Tyler Sharp
Quibla Bandi Boar Hunt
We are now in a small village in a mountainous region near northwestern Pakistan, an area called Quibla Bandi. We have commandeered a house on a hill overlooking a small lake, and the green sprawl of wheat fields and farmsteads below. There is something that is ultimately more peaceful about the countryside, and the sound of a rooster crowing is a very comforting morning soundtrack.
Today we started the hunt, mostly in valleys and gorges surrounding the local farmers wheat fields. The wild boars destroy their crops and sometimes injure their livestock, so they are most happy to see our hunting party, and are eager to participate. Brady with his rifle, and I with my camera, we were positioned up on a hill where we could see for some distance. Once we were ready, the bush beating began. Way off in the distance, you can hear drums beating, whistles blowing, dogs barking, and the beaters shouting. There are about 15 beaters, and they have spears, shotguns, or dogs on leashes, and they fan out across a large area, and make a ruckus. The idea is to “push the bush,” and send any pigs in hiding towards our position, where Brady is waiting, rifle at ready. This worked incredibly well, and sent many animals our way over the course of several beats, in several different areas. We ended up shooting about 4 or 5 wild boars, and you could see the satisfaction on the farmers’ and villagers’ faces. Because the majority of our party is Muslim, they wanted nothing to do with the swine, so they doubly detested the fallen boars. Several of the dogs were injured during the hunt, having small cuts and abrasions from their efforts to kill the pigs themselves, but were very brave and hard working members of the team nonetheless. One of the dogs had lost an eye from a previous battle, and had a 4 inch scar across its’ brow to prove it. He growled as we approached him to take a photo, proving he had an attitude to match his battle hardened appearance. Overall, it was quite an experience to see these Pakistani men shouting and advancing to the rhythm of the drums, and channeling centuries of rural hunting tradition to protect their livelihood in agriculture.
Brady and his beaters
While driving home, we approached the aftermath of a horrific traffic accident. It really surprised me that was the first one that I had seen since being here, but it was bad enough to deeply affect me. Two men, on two separate motorbikes had been hit by a large truck carrying gravel. The truck was vacated in the middle of the road, keys still in the ignition, as the driver had fled into the woods out of guiltiness. One man that had been hit was propped up against a tree, brought there by witnesses, and came out lightly scathed with a few road rashes and a bloodied face. The other fellow was not so lucky. His right leg had been severely broken and crushed, and was contorted and hanging limp like a mass of swollen flesh. Our guide Kaiser, who was apparently trained as a paramedic, organized a makeshift splint, and had begun wrapping the man’s leg. His leg had been broken high up on the femur, close to the pelvis, his knee crushed, tibia and fibula pulverized, and his ankle broken as well. As Kaiser wrapped the leg, blood oozed out from various skin punctures where bones had protruded, and bone marrow was even visible. Needless to say, it was a horrific sight that shook me to the core. But what is more, his two older brothers were there, fighting back tears, shouting emotionally and pointing in the direction that the truck driver had run. They were looking for vengeance, and I could feel the anger in their words and tears.
Though I do not understand Urdu, at that moment it did not matter, as my heart swelled and tears welled in my eyes. Language, culture, and even physical location were transcended, and that small group of us standing there over the limp and bloodied body of a man in so much pain that he couldn’t even make a sound, felt like a family. And we were all saying prayers in our hearts that he would be alright. And though he will live, it is unlikely that he will be able to walk right, or even keep his leg. Even though I did not know the man’s name, I was very distressed to see a fellow human and his family in such pain. It helped to remind me how fragile and transient life is, and that there are no guarantees of living another day. We could all find death in an instant, in so many different ways, and so we must do our best to do what we can with the time that we are given. Spend time with the ones you love, doing what you love, and even finding new love, in whatever form that may be.