tantrums and angry outbursts. When he was 16, in midst of an argument, he finally broke down and told his mother about it. Mortified about such allegations against her cousin, his mother told him he must have misunderstood and asked him not to mention this to anyone. Now in his 20s, Tariq still sees his uncle at family functions who jokes around with him, as if nothing ever happened.

I learned of Tariq's story not from him but from his tearful older sister who learned about the incident by chance. She is worried about how Tariq has extremely low self-esteem and has isolated himself from his family. She said the matter was never brought up again and their parents never acknowledged it happened. She is full of resentment against her parents but doesn't have the courage to confront them or talk to her brother about it.

Tariq's story illustrates three things about us as a society:

One, we don't respect the agency and experiences of children. When they challenge us with something distressing, we try to convince them, and ourselves, that they either imagined it or are lying. And whatever the case may be, they will forget about it over time.

Two, we are so uncomfortable about talking about issues related to sex and abuse that we are willing to push them under the rug and ignore them out of fear—fear of dealing with the truth and fear of what other people might say. In this case, it was particularly difficult for their mother to deal with the idea that her son had been molested, and by a man no less.

Three, we are so in denial of the idea that those close to us can also engage in abusive behaviour, that we are completely unwilling to confront the crime so as to not create rifts in the family or attract undue attention.

But we need to get over ourselves. Enough newspapers reports and anecdotal evidence has shown us that sexual abuse of children is rampant across all strata of society, but our silence around the issue is deafening.

Children who experience sexual abuse tend to keep silent about their experiences because of feelings of guilt, shame, and confusion. Stigma around the issue and examples of muzzling conversations set by adults also discourage children from expressing their feelings out of fear of not being believed. It is this shroud of secrecy and denial that we need to shake ourselves out of, and one way of doing that is by openly communicating with children about it.

The positive impact of this open communication is demonstrated by the work of a student-led project called Nishu (Nirapod Shoishober Uddeshe) initiated by a group called Ground Zero. In December 2016, Ground Zero won the BYLC Youth Leadership Prize, a grant of BDT 750,000 from Bangladesh Youth Leadership Center (BYLC) with support from UKAID. With help from other child rights groups, including Breaking the Silence, they created a child-friendly module for students reading between classes three and five, that disseminated accessible information on the threat of sexual abuse.

A baseline survey with 480 students from five different schools found that around 70 percent of the children were not aware that they had private parts, which were not supposed to be touched by anyone else. They held sessions with 1,200 students from various schools and, through the use of cartoons, poems and posters, were able to make them aware of their personal space and private parts, which are forbidden to others, understand how to differentiate between appropriate and inappropriate touching, and what to do if someone did anything that made them uncomfortable.

Ground Zero's main intention was to reach children with the right information before they experienced sexual abuse. Through their intervention, they found that many children had experienced abuse at home by people they trust, but hadn't spoken about it either because they couldn't comprehend what was happening to them, or couldn't articulate their feelings of discomfort. Having someone speak openly to them about it helped them to understand their experience and speak to their parents. Several parents called the group afterwards, admitting shock that this had happened to their children right under their noses. In one instance, where a girl was being molested by her father, the child spoke to her mother after attending one of these workshops. Upon learning this, the mother moved away with the child and filed a police report. Ground Zero's initiative demonstrates that an act as simple as speaking to children on their level can have a far-reaching impact on their lives.

A lot needs to be done to address child sexual abuse. We need to find out the root causes of why it happens, we need to establish better processes for legal recourse and punishing perpetrators, and we need better counselling services for those who experience abuse and trauma. But these sorts of initiatives are often left for government services, hospitals, or NGOs to manage. A small but effective measure that each of us can take at home is to create channels for open communication and talk to the children in our lives about it. It doesn't have to be an uncomfortable, detailed, explicit discussion, but enough so that they are aware, able to protect themselves, and seek help if something happens. Hopefully then, we will have all played an active part in creating a society where no child has to suffer in silence as Tariq did.

*Names have been changed to protect identity

Shaveena Anam is Deputy Manager, Communication at Bangladesh Youth Leadership Centre.