The journey began at tranquil Borith Lake, its calm waters mirroring the rugged grandeur of the Karakoram peaks. From this serene oasis, I set out toward the mighty Passu Glacier, starting my trek at Borith Zero Point. The trail wound through rocky slopes and alpine silence, each step carrying me closer to a timeless world of ice. When I finally stood before the glacier, I felt dwarfed by its majesty, an ancient sentinel guarding nature’s strength and memory.
The glaciers of Gilgit-Baltistan, once symbols of life and stability, are melting at alarming rates. Glacial Lake Outburst Floods (GLOFs) rage through valleys, washing away homes, schools, and dreams. Landslides choke rivers, sever roads, and isolate communities. Nature, it seems, is no longer whispering; it is roaring its warnings.
Israruddin Israr
Yet beneath that breathtaking beauty was unease, a quiet anger pulsing beneath the frozen surface. These are not ordinary times. The glaciers of Gilgit-Baltistan, once symbols of life and stability, are melting at alarming rates. Glacial Lake Outburst Floods (GLOFs) rage through valleys, washing away homes, schools, and dreams. Landslides choke rivers, sever roads, and isolate communities. Nature, it seems, is no longer whispering; it is roaring its warnings.
I was alone that day, just me and the glacier. A one-on-one, in-camera meeting with a giant of nature. No audience. No noise. Only the wind’s restless breath, the crack of distant ice, and the voice of conscience echoing through the valley.
I spoke to the glacier as though it were the earth itself. “Why this rage?” I asked softly. “Why such fury upon these valleys and the people who love these mountains?”
The glacier answered, not in words, but in the deep language of silence, an ancient tongue of cracking ice and gushing melt water. Yet its meaning was clear: “Humans have wronged us. For greed, for illusion, they wound the earth. They burn its breath with fossil fuels, choke its lungs with carbon, and poison its veins with chemicals. They raze forests, dam rivers, and cloak the skies in greenhouse gases. Their cities consume, their industries devour, and their hearts know no restraint.”
I felt the weight of its truth pressing on me like the cold air around us. But the glacier’s carried another accusation: “Even when they claim to act, they deceive. They build hollow promises, like those so-called early warning systems your governments boast about. Corruption gnaws at their roots, greed hollows their cores. Warnings fail, lives are lost, yet they speak of progress. If humans cannot be sincere with each other, why should nature be sincere with them?”
The words struck deep. Indeed, humanity has not only betrayed the planet earth, it has betrayed itself. We are masters of false assurances, addicts of profit. We erect fragile systems, then watch them crumble under the weight of corruption. And all the while, nature watches. Silent. Patient. Until patience runs out.
When humanity becomes false, nature retaliates with truth.
I promised the glacier I would carry its message back. In response, it offered me a gift of hospitality. I scooped a shard of its snow, pure and bitterly cold, and let it melt on my tongue. It tasted of age, of forgiveness still possible, if only we dare to change. I drank from its waters and felt both blessed and warned.
As the sun sank behind jagged peaks, I made my way back to Borith, where Akhtar Karim, a noted social activist of Gojal, welcomed me to his tent village. That night, beneath a canopy of stars, we shared tea, laughter, and reflections.
Yet even amid warmth and camaraderie, the glacier’s voice lingered — a solemn hymn of warning and hope: Correct your path. Restore harmony. Abandon greed. Respect life, before the last ice melts, and with it, the last chance for pardon.
Israrudin Israr is a prominent human rights defender serving as the Coordinator for Gilgit-Baltistan at the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan. He regularly contributes essays on socio-political, cultural and human rights issues to Baam-e-Jahan, High Asia Herald, and other local news outlets.
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